The Raiders

1

TONI SOMETIMES FORGOT ABOUT THE TIME ZONES AND phoned Bat as soon as she arrived at her office. Her calls woke him.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked at six-fifteen in the morning.

"Yeah ... Yeah, sure. What you got in mind, honey?"

"Is this phone line clear?"

"Clear. Clear. What you got in mind?"

"A federal grand jury has returned a secret indictment. It will be announced this afternoon. They've charged Dave Beck under enough specifications to keep him behind bars for the rest of his life!"

"What about Hoffa?"

"Not Hoffa. But the whole damned gang will be tied up in knots, trying to keep their boss out of the slammer. I don't think you have to worry about them for a while, Bat. That is ... until Beck is gone and Hoffa takes over."

"Well, thanks. I guess there's nothing like having a girlfriend in the Senate."

"That's something else, Bat. In the spring I'll have been a Senate aide four years. I'm leaving. I've given the senator my resignation."

"And ... ?"

"I'm going to work for The Washington Post. As a political reporter."

"I see."

"For a while, Bat. For a while."

"Okay."

"Bat, I —"

"I couldn't ask you to come and live in Vegas," he interrupted. "You hate it more than I do."

"Bat ... We're not yet thirty years old! There's time!"

"Sure, babe. When will I see you?"

"If you don't come East in the next month, I'll come out there. Deal?"

"Deal," he grunted. He turned over and went back to sleep.

2

During her spring break in 1954, Jo-Ann flew to Las Vegas. She said she would like to drive her Porsche, and she didn't care if she ever went back to Smith College, but Jonas, Monica, and Bat all discouraged her from that plan and insisted she fly.

"You bastard," she said. "Oops! Sorry, Bat. I mean, you son of a — Well, that's not so good either. Why in hell did you have me put in a suite on the second floor, when ..."

They were standing in the living room of the suite he used as an office, embracing, kissing. "Little sister," he said. "Get this straight. We are not going to sleep together." He ran a hand through her silky dark hair and down her cheek. "I'm not saying I wouldn't like to. But I told you the one time was all the times, and that's the way it's got to be. You're my sister, goddammit!"

"Pretty good piece of pussy, too, aren't I?"

Her warm young body, bound up in nylon and rubber bra and panty girdle, was firm and pointy and all but irresistible. But he resisted it. "Ruin your life, ruin mine," he said. "I'm glad we were together once, but we can't do it anymore."

"Coward."

"Jo-Ann ... You drink too much."

"I'm the daughter of Jonas and Monica. If that didn't make a girl drink, what would?"

He sighed. "We'll talk about that later. I've got an agent and his girl dancer coming in for an audition. Why don't you sit down and watch?"

"Audition?"

"For the show. In the show room downstairs. I've started booking the shows myself. You know how it is. I was supposed to be a company lawyer. Instead I find myself managing a hotel."

"What about Chandler?"

"Chandler does his job. Booking talent isn't part of it. I took that away from him. Relax. Sit down and have a light Scotch. An agent named Sam Stein is bringing up a dancer named Margit Little. The girl is going to show us what she can do."

Sam Stein was a small man, wearing a faultlessly tailored gray double-breasted suit. He was bald, and his face was cherubic and looked as if it had been drawn in sharp, unshaded lines by a skillful cartoonist.

As he had promised, Margit Little was cute. Her big round blue eyes spoke wondering innocence. Her light-brown hair was tied down tight. She was probably nineteen years old, maybe only eighteen.

"Margit has real talent," said Stein. "I don't want for her just a place in the chorus. She should be a featured dancer. She can sing a little also, nothing too challenging. She has brought a record. You have a player?"

Bat had a high-fidelity record player in the suite. He put the seven-inch record the girl offered on the turntable. She removed her skirt and shoes to dance, and danced barefoot in black leotards cut high on her hips. Her first number was classical, akin to ballet. When she was finished she asked Bat to turn the record over, and she danced then to a fast, rhythmic jazz number.

When she finished and bent over to retrieve her skirt and shoes, Stein rubbed his hands together. "She has talent, yes?"

