by Stuart Woods
—
The following morning, Stone was driven by his factotum, Fred Flicker, to Teterboro Airport, across the river in New Jersey. He needed only a briefcase, since he had a wardrobe at the L.A. house, which was situated on the grounds of the Arrington, a hotel named for his late wife. When he boarded the Gulfstream, Bill Eggers was already there, sipping something that looked suspiciously like a gin and tonic.
“It’s club soda,” Eggers said, suspecting Stone’s suspicions and waving him to a seat. The stewardess closed and locked the main cabin door and greeted them. “Coffee, tea, or anything else?” she asked. The sound of engines starting followed her.
“Tea,” Stone replied, and she brought a little pot and a cup.
“Tea?” Eggers said. “Really?”
“I’ve already had a strong cup of coffee this morning, and I don’t require further caffeination,” Stone explained. He sweetened the tea and squeezed lemon into it. “Also, I’m doing the takeoff and landing, and the FAA frowns on, ah, club soda, before flying.” He drank his tea as they taxied, then went forward and took the left seat from Faith, while she displaced her copilot from the right seat.
She read out the checklist to him, and he followed it meticulously. “The clearance is already loaded into the FMS,” Faith said, referring to the computer called the flight management system. Stone was given a takeoff clearance by the tower as he approached the runway; he didn’t even have to slow down to make the turn. He moved the throttles forward to the takeoff position and used the tiller to get the aircraft on the center line, then switched to the rudder pedals, when they had enough ground speed for the rudder to be effective. He rotated, and the airplane climbed. Stone performed the departure procedures, then turned over the controls to Faith and her copilot and resumed his seat in the cabin.
“Okay,” he said to Eggers. “We’re flying. What’s up?”
“Do you remember a man named Edgar Wheelis?” Bill asked.
“Vaguely,” Stone said.
“I’m going to wrap up negotiations with him for a piece of property in L.A., and I want you at the meeting.”
“Why?” Stone asked.
“Because Edgar is afraid of you.”
“Of me? Why?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care to know,” Eggers said. “All I know is that, if you’re at the meeting, I’ll get everything I want from Edgar.”
“I don’t recall ever having been used as a threat,” Stone said. “I’m just a mind-mannered attorney-at-law, with a winning way about him.”
“Especially winning, where Edgar is concerned,” Bill replied. Then he opened his Wall Street Journal and began to read, ignoring Stone.
Stone took a novel from his briefcase and read until lunch was served. Later, as they neared the landing at Burbank, Stone went forward and took the controls, hand-flying the arrivals procedures and the ILS, the instrument landing system. He needed to keep his hand in and his logbook up to date.
* * *
—
A Bentley, one of the fleet from the Arrington, met them at Burbank and drove them to the hotel. Eggers was dropped at the main entrance, then Stone was driven to his house, at the rear of the hotel property. He had negotiated the land sale for his late wife, who had inherited it from her first husband, the film star Vance Calder, who had included the building of the house for her in the contract. When she was murdered by a former lover, Stone had inherited it, along with a chunk of her estate. The bulk of the estate went to a trust for their son, Peter.
Stone left his suit to be pressed by the butler, stripped, got into a terrycloth robe, and walked down to the house’s pool, which was surrounded by a high hedge. He could hear splashing from the pool, which was odd, because it was private. Probably somebody’s dog having a swim, he thought.
He entered through the gate and immediately saw a two-piece swimsuit lying on a chaise.
“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice said from the other end. “This is a private pool.”
“I’m aware of that,” Stone said pleasantly, “since it belongs to me.”
“Oh. Does that mean I’m the interloper here?”
“That’s too strong a term. Let’s just call you an unexpected guest. Do you mind if I join you?”
“All right, but I warn you, I’m naked.”
“That’s all right,” Stone said, “so am I.” He shucked off the robe and dived into the water.
12
Stone got a glimpse of a very nice body before he surfaced, a polite distance from her.
“I’m Lara Parks,” she said.
“And I’m Stone Barrington.”
“Are you in the film business?”
“On the edges of it, you might say. I’m an attorney. Are you in the film business?”
“I suppose you could say I’m on the edges, too. Heretofore, I’ve done only television.”
“But you have designs on feature films?”
She laughed. “Yes, I have designs.”
“Then I wish you luck.”
“One always needs a little luck. I have an appointment tomorrow with a director named Peter Barrington . . . Any relation?”
“Yes, he’s my son. And this hotel is named for his mother.”
“May I tell him I know you?”
“If you do, he will take that as knowledge of a wild affair between us. Anyway, you already have an appointment with him; that’s the hard part. All you have to do now is to show him you can act.”
“And how would I do that?”
“It’s called an audition, I believe.”
