by Stuart Woods
“I’m looking at a printout from online,” Keener said. “There’s no notation to that effect. I’ll e-mail you the user name and password when we receive Mr. Fisher’s signed documents.”
“Is there a notation from the feds?”
“Yes, from the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York.”
“I’m willing to recommend to my client that he accept the account as full settlement in the divorce.”
“With a notation mentioning the federal freeze order, of course.”
“Yes.”
“All right, send me an addendum to the divorce complaint and I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Right,” Stone said, and hung up. He buzzed Joan and dictated the addendum. “And get me Herbie,” he said.
Herbie came on the line. “Yes, Stone?”
“I hope you didn’t catch cold.”
“No, your suggestion of the hot bath and the brandy worked very well.”
“I have a proposal from Stephanie’s attorney.”
“Shoot.”
“She’ll agree to the divorce with her abandonment as the cause, and she’ll sign over to you her account at the family firm, which amounts to three million dollars.”
“Really?”
“There’s a catch: the feds have frozen the account.”
“Any chance it will ever be unfrozen?”
“Slim and none, but I can have a go, and the best part is, you win. That will look just fine in the papers, if it makes the papers.”
“I like that,” Herbie said. “Send me the documents.”
“Will do.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. “Have you noticed Herbie becoming more sane?” he asked.
“Maybe it’s a prolonged lucid interval,” she replied. “He does seem more together.”
“Do you have any idea why?”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you this, but he’s been going to law school for the past three years.”
Stone was astonished. “But he already has that bogus Internet law degree, and he ostensibly passed the bar exam.”
“I think he feels guilty about that, and after all, what else would he do with his days? It’s not like he works for a living.”
“You have a point.” The doorbell rang. Stone hung up and ran upstairs and opened the door. Arrington stood there, looking sharp in a Chanel suit with a gorgeous sable coat over her shoulders. They embraced and Stone sent her luggage up to the master suite.
“You look wonderful,” he said, helping her out of her coat and hanging it in the hall closet.
“I don’t know about the master suite,” she said. “Maybe I should sleep in a guest room.”
Stone thought about that. “It’s up to you,” he said, “but I wouldn’t enjoy sneaking around.”
“All right, since Peter knows, anyway.”
“Good.” He took her upstairs and got out a couple of luggage racks for her bags.
“I’d like a nap,” she said. “Alone.”
“Of course. Get unpacked and relax; I have work to do anyway.” He kissed her and left her alone.
Joan was buzzing him as he got back to his office. “Leo Goldman on one.”
Stone picked up. “Hello, Leo. Are you back in L.A.?”
“I’m on the Centurion jet,” Leo replied. “Listen, how old is Arrington’s kid?”
Stone thought for a fraction of a second. “He just turned eighteen.”
“Good,” Leo said.
“Why?”
“If he’s eighteen, he can sign a contract.”
“A contract for what?”
“I want to buy his movie.”
Stone had forgotten about Peter’s submission. “Why?”
“Because it’s better than anything indie I saw at the Sundance Film Festival last year.”
“Leo, is Peter’s name written anywhere on the material he gave you?”
“Ah, no; there’s no title page.”
“Leo, this is what I want you to do: the moment you’re back in L.A. I want you to FedEx that script and the DVD back to me, and I want you never to mention it to anybody until I give you the okay.”
“But, Stone, it’s good! One might even say brilliant-at least one would if one knew it was written and directed by an eighteen-year-old.”
“It’s complicated, Leo, and believe me, you don’t want to piss off his mother. She is, after all, Centurion’s largest stockholder. I want your word.”
“As long as I have your word to see the finished product before anyone else in the business.”
“You have it,” Stone replied.
“Done. You’ll have it back tomorrow.”
“And you won’t keep a copy, Leo.”
“I give you my word on that, too.”
“Thanks, Leo. I’ll look forward to receiving it tomorrow.”
“Bye, Stone.” Leo sounded very disappointed.
Stone tried not to think what would happen if word got around L.A. that a sixteen-year-old boy, ostensibly the son of a huge movie star, had written and directed a feature film. The thought of the aftermath made sweat pop out on his brow.
9
S tone woke Arrington with a light kiss on the lips.
“What time is it?”
“You have an hour and a half until dinner,” Stone said.
“Peter just got home from the movies, and he’s showering.”
She sat up. “I think I’d better do that, too. It will wake me up.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Oh, yes, I was just tired from the trip. I’m feeling much better after my nap.” She got up and began unpacking her bags and putting her clothes in the second dressing room. “Is there anything I should know about your conversations with Peter before we sit down to dinner?”
“Yes. I got him an iPhone for his birthday, which I know is against your wishes, but there will be a condition that he leave it with you when he returns to school in January. I’d like him to have it while he’s in New York.”