"She has talent, yes," Bat agreed.

"When did you become a judge of talent, big brother?" asked Jo-Ann.

Bat smiled at the little girl and said, "You don't have to be a judge to know talent when you see it." He turned and spoke to Stein. "I'd like to have her in a show, Mr. Stein. My only problem is, I'm not sure where I put her. She can't dance in the bar. I can only use singers there. In the show room I've got a revue. I can't slot her into it, I don't think."

"I have a bigger proposition for you, Mr. Cord," said Stein. "Your revue has been running a long time. Have you thought about a new production?"

"Proposition," said Bat.

"Glenda Grayson," said Stein. "And Margit. An unforgettable show."

3

Brother, sister, and Sam Stein sat at a table in The Roman Circus in Los Angeles watching a loud and colorful production number on the big stage. A brash blonde wearing a rhinestone-studded pink dress was energetically belting out a song, dancing at the same time. She was Glenda Grayson.

"Jonas won't like her," said Jo-Ann flatly. "She's too frenetic. She bounces around too much."

"He's given me authority — "

"Which he'll withdraw in a moment, if he wants to," she said. "Don't count on him to give you a free hand. There are guys lying bleeding on the floor who thought they had a free hand from our father."

Bat did not respond. He turned his attention to Glenda Grayson.

The show ended. The lights came up. Bat reached for the bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and poured for himself and Jo-Ann. He and his father shared a habit: They poured for others without asking if they wanted any more.

Sam Stein had overheard the exchange between brother and sister. "I also represent Doug Howell," he said. "He's looking for somebody to produce a series of Westerns, hour-long shows probably. He wants to do realistic Westerns — no singing, no guitars, no comic sidekick, no embroidered shirts. Actually, he's thinking of shows along the lines of the old Nevada Smith films."

"There are a lot of Westerns on television already," said Bat.

"The American public never tires of them," said Stein. "The archetypal American morality play."

Bat frowned and shook his head. "What you say may well be right — I mean, that there may be room for another Western. But I don't think I'll want to produce it."

"Oh?"

"My chief interest in getting back into film production — that is, videotape production — is to utilize the facility we already own. Cord Studios. We've got soundstages there that we've been renting to other people. I want to use them myself."

Jo-Ann listened to her brother and was surprised. He didn't talk about what his father might want, or even what "we" might want, but about what "I" want. She wondered if his father knew that was how he expressed himself. Big brother was taking a big risk. God knew how his father would react if word got to him that his son talked this way.

"I can understand that, Mr. Cord," said Stein. "But — "

Bat interrupted. "If I make Westerns, a lot of the shooting will have to be on outdoor locations, which means I'll be losing the economy of using an asset we already own. No, Mr. Stein, I think our first ventures into television production will be sitcoms or variety shows, where we can shoot on our soundstages and not have to go out. That's why I came here to see Glenda Grayson."

Stein drew a deep breath. "Well, how did you like Glenda? I'm sorry you don't like her, Miss Cord."

"I'd like to meet her," said Bat.

"She has to do another show," said Stein. "After that she'll be totally exhausted. I'll go back and speak to her. She might meet with you for five minutes tonight. Tomorrow ... maybe for lunch."

4

Sam was wrong. Glenda Grayson came to their table after her second show, sat down, and accepted a Scotch from Bat. They could not talk, though. People in the nightclub came to their table to say they had enjoyed her performance or to ask for her autograph.

"Let's go up to my suite," she said. "We can have a drink there without all this."

"Aren't you tired?" asked Sam.

"I want to talk to this man," said Glenda. "After all, he came all the way to Los Angeles to see me. I'll see you at lunch, Sam."

Jo-Ann was insightful enough to understand that she was being dismissed, too.

In her suite, Glenda poured Scotch for Bat and poured a shot of vodka into a large glass of orange juice. She was not wearing a costume from her act, just a rather ordinary white blouse and a black skirt.

"You are supposed to be totally exhausted," said Bat.

