by Stuart Woods
Peter nodded at the metallic object on the chain around Ben’s neck. “Isn’t that the Egyptian symbol for sexual impotence? Why are you advertising?”
Ben laughed in spite of himself. “He’s cool,” he said to Stone.
Stone and Dino stopped laughing long enough to order booze for themselves and sodas for the boys. Ben and Peter launched into a comparison of their schools and the girls available at each. They agreed that there was a dearth of such companionship, just as their respective headmasters had intended.
“I’m getting out in June,” Ben said.
“So am I,” Peter replied.
“What are your plans, college?”
“Not yet,” Peter said. “I have a plan, though.”
“Something you don’t want them to know about?” Ben asked, nodding at Stone and Dino.
“Pretty much.”
“Come with me,” Ben said. He got up and went to the bar, carrying his soda, and Peter followed. They entered into an intense conversation.
“Maybe this was a good idea,” Dino said.
“I think it was,” Stone said. He told Dino about their afternoon and the meeting with Leo Goldman, Jr.
“So the kid’s graduating from high school at sixteen? And I thought Ben’s getting out at eighteen was pretty good.”
“It is, Dino.”
“Trouble is, I don’t know if he’s mature enough to handle college. I’d like him to do something else for a year, but he’s not ready to be shipped off to Europe, either. What’s Peter going to do?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Stone said, “but I think he’s telling Ben right now. Maybe he’ll get around to telling me later.”
“Where’s Arrington?”
“In the hospital.”
“Not the cancer thing again, I hope.”
“She doesn’t seem to be sure; they’re running tests. She’s supposed to call me tomorrow.”
“She looked fine a year ago in L.A.”
“She sure did. Peter thinks she’s just tired. She’s been building her new house in Virginia, and that’s hard work, even if you’re not wielding a hammer.”
“I guess.”
The two boys returned to the table and looked at the menu. “What’s osso buco?” Peter asked.
“Try it; you won’t be sorry.”
“Whatever you say, Stone.”
Ben spoke up. “It’s an animal leg with sauce. I’ll have it, too, Pop.”
“How many times I have to tell you,” Dino said, “don’t call me ‘Pop.’ ”
“What’s the matter with that?” Stone asked.
“It’s what I called my old man.”
“Oh, okay.” He looked at Ben and shrugged.
Their food arrived and dinner continued with two different conversations going on: one between Stone and Dino, the other between the two boys, who seemed to be speaking in code.
“You want a date tomorrow night?” Ben asked Peter, suddenly breaking into English. “My girl’s got a hot friend.”
“Sure,” Peter said.
“We’d better wait until we hear from your mother tomorrow,” Stone said. “She may have plans for us.”
“Okay,” Peter said. “Can I call you tomorrow, Ben?”
“Yeah, sure. I’m staying at the old man’s.”
“Don’t call me ‘the old man’ either,” Dino said.
“I’m running out of names,” Ben said. “How about Pater?”
“Not unless you want a fat lip.”
“How about ‘hey you’?”
“That’s better than Pater, but still not good enough for you to get money out of me for a date tomorrow night.”
“Gee, Dad, thanks! I didn’t know you knew I was broke.”
“You’re always broke,” Dino said.
“Can I have the car?”
“Take the subway; you can’t afford to park, and I’m not having my car towed.”
“Awright, awright, Dad.”
Stone spoke up. “And you might remember that neither of you is of drinking age.”
On the way home in the cab Peter talked excitedly about Ben. “He’s really a great guy, in spite of the bluster.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Actually, he’s a lot like Dino.”
“I guess he would be, wouldn’t he?”
They arrived at the house, and Stone went to his study to check the answering machine for messages, while Peter wandered around the room, looking at books and objects. Stone was writing down a message when he looked up and saw Peter holding a framed photograph of Stone’s father, staring at it intently. He put the phone down.
“Who’s this?” Peter asked.
“That’s my father,” Stone said.
“Funny,” Peter replied, “he looks very familiar.” He sank into a wing chair across from Stone.
Stone steeled himself; he knew the question that was coming, and he didn’t want to answer it. “So what’s this plan of yours for after you graduate?”
“It’s like this,” Peter said. “I know I can handle the courses in college, but at sixteen, I’m not ready to be in a freshman class where everybody is two or three years older than I am.” He paused. “For one thing, no attractive girl is going to give me the time of day.”
“That’s an interesting observation,” Stone replied. “Have you considered an alternative?”
“Yes. There’s a prep school on the Upper East Side of Manhattan called Knickerbocker Hall.”
“I’ve heard of it, of course,” Stone said. “What attracts you to it?”
“It’s performing-arts oriented, and they have a good film school,” Peter said. “I could study film, then, in two years, I could enter a good university as a junior.”
“You’ll still be only eighteen,” Stone pointed out.
“Yes, but I’ll look older. I’ll have achieved my full height by then and filled out some, and I’m already shaving. I’ll lie about my age to the kids at Knickerbocker, though the administration will know my age, of course, and I’ll continue to do that in college.”
