The Moneychangers

The bank president hesitated only briefly, then announced, "Alex, on this one I'll go with Roscoe."

"Sitting around here feeling sorry won't do one damn bit of good," Margot declared. "What we need is to rise off our collective asses and initiate some action." "Like dynamiting the goddam bank?" someone asked.

"Nix on that! Ike friends in there. Besides, blowing up banks isn't legal." "Who says we have to stay legal?"

"I do," Margot snapped. "And if any smart cats think otherwise, you can find yourselves some other mouthpiece and another pad." Margot Bracken's law office, on a Thursday evening, was the scene of an executive committee meeting of the Forum East Tenants Association. The association was one of many groups in the inner city for which Margot was legal counsel and which utilized her office for meetings, a convenience for which she was occasionally paid, but mostly wasn't.

Fortunately her office was a modest affair two rooms in what had once been a neighborhood grocery store and some of the ancient merchandise shelves now housed her law books. The remainder of the furniture mostly ill-assorted, comprised bits and pieces she had acquired cheaply.

Typical of the general location, two other former stores, on either side, were abandoned and boarded up. Someday, with luck and enterprise, the rehabilitating tide of Forum East might lap this particular area. It hadn't yet.

But developments at Forum East had brought them here.

The day before yesterday, in a public announcement, First Mercantile American Bank had changed rumor into fact. Financing of future Forum East projects was to be cut in half, effective at once.

The bank's statement was couched in officialese with euphemistic phrases like "temporary shortage of longterm funding" and "periodic reconsideration will be given," but no one believed the last and everyone, inside and outside the bank, knew exactly what the statement meant the ax.

The meeting now was to determine what, if anything, could be done.

The word "tenants" in the association's name was a loose one. A large segment of members were Forum East tenants; many others were dot, but hoped to be. As Deacon Euphrates, a towering steelworker who had spoken earlier, put it, "There's plenty of us, expectin' to be in, who ain't gonna make it if the big bread dean' come through."

Margot knew that Deacon, his wife and five children lived in a tiny, crowded walk-up, part of a rat-infested tenement that should have been torn down years ago. She had made several attempts to help them find other rental quarters, without success. A hope that Deacon Euphrates lived with was that he would move his family into one of the new Forum East housing units, but the Euphrates' name was only midway on a long waiting list and a slowdown in construction was likely to keep it there for a long time to come.

The FMA announcement had been a shock to Margot, too. Alex, she was sure, would have resisted any cutback proposal within the bank, but obviously he had been over-ruled. For that reason she had not discussed the subject with him yet. Also, the less Alex knew about some simmering plans of Margot's, the better for them both.

"The way I see the ball game," Seth Orinda, another committee member, said, "whatever we do, and legal or not, there's no way, but no way, we can squeeze that money out of those banks. That is, if they've their minds set on clamming up."

Seth Orinda was a black high school teachers already "in" at Forum East. But he possessed a keen civic sense and cared greatly about the thousands of others still waiting hopefully on the outside. Margot relied a good deal on his stability and help.

"Don't be so sure, Seth," she responded. "Banks have soft underbellies. Stick a harpoon in a tender place and surprising things could happen."

"What kind of harpoon?" Orinda asked. "A parade? A sit-in? A demonstration?"

"No," Margot said. "Forget all that stuff. It's old hat. Nobody's impressed by conventional demonstrations any more. They're just a nuisance. They achieve nothing."

She surveyed the group facing her in the crowded, cluttered, smoky office. They were a dozen or so, mixed blacks and whites, in assorted shapes, sizes, and demeanors. Some were perched precariously on rickety chairs and boxes, others squatted on the floor. "Listen carefully, all of you. I said we need some action, and there. Is a kind of action which I believe will work."

"Miss Bracken." A small figure near the back of the room stood up. It was Juanita Lopez, whom Margot had greeted when she came in. "Yes, Mrs. Nunez?"

"I want to help. But you know, I think, that I work for the FMA Bank. Perhaps I should not hear what you will tell the others…"

Margot said appreciatively, "No, and I should have thought of that instead of embarrassing you."

There was a general murmur of understanding. Amid it, Juanita made her way to the door.

"What you heard already," Deacon Euphrates said, "that's a secret, ain't it?"

As Juanita nodded, Margot said quickly, "We can Al trust Mrs. Nunez. I hope her employers are as ethical as she is."

When the meeting had settled down again Margot faced the remaining members. Her stance was characteristic: hands on small waist, elbows aggressively out. A moment earlier she had pushed her long chestnut hair back a gesture of habit before action, like the raising of a curtain. As she talked, interest heightened. A smile or two appeared. At one point Seth Orinda chuckled deeply. Near the end? Deacon Euphrates and others were grinning broadly. "Man, oh mans" Deacon said. 'That's goddam clever," someone else put in.

Margot reminded them, "To make the whole scheme work, we need a lot of people at least a thousand to begin with, and more as time goes on." A fresh voice asked, "How long we need ‘em?"

"We'll plan on a week. A banking week, that is five days. If that doesn't work we should consider going longer and extending our scope of operations. Frankly, though, I don't believe it will be necessary. Another thing: Everyone involved must be carefully briefed." "I'll help with that," Seth Orinda volunteered. There was an immediate chorus of, "So will I."

Deacon Euphrates's voice rose above others. "I got time comin' to me. Goddam, I'll use it; take a week off work, an' I can pull in others."

'Woody" Margot said. She went on decisively, "We'll need a master plan. I'll have that ready by tomorrow night. The rest of you should begin recruiting right away. And remember, secrecy is important."

Half an hour later the meeting broke up, the committee members far more cheerful and optimistic than when they had assembled.

At Margot's request, Seth Orinda stayed behind. She told him, "Seth, in a special way I need your help.".

"You know I'll give it if I can, Miss Bracken."

"When any action starts," Margot said, "I'm usually at the front of it. You know that." "I sure do." The high school teacher beamed.

'1his time I want to stay out of sight. Also, I don't want my name involved when newspapers, TV, and radio start their coverage. If that happened it could embarrass two special friends of mine the ones I spoke about at the bank. I want to prevent that." Orinda nodded sagely. "So far as I can see, no problem,

"What I'm really asking," Margot insisted, "is that you and the others front this one for me. I'll be behind scenes, of course. And if there's need to, you can call me, though I hope you won't."

"That's silly," Seth Orinda said. "How could we call you when none of us ever heard your name?"

On Saturday evening, two days after the Forum East Tenants Association meeting, Margot and Alex were guests at a small dinner party given by friends, and afterward went together to Margot's apartment. It was in a less fashionable part of the city than Alex's elegant suite, and was smaller, but Margot had furnished it pleasingly with period pieces she had collected at modest prices in the course of years. Alex loved to be there.

The apartment was greatly in contrast to Margot's law office.

"I missed you, Bracken," Alex said. He had changed into pajamas and a robe which he kept at Margot's and was relaxed in a Queen Anne wing chair, Margot curled on a rug before him, her head tilted back against his knees while he stroked her long hair gently. Occasionally his fingers strayed gentle and sexually skillful, beginning to arouse her as he always did, and in the way she loved. Margot sighed with gratification. Soon they would go to bed. Yet, while mutual desire mounted, there was exquisite pleasure in self-imposed delay.