(1969) The Seven Minutes (17 page)

He told Duncan that he had discussed the matter with his client in New York, and they had reached a decision on the plea, and he was about to drive over to Oakwood and inform the defendant.

‘We’re entering a plea of not guilty,’ said Barrett.

‘Not guilty ? Good, very good,’ said Duncan, singing it out as if it were a joyful Christmas carol. ‘See you in court.’

Barrett wanted to reply that the District Attorney would see someone in court, but that it was not likely to be he. ‘In court,’ he echoed.

Leaving the booth, he almost hoped that Willard Osborn would not grant him a postponement to undertake the defense.

For the defense, in a trial like this, the court was an exposed battlefield, an indefensible graveyard.

He had spent his life barely escaping from ambushes.

He could not afford a Little Big Horn.

Barrett had been invited to an early dinner at the Osborns’, since he was taking Faye to the Music Center in downtown Los Angeles to see a visiting Bolshoi Ballet troupe perform Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty.

The meal in the charming, almost rustic dining room, with its roughhewn wood beams above and its hexagonal floor tiles below, had been delicious. Now the last of the serving pieces was being removed from the hand-woven maroon Mexican tablecloth, until only the ancient wrought-iron candelabrum remained as the centerpiece. A servant entered with an open box of cigars. Willard Osborn accepted one, but Barrett declined, indicating his pipe, which he began to fill from his leather pouch.

Across the table, Faye was inserting a fresh cigarette into her gold holder. Her blond hair was swept up high, accenting the strands of pearls around her milky neck. She met Barrett’s eyes and winked, inclining her head slightly toward her father, as if to assure Barrett that the moment had come. Barrett turned his gaze toward Willard Osborn, at the head of the table. Osborn had clipped his cigar and was waiting for the servant to light it.

At last the three of them were alone. Throughout dinner the conversation, guided by Faye, had been largely concerned with social gossip and the arts. No business. Barrett had rather expected the subject of his position to be brought up during dinner. But it had been studiously avoided by Willard Osborn. Barrett finally understood that, by Osborn’s code, dinner and business did not mix,

such mixture being definitely bad manners.

Now dinner was done, and in twenty minutes he and Faye would have to be off to the ballet.

Willard Osborn had straightened his lank frame, and from beneath his heavy lids he was considering Barrett. ‘Well, now,’ he said, ‘we’ve covered ships and shoes and sealing wax, cabbages and kings, and now I should say there is nothing left to discuss except the most important subject of all - vice-presidencies. I assume you are prepared to tell me tonight, Michael, whether you’ve made up your mind, and, should your decision be favorable, whether you’ve been able to work the change out. Are you prepared to discuss it?’

Barrett smiled. ‘I’ve only been waiting for you to ask. Of course my decision is favorable. It was favorable the moment you made me the offer. The problem was Thayer and Turner. I’m happy to say that’s worked out. I resigned yesterday.’

‘Wonderful, Mike!’ exclaimed Faye jubilantly.

‘The only thing -‘

‘I’m perfectly delighted,’ Willard Osborn interrupted. ‘I knew you’d find a means of arranging everything. Very good. Now we can move ahead as I’d planned. There will be offices for you on Monday. I want you to come in, familiarize yourself with the files, become acquainted with your colleagues, and in a week you can lead our small army into Chicago to open negotiations for that television network.’

Unable to check Osborn’s enthusiasm, Barrett had heard him out with a sinking feeling. He had to speak up before Osborn went further. ‘There’s just one obstacle standing in my way, Willard.’

‘Standing in your way to what?’

‘To going right to work for you. You see, a friend of mine, one of my closest friends, wants me to represent him in a trial soon to be held in Los Angeles. I can’t persuade him to retain another attorney. He feels, in this kind of case, he needs someone who knows him, someone he can trust. I wouldn’t consider undertaking this, except that the man is my friend, has always been loyal to me, and I owe him a good deal.’

Osborn had set down his cigar and pulled himself closer to the table. ‘I’m afraid you are confusing me, Michael. I can’t see what could be important enough to warrant the kind of delay you’re speaking about. What is so special about this case that it requires you and only you?’