“Have you given any thought to where you want to go to college?”
“I think I’ll want to go to the Yale Drama School.”
“Are you interested in acting?”
“No, but I’m interested in actors, because that’s who I want to work with. And they have a director’s program. I already know a lot about film, but I want to learn about the theater, too.”
“That sounds like a very good plan to me. Do you think your mother will let you go to a boarding school in New York?”
“Knickerbocker isn’t a boarding school,” Peter replied, then sat silently while he let that sink in.
Stone got it almost at once. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got plenty of room here.”
“Thank you,” Peter said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You knew I would, didn’t you?”
“Not until just a moment ago,” Peter replied. He held up the photograph of Stone’s father. “When I saw this.”
Stone took a deep breath. “Do you have any questions, Peter?”
“All my questions have been answered,” Peter said, “some of which I’ve been asking myself for a long time.”
“Has your mother talked to you about this?”
“No, and if I got too close to the question, she adroitly changed the subject. Did she make you promise not to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you haven’t,” Peter said. “I suppose you could say my grandfather told me.” He looked at the photograph again. “I wish I had known him.”
“So do I,” Stone said. “You two would have gotten along famously. You’d have liked your grandmother, too. She was a painter; I expect you got your artistic bent from her.”
“There’s something else,” Peter said.
“What’s that?”
“I want to legally change my name to Barrington, for a number of reasons.”
Stone blinked. “What are y
our reasons?”
“We’ve just talked about the first one, but from the time I entered boarding school I’ve been very uncomfortable with the name Calder. I’ve learned not to like being the son of so famous a movie star. When they know that, it colors every conversation, warps every friendship. I don’t want to go through my life that way, especially in film school or in the film business.”
“Your reasons are sound,” Stone said, “but you’re going to have to talk with your mother about all this.”
“Will you help me out with that?”
“No, I’m new in your life, but you have a close relationship with your mother. I’ll sit silently and listen, if moral support will help.”
“I’ll figure it out when she gets here,” Peter said. “One other thing: I’m not comfortable with either Pop or Pater, so it will have to be Dad.”
Stone laughed. “I can live with that.”
Stone walked Peter up to his room, and they hugged briefly, then parted for the night.
Stone lay in bed feeling, suddenly, like a different person.
7
S tone was still in bed, having breakfast and reading the Times, when Peter knocked and came into his room.
“Good morning,” Stone said. “I thought you’d be sleeping late.”
“I rarely sleep late,” Peter said. “I’ve already edited a scene of my film on my laptop.”
“That’s industrious. Would you like some breakfast?”
“I found the kitchen, and Helene made me some scrambled eggs.” Peter looked at the four paintings of New York scenes on Stone’s bedroom wall. “I like these pictures,” he said.
“They were painted by your grandmother,” Stone replied. “She has work in the Metropolitan Museum, too, in the American Collection.”
“I’m impressed,” Peter said, looking at them more closely.
“What would you like to do today?”
“I just talked to Ben. There’s a heist-film festival at some place called the Film Forum- The Killers, The Asphalt Jungle, like that. I thought we’d get in two or three this afternoon. Ben has never seen anything older than Finding Nemo.”
Stone laughed. “You can educate him.”
“Don’t worry,” Peter said, “he’ll love it. He’ll end up watching them on his cell phone. Mom won’t let me have a cell phone; she says I’d be talking on it all the time, instead of working or studying.”
“Mothers are like that,” Stone said.
“I’d better get back to work,” the boy said, then left.
Stone picked up the phone and buzzed Joan.
“Yes, boss?”
“Will you go up to the Apple Store on Fifth at Fifty-ninth Street and buy an iPhone and an iPad, the high-end models?”
“But you already have those things,” Joan said.
“Yeah, but Peter doesn’t, and it’s his birthday soon.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Sign him up in the name of Peter Barrington, and make his age eighteen on the application, so there won’t be any problem. Use this house for his address and put it all on my Amex card.”
“Will do.”
“And get him some accessories, too; you know the sort of thing, and get it all gift wrapped.”
“I’m on it. Hang on, the phone’s ringing.” She put him on hold and then came back. “It’s Seth Keener, Stephanie Fisher’s attorney.”
“Got it,” Stone said. (He picked up the other line.) “Mr. Keener? Stone Barrington. I’m attorney to Herbert Fisher.”
“Oh, good,” Keener said. “Has he signed the papers?”
“No, and he’s not going to.”
“He wants to stay married to Stephanie?”
“He doesn’t want that, either, but he’s not going on record as an adulterer.”
“Name his poison: Cruelty? Mental cruelty?”
“Mr. Fisher will be the complainant and the cause will be abandonment-on her part. I don’t think she can argue with that.”
Keener sighed. “I’ll put it to her.”
“Are you in immediate touch with her?”
“I can’t comment on that-attorney-client privilege.”