"I am," she said. "You might not believe this, Bat, but I lose two or three pounds during an evening. Then I gain it back the next day. It's loss of fluid, mostly. I sweat. Then I drink a quart of orange juice and — "

Glenda Grayson was a slender blonde with a good figure and an extraordinarily expressive face. Jo-Ann had called her performance on the stage frenetic, which it had been, and now, being alone with her, Bat saw that the woman was incapable of relaxation. She was possessed by a sort of irrepressible tension that perhaps released her only when she was asleep. It was difficult to think she was comfortable, or ever could be.

Her performance on the nightclub stage had been dynamic, as she danced, sang, and delivered comic one-liners in rapid-fire succession. When she began a line with her catch phrase "V wouldn' b'lieve it," her audiences began to laugh before she told them what it was they wouldn't believe.

She used no coarse language in her act. Her comedy did not rely on titillating or scatological references, but a heady eroticism was never far beneath the surface, meticulously contrived to achieve the maximum effect from subtlety. She was good at that. She changed costumes twice during each performance. The final costume was a form-fitting red dress that was fastened up the back with Velcro and could be torn off in one movement. At the end she tore it off and sang and danced in a red corselette with garters holding up dark stockings. People seeing her act for the first time felt sure she would tear off the corselette, too, and stand revealed at the end either naked or in something sensationally brief. But she didn't.

She was thirty-two years old and had been a star nightclub performer for thirteen years. She had appeared on network television a score of times, always as a guest on someone else's variety hour or talk show. She'd wanted a special of her own but had never had one. She had wanted a movie of her own but had never had one. Her name was known to nearly everyone — but at a level well below that of superstar. She was one of the top fifty performers in the United States, maybe, but certainly not one of the top ten.

"You like the act?" she asked Bat. She was not accustomed to having to ask the question, but he had not said anything.

"Oh, sure. You've got a lot of talent. I've just been wondering how it can be packaged for a television series — assuming it can be packaged."

"Cord Television?"

"No. Cord Productions."

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about a weekly show. The Glenda Grayson Show. But I'm thinking about how to do it. You can't repeat the act once a week. Even if you could stand the strain, we couldn't come up with enough material to let you do a forty-minute performance once a week. You've got a great act. But you can't do it time and again, time and again, week after week."

She nodded. "I don't repackage at intervals," she said. "If you see my shtick a month from now, you'll see it's different. Next month, more different. By the time I get back to The Roman Circus for next year's show, it will be all different. Different songs, different dancing, new costumes — but all worked in gradually over the course of the year. That's how I work. I may try something different tomorrow night, just to see how it works. If it bombs, I fix it or drop it. That's the great thing about club acts. You can tinker with them. TV — " She shrugged. "You go on the air with a bit and it falls flat, you've fallen flat. You don't have a chance to fix it. Tough damned medium, TV."

She poured more orange juice into her glass, without adding vodka.

"Does Sam make your decisions?" he asked.

"Sam finds opportunities," she said. "I choose. I make my own career decisions."

"Would you be interested in trying to work something out?" he asked. "A weekly show. The Glenda Grayson Show."

"Sure."

"Then I work with you. Or Sam?"

"With me. And Sam. He's a great guy. I'm not gonna shut him out. But he's the business side of things. We make a deal, he'll negotiate the contract."

Bat reached across the table and took her hand in his. "We could come up with something real great, you and I," he said quietly.

Glenda put her other hand to her face and used a finger to wipe the corners of her eyes. "Hey," she whispered. "Careful. I'm a sucker for handsome shkotzim. I've made a fool of myself more than once."

"Shkotzim?"

She grinned and closed her hand around his. "Guys that're not Jewish," she said.

"Glenda ..."

He rose and walked around the little table to stand behind her. He put a hand on her curly blond hair and found it stiff. He realized he was touching hairspray. Throughout her energetic performance her hair remained in place because of spray lacquer.

"Another word," she said. "Shiksa. It doesn't just mean non-Jewish girl, like you may think. My family calls me shiksa. It means a Jewish girl who tries to act like a gentile. They spit the word."

"Glenda ..." He ran his hand along her cheek.