“I suppose that’s a good idea. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Peter has some ideas about his future, but I think you should hear them from him.”
“Anything that will give me a heart attack?”
Stone laughed. “I doubt it, and I think you should hear him out.”
“Peter can be very persuasive,” Arrington said, slipping out of her suit and hanging it up.
“You’ve lost some weight,” he commented.
“Yes, I’ve been trying.”
“You look very elegant.”
She slipped off her underwear and tossed it into the hamper, then came and put her arms around him. “I hope I haven’t lost anything you liked.”
He caressed her ass and her breasts. “Nope, it’s all still there.”
She kissed him. “You can explore later,” she said, then went into her bathroom to run a tub.
They walked up the stairs into the Four Seasons restaurant and checked in at the desk.
“Is this the power lunch place?” Peter asked, looking around.
Stone thought he looked very handsome in his blue suit. “Yes, right over there, in the Grill Room. We’re dining in the Pool Room.”
“They play pool here?”
“No, they have a pool.” They were led to a table at poolside. Stone ordered champagne for Arrington and himself and Peter asked for fizzy water and was brought San Pellegrino.
When the champagne came, Stone raised his glass. “Happy birthday, Peter.” He nodded to the captain, who brought over two giftwrapped boxes. “The smaller one is from your mother.”
“But she already gave me my laptop,” Peter said.
“It’s a second gift,” Arrington said, “and it has strings attached.”
Peter ripped off the paper. “Wow!” he said. “You’re letting me have a phone?”
“The strings are: you leave it with me when you return to school.”
“Oh,” he said, lookin
g disappointed. He opened the other box. “An iPad! Wonderful.” He switched it on.
“It will need charging,” Stone said. “Leave it until later.”
Peter put the gifts back into their boxes, and a waiter took away the tattered wrappings. Peter looked at them both. “Thank you so much,” he said. “I think you two should get married,” he added.
Arrington put her face in her hands. “Oh, God!”
“You need to edit your thoughts before speaking, Peter,” Stone said.
Arrington took her hands away. “You certainly do, young man. My marital status is not at your disposal; in fact it’s none of your business.”
“Yes, it is,” Peter replied. “It will make me happy.”
“You’re already happy,” she said. “Stone and I will make any decisions about our personal lives without your further input. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but not sheepishly. “Oh, and I want to change my name.”
Arrington looked at him, baffled. “What’s wrong with Peter? It’s a very nice name.”
“No, I want to change Calder to Barrington.”
She stared at him, speechless.
“You don’t know what I’ve had to go through at school for having a movie star for a father. I don’t want to hear that at my next school.”
Arrington’s face became sympathetic. “Oh, I’m sorry, Peter, I didn’t know.”
“It wasn’t so bad in L.A., because lots of kids had movie people for parents, but in Virginia it’s very, very different.”
Arrington thought about it for a moment, then turned toward Stone. “What do you think about this?”
“I wouldn’t be in the least displeased,” Stone replied.
“Do you think he’s old enough to make that decision?”
“It’s your decision, really,” Stone said, “but it needs to be decided, one way or the other, before he gets any older.”
“What would we tell them at the school?” Arrington asked Peter.
“That we’re changing my name from my stepfather’s to my father’s.”
“I suppose that’s accurate,” she said.
“I would be a lot more comfortable in myself,” Peter said.
She looked at her son, then at Stone. “How can I object?”
“Welcome to the Barrington family, Peter,” Stone said, “such as it is. You and I are the only living members.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Peter said.
“He never called Vance that,” Arrington said.
“He asked me to call him Vance,” Peter said.
“Yes, he did,” she admitted. “I wondered why he did that.”
“Because he knew something I didn’t,” Peter said.
The captain came with menus, and the subject was put aside while they ordered. Then, when the menus had been taken away, Peter said, “Next subject: my new school.”
“Oh?” Arrington said. “What about it?”
“I want it to be Knickerbocker Hall.”
“That has a familiar ring,” she said. “Where is it?”
“Right here, in New York,” Peter said. “On the Upper East Side.”
“A boarding school on the Upper East Side?”
“It’s not a boarding school,” Peter pointed out.
Stone intervened. “Peter now has a home in New York,” he said.
Arrington was looking back and forth between them, her brow furrowed.
“It has a performing arts program, including a film school. I want to do college-level work there and then go to Yale Drama School.”
“Was this your idea?” she asked Stone.
“Only the part about his living with me while he’s in school. The rest is entirely his; I didn’t know about Knickerbocker.”
“Let me think about it,” Arrington said.
“And I want to be eighteen,” Peter said.
“You will be, in two years,” his mother pointed out.
“I mean, when I go to Knickerbocker, I want them to think I’m eighteen. I don’t want to be the only sixteen-year-old among a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.”
