Tomorrow’s World

Chapter 5

The buzzer on his desk sounded and Brant clicked on, looking up from the morning’s mail.

“Yes?”

“A gentleman to see you, Van.”

“Name?”

“Don Keller.”

“I don’t know him,” Van said. “Vike or Ree?”

“Vike.”

“What does he want?”

“Says he had a script accepted by Colum, but they want revision. Doesn’t know where to cut, add, pad. Needs help.”

“Are you sure this thing was accepted? He’s not heaping snow, is he?”

“No, Van, it’s the goods; he showed me the letter of acceptance on Colum’s letterhead. A fourteen-clam advance.”

Van automatically calculated his ten-percent commission and then said, “All right, send him in.”

He cleared his desk and then waited for the inner door to slide open. When it did, it revealed a tall Vike in deep blue breeches and metallic boots. He stepped into the room, grinned broadly and then walked to Van’s desk, extending his hand. “Mr. Brant,” he said. “A pleasure.”

“Mine,” Van answered, smiling. “Have a seat, won’t you?”

The Vike took the offered chair, resting his briefcase on his knees. He seemed vastly amused about something.

“Your name is Don Keller, is that right?”

“Yes, Mr. Brant.”

“My sec tells me Colum has taken on one of your scripts.”

“Yes, yes, that’s right.”

“And you’re having trouble making the changes they want?”

“Yes. I figured an agent could tell me just how to go about it.” Keller smiled. “You see, I haven’t been scribbling very long.”

Van nodded solicitously. “I understand.” He paused. “Do you have the script with you?”

“Why, yes,” Keller said, seemingly surprised. “You... you wouldn’t look at it now, would you?”

Van smiled. “I’ve got a few moments,” he said. “I’ll go over it carefully later, but I thought we might...”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Keller said. “That’s really wonderful.” He was already unsnapping the clasp on his briefcase. He threw the fold back, reached into the case, and came out with a manuscript bound in light blue leathron. Smiling bashfully, he put it on Van’s desk.

Van looked at the title. “Naked Sunburst, is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” Keller said.

“Sounds good. What sort of revisions do they want? Extensive?”

“Well, not really. That is, not too extensive.” Keller seemed amused again. “It’s just that I can’t make heads or tails of their letter.”

“Randall Phipps?” Van asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is he the one who wrote you the letter? He’s top man at Colum.”

“Oh. Yes, yes, he wrote the letter. It’s right there, tucked into the manuscript, if you’d like to read it. Just forward of the dedication page.”

Van nodded and opened the leathron folder. He flipped two pages, and then spotted the envelope tucked between the title page and the dedication page. The envelope bore Keller’s name and address, and the flap had been tom open. “May I?” Van asked, reaching into the envelope. It seemed like a thick letter, and he wondered for a moment just how extensive the revisions would be.

“Please,” Keller said, smiling.

Van took the contents from the envelope and was unfolding the stiff paper when Keller suddenly rose.

“Well,” he said, “that’s that. Nice meeting you, Mr. Brant.”

“Huh?” Van asked, still not looking at the stiff paper.

“It’s just a job, Mr. Brant. No offense meant. I’ll see you in court.”

“What?” Van looked at the paper then, spotting it for a summons instantly. He slapped the summons against his open palm, shook his head, and then said, “You’re a clever illidge, aren’t you?”

“All part of the game.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, really.”

“Yeah. Who’s suing me?”

“Pelazi. Dino Pelazi. Know him?” Keller smiled again, and then headed for the door. “So long, Mr. Brant.”

The door slid open and Keller left. Van kept shaking his head, and then he smiled abruptly, admiring Keller’s careful subterfuge. He opened the summons and tried to decipher it, wondering just what the hell Pelazi had on his mind. He gave that up after a few moments and buzzed Lizbeth.

“Sir?”

“Get me Carson Fields, will you?” he said.

“Trouble, Van?”

“Just a Suzy Q, that’s all.”

“From whom?”

“Dino Pelazi.”

“What’s he suing about?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. Get Fields, will you?”

“Right away, Van.”

He clicked off and waited, looking at the ornate seal on the summons again. He tried to think of something he’d done to warrant a lawsuit. He could think of nothing, but if he knew the Rees, this would probably be some stupid thing that could be squashed in a minute. When Lizbeth connected him with Carson Fields, he was in fairly good spirits.

Fields was very fat. His face and body filled the screen, and he glared out from it like a constipated Buddha.

“Hello, Brant,” he said sourly.

“Carse,” Van said. “How goes it?”

“Stall the small, Van; I’m busy.”

“Right,” Van said, reflecting on the fact that Carson Fields was always busy, and never had time for small talk. Which was probably why he was one of the best lawyers in the country. “I’ve just had a Suzy Q dumped on me.”

