“I hope not,” said Jack. “I didn’t come to talk about buying your stations or taking control of your company. Frankly, I couldn’t raise the capital to absorb nine more stations this year. You call your arrangement an alliance. I came to explore with you the possibility of a different kind of alliance: one between your company and mine. My general idea is that all of us would retain ownership and control of our stations. LNI would provide you with a certain amount of programming, which you would get without having to surrender any control to a network. Broadcasters Alliance would provide some programming to LNI. We would pay each other for the programming we exchange. Or maybe we could trade to some extent—that is, trade some programming on a barter basis, with no cash changing hands.”
“It’d be a complicated deal, with lots of issues to decide,” said Billy Bob Cotton.
“Absolutely,” Jack agreed.
Their meal was brought by a tall, dignified Negro man with white hair, who expertly served their food with pairs of spoons manipulated in his right hand. Polly served just two tables, hovering between them, moving in to fill wineglasses, hurrying away to speak to the waiter when she saw that a gentleman might want more of something. Once when she was pouring wine, Curt patted her gently on her bare bottom. She smiled warmly and suggestively raised her eyebrows.
The appetizer was oysters skewered between slices of smoked sausage and cooked in a wine sauce. With the oysters came a bowl of roasted pecans. This was followed by a peach and-pepper salad. The entrée was broiled alligator tail in lemon butter sauce, served with red beans and rice.
“My God, this is exquisite, Ray,” Jack said.
“Enough to make us think about getting together in N’Awleans from time t’ time,” said Billy Bob.
Then the entertainment began. A small low stage was hidden behind a red velvet curtain. The curtain was drawn back by Antoinette, revealing a narrow bed in the glare of bright overhead spotlights. The jazz quartet played louder.
“Polly and Amelia!” Antoinette announced.
Polly trotted across the room, climbed up on the stage, and lay down on her back on the bed. Amelia, another waitress who was blond and had a spare figure, followed Polly to the stage, knelt, and pressed her face into Polly’s crotch. She pushed Polly’s legs farther apart, so the men at the tables could see what she was licking. Polly writhed and moaned.
When after some ten minutes the pair broke off, Polly was flushed and sweating. As the men at the tables applauded appreciatively, she left the room.
“Deirdre and Marie!” Antoinette called next.
Two more waitresses climbed onto the bed. They embraced each other and rubbed their crotches together. They sucked on each other’s nipples. Deirdre, a thin young girl, rose on her knees, presented her backside to Marie, and used her hands to spread her hinder cheeks as wide as she could. Marie, who was a handsome redhead probably more than thirty years old, shoved her tongue into Deirdre’s anus and began licking vigorously. At the same time she reached through between Deirdre’s legs and inserted her middle finger into her slit.
After a few minutes they reversed positions, and Deirdre returned the favor.
“God!” murmured Jack. “I may wind up arranging something at the hotel after all.”
Now the lights went off, leaving the room dark except for the lights on the stage, which were themselves dimmed.
A single spotlight shot a bright circle on a hole in the curtain behind the bed. Marie, the handsome redhead, climbed up on the stage, pushed the bed aside, and knelt on the floor. In a moment a man’s parts were shoved through the hole in the curtain. Marie seized them and sucked the penis into her mouth.
“He’s of the members,” Ray explained. “They turn off the lights so no one but the others at his table know who’s gone behind the curtain.”
“Damned hard to resist,” said Billy Bob.
“Too damned hard,” said Jack. “Polly?”
“If you want,” Ray said.
Ray snapped his fingers, and Antoinette made her way to the table. “Who?” she whispered.
“Polly.”
“’Kay. C’mon, whichever one of you it is.”
She led Jack by the hand through the dark room to a tiny bathroom behind the stage curtains. “You’d be doing the girl a favor if you’d wash it off first,” she said blandly.