She turned and looked up at him, smiling tearfully. "My real name is Golda Graustein. But why do I tell you this? You didn't ask for an education in the peculiarities of my background and family. I'm sorry, Bat."

He bent down and kissed her forehead. "If it helps you at all, any way at all, then tell me," he said.

"Are you going to stay with me tonight?" she asked abruptly.

Bat nodded. He was surprised but was not going to pass up the opportunity.

"You don't know what you're getting into," she said. "Glenda falls in love. Glenda makes a fool of herself."

"So do I," he said.

She stood and began taking off her clothes. Besides the blouse and skirt she was wearing a bra and panties, garter belt and stockings. In a minute she was naked. She had a beautiful body, oddly white as if she never exposed it to the sun. She had no swimsuit marks. The contrast between her bright pink nipples and the white skin of her breasts was fascinating.

"C'mon, baby," she said. "I wanta see you, too."

Glenda grew visibly excited as Bat stripped. She winced when she saw the bullet-wound scar on his chest, but her eyes stayed on it only an instant before they dropped to his loins as he pulled down his shorts.

"Oh, marvelous!" she whispered. "Not mutilated. Not circumcised. My uncle is a mohel. He cuts little boys. I hate it. Bring it to me, Bat! Oh, God, I want it!"

She dropped to the floor, rolled on her back, and spread her legs for him. She brought to lovemaking the same energy and frenzy she brought to performing on stage, and she ascended to levels of rapture he had never seen a woman attain before. They coupled twice on the floor before she would consent to interrupt long enough for him to carry her to the bedroom and put her down on the bed. No other woman had ever exhausted him, but when finally Glenda Grayson grew heavy-lidded and soft of voice he was glad.

"C'n we put it in the contract that you'll give me nights like this at least three times a week?" she asked.

"I'm not sure I could handle it," said Bat.

"What an admission!" She laughed. They were her last words before she fell asleep.

5

A week later Jonas arrived in Las Vegas, flown in from the airstrip at Cord Explosives. Bat met him at the airport.

"What's this crap about making a television show?" Jonas asked as soon as they were on the road.

"I've got a good idea," said Bat.

"Yeah? Well, when did I say I want to make a television show? I suppose you mean to use my money?"

"It's a business proposition," said Bat. "A good business proposition. One we're going to need."

"Need?"

"We're beginning to lose money on the manufacture of television sets," said Bat. "The little makers are going to be squeezed out. That's why I think we should go into producing."

"Why should we be squeezed out?" Jonas asked. "The Cord sets are quality."

"Research and development costs are going to go out of sight," said Bat. "Are you aware of this thing called the transistor that they developed at Bell Labs? In a few years, the only tube in a television set will be the picture tube."

"What good will that do?" asked Jonas. "Sure, they've got pocket radios, which is all very well and good, but a TV set has to be big enough for its picture tube."

"How often does a Cord set have to be serviced?" Bat asked. "Servicing television sets is a minor industry. Day or night, somebody will come in a little truck and fix your TV. And what are they fixing? Tubes. Ninety-nine percent of all service calls are tube-replacement calls. Tubes fail."

"Transistors don't?"

"Occasionally. But not regularly, like tubes. And they're cheaper, too. I've read some technical papers on this. In a few years tube sets will not be competitive. Not only that, the sets of the future will receive color broadcasts. Aside from that, the Japanese are coming in. Ever hear of a company called Sony?"

"I've heard of Sony. You paint a goddamned gloomy picture, for a guy just now sticking his toes in the water."

"Not gloomy. Television will be bigger than ever. That's why I recommend we go into the production of shows — and maybe get out of the production of sets."

"So you got this broad you want to use as a star. What you think she can do?"

"A combination situation comedy and variety show," said Bat. "She's a performer more than an actress: a singer, dancer, and comedienne. But she can act, particularly comic acting. The situation comedy would be based on the idea that Glenda has a weekly television variety hour, featuring herself as principal performer. But we show her at home, too, with a husband and children; and we show in a comic way the difficulties she has combining the roles of wife and mother and performer."

"That's a cliché," Jonas observed.

