He didn’t reply, though would have easily agreed if asked.
“So tell me about the tune. D’you like it?”
He’d loved it. Though Loveland had originally meant it to be a knock down rocker, over the years she’d kept toning it down until she found the perfect groove, a bluesy take reminiscent of the legendary acoustic revisiting of Layla that Eric Clapton had performed on his Unplugged album. “It was okay.”
“So what was it about?”
It was about a guy who’d become a lawyer then chucked it to start a band. It was, he supposed, a tribute to Andy Polanski, who she’d been smitten with at the first concert she’d ever attended. “Just a girl wants boy type thing.”
“You can do better than that, son.”
“Andy,” he replied, setting a hand on the man’s shoulder then quickly removing it after he flinched. “You’ve told me things in confidence which I’ve never repeated to anyone. Ever. Somebody goes off the record with me, it stays that way.”
Even further off the record was a comment she’d made a few days later when over drinks he’d brought the composition up and tried to nudge the source of inspiration out of her, which she playfully brushed off but then added, Strangest thing was that I remember thinking I’d really like to have his babies someday. Never’d happened regarding anyone before, hasn’t about anybody else since.
“You… ah, shit. Okay.”
“I appreciate that, Andman.”
Polanski then tapped the deep blue lens on the left side of the orange-framed, signature sunglasses that camouflaged his anisocoria. “Look me right in the eye.”
All Spotswood could see was the reflection of his own face.
“Is the name of the song I Wanna Be In Rock And Roll and is it a love letter to me?”
The reflection contorted into an expression of shock.
“Thank you, Jip. I promise I’ll keep this conversation confidential.”
***
“Welcome back to Fox for our post-game recap covering the second and third rounds of this one hundred million dollar, winner-take-all World Standoff! Tournament. I’m Phil Schuster.”
“And I’m Richie Levenfeld.”
“Rich, during that ten minute break we just had I read through my notes two or three times trying to break down the twenty contracts from the pair of matches we witnessed this afternoon, and I keep coming back to the same conclusion. For my money, we just saw four world-class competitors deliver possibly two of the… two of the most compelling, expertly executed and most exciting matches ever played, to borrow a phrase from our colleague Jip Spotswood, ever played in the history of the universe.”
“I’d have to disagree with you, Phil. But first, how about those numbers?”
“Rounds two and three were seen by a worldwide audience of… you’re not going to believe the bottom line I’ve just been given… seen by an average number of viewers somewhere north of 3.5 billion. I can’t wrap my brain around that figure. I can’t wrap anything around that figure.”
“Those fireworks Mr. Walbee provided an excellent appetizer of a lead-in to our broadcast, along with the fact… well, I don’t know it as a fact, but I’ve got a premonition that a whole passel, maybe even a number of passeli worth of viewers everywhere are getting their New Year’s Eve spreads situated, breaking out ice buckets and beverages of their choice so they can settle in for the upcoming Battle of the Bands concert. I can picture folks gathering around the Sydney Opera House with their picnic baskets to watch it on those huge screens that have been provided for their viewing pleasure and to welcome in the new year.”
“I think they already did.”
“Saw the concert? It’s not starting for another couple hours.”
“No, I meant the new year. It’s already tomorrow in Australia.”
“You know, I never understood all of that International Dateline stuff and probably never will, but speaking of fireworks, those Aussies really put on a good show every year, but this year it couldn’t have been as sweet as starbursts and roman candles we’ve already enjoyed here at Prism courtesy of the explosives firm of Kerensky, Lascaux, Easton and Chang, L L C.”
“What’s the first thing that caught your eye this afternoon?”
“The outfit Kari Katz was wearing?”
They both laughed.
“Aside from that, Richie.”
“I was struck with how calm all of them appeared as soon as they stepped into the Tourney Room. The chitchat that was going on among them. All of the smiling and nodding. Light years away from the atmosphere of the first round yesterday. You’d think they were a group of old friends… good friends… getting together in the rumpus room on a Friday night for half a buck a point.”
“Rumpus room?”
“Game room, party room down in the basement. Not solid on its etymology but just off the top of my head I’d guess Latin.”
“I’m impressed.”
“And I was impressed with how everybody seemed to keep their collective coolness through the first four contracts of Round Two…
“But that all changed during contract five when Sarah Easton, our most conservative player, stepped up to the plate swinging a forty ounce bat.”
“You know something Phil, I… Hey Joel? Bring up the combined scoreboards including bidding captures from today so our viewers can see what happened.”
In a moment the full brackets appeared on the screen and Levenfeld drew electronic red circles around a few of the individual players’ scoring squares from the early part of the second match. “Now right here, you can see that all of them were playing pretty tight despite the fact that there wasn’t too much to be won or lost. They’re all trading up here, down there, except for Sarah who lost out on all of the first four contracts putting her, combined with yesterday’s opening round totals, down twenty-one points from the lead Kerensky was still maintaining.”
“Though not an insurmountable lead, Rich.”
