The Twelve

by William Gladstone

  Undeterred, Louis followed Herbert and continued his rant as to why he should be paid for his “legal services.” When his father made it quite clear that he was not going to pay any of Louis’s bills—or his taxes—and that he expected his son to get a real job now that he had passed the bar, Louis started yelling, calling his father a crook and a cheat.

  Finally Herbert rose and made as if to strike Louis—something he had not done since his son was twelve.

  This was all the provocation Louis had been waiting for. He seized Herbert by the neck, thrust him to the hard marble floor, and started beating his head against the marble.

  He yelled more obscenities at his father, releasing resentment that had built up over his entire life.

  “You son of a bitch, you never wanted me! You never loved me!”

  The commotion brought Jane racing to the garden room, and she tried to separate them, but she simply wasn’t strong enough to pull Louis away.

  She ran to the phone and called the police, who arrived within minutes.

  They found Herbert, semi-conscious on the marble floor and covered with blood, a distraught Jane holding a towel to his head.

  The two officers pulled their guns and carefully searched the house. It didn’t take long, and they cornered Louis in the garage, where he was hacking away at Herbert’s Rolls-Royce with an axe.

  Subduing him, they marched him off to jail as the ambulance arrived to take Herbert to the hospital.

  ***

  Herbert had suffered a concussion, and it was several days before he could leave the hospital, but there seemed to be no permanent damage.

  For the first time he had experienced directly the rage that had repeatedly been directed at Max, and he now realized that Louis wasn’t just lazy and mean, but that he was dangerous.

  Nonetheless when it came time for Louis’s trial, Herbert couldn’t bring himself to testify against his own son. A deal was worked out with the prosecutor, requiring Louis to spend thirty days in a mental treatment facility rather than go to jail. If after that time the doctors at the mental institution felt that he was competent to take care of himself, he would be released.

  There was an added provision that, if released, Louis would be subject to a restraining order that covered the entire town of Greenwich, Connecticut, where Herbert and Jane were living. Since prior to this, Louis had never committed violence against anyone other than Max, they had no reason to think that he would cause any harm to others.

  As long as there was no contact with them, Jane and Herbert hoped that perhaps Louis would find his way in life.

  ***

  To everyone’s surprise, Louis was a model patient while incarcerated in the mental institution, and at the end of the thirty days he was released.

  It was clear to Jane that he was never going to find traditional work, let alone take advantage of his law degree. She felt tremendous guilt over his mental condition, and despite her son’s brutal behavior, she insisted that Herbert set up a small trust fund for him so that he would be able to sustain himself. Jane hoped this would take some financial pressure off her son and perhaps allow him to find a modest career, which might keep him away from the family and out of trouble.

  ***

  When Max returned from his travels and learned of the events, he was openly relieved. Finally his father and mother understood Louis’s violent nature and had taken some action to protect the family.

  He felt sorry for Louis and actually loved him and wanted to help him, but at the same time he did not want to have any contact with him.

  Max was still frightened that Louis might continue to erupt violently against him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Disillusionment

  1978

  IT WAS WITH A SENSE OF RELIEF THAT MAX RETURNED TO HARVARD AND what he thought would be praise from his professors and colleagues for his use of anthropology in his involvement in the creation of documentary films.

  However, he was greatly disappointed to learn that his side-career did not sit well with his colleagues at the university. This popularization of science wasn’t, in their eyes, serious scholarship. They felt that the recognition that Max was receiving was almost unseemly and not appropriate for a graduate student.

  But just as Max’s professors were becoming disenchanted with Max, he was becoming disenchanted with Harvard.

  He was bored and in search of greater challenges.

  ***

  It didn’t take long for the challenges to find Max. His father called and confided to him that the publishing company needed him. Herbert had backed out of the deal to sell to Perfect Films and had spurned all offers since. Herbert promised that if Max would agree to move to New York and run the editorial department, Herbert would attempt to buy his partner out and turn the company over to Max.

  However, Herbert was adamant that Max gain more experience in the New York office before he made his move.

  Max accepted and moved to New York City, but he quickly became disenchanted. Despite a new romantic entanglement that quickly became serious, he did not enjoy living in the city and didn’t find the position particularly challenging.

  Less than a year into his work with the editorial department, Max received a phone call inviting him to go around the world on behalf of yet another documentary feature. It was to be a twelve-week shoot, and he could write his own terms.

  Based on the length of the gig, Max arranged to take a leave of absence.

  No big deal, he thought. It will all be here when I get back.

  ***

  Unknown to Max, Herbert Doff suffered his third heart attack the day Max left for India and points unknown. This was a more serious heart attack than the previous two, and Herbert felt compelled to protect his family and sell the company to the highest bidder. By the time Max returned, the sale was complete.

  For the first time in his life Max could choose his own destiny. It was liberating.