“He called it a reading. I think there will be other actors there, too.”
“Good, you won’t be all alone.”
“Any advice?”
“I’m in no position to advise you, but I’ll tell you a story that an old friend of mine, who was a producer and director, told me. He and the head of the studio had a meeting with a young actor who was very assertive, unlike most actors, who are nervous on such occasions. The studio head grilled him about the part and his interpretation, and he gave smart-ass answers. My friend suddenly realized that the actor wasn’t just chatting; he was acting the character he had been called in to audition for. He got the part.”
“That was very clever,” she said. “Risky, too. I wonder if I could pull that off?”
“I wonder, too, but I don’t know. It’s just something to consider, especially if the studio head is at the meeting. Directors are smarter about such things.”
“Now I don’t know what to do.”
“Study your lines and give them your best reading,” Stone said.
“Now that is good advice. You don’t look old enough to be Peter Barrington’s father.”
“That means either that Peter is younger than you think, or I’m older than I look. Either way, it was the right thing to say.”
They were quiet for a moment.
“Is Lara Parks your real name, or did someone suggest it to you?”
“My parents are Swiss, and the name they gave me was Helga Glick. Everyone suggested I change it, so I made up Lara Parks.”
“Has anyone ever asked you if you’re related to Larry Parks?”
“No. I’ve never heard of him.”
“He was a talented actor in the forties and fifties, but he ran afoul of a congressional committee investigation into communism in the movie business . . . He was blacklisted, as a result, and didn’t work in films for several years, so the correct answer to that question, as well as the truthful one, is no.”
“I’ll google him, so I’ll know what I’m talking about.”
Stone looked at his Rolex. “I believe the sun is over the yardarm, as they say. Would you like a drink?”
“Yes, I would. May I have a vodka and tonic, please?”
“Of course.” S
tone swam to the other end of the pool, climbed out, put on his robe, picked up a phone, and ordered. Then he picked up Lara’s robe, took it to a ladder, and held it open for her, screening his view.
She climbed out and slipped into it. “Thank you for being so nice, but I’m not shy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone replied, offering her a seat. The butler appeared with their drinks and left them to it.
“Have you ever been asked not to be shy when auditioning?”
“Yes. When that happens, I become shy. Have you ever noticed that the biggest female stars seem never to show so much as a nipple?”
“I have noticed that. There must be a reason.”
“I think the reasoning is: leave them wanting more.”
Stone laughed. “I expect that’s good advice.”
“I’m surprised that you haven’t made a pass at me.”
“Are you free for dinner this evening?”
“Yes.”
“Then come to my house at seven, and the cook will cook for us. I promise to be on my worst behavior.”
She laughed. “I’ll hold you to that. Now, I have to go. They’re sending a hairdresser over to do me up for tomorrow.”
“The studio?”
“Yes.”
“And they put you up in this hotel?”
“Apparently, they keep a cottage for out-of-town guests.”
“I’d say you’re getting star treatment.”
“I could get used to that,” she said. She kissed him on the forehead and walked away.
* * *
—
He was napping on his bed when the phone rang. “Yes?”
“Dad? It’s Peter.”
“How are you?” Stone asked.
“Just fine. Will you dine with us tonight?”
“I’m afraid I already have plans. I’m sorry.”
“Can’t you bring her with you?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ll explain it all later. I’ll be here for a few days, so we’ll find time.”
“As you wish.” They caught up a bit, then hung up. Stone had a shower and a shave and got dressed, in preparation of being on his worst behavior. His phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Lara Parks.”
“Good evening.”
“Tell me, did you mean what you said?”
“My recollection is that I didn’t say much, but I meant all of it.”
“I’d prefer it if you were on your best behavior, rather than your worst.”
“Granted. Would you like to put another quarter in the machine?”
“See you at seven,” she said, then hung up.
13
Promptly at seven, the doorbell rang, and the butler answered it.
Stone arrived downstairs a moment later and found Lara Parks seated in a chair before the fireplace with a drink in her hand and a magazine in her lap.
“Good evening,” he said, shaking her hand. His bourbon was already resting on the chairside table, and he sat down.
“You didn’t tell me about this,” she said accusingly, holding up the magazine.
Stone peered at the publication. “I believe it’s a copy of People magazine. I believe this, because it says People at the top.”
“Please tell me how this came to be.”
Stone took a swig of his drink and drew a breath. “Well, many years ago—I forget exactly how many—Time magazine had a weekly column called People that offered tidbits of gossip about movie stars and such. It proved so popular among readers that they inflated it into an actual weekly magazine, and it became very popular.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Did I misidentify the magazine? I admit I haven’t read it for years, but it did have that name on the cover.”
“Yes, but it’s not what I mean.”