Jack went inside the little bathroom and used warm water and soap and paper towels to wash himself. He heard a knock on the door and opened it. Antoinette pointed to the eight-inch hole in the curtain, where the light shone through.
“Drop your pants and stick it through. She’s waiting.”
He heard applause as he shoved his cock and balls through the red velvet curtain. He could not see the girl. He could not be sure it was Polly. He felt her hands on him first, then felt her licking him, then felt her suck his penis into her mouth. She didn’t have to work long. He came sooner than he wanted to. His pleasure was quick, but it was deep and complete.
When he returned to the table, another man’s parts were displayed in the hole, and little Millie was on her knees and ready to go to work. Thank God, Jack thought. That meant the room was still dark and everyone’s attention was focused on the stage.
No one else went behind the curtain. The room remained dark until the third man was back at his table. Then the lights came up, and all the performers stood naked on the stage or on the floor in front of it and took their bows. Men wadded up money and threw it to them.
The party of five stayed at their table and drank brandy and coffee. None of the others said anything to Jack, not even to ask him if it had been good.
When they left the club, the naked waitresses were standing by the door, saying good night. Jack stepped over to Polly and slipped a fifty dollar bill into her hand.
TWO
NEGOTIATING THE COMPLEX CONTRACT BETWEEN BROADCASTers Alliance and LNI took several months. In the end, the Alliance conceded more influence over its operations than Jack had thought it would. He was not surprised, though, when Time described the deal as “in effect a merger, giving Jack Lear and his associates control over twenty-three radio broadcasting stations and making LNI a more powerful voice than it has ever been before, or than anyone ever dreamed it would become.”
Three
ON OCTOBER 21 ANNE GAVE BIRTH TO A HEALTHY LITTLE BOY they named Jack Arthur.
They hired a live-in nanny for the baby. She was Mrs. Gimbel, who had served as nanny for John and Joan and had come to love the family. Jack’s confidence in the woman eased Anne’s concern that Mrs. Gimbel was too old to be a nanny.
The first confrontation between mother and nanny occurred when Anne informed Mrs. Gimbel that she would breast-feed the child for a year. Mrs. Gimbel did not approve, saying a formula would provide more complete nutrition. Priscilla, the maid, weighed in on the side of breast-feeding. Jack just smiled and refused to take sides in the argument.
In any event, Little Jack, as he was inevitably called, thrived and became a plump, effervescent baby. Jack loved him, even though little Little Jack reminded him that John would be sixteen before long and that they rarely saw each other.
TWENTY
One
1948
IN 1946 KIMBERLY HAD MARRIED DODGE HALLOWELL. IN March 1948 she wrote to Jack saying he could not have the children for a month in the summer, as usual, because she and Dodge would be taking them to Europe for the entire summer. Jack telephoned Harrison Wolcott.
“I’ll speak to her, Jack. She ought to know by now that she can’t just ignore the terms of the decree any time it suits her.”
“I most emphatically don’t want to do this, Harrison, but I will hire a lawyer and go back to court if she forces me.”
“She’ll calm down. I’ll talk to her. While we’re on the phone, I’d like to raise another subject. Would you have any interest in buying back WCHS and WHFD? Kimberly would be better off with some money. Neither she nor Dodge has any inkling about how to manage a radio sta
tion.”
“I’ll think about it,” Jack said, “but frankly, Harrison, I couldn’t afford them right now. I’ve bought other stations, you know—and mortgaged my ass to do it. We’re selling more advertising time. Revenues are up. But—”
“Suppose I buy them. Let Kimberly and Dodge think you bought them. You manage them. Real ownership will be in a trust I will establish for the benefit of John and Joan. So far as the world will see, you will just have added two more stations to your network.”
“That’s very generous of you, Harrison. I’m sorry Kimberly has to be kept in the dark about things like this. You know, I did love her. I loved her deeply. In a sense I still do. But, Harrison, she smothered me. Now she tries to keep the kids from seeing me.”