  He tore up the three-year contract his father had negotiated for Max and moved to Hollywood to act as the associate producer on a major documentary film. After two weeks, he realized that he had made yet another mistake.

  He hated his job.

  As an associate producer, he was expected to ensure that the creative team remained productive and happy. That meant that if they wanted cocaine, Max was supposed to arrange to acquire the drug for them.

  Max resigned on the spot.

  He moved back to New York, but far from being liberated, he had no job and no direction.

  He considered his options and decided that his best immediate alternative was to play poker in a dive bar in Soho on Saturday nights. Louis had taught Max how to play poker when they were quite young, and Max had gained additional poker experience in his travels with the various film crews. Max also had the gift of being able to visualize any card he needed. Somehow he simply willed a card to be the one he needed, and it seemed to appear.

  Whether this was luck or something more, Max had always had an affinity for numbers. They’d been alive within him when he was a child and unable to speak. They were his playmates . . . his friends.

  So poker was a natural for him.

  ***

  He would show up on Saturday around midnight for the weekend game. The stakes weren’t particularly high, but there were always suburbanites out for the night who proved to be easy marks. They would drink too much and play loose hands.

  They were there to have fun.

  Max was there to make money.

  Very few of the regulars were what could be called legitimate players. Frequently they found ways to team up or cheat in ways that wouldn’t cause them to get caught. Thus, Max didn’t get involved in hands with the regulars.

  And there were enough tourists for Max to make his $200 or $300 every Saturday night, and that was all he needed each week to pay his rent, his gym fees, and food bills.

  But none of this was satisfying—nor was it much of a career choice.

  Max
was at a crossroads.

  He had bailed on Harvard, bailed on his father’s publishing company, and even bailed on Hollywood. And another romantic relationship had ended badly.

  ***

  He had been engaged to Tina just before heading off for his twelve-week film project. While away, he had bought her a beautiful engagement ring in Damascus and exotic silks so that she could create a custom wedding dress.

  There had been no date set nor a formal announcement, but Tina and Max were agreed that upon his return they would let the families know.

  Unfortunately for Max, by the time he returned from the project, Tina had changed her mind about marriage altogether. She had started seeing a therapist to explore issues concerning past traumas that related to early childhood sexual molestation.

  This, of course, came as a complete surprise to Max.

  In the process of the therapy, the therapist had suggested that Tina abstain from sex until she could sort out her deeper feelings. She thought this was a good idea and announced to Max that she also felt that getting engaged—or even continuing the relationship—made no sense.

  Max couldn’t understand what had happened. They had seemed so happy together. Suddenly his fiancée was distant, and he hardly recognized the person she had become.

  The magic in his life was gone, and Max was not certain how to get it back.

  Once again he fell into a deep state of depression. He stopped eating, shaving, or even bathing. He slept for days. He was worn out and had lost perspective on who he was and what he wanted to do with his life.

  In his eyes, there was little likelihood that he would ever reach the expectations to which he had aspired as a child. He was a disappointment to his father . . . to himself.

  In the midst of this funk, he decided to write a novel that would reflect his present state, and he called it Suicide Plus. He crafted the opening line:

  Sir Winston awoke to the sound of muffled screams . . . his own.

  The novel documented the daily struggle Max encountered with his own thoughts of suicide. He began to write his feelings in erratic bursts on an old typewriter his father had given him.

  I have reached the black edge of despair . . . I don’t know who I am or what I want or what I can do or where I am going . . . I’m sick of self . . . no hope . . . must cash in this life . . . I want to abdicate.

  He knew that death itself wasn’t something to fear and longed to return to the white light and bliss he had experienced in Dr. Gray’s office, back in 1965.

  At the same time Max still believed that he had some kind of destiny that required him to remain alive. He decided to turn his fate over to a higher power and wrote: THY WILL BE DONE.

  He carried on writing and fighting against his suicidal tendencies.

  The day Max finished his novel, a neighbor two floors above his apartment leaped to his death. It was an act Max had contemplated many times and had visualized for weeks. The reality of it stunned him, and he wondered if his novel had been capturing his own destiny or someone else’s.

  ***

  Louis reappeared in Max’s life.

  When he appeared at the front door, Max barely recognized him. He was smelly, dirty, unshaven, and overweight with a potbelly.

  He was grotesque.

  Louis babbled incoherently about how everyone was break-

  ing the law—especially his father and the lawyers at Gottlieb

  Harris.

  “You have no idea how rotten they are . . . and it’s not just them. Everyone’s breaking the law . . . all the laws. They’re even starting to break the laws of gravity, and when that happens, you know we’re all going to go to hell,” Louis proclaimed, expecting Max to support his concerns.

  But Max could only smile at the combination of intelligence and madness his brother exhibited. And it caused him to shudder, realizing that what his own existence had become wasn’t much better.

  So Max bought Louis a nice meal—perhaps the first he had had in a very long time. The entire time he hoped that Louis’s insanity wouldn’t erupt into violence and was very relieved when it did not.