‘Well…’ Barrett wriggled uncomfortably. ‘It’s the kind of case - well, my friend’s entire future career hangs on its outcome. Before I go into it, well, if you don’t mind, I think first I had better explain something of my relationship with my friend.’

Fixing his eyes on the cold pipe in his hand, not once looking up, Barrett began to speak in hurried, brief sentences of when he had first known Philip Sanford, of their college years together, of Sanford’s assistance when Barrett’s mother had been gravely ill, of

Sanford’s difficulties with his famous father, of his opportunity to take over Sanford House on a trial basis to prove his capabilities. Then, even more quickly, Barrett interjected The Seven Minutes into his account, describing Ben Fremont’s arrest and Phil Sanford’s determination to defend both the bookseller and the novel itself in court.

‘Today I did as I was instructed and what was perhaps necessary,’ said Barrett. ‘I informed the District Attorney we were pleading not guilty. I told Phil that I would try, if it was humanly possible, to represent the defense.’

He glanced up as he finished talking, and directed his eyes toward Faye, across from him. But he could see only her profile. Her worried face was pointed toward her father. Barrett forced his eyes to shift to her father.

If a man’s countenance could be a synonym for a word, then Willard Osborn’s features were a synonym for ‘appalled.’ The usually bloodless patrician countenance was amazed, dismayed, distressed, and faintly flushed.

‘That book,’ said Osborn, mouthing ‘book’ as if it were a scatalogical four-letter word. ‘You intend to defend that foul book ? Surely you’re not serious?’

Barrett felt himself bristle. ‘I have no idea whether the book is or is not foul. Only our District Attorney has said it’s foul. The other side hasn’t been heard from yet. I haven’t read the book, but nevertheless it deserves -‘

‘It deserves nothing,’ snapped Osborn. ‘It deserves to be ripped to shreds and stuffed into the garbage disposal. You have no idea whether the book is foul? I am really surprised at a man of your intelligence making a remark like that, Michael. One doesn’t have to read a book to know that it is foul. One can smell it. I, for one, know what it is. There is sufficient evidence to make judgment. I am acquainted with our District Attorney. You yourself have met him in this house. He is an honest man and a decent man, and certainly no prude. If he’s seen fit to charge The Seven Minutes as obscenity, I would trust his judgment. If that were not enough, consider that book’s history. It was all over the newspapers this morning. With the exception of that one ratty underground press in Paris, no publisher in any nation in over three decades has felt that this book should be brought to light. And when your so-called friend, whose morality has plainly been warped by his psychotic resentment of his father - when your friend opportunistically determined to publish the book, what was the first thing to happen? The book found its way into the hands of Frank Griffith’s young son, and it unleashed his normal inhibitions and provoked him into an act of violence.’

‘We only have the boy’s word for that,’ said Barrett, shaken by Osborn’s vehemence.

‘His word is good enough for me,’ said Osbom. ‘Michael, you

must realize this. I am no stranger to the Griffith family. Certainly, I’ve known Frank Griffith well for many years. He has bought endless hours of television time from me for his numerous clients. His clients are drawn from the top business executives in America, and he has them because he has earned their respect. He is an outstanding public citizen, and he has brought up his son in his own image. Nothing could have corrupted the mind of a young man like that except a criminally pornographic work. You’ve come to know me a little, Michael. You could hardly call me a puritan. You must know I am against those who would restrict our freedoms. I oppose their efforts daily in the never-ending battle in our world of tele-vison. But even freedom must have boundaries. Otherwise, the greedy, the vicious, will use our freedom against us and destroy that freedom, as well as destroy our young and innocent. I say open the door to the new candor and realism when it is honest and broadening, but I say shut the door in the ugly face of a monster like The Seven Minutes. For your own sake, Michael, let alone our future together, but mainly for your own sake, I trust you are not serious about defending that book.’

Listening, Barrett had become frightened. His fear was not a fear of Willard Osborn, but a fear of the reckless anger that had been growing inside himself and a fear that this anger would overcome his rational self, dominate him, and make him give voice to long-forgotten feelings that would destroy his wondrous future. He did not know what to day, but, fortunately, in those seconds he needed to say nothing, for Faye was addressing her father.

