Overload

Once more London drank deeply, then used a handkerchief to wipe beer foam from his lips. "No to the first. About the second, put it this way: I've never made a big deal about not believing."

"How about personal guilt? You carry a lot of that around?" Nim was remembering Ardythe, who had asked: "Doesn't your religion teach you to believe in God's anger and punishment?" This afternoon he had dismissed the question. Since then, annoyingly, it had replayed itself in his mind several times.

"I guess everybody's got some guilt." London seemed inclined to end his statement there, then changed his mind and added, "I sometimes think about two guys in Korea, close buddies of mine. We were on a recce patrol near the Yalu River. Those two were further forward than the rest of us, then we were all pinned down by enemy fire. The two guys needed help to get back. I was a topkick, in charge, and should have led the rest of us right then, taking a chance to reach them. While I was still dithering, making up my mind, the gooks found them; a grenade blew them both to bits. That's a guilt I carry around; that and some others."

He drank again, then said, "You know what you're doing, pal? You're getting us both . . . what's that word?"

"Maudlin," Nim said, having trouble pronouncing it.

"You got it! . . . maudlin." Harry London nodded solemnly as the cocktail bar pianist began playing As Time Goes By.

PART TWO

1

Davey Birdsong, who had been inspecting the Sequoia Club's impressive headquarters, inquired cheekily, "Where's the chairman's private sauna?

And after that I'd like to see your solid gold toilet seat."

"We don't have either," Laura Bo Carmichael said, a trifle stiffly. She was not entirely at case with the bearded, portly, jesting Birdsong, who, though a naturalized American for many years, still exhibited some of the rough outback manners of his native Australia. Laura Bo, who had met Birdsong a few times previously at outside meetings, equated him with the

"Jolly Swagman" in Waltzing Matilda.

Which was ridiculous, of course, and she knew it. Though Davey Birdsong seemed to make a point of sounding uncultured and dressed the same way-today be wore shabby, patched jeans and running shoes with string for laces-the Sequoia Club chairman was well aware he was a scholar of stature, holding a master's degree in sociology, as well as being a part-time lecturer at the University of California at Berkeley. He had also put together a coalition of consumer, church and left-wing political groups which called itself p & lfp-or, power & light for people. (the lower case initials were, in Birdsong's words, "to emphasize we are not capitalists.")

The declared aim of p & lfp was "to fight the profit-bloated monster GSP & L on all fronts." In various confrontations so far, p & lfp had opposed rate increases for electricity and gas, had fought licensing of a nuclear power plant, had objected to GSP & L public relations activities" ruthless propaganda unwillingly paid for by consumers," was bow Birdsong and p & lfp described it-and had urged a compulsory takeover of the power company by municipalities. Now, Birdsong's movement was seeking to join forces with the prestigious Sequoia Club in opposing the latest GSP & L expansion plans. That proposal was to be reviewed at a meeting with top club officials, due to begin shortly.

"Geez, Laura baby," Birdsong observed, his gaze still roaming the imposing paneled boardroom where they were talking, "I guess it's real 1soul-inspiring to work in a ritzy layout like this. You should see my dump.

Compared with what you got here it's a bum's nightmare."

She told him, "Our headquarters was deeded to us many years ago as part of a bequest. A condition was that we occupy the building; otherwise we would not receive the substantial income which accompanies it." At certain moments-this was one of them-Laura Bo Carmichael found the stately Cable Hill mansion, which the Sequoia Club occupied, something of an embarrassment. It was once a millionaire's town house which still bespoke wealth, and personally she would have preferred simpler quarters. To move, however, would have been financial madness. She added, "I'd prefer you not call me 'Laura baby."'

"I'll make a note of that." Grinning, Birdsong produced a notebook, unclipped a ball-point pen and wrote something down.

Putting the notebook away, he regarded the slight, trim figure of Mrs. Carmichael, then said reflectively, "Bequests, eh? From dead donors. I guess that, and those big live donors, is what keeps the Sequoia Club so rich."

"Rich is a relative word." Laura Bo Carmichael wished the three of her colleagues who were to join her for this meeting would arrive. "It's true our organization is fortunate in having national support, but we have substantial expenses."

The big bearded man chuckled. "Not so many, though, that you couldn't spread some of that bread around to other groups-doing your kind of work-which need it."

"We'll see. But," Mrs. Carmichael said firmly, "please don't assume we are so naive that you can come here posing as a poor relation, because we know better." She consulted some notes she had not intended to use until later.

"We know, for example, that your p & lfp has some twenty-five thousand members who pay three dollars a year each, collected by paid door-to-door canvassers, which adds up to $75,000 Out of that you pay yourself a salary of $20,000 a year, plus unknown expenses."

"Fella hasta make a living."

"A remarkably good one, I'd say." Laura Bo continued reading. "In addition there are your university lecture fees, another fixed salary from an activist training organization, and payment for articles you write, all of which is believed to bring your personal income as a protester to $60,000 a year."

Davey Birdsong, whose smile had grown broader while he listened, seemed not in the least taken aback. He commented, "A right nifty job of research."

It was the Sequoia Club chairman's turn to smile. "We do have an excellent research department here." She folded the notes and put them away. "None of the material I have quoted is for outside use, of course. It's merely to make you aware of our awareness that professional protesters like you have a good thing going. That mutual knowledge will save time when we get down to business."

A door opened quietly and a neat, elderly man with iron-gray hair and rimless glasses entered the boardroom.

Laura Bo said, "Mr. Birdsong, I believe you know our manager-secretary, Mr. Pritchett."

Davey Birdsong put out a large, meaty hand. "We met on the battlefield a time or two. Hiya, Pritchy!"

When his band had been pumped vigorously the newcomer said drily, "I hadn't considered environmental hearings to be battlefields, though I suppose they could be construed that way."

"Damn right, Pritchy! And when I go into battle, especially against the people's enemy, Golden State Power, I fire every big gun and keep on firing. Tough 'n' tougher, that's the prescription. Oh, I'm not saying there isn't a place for your kind of opposition. There is!-you people bring a touch of class. I'm the one, though, who makes headlines and gets on TV news. By the way, did you kids see me on TV with that GSP & L prick, Goldman?"

“The Good Evening Show," the manager-secretary acknowledged. "Yes, I did.

I thought you were colorful, though-to be objective Goldman was shrewd in resisting your baiting." Pritchett removed his glasses to polish them.

"Perhaps, as you say, there is a place for your kind of opposition to GSP & L. Possibly, even, we need each other."

"Attaboy, Pritchy!”

“The correct pronunciation is Pritchett. Or, if you prefer, you may call me Roderick."

"I'll make a note of that, Roddy old man." Grinning broadly at Laura Bo, Birdsong went through his notebook routine once more.

While they were talking two others had come in. Laura Bo Carmichael introduced them as Irwin Saunders and Mrs. Priscilla Quinn, the remaining members of the Sequoia Club executive committee. Saunders was a balding, gravel-voiced lawyer who handled big-name divorce cases and was frequently in the news. Mrs. Quinn, fashionably dressed and attractive in her late forties, was the wife of a wealthy banker and noted for her civic zeal, also for limiting her friendships to other wealthy or important people. She accepted Davey Birdsong's outstretched band with reluctance, regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and distaste.