“I suppose that applies, especially if she’s a fugitive from justice.”
“I’ll ignore that. Send me the paperwork, and I’ll have a go. See you.”
“Just a minute, we’re not finished,” Stone said. “There’s the issue of a financial settlement.”
“Oh? What’s Mr. Fisher offering?”
“He’s offering nothing,” Stone replied. “What will Mrs. Fisher offer?”
“Are you kidding?”
“Certainly not. I believe we’re both aware that Mrs. Fisher acquired substantial assets during the marriage. Whereas Mr. Fisher did not.”
“If you’re talking about those nasty press reports of her looting the family firm, that’s all nonsense.”
“Then why is she on the FBI’s most-wanted list, along with her brother?”
“You know I can’t discuss that.”
Stone suddenly had an idea. “We can avoid discussing that in court if Mrs. Fisher would be amenable to sharing some of her premarital assets instead.”
“What did you have in mind, exactly?” Keener asked warily.
“Well, I’m informed that Mrs. Fisher had a substantial account at her father’s firm. She won’t be needing that.”
“That’s outrageous!” Keener said.
“So is running off with the piggy bank,” Stone replied. “If you give it some thought, I think you’ll see that this is an easy way out for her.”
“Send me the papers,” Keener said.
“There is the problem of service,” Stone said. “Can you accept service on her behalf?”
“Yes.”
“It will be done.” Both men hung up, and Stone buzzed Joan.
“Print out a boilerplate divorce document with Herbie as the complainant and the cause as abandonment by Stephanie, contingent on an agreed settlement, then messenger it over to Keener.”
“Will do.”
Stone went back to his crossword, but almost immediately, Joan buzzed him again.
“Arrington on line one.”
Stone picked it up. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
“Much better,” she said. “It was just an infection, not a recurrence, so an antibiotic fixed everything. I’ll be arriving late this afternoon. Can you have your car meet me?”
“Of course. What time?”
“Five o’clock?”
“You can avoid rush hour if you land at three.”
“Good point. I guess I can do that. How are you and Peter getting along?”
“Famously.” Stone told her about the meeting at Centurion.
“The little devil!”
“Not so little; you should have warned me.”
“You didn’t tell him anything, did you?”
“Not a word,” Stone said. “He told me.”
“What!”
“He picked up the photograph of my father in my study, and it was all over. I answered a few questions, but he’s still going to want to hear from you.”
“Oh, God,” she said. “I’ve dreaded this.”
“Everybody’s very impressed with him, especially his maturity,” Stone said.
“I know, I know. He taught himself to read at three, and by four he was speaking like an adult, in complete paragraphs. He was just astonishing; he still is.”
“I’ll go along with that.”
“You have to remember, Stone, that although he speaks like an adult, he’s still only sixteen years old, next month, and in many ways, that’s his emotional age.”
“I haven’t seen a single sign of that,” Stone said.
“It will come up, believe me.”
“You didn’t tell me he was about to have a birthday.”
“I apologize; that was a lapse on my part. Do you want to know what to get him for a present?”
“That’s already taken car
e of.”
“Oh, good. All right, I’ll see you late this afternoon.”
“Where would you like to have dinner?”
“Did you and Peter dine at Elaine’s last night?”
“Yes, with Dino and Ben. He and Peter are going to the movies this afternoon.”
“Then let’s go to the Four Seasons.”
“I’ll have Joan book it. Eight o’clock?”
“All right. Bye-bye.” She hung up.
Stone gave Joan her instructions.
“All right, I’ll get the i-stuff on my lunch hour.”
“You can still take a lunch hour,” Stone said. “Tell the Woodman amp; Weld operator to pick up.” They had a telephone arrangement with the law firm so that Stone could be called there, and the caller patched through to his home office or a message taken.
Stone hung up and started on the crossword.
8
S tone was at his desk at mid-afternoon when Joan buzzed.
“Seth Keener on one.”
Stone picked up. “Yes, Seth?”
“My client has agreed to accept Mr. Fisher’s terms.”
“Good. When can I expect the paperwork back for his signature?”
“Will you accept a fax?”
“Does she have access to a color fax?”
“Possibly.”
“Have her sign in blue ink and fax without a heading, then FedEx the originals. What is her proposal for a settlement?”
“She has a little over three million in her account at the family firm.”
“I think he might accept that.”
“She’s willing, but the account is frozen. He’ll have to wait until the feds unfreeze it.”
“And that will be about the same day as Antarctica unfreezes.”
“If you say so. She has no other assets available. I’m sure Mr. Fisher wouldn’t want… questionable assets.” He paused. “There is another possibility, but we’ll have to go off the record.”
Stone pressed the record button on his phone. “What is her proposal?”
“She’s willing to backdate a transfer of her assets to a date before her departure of the country.”
“That would be felonious. Let’s go back on the record.”
“All right.”
“What is the family firm’s position? I would be surprised if they or their insurance company haven’t made a pass at that account.”