‘Dad, I’m pot disagreeing with what you’ve said, but I do think you are entirely missing the point that Mike is trying to make. Mike may or may not be serious about defending this book, but the point is that he has said from the start that if he defended it at all, it would be because of his loyalty to an old friend. He’s tried to tell you he is considering handling this case because of Mr Sanford, not because of The Seven Minutes.’

‘Well, that may be, but the very thought of Michael here becoming involved…’ Osborn had turned to Barrett once more. ‘As to friends, I understand loyalty to friends. That is admirable. Yet, from long experience, I also know one must not permit friendship to become devouring. Most of us pay our dues to friendship. But we must never do so to the point where we bankrupt ourselves. Remember that, Michael.’ He took up his cigar and brought a table lighter to it. ‘Now, then, your place in Osborn Enterprises. I said we must have you at once. Possibly we can reach a compromise. How much time would you have to give this - this trial of yours?’

‘It’s too early to tell,’ said Barrett. ‘I’d say maybe a month. Maybe a little longer.’

Osborn shook his head. ‘Impossible. I’m afraid that is asking too much. I couldn’t afford to keep the position unmanned for such a

period of time. I’d have to find someone else. Also, to be perfectly frank, there is another aspect of your involvement with Sanford that would be distasteful. This has the makings of a sensational and dirty trial. Some of that dirt would automatically rub off on you, and if you were to become one of our vice-presidents it would in turn rub off on Osborn Enterprises. It would place you and the company in a bad light with the more finicky conservatives who advertise on our stations. I would find it extremely difficult to justify your role in such a trial and, indeed, my having given you so responsible a position in a company involved with communications that influence young and old alike.’ He suddenly ground out his cigar. ‘What the devil. You know what I’m driving at. You’re smart enough. That’s why I want you with us.’

Osborn came out of the chair and shoved it aside. He appeared at ease and benign once more. He offered his daughter a slight smile, and then he gave Barrett a broader one.

,T know I can depend on your sense of values, Michael,’ he said. ‘All things considered, that trial should have no place in your resume of achievements. There are more vital, and more attractive, affairs to concern you. My advice is that you forget that courtroom diversion. You can tell your friend Sanford that you made a try on his behalf, but that I was absolutely immovable. You can say that I could not find any way of sparing you, and that you had to honor your earlier commitment to Osborn Enterprises. Once you’ve told him that, and he realizes you mean it, he’ll make no further effort to use you. He’ll do what he should have done in the first place. He’ll find himself the kind of back-room attorney who specializes in defending the licentious and the lewd, he’ll find someone with less integrity than you have. As for you, Michael, I want you on our team, among men of stature, where you belong. I want you among men who are going places. I’ll expect to see you bright and early Monday morning. So, off you go, both of you, and enjoy yourselves. After all, you’ve a lot to celebrate.’

The Russian ballet had ended to a dozen curtain calls twenty minutes before eleven o’clock. There had been the usual wait trying to leave the parking area, and the usual jam on the freeway, but once Barrett had made the off ramp he was able to make better time. Now, as his convertible moved along the Sunset Strip, it was a quarter after eleven.

Once again Faye Osborn was chattering about Sleeping Beauty and extolling the marvels of the Bolshoi troupe. He realized that he could recall little of what she was describing. Throughout the ballet, he had been inattentive. While the corps de ballet lightly soared and pirouetted on the stage, Barrett’s mind had been rilled with heavier, more disquieting, images that had pranced and skipped through his head.

“That new ballerina,’ Faye was saying, ‘the one who was Princess

Aurora -I can never remember those ghastly Russian names - do you remember her name, Mike?’

‘No.’

‘Anyway, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more beautiful performance. The program said that’s the part that made Ulanova famous overnight. Well, I think this girl is going to be even more famous, don’t you, Mike?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s positively inspiring. It makes one want to float, or at least swing…. There’s Whisky a Go Go. Do you feel up to it, Mike ?’

‘What? Up to what?’

‘Dancing. You weren’t even listening. I guess you’re not in the mood.’

‘No, not tonight, darling. We’ll do it next time.’