he’d avoid phrases like “with a lot of zip.”
I gave Maggie a look, and she read it properly, and nodded permission.
“I’m afraid we’re already picking up a new column,” I said. “By a colleague of yours. Dr. Frederick.”
Lehman blinked in surprise. “Really? What does he know about the arts?” He must have realized how that sounded, because he immediately covered with, “I mean, he’s an authority on comic books and television and other forms of mass entertainment, but in a very narrow way.”
Maggie said, “Dr. Frederick isn’t covering the popular arts for us.”
“In fact,” I said, “he’s expressly forbidden to discuss his views on comic books, because of our business relationships with several of the publishers he likes to criticize.”
Lehman sat back. He had the expression of a student who’d crammed all night but for the wrong subject. “What on earth would his column be about, then?”
I said, “We don’t discuss the content of columns that are still being developed, Mr. Lehman. I’m sorry.”
But Maggie said, “I think Mr. Lehman has a right to have his question answered, Jack. He did spark the idea for this, after all.”
“Yes,” he said, distressed, “we discussed a column....”
“People throw ideas for columns and comics at us all the time,” I said, “like you did at the restaurant the other night. Never amounts to anything.”
He frowned. “Well, this time it obviously did!”
“Mr. Lehman,” Maggie said, “we’ve asked Dr. Frederick to do a column rather in the style of Ann Landers or Dear Abby, but with a psychiatric touch. Advice from a genuine authority on human behavior, a recognized expert.”
And not a self-styled one like this clown.
Maggie was saying, “Yesterday, Dr. Frederick and I agreed that his emphasis would be on parental problems. Since you helped research Ravage the Lambs, you know better than most the extent of his work with troubled children.”
Lehman nodded. “Yes. I wrote an article for Collier’s last year about his efforts at the Lafargue Clinic. Really wonderful what he’s doing there.” Flushed, he added, “I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“Not at all,” Maggie said.
“It’s a good subject, frustrated parents and problem children. I believe I could have handled that subject for a column, as well, though I don’t have a degree in that field, admittedly.”
I didn’t figure he had a degree in any field.
He rose. “Forgive me for stopping by unannounced. And do let Dr. Frederick know that if he needs any assistance on the column, I’ll be available, as I was on Ravage the Lambs.”
Maggie and I glanced at each other. We didn’t have the heart to tell him.
When he’d gone, I took my proper chair and said, “Maybe we should have thrown him a bone,” meaning the ghost job.
Maggie shook her head. “Your Dr. Winters is more qualified. But Lehman dropping in did remind me of something I wanted to show you.” From under one of her neat piles she removed a copy of Collier’s magazine with Danny Kaye on the cover. “Take a look at this.”
I did. “By God, that charlatan did sell an article to Collier’s.”
“Thumb through. It’s a dry run for Ravage the Lambs —all about how the Lafargue Clinic deals with children corrupted by comic books.”
“That should surprise me?”
“Look at the pictures.”
I did. The article about the Harlem clinic was illustrated with full-color staged photos of kids doing terrible things to each other, a boy jabbing a girl’s arm with a pen, two other boys tying up a girl to a tree, all the kids probably ten or eleven. But when I said, “full-color,” I slightly misstated.
“All these kids are white,” I said.
“That’s right,” Maggie said. “White, well-fed, well-dressed. There’s nothing in that article that indicates the clinic is in a basement in Harlem. There’s mention of an Episcopal church hosting the facility, but you would never know
I gave Maggie a look, and she read it properly, and nodded permission.
“I’m afraid we’re already picking up a new column,” I said. “By a colleague of yours. Dr. Frederick.”
Lehman blinked in surprise. “Really? What does he know about the arts?” He must have realized how that sounded, because he immediately covered with, “I mean, he’s an authority on comic books and television and other forms of mass entertainment, but in a very narrow way.”
Maggie said, “Dr. Frederick isn’t covering the popular arts for us.”
“In fact,” I said, “he’s expressly forbidden to discuss his views on comic books, because of our business relationships with several of the publishers he likes to criticize.”
Lehman sat back. He had the expression of a student who’d crammed all night but for the wrong subject. “What on earth would his column be about, then?”
I said, “We don’t discuss the content of columns that are still being developed, Mr. Lehman. I’m sorry.”
But Maggie said, “I think Mr. Lehman has a right to have his question answered, Jack. He did spark the idea for this, after all.”
“Yes,” he said, distressed, “we discussed a column....”
“People throw ideas for columns and comics at us all the time,” I said, “like you did at the restaurant the other night. Never amounts to anything.”
He frowned. “Well, this time it obviously did!”
“Mr. Lehman,” Maggie said, “we’ve asked Dr. Frederick to do a column rather in the style of Ann Landers or Dear Abby, but with a psychiatric touch. Advice from a genuine authority on human behavior, a recognized expert.”
And not a self-styled one like this clown.
Maggie was saying, “Yesterday, Dr. Frederick and I agreed that his emphasis would be on parental problems. Since you helped research Ravage the Lambs, you know better than most the extent of his work with troubled children.”
Lehman nodded. “Yes. I wrote an article for Collier’s last year about his efforts at the Lafargue Clinic. Really wonderful what he’s doing there.” Flushed, he added, “I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed myself.”
“Not at all,” Maggie said.
“It’s a good subject, frustrated parents and problem children. I believe I could have handled that subject for a column, as well, though I don’t have a degree in that field, admittedly.”
I didn’t figure he had a degree in any field.
He rose. “Forgive me for stopping by unannounced. And do let Dr. Frederick know that if he needs any assistance on the column, I’ll be available, as I was on Ravage the Lambs.”
Maggie and I glanced at each other. We didn’t have the heart to tell him.
When he’d gone, I took my proper chair and said, “Maybe we should have thrown him a bone,” meaning the ghost job.
Maggie shook her head. “Your Dr. Winters is more qualified. But Lehman dropping in did remind me of something I wanted to show you.” From under one of her neat piles she removed a copy of Collier’s magazine with Danny Kaye on the cover. “Take a look at this.”
I did. “By God, that charlatan did sell an article to Collier’s.”
“Thumb through. It’s a dry run for Ravage the Lambs —all about how the Lafargue Clinic deals with children corrupted by comic books.”
“That should surprise me?”
“Look at the pictures.”
I did. The article about the Harlem clinic was illustrated with full-color staged photos of kids doing terrible things to each other, a boy jabbing a girl’s arm with a pen, two other boys tying up a girl to a tree, all the kids probably ten or eleven. But when I said, “full-color,” I slightly misstated.
“All these kids are white,” I said.
“That’s right,” Maggie said. “White, well-fed, well-dressed. There’s nothing in that article that indicates the clinic is in a basement in Harlem. There’s mention of an Episcopal church hosting the facility, but you would never know
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