“Kimberly’s problem with the children is that she worries about their living in your New York townhouse. Won’t it be a little crowded?”
“I’ll rent a summer place.”
He leased a rambling house with a swimming pool, in Greenwich, Connecticut, for July and August.
To the residents of Greenwich, Anne was the Countess of Weldon even though she was married to Jack Lear, son of the notorious Erich Lear. Within two weeks the Lears were invited to take summer membership in the Greenwich Country Club and to attend services at Second Congregational Church and Temple Shalom. They joined the country club, though neither of them played golf, but they attended no religious services.
The children arrived from Boston on July 3. John was almost six feet tall, muscular and tanned and without hair on his body. His eyes were blue. His hair had been bleached by the sun. Joan was fourteen but looked as old as her brother. No longer a child, she was developing into a beautiful young woman with her mother’s regular features and smooth dark-brown hair. She tended to be solemn and to avoid the horseplay of the other teenagers at the country club pool and at the beach. She was self-conscious about her figure, embarrassed by her swelling new breasts and the sleek curves of her hips and her long legs—embarrassed, yet proud.
John told his father on the day he arrived that he would like to be taken to Westchester County Airport, which was only about five miles from the house. The next day Jack took him there. The boy’s fascination with flying had continued unabated. At the airport they walked out on the flight line and looked at airplanes.
A pilot came out of the shack and walked toward them. He looked like a man who had flown during the war. “Like to go for a ride, gentlemen?” he asked.
Jack shook his head. “No. Not what I had in mind.”
“Mom doesn’t need to know,” John muttered.
“What I had in mind was that you might give this young man flying lessons. He’s going to be in town, in Greenwich, all this month. Maybe he could get in—what?—a dozen lessons, fifteen?”
“How many depends on a lot of things,” said the pilot. “Mostly the weather. How old are you, son?”
“Sixteen.”
“In that case you couldn’t get a license this year. You have to be seventeen. Anyway, we couldn’t get in all the flying and studying you’d have to do in just one month. But you can get a student certificate and start logging flight training. You’ll have to pass a medical exam, too. My name is Fred Dugan. I’m a licensed instructor. ’Course, there are other instructors. You might want to shop around.”
“What kind of plane would he fly?” Jack asked.
Dugan nodded toward a low-slung, high-winged little yellow airplane. “That one. That’s a Piper Cub. Perfect little airplane to start out in. You say he’ll only be here a month. When will he be back?”
“Next summer.”
Dugan cocked his head and regarded John skeptically. “What’s your name, son?”
“John Lear.”
“Okay, John Lear. Don’t expect to solo this summer. But if we get in some good hours this month and you study your materials all winter so you can pass the written exam next summer, I figure we can get you a license next year.”
TWO
ON HIS FOURTH TIME OUT IN THE CUB, DUGAN REQUIRED John to fly a maneuver called a turn about a point.
They were somewhere north of the airport, over New York or Connecticut.
“Okay, son, see that right-angle road intersection down there.”
“Yessir.”
“Put your left wingtip on that intersection and fly a three-sixty, keeping your wingtip right on it.”
John tried, but the Piper Cub drifted off the point.
“Why’s that?” Dugan asked.
“The wind, I suppose,” said John.
“You got it. The wind blew you off the point. So how you gonna correct for that?”
“Gotta turn my nose into it a little.”
“Right. Go at it again.”
It was one of the most difficult maneuvers for student pilots to master. John worked on it. He succeeded on his fourth try, coming around to his original heading with the wingtip hanging firmly on the intersection.
“Now, son,” said Dugan. “Look at your altimeter. What was your altitude when you started the turn?”
“Eighteen hundred feet.”
“And what is it now?”
“Uh-oh. Fourteen hundred feet.”
“How can you correct for that?”
“Add power,” said John.
“Exactly. Do it again. You gotta keep your wingtip in place and keep your altitude constant. You see what this is for? You gotta make precise turns like that to fly the landing pattern.”
