Arthur Hailey - The Moneychangers

Alex grinned. He edjoyed these debating sessions with Margot and liked to keep them fueled. "I'll tell our people to think about it, Bracken."

"What I wish other people would think about is that Shylocking eighteen percent interest all bank credit cards charge." "We've been over that before."

"Yes, we have. And I've never heard an explanation which satisfied me."

He countered sharply, "Maybe you don't listen." Enjoyable in debate or not, Margot had a knack of getting under his skin. Occasionally their debates developed into fights.

"I've told you that credit cards are a packaged commodity, offering a range of services," Alex insisted. "If you add those services together, our interest rate is not excessive." "It's as excessive as hell if you're the one who's paying.. "Nobody has to pay. Because nobody has to borrow." "I can hear you. You don't have to shout." "All right."

He took a breath, determined not to let this discussion get out of hand. Besides, while disputing some of Margot's views, which in economics, politics, and everything else were left of center, he found his own thinking aided by her forthrightness and keen lawyer's mind. Margot's practice, too, brought her contacts which he lacked directly among the city's poor and underprivileged for whom the bulk of her legal work was done. He awed, "Another cognac?" "Yes, please."

It was close to midnight. A log fire, blazing earlier, had burned low in the hearth of the snug room in the small, sumptuous bachelor suite.

An hour and a half ago they had had a late dinner here delivered from a service restaurant on the apartment block's main floor. An excellent Bordeaux, Alex's choice, Chateau Gruaud-Larose '66 accompanied the meal.

Apart from the area where the Keycharge advertising had been spread out, the apartment lights were low.

When he had replenished their brandy glasses, Alex returned to the argument. "If people pay their credit-card bills when they get them, there is no interest charge." "You mean pay their bills in full." "Right."

"But how many do? Don't most credit-card users pay that convenient 'minimum balance' that the statements show?" "A good many pay the minimum, yes."

"And carry the rest forward as debt which is what you bankers really want them to do. Isn't that so?"

Alex conceded, "Yes, it's true. But banks have to make a profit somewhere."

"I lie awake nights," Margot said, 'worrying if banks are making enough profit."

As he laughed, she went on seriously, "Look, Alex, thousands of people who shouldn't are piling up long-term debts by using credit cards. Often it's to buy trivia drugstore items, phonograph records, bits of hardware, books, meals, other minor things; and they do it partly through unawareness, partly because small amounts of credit are ridiculously easy to obtain. And those small amounts, which ought to be paid by cash, add up to crippling debts, burdening imprudent people for years ahead."

Alex cradled his brandy glass in both hands to warm it, sipped, then rose and tossed a fresh log on the fire. He protested, "You're worrying too much, and the problem isn't that big."

And yet, he admitted to himself, some of what Margot had said made sense. Where once as an old song put it miners "owed their souls to the company store," a new breed of chronic debtor had arisen, naively mortgaging future life and income to a "friendly neighborhood bank." One reason was that credit cards had replaced, to a large extent, small loans. Where individuals used to be dissuaded from excessive borrowing, now they made their own loan decisions often unwisely. Some observers, Alex knew, believed the system had downgraded American morality.

Of course, doing it the credit-card way was much cheaper for a bank; also, a small loan customer, borrowing through the credit-card route, paid substantially higher interest than on a conventional loan. The total interest the bank received, in fact, was often as high as twenty-four percent since merchants who honored credit cards paid their own additional bank levy, ranging from two to six percent.

These were reasons why banks such as First Mercantile American were relying on credit-card business to swell their profits, and they would increasingly in future years. True, initial losses with all credit-card schemes had been substantial; as bankers were apt to put it, "we took a bath." But the same bankers were convinced that a bonanza was close at hand which would outstrip-in profitability most other kinds of bank business.

Another thing bankers realized was that credit cards were a necessary way station on the route to EFTS the Electronic Funds Transfer System which, within a decade and a half, would replace the present avalanche of banking paper and make existing checks and passbooks as obsolete as the Model T.

''That's enough," Margot said. "The two of us are beginning to sound like a shareholders meeting." She came to him and kissed him fully on the lips.

The heat of their argument earlier had already aroused him, as skirmishes with Margot so often did. Their first encounter had begun that way. Sometimes, it seemed, the angrier both became, the larger their physical passion for each other grew. After a while he murmured, "I declare the shareholders meeting closed."

"Well…" Margot eased away and regarded him mischievously. "There is some unfinished business that advertising, darling. You're not really going to let it go out to the public the way it is?" "No," he said, "I don't believe I am."

The Keycharge advertising was a strong sell too strong and he would use his authority to exercise a veto in the morning. He realized he had intended to, anyway. Margot had merely confirmed his own opinion of this afternoon.

The fresh log he had added to the fire was alight and crackling. They sat on the rug before the fireplace, savoring its warmth, watching the rising tongues of flame.

Margot leaned her head against Alex's shoulder. She said softly, "For a stuffy old moneychanger, you're really not too bad." He put his arm around her. "I love you, too, Bracken." "Really and truly? Banker's honor?" "I swear by the prime rate."

"Then love me now." She began to take off her clothes. He whispered with amusement. "Here?" "Why not?" Alex sighed happily. "Why not indeed?"

Soon after, he had a sense of release and joy in contrast to the anguish of the day.

And later still, they held each other, sharing the warmth from their bodies and the fire. At last Margot stirred. 'I've said it before and I say it again: You're a delicious lover."

"And you're okay, Bracken." He asked her, "Will you stay the night'

She often did, just as Alex frequently stayed at Margot's apartment. At times it seemed foolish to maintain their two establishments, but he had delayed the step of merging them, wanting first to marry Margot if he could.

"I'll stay for a while," she said, "but not all night. Tomorrow I have to be in court early."

Margot's court appearances were frequent and in the aftermath of such a case they had met a year and a half ago. Shortly before that first encounter Margot had defended a half dozen demonstrators who clashed with police during a rally urging total amnesty for Vietnam deserters. Her spirited defense, not only of the demonstrators but of their cause, attracted wide attention. So did her victory dismissal of all charges at the trial's end.

A few days later, at a milling cocktail party given by Edwina D’orsey and her husband Lewis, Margot was surrounded by admirers and critics. She had come to the party alone. So had Alex, who had heard of Margot, though only later did he discover she was a first cousin to Edwina. Sipping the D'Orseys' excellent Schramsberg, he had listened for a while, then joined forces with the critics. Soon after, others stood back, leaving debate to Alex and Margot, squared off like-verbal gladiators. At one point Margot had demanded, "Who the hell are you?"