  Then he gave his brother a hug and suggested that he find a quiet place outside of New York City, where fewer people would be breaking the laws of gravity, and he would be safe.

  Louis left, and Max wondered what would come next.

  Chapter Fifteen

  California

  1979–1982

  MAX’S POKER PLAYING DAYS ABRUPTLY CAME TO AN END. IT STARTED with the worst toothache he had ever experienced.

  The pain was excruciating, and try as he might, he couldn’t avoid the fact that he was going to have to do something about

  it. As he was going into the dentist’s office, he bumped into a former high-school classmate Peter Bohr, who was just leaving the office.

  “Great to see you Max! How’s tricks?” Peter asked as he grabbed Max’s hand. “Still working for your old man?”

  “Just hanging,” Max replied through the pain. “My dad sold his company a few months back. Not sure what I’m going to do next, but I always looked up to you at Hackley. Give me your card, and let’s catch up soon.” Max grimaced as he spoke.

  Indeed, Peter had gone to Hackley with Max but had graduated a year ahead of him. He’d been in charge of Max’s first-semester study hall, was president of his class, and valedictorian. He had also been one of the school’s top athletes.

  “Absolutely—here’s my card,” Peter said enthusiastically. “I recently took over the business division for CRM Films. Give me a call—we should have lunch and continue to catch up.”

  ***

  Max called, and before two weeks had passed, they met at a posh restaurant in Tribeca. Max told Peter about the films with which he had been involved, and before the meal was done, Peter had offered him the position of associate producer in charge of the West Coast offices of CRM Films.

  “My father is the CEO, and we’ve been looking for someone with entrepreneurial instincts who knows the ins and outs of documentary films,” he explained. “As improbable as it was, our meeting may turn out to be a break for both of us.”

  “Well, I do know documentary films,” Max admitted, “and this is right up my alley.

  “I accept,” he said.

  ***

  With few loose ends to tie up, Max was soon living in Del Mar, California, enjoying the almost perfect weather and the complete autonomy he was given to run his division of CRM. Del Mar was a small community north of San Diego that was home to a racetrack made famous by such celebrities as Bing Crosby. Each year during racing season the town more than doubled in size.

  Homes there were expensive, but Max’s position paid well.

  More important was the fact that his new position was enjoyable, and he felt productive for the first time in a long while. His office was manned by a sales manager with whom he shared an executive secretary. Each morning, twenty or thirty fresh film treatments were waiting for him, and it would only take him an hour to go through them, then select the ten or twelve that he thought had creative or commercial potential.

  Max would take the treatments he had selected and walk across the hall to the sales manager’s office. The atmosphere at CRM was very relaxed—every meeting was unscheduled and started the same.

  “Frank, got a minute?”

  Max would start describing each treatment that he had selected and ask key questions.

  “If this is the best possible film on this topic, how many units would you be able to lay down in the initial distribution?” Though they were involved in a creative field, the sales were still the primary consideration.

  In most cases, the answer was “not enough” or “not many,” or sometimes “none,” and those treatments were never looked at again.

  Occasionally—once or twice a week—the answer would be different.

  “We could lay down ten thousand or more units if the talent credentials check out.”

  So in those instances, i
f the right cast and crew were, indeed, attached to the project, and the concept was the best it could be—or at least within the realm of being made decent through good editing—Max would acquire the rights.

  Often the process lasted through midafternoon at most, leaving Max most of the day to explore the beaches and hot tubs and other attractions of Southern California.

  He did so, and before long he had met someone who had him utterly entranced. Weeks turned to months, and he pursued her with relish until she agreed to marry him. With that, Max’s life was everything he could have envisioned.

  He was efficient and successful. He started getting attention from the press, until he was written up in the San Diego Tribune and in San Diego Magazine, where his photo was spread over two pages.

  “Brilliant young producer comes to San Diego,” proclaimed the headline. San Diego was considered a sleepy town with military bases and some agriculture, leading many residents to resent its larger neighbor to the north, so they leaped at any opportunity to stand out. However, Max’s fame came with a cost.

  It didn’t take long for his peers to become jealous of the attention he was receiving.

  ***

  CRM maintained several divisions, and the head of the general interest section, Bill Battely, was a competitive man. Max inadvertently poached one of his top experts to create a film on OPEC and the oil crisis, and Battely took particular offense.

  Battely was hoping to move up to CEO when old man Bohr—Peter’s father—finally retired. This Max kid was getting too much press and having private dinners with “the chairman,” as Bohr senior was known.

  A story appeared in the press in which Max was incorrectly given credit for CRM’s top-grossing film, Free to Choose, by famed economist Milton Friedman. The reporter had been hoping to gain favor with Max, yet the only reason the film had been produced by CRM was the personal relationship between old man Bohr and Dr. Friedman.