Jack couldn’t always drive John to the airport. Anne did. Priscilla did. The boy who was working on his pilot’s license didn’t yet have a driver’s license.
Fred Dugan took Jack aside as John was filling out his logbook. “Mr. Lear, I wouldn’t want the boy to hear this, but he is a natural-born pilot. He’s got a sense of flying, a feel for the airplane in the air that most of us work years to acquire. He’s the best student I ever instructed. I sent him up with another instructor the other day, and that guy agrees with me.”
Jack shook hands with Dugan. “I don’t know what to do about it,” he said quietly.
“He wants to fly a bigger plane so you can come along and see him fly. Don’t do it. We’ve been working on stalls. Mr. Lear, he stalls a plane and sends it over into a spinning dive that almost makes me upchuck—then recovers and comes out level like nothing had happened.”
Three
DURING THE SECOND WEEK IN JULY, JACK AND ANNE TRAVeled to Philadelphia to attend the Democratic National Convention. They were in the hall when Harry S. Truman was nominated and at 2:00 A.M. when he made his acceptance speech.
Jack’s new associates at Broadcasters Alliance were happy with Curt Frederick’s live coverage of the convention. Curt sat in a glassed-in booth overlooking the convention floor while three men with microphones wandered through the crowd interviewing delegates.
Curt himself went out on the floor occasionally. He scored a broadcasting coup when he thrust a microphone at a group of Dixiecrats angrily abandoning the convention and picked up the voice of a South Carolina delegate growling, “Truman! Truman! That nigga-lovin’ cocksuckah!” Since the feed was live, the words went out on sixteen Lear Network stations and seven of the nine Broadcasters Alliance stations and were heard by millions.
Shrieks of protest went up from the Dixiecrats, especially the South Carolinians. Some of them charged that a hidden microphone had been used to pick up private conversation. The South Carolinian whose voice was heard on the air charged that Curt Frederick had spoken the words himself in a fake southern accent.
Asked about the incident, President Truman laughed and said, “My! Such language!”
LNI received thousands of letters saying it should not have let the words go out on the air. Jack himself read a network editorial, which was broadcast three times on all the stations. He said LNI had no wish to air such words, but since the broadcast was live there had been no way to stop it. He apologized to those who were offended.
The incident was a hig
hlight of LNI’s exhaustive convention coverage, which was on the whole an acknowledged triumph of broadcast journalism.
Four
FRIDAY WAS PRISCILLA’S DAY OFF. SHE TOOK THE TRAIN INTO New York early in the morning and would not return to Greenwich before midmorning on Saturday. In the afternoon Mrs. Gimbel took Little Jack to the beach. Big Jack and Anne would not be home from Philadelphia until tomorrow. This left John and Joan alone in the house.
They swam in the pool, but the water was still a little cold, so they felt clammy when they came out. They decided to go upstairs and take a warm shower—together.
Both nude, they went in Joan’s room and stretched out on the bed. John began to fondle her.
“Hey, Joni,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s . . .”
She grunted. “Well . . . I’m still scared about that, John. If we ever got caught—”
“We aren’t gonna get caught. If Gimbel comes home, we’ll hear the crunch of the gravel in the driveway. If anybody comes, we’ll hear them, and we’ll have plenty of time to get dressed. Hey, you do like it, don’t you?”
“You know I do. I just figure we’re taking chances. The more times we do it, the more likely somebody will figure it out.”
“Not if we’re careful. And we’ve been very careful.”
“You’re sure I can’t get pregnant?”
“Right. You can’t. A guy can’t get his sister pregnant. I don’t know exactly why. It’s . . . something in the way it works. It’s something in the genes.”
“We’re not supposed to.”
“Yeah, but who could you trust more? Who could I trust more. C’mon, Joni. You like it as much as I do.”
“Yeah, I do.”
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