“From whom?”

“Dino Pelazi.”

“Oh,” Fields said. “Another one.”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s he yapping about?”

“I thought you could help me there.” Van opened the summons. “Violation of Statute 431, Section 62-A.”

“Yeah, I figured. You’re the tenth who’s called.”

“What’s Statute...”

“Any date for the violation?” Fields asked.

“June thirty,” Van said.

“Ring a bell?” Fields asked.

“June thirty? Hell, I don’t know. June thirty, let me see.” He thought for a moment. “Could it...”

“Maybe I can refresh your...”

“Oh, the Benefit thing. Is that it?”

“You hit it, lad.”

“So? What the hell’s that got to do with Statute...” He consulted the summons again. “...431?”

“You have scribes working on that show?”

“Why, sure; every agent in town did. I still don’t get it.”

“Pelazi is on his horse, Van. He’s issuing summonses to every agent on the scene, literary, entertainment-even advertising — who were in any way connected with that benefit. He claims violation of Section 62-A of Statute 431.”

“I still don’t groove.”

“Don’t you know 431?”

“No, I don’t.”

“The Belly Statute. Hell, lad, you know that one.”

“Brief me.”

“The Rees rammed it through the minute they read the writing on the wall. They’d have got more in, but there wasn’t time. The Benefit was a live thing, wasn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“So, figure it for yourself. The only entertainment medium the Rees have sewed is the legit stage, and all because of the Belly Statute. It’s funny, too, because the legit stage was the only place you could get a few Vike kicks, back in the old days. Now all the kicks are canned, and you can’t get a live charge except...”

“Come on, dad, mainline it.”

“Okay,” Fields said. “Statute 431, Section 62-A, better known as the Belly Statute. Its roots: the Mayor La-Guardia regime in New York City. Mild legislation against grind joints, in the days when such ledge was needed. A damn good mayor, La Guardia.”

“I’m listening,” Van said.

“That was many moons ago, lad. The Rees seized on the old legislation when the power began to run out. They rammed through 431, tacked it up neatly with Section 62-A. The statute reads like a Puritan textbook. It makes the exposure of carefully defined parts of the human anatomy on any commercial stage in any public gathering place a crime against the citizenry.”

“Not against the government?”

“No, sir; not municipal, state or federal. It’s a crime against any private citizen who cares to press charges.”

“On what grounds?”

“Infringement on civil liberties.”

“Oh, horse man...”

“I didn’t write the law, Van; I only interpret it.”

“But civil liberties! That’s contradictory as hell.”

“Not when someone determined is using the statute.”

“What civil liberties? How the hell does a strip...”

“The Dignity of Man, Van.”

“What?”

“The Dignity of Man. The statute holds that an exposure of anatomy on any commercial stage is affronting the dignity of the audience. The parts of the anatomy are defined in detail, and they...”

“Which parts?” Van asked.

“On a female, the breasts, the navel, the rib cage, the crotch, the thigh and any portion of the leg above the knee, front view. Back view, the buttocks, the spine above the...”

“Oh, the hell with it. Has Pelazi got a case?”

“He has; if he can prove he was in the audience that night.”

“He had to be there, huh?”

“That’s right. And chances are he wasn’t.”

“Then why all the stink? Doesn’t he know we can prove he didn’t attend?”

“If he didn’t attend,” Fields said, “it might be tough proving it. If he was there, you’d better get ready to pay him whatever he wants.”

“But why me? I didn’t expose my leg above the knee.”

“That’s where 62-A comes in. It holds anyone in any way connected with the exposure as liable as the actual exposee.”

“Rocks,” Van said.

“That’s covered in the male definition of parts,” Fields said, unsmiling.

Van didn’t smile either. “So what do we do?”

“Give it a little time; let me gather my fold around me. I told you, you’re the tenth one I know who’s received the Suzy Q. Maybe we can bunch everybody together and try the case that way. A sort of group effort versus Dino Pelazi, the outraged citizen.”

“Do we have a chance?”

“Sure,” Fields said.

“And if we lose?”

“You pay the man.”

“This annoys me,” Van said. “It’s a goddamned nuisance.”

“Maybe that’s all Pelazi wants; the nuisance value.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’ll be tying up just about every agent in town. By the time this gets to court, by the time we get a case set... well, it’s going to cut into your time a little, lad. Same as everyone else’s.”

“Yeah,” Van said. “You’ll take care of it, Carse?”

“Why, sure. Have no fear, Fields is here.”

“Grooved,” Van said. “Keep me in touch, yes?”

“Will do.”

“So long.”

Van clicked off, looked at the summons again, thought of Pelazi, and murmured, “I’ll bet this is all he has to do with his time.”