“I’m sorry, I’m baffled,” Stone said. “What did you mean?”
“You know.”
“Am I meant to divine your thoughts? If so, I’m not doing very well.”
“I mean this,” she said, opening the magazine and holding it up with both hands, displaying a double-page color photograph of Stone waltzing with Holly Barker.
“I hadn’t seen that,” Stone said.
She remained silent, glaring at him.
“Really,” he said, “I hadn’t seen it until this moment.”
“How did you miss it?” she demanded.
“By the simple device of not reading the magazine, which you have thoughtfully done for me. I also didn’t read the newspapers the following morning, and I instructed my secretary to keep all knowledge of such from me.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want to have conversations like this one. You seem to have taken it as a personal affront that I have not raised the subject of inaugural night. Why is that?”
“Because it makes me feel like a fool.”
“I’m sorry, that just doesn’t make any sense,” Stone said.
“You should have told me who you were, instead of leaving me to find out for myself.”
“I beg your pardon, I believe I answered each of your questions fully and honestly. If more than that is required of me, please ask me more questions.”
“All right. How did you come to be waltzing with the president on inaugural night?”
“We are old friends, and she invited me to escort her.”
“And you are ‘just good friends’? I believe the saying is?”
“No, we are very good friends,” he replied. “She chose the waltz.”
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“I think the most acceptable answer to that question is ‘None of your business,’ which would also be the answer if someone asked it about you.”
Lara made an odd, strangling noise, then threw the magazine into the fireplace.
“If that magazine belonged to the Arrington, then I will have to report you to the management for destroying hotel property,” Stone said.
Finally, she laughed. “You would be within your rights to do so,” she said.
“And you are within your rights to ask for another drink,” Stone replied.
“Same again,” she said.
He spoke those words into the phone and another round arrived.
She sipped hers. “Would it be an intrusion if I ask how you know Holly Barker?”
“No, but it’s a complicated story, probably requiring another drink.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I can take it.”
“Some years ago I was in Vero Beach, Florida, to accept delivery of a new airplane from the manufacturer Piper Aircraft, whose factory is there. I had transferred the funds to a bank, in a neighboring town called Orchid Beach, and I went there to obtain a cashier’s check for the amount owed on delivery. While I was waiting in line, some people wearing masks and bearing shotguns entered the bank and shouted at everybody—the sorts of things you’ve seen on television: ‘Shut up, give us the money,’ et cetera.
“In their haste to be done with their work, they roughed up a woman who had had the temerity to ask them what they thought they were doing. They knocked her down with a shotgun butt. The man standing behind me in line made to ward them off and help her, and received a shotgun blast to his chest for his trouble. I did my best to help him, but he died before the ambulance arrived, about three minutes later, as did the police.
“They asked the customers not to leave until they were questioned, so I was present for some time, during which the chief of police arrived and identified the body as that of her fiancé, to whom, I later learned, she was to be married the following day. She stayed on to help question the people in the bank, among them, me. Her name was Holly Barker. She gave me her card and asked me to call her if I thought of anything e
lse, and I gave her mine. About three months later I went back to the Piper factory on airplane business, and I invited her to lunch. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“What about the robbers? Were they caught?”
“That’s a much longer story, with more details than I can remember, but someone wrote a book about it called Orchid Beach, and I’m sure the concierge can get a copy for you.”
The butler entered the room and announced dinner, so they moved to a table that had been set for them.
They dined slowly, getting along well. As the dishes were taken away after dessert, Lara said, “I apologize for shouting at you. I had begun to think that I was the victim of a practical joke, what with my meeting tomorrow with your son.”
“Peter is not in on the joke, so I wouldn’t mention it to him.”
“All right, don’t rub it in.”
“If you’ll pardon me for reverting to my original intentions, that sounds like a very good idea,” Stone said.
“Yes, it does,” she replied.
14
Stone woke early, to the sound of the shower running. Lara appeared shortly with one towel wrapped around her and another around her head. “Do you have a hair dryer?” she asked.
“Cupboard under the sink,” he replied, and she vanished. While she dried her hair, he got shaved and showered.
“Breakfast?” he asked her.
“What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Two eggs over easy, bacon, English muffin, OJ, coffee,” she replied.
Stone called it in on the bathroom phone, then dried his own hair.
She reached over and undid the towel around his waist. “You look good naked,” she said.
He did the same for her. “You, too.”
“Quickie?”
“I don’t think we’ll be quick enough, with breakfast on the way. Rain check?”
“Sure, even if it’s not raining.”
They were propped up in bed in time for the arrival of breakfast. While they were eating, Stone’s phone rang. “Hello?”
“Dad, it’s Peter. Lunch at the studio today?”
“You buying?”