Arrington looked at Stone questioningly.
“I think he can pull it off,” Stone said. “Look at him; listen to him. I don’t know any eighteen-year-olds that grown up.”
“But I would miss sixteen and seventeen,” Arrington said, plaintively.
“I wouldn’t miss them,” Peter said.
They put all this aside and dined well. When they had finished their entrees and ordered dessert, Arrington sighed deeply. “All right, I agree,” she said.
“Agree to which things?” Peter asked.
“All of them. You’re Peter Barrington, you’re eighteen, and you can go to Knickerbocker what’s-its-name.”
“Hall,” Peter said.
“And to Yale, too. That’s assuming you can get into these places.”
“I can,” Peter said.
“He never lacked confidence,” she said to Stone.
“Sometimes confidence is justified,” Stone said.
They had a birthday cake for dessert. It had eighteen candles.
10
S tone woke the following morning with someone fondling his crotch. “Is that you?” he asked.
“It had.” better be,” Arrington replied. “And it seems to be working.”
“I can vouch for that,” he said.
She climbed onto him and took him inside her.
“You’re all wet,” he said.
“Normally, I would take that statement amiss, but on this occasion, you’re perfectly correct.” She moved gently up and down. “I liked the way things went last evening,” she said.
“So did I, and I like the way things are going now.”
She laughed, and the contraction was instantly transmitted to Stone. “Keep laughing,” he said. “It feels good.”
And she did.
Joan came into Stone’s office. “I booked Arrington and Peter at Radio City Music Hall for the matinee,” she said.
“Why not me?”
“You have to work for a living these days, and your first client of the day is outside, waiting.”
“Anybody I know?”
There was a rap at the door, and Herbert Fisher stuck his head in. “Good morning. Got time for me?”
“Always,” Stone said, without the usual irony.
Herbie came in and sat down. “You wanted me to sign the documents?”
Stone handed him the stack, with the signature pages flagged, and a blue-ink pen. “You’ll note that Stephanie has already signed them.”
Herbie looked at her signature. “Don’t tell me she’s in New York.”
“Color fax,” Stone said. “Her attorney accepted service.”
“What are the chances we’ll get the feds to let go of the three million?”
“I told you before: two chances, slim and none.”
“I like slim better,” Herbie said, shoving back the signed documents.
He buzzed Joan. “Documents ready for delivery to the court and to Seth Keener.” She came and got them.
“How long before I’m a free man?” Herbie asked.
“You’re a free man now,” Stone said. “The rest is red tape. A couple of months of that, probably.”
“I’ve met a nice girl.”
“Slow down, Herbie; you always move too fast. Employ a little skepticism this time, and you’ll save on legal fees later.”
“I’ve been going to law school at NYU,” Herbie said.
“No kidding?” Stone said, playing straight man. “How come?”
“I was not entirely satisfied with the quality of my Internet legal education,” Herbie said.
“I see.”
“I’m going to pass the bar again, too.”
“Congratulations in advance.”
“Then I thought I might take you as a partner,” Herbie said confidently, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll front the money for expanding the practice.”
“I saw the announcement in the Times,” Herbie said.
“You’re reading something besides the Post these days?”
“The Wall Street Journal, too.”
“Well, you’re a man of means; that’s appropriate reading.”
“I managed to increase my net worth this year, too,” Herbie said. “A first.”
Stone laughed. “I believe you. How did you do that in the middle of a recession?”
“I bought a small office building on Lexington Avenue, and I did okay in the market, too.”
“Wow. Who closed on the real estate for you?”
Herbie handed him an envelope. “You. Here’s the sales contract.”
Stone opened the envelope and looked at the document. “That sounds like a very good price. Do you have tenants?”
“I bought it fully rented.”
“Are you going to be the new Donald?”
“Hardly, but it’s a good investment.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I saw the two thugs again,” Herbie said.
“The ones responsible for your dip in the harbor?”
“The very ones. They were across the street from my building when I came downstairs this morning. Stone, can you get me a carry permit for a handgun?”
“Herbie, that’s the hardest document to get that the city issues. I could get you a building permit at Ground Zero more easily.”
“What are the requirements for a carry license?”
“Essentially, you have to prove that you regularly carry large amounts of cash, like a payroll, or quantities of diamonds or other jewelry on a regular basis.”
“How about having my life threatened? Does that count?”
“I’m afraid the NYPD-the issuing authority-places more value on property than life.”
“I thought the Supreme Court decision on the D.C. case changed everything.”
“Everything but the NYPD and the mayor. It could happen, eventually, but they’ll have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the new era. If you want something to do, you could get a couple of your classmates together and sue the city.”
“Not a bad idea,” Herbie said. “And in the meantime I have to fend off hired killers with my bare hands?”