"Name a successful television show that isn't. They're all cliché-ridden, and they're all predictable. Originality is poison on TV. Let's say we open each show with Glenda singing a song, then do the situation comedy, and close with a production number. I think it'll work."

"It'll work if somebody, namely me, puts in a pisspot full of money."

"Not all that much. We can build the New York apartment into one soundstage, the theater where she does the variety show into another. We don't have to do any location shooting. Talent costs will be reasonably high. We've got one young little dancer I want to use on the show. She's a newcomer, so she'll be cheap. Her name is Margit Little. She's going to be a star one day, and we'll have her under contract."

Jonas sighed heavily. "You're way outa line. When did I tell you to get me into a new business?" Jonas asked.

"If all you want me for is to run errands for businesses you've already got going, then take my resignation," said Bat. "Your father checked out and left you to run things your way. You put Cord Explosives into businesses he would never have approved of: airplanes, movies. Or maybe he would have approved, when he saw the money they could make. I don't think you'd have stayed with him if all he'd let you do is make dynamite. You — "

"You assume a lot," Jonas snapped.

"All right, forget what I assume about you and my grandfather. I'm telling you I won't stick if I'm shot down every time I come up with an idea. Even you can't turn me into an errand boy. Capisce?"

Jonas raised his chin high. "I'd have more confidence in your judgment if you weren't screwin' this woman you want to make your star."

"What do you want, a virgin?"

"Uhmmm," muttered Jonas nodding. "She a good piece?"

"Fantastic."

"Maybe I should give her a try."

Bat shook his head. "She isn't a whore we can pass back and forth."

"Will she do a nude audition?"

"She's a star," said Bat. "Already. Without us."

"Shit."

6

Glenda squeezed Bat's hand when he opened the door and admitted her to the suite. She let his father see no other sign of her affection.

She had dressed for this meeting with the redoubtable Jonas Cord: in a tight black knit dress that looked modest enough but strikingly displayed her figure.

"Bat has told me what kind of show he proposes you do," said Jonas. "I assume you know what you're doing. Miss Grayson. I assume Bat will hire people who know what they're doing. It seems to me, though, that you're taking on a damned heavy burden by trying to do this show every week — or by trying to do thirty-nine of them a season. Bat hasn't had any experience in show business, but I have, and I think it's too much. If I'm funding this deal, I want to do it every other week — twenty shows a season, not thirty-nine. Apart from saving you from burning yourself out, that'll make it possible to build a little more quality into each show."

"I think that's a good suggestion, Mr. Cord," said Glenda.

"I haven't accepted the idea, you understand," said Jonas. "Bat's still working at selling me."

"Yes, I understand," she said.

"Then I have a question," said Jonas. "Is this show something you really want to do? Do you feel a real commitment to it?"

"Mr. Cord," she said, "I've been a hoofer and singer more than half my life. It's all I've ever wanted to do. My family still doesn't like it, but it's all I ever wanted to do. To have my own television show, with my name on it — Well, that's the top. That's everything I ever dreamed of. Of course ... it has to be a success. I'll work my ass off for it, Mr. Cord."

"Well ... let's see how much you're committed. What I'd like to see is an audition. A nude audition, like a dance number in the altogether. Okay?"

Glenda turned to Bat, stricken, her eyes wide.

"No way," said Bat coldly. "No ... fuckin' ... way. Cut the crap, Jonas."

Jonas flushed deep red, and the veins in his neck stood out. But he said nothing. He dismissed Bat and Glenda with a toss of his hand.

7

"Well ... I suppose that's that," said Glenda as they waited for the elevator. "Maybe I should have done it."

"No. We'll produce the show."

"What makes you think he'll go along?" she asked.

"He knows what's gonna happen if he doesn't — which is that he's gonna lose a vice president."

"And a son?" she asked. "I still say, maybe I should have done it. Maybe I should go back in there and do it now."

"No," said Bat firmly.

"You trying to save my feelings or my dignity?" Glenda asked. "You should know my dignity doesn't amount to much. Golda Graustein did some undignified things scrambling to become Glenda Grayson."