“T’was not, though... and I don’t want to dwell on this point… Easton has a history of not dealing well with adversity. So here she is facing… she needs something to start happening.”
“Contract five proceeds as the first four with Chang starting at a pair of blues, followed by Lascaux’s two silver, followed by Nick’s three blues. Sarah challenges, apparently waiting for more clues. Chang goes three silver, Boo four blue, Kerensky four silver and then… mind you, there’s a total of only twenty tiles available to be placed on the board, only blue and silver have been bid and odds are a nine bid is probably the top end for any fifth contract.”
Levenfeld draws a triple circle around Easton’s next bid. “Bang! She jump shifts to an astonishing eleven gold and Phil, you could see by the expressions on the gentlemen’s faces that they figured while the lights might have been on, nobody was home. Though there was good reason for Nick and Ronnie to want a little more action while Boo was in possession of one of those awful rainbows, the opportunity for all of them to pick up an easy eleven points each while knocking Sarah into a pretty deep hole was much too hard to pass up. So challenge, challenge, challenge.”
“And then the tiles are flipped. Chang’s got three blues, a gold and a wild. Lascaux’s got a blue, a black, a silver, a gold and a wild. Kerensky’s turns over three silvers and a pair of golds. Looked like swan song time as Sarah stared at the board a moment with what seemed to me as a look of complete resignation.”
“But then I saw the tips of her lips curl up ever so slightly while she reached in and began to flip her hand one tile at a time. Gold… gold… gold… gold … hesitation… then the fifth match which when combined with the other four golds and pair of wilds in play gave her the contract.”
“I’m not sure which of the guys uttered it, but one of them used a popular two word phrase of surprise that begins with holy and ends with a slang term often associated with carnal relations.”
They both laughed.
“I’m sure Joel or one of our other statistician
s will get us a calculation on the odds of a player successfully pulling off an eleven in a fifth contract when their color hasn’t been bid though I can assure you that the number will probably be close to… it’s gotta be astronomical, Phil.”
“Which brings us back to your observation at the top of the broadcast.”
“About Kari?”
Schuster chuckled. “I was thinking more about how you disagreed with me about the quality of rounds two and three.”
Levenfeld glanced at his notes. “Compelling? Depends how you look at it. Expertly executed? Absolutely! But most exciting? Again, depends on how you look at it and what you expect, make that want, from world-class play.” He paused. “We’ve had this discussion before and until something changes my mind, we’ll have to agree to disagree. I’m not saying either of our takes are right or wrong, good or bad.”
“We’ve played how many games between us? Fifty one on ones?”
“Probably.”
“Of which I’d guess I’ve won more than 30.”
“Also true. But who’s ahead where it really counts?”
“As far as wagers, I’d have to say you maintain a substantial advantage.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Phil, and that is what this World Tournament is all about. Tomorrow night when the hundred mil is handed over to one of these four players, I guarantee it’ll be he or she who showed no fear. And based on the 15 contracts that followed Easton’s little coup de grace, I’ve got to think that she’s got the edge going into the final match.”
“Don’t stop now.”
“Maybe Kerensky would have rolled the bones like she did. Even Ronnie. But when she made that 11 gold, the entire complexion of the tournament changed. You saw it, I saw it. The three gentlemen turned into… ”
“I know what’s coming. Don’t say it.”
Levenfeld chuckled. “Okay. Uh… the three gentlemen turned into members of a certain religion popular here in the western states marked by a decidedly conservative view of the world around them.”
They both laughed.
“Folks,” Schuster grinned, “without telling tales out of school, the term Richie is not referring to is one he’s occasionally applied to yours truly.”
Levenfeld chuckled again. “And my friend Phil would have fit right in to the entire third round we just saw. Talk about getting defensive. Those last ten contracts were a snooze fest.” He began drawing more red circles, now on the running totals. “The leads did not change by more than… lemme check my math… the leads didn’t change by more than seventeen points, which is virtually impossible even if you had a computer programmed to make the absolutely tightest, cautionary bids available. Boo Lascaux, who’s got a rep for dropping bombs in that critical contract seven-nine range? Not a peep. In the eighth go-round he was holding enough silver ammo to pick up a seventeen… equaling a 34 point flip… and he folded up his tent like a frightened Boy Scout.”
“We’ve got about 90 seconds left before we go into our break, to be followed by edited replays of rounds two and three, and of course later the event we’ve all been waiting for, the Battle of the Bands featuring CCBBA versus Pandora’s Obsession, exclusively here on Fox. But for right now… Rich, you might not have approved of how the Final Four conducted themselves today, but you gotta love where that leaves us ahead of tomorrow’s fourth and final match for all the marbles.”
“Couldn’t agree with you more, Phil. At post time we’re going to essentially see a single ten contracts of Standoff! for one hundred million smackers. Nick Kerensky still holds that lead he broke with yesterday but it’s a slim one indeed. He’s gone from 46 to what might have been an otherwise comfortable 71 points, but Sarah Easton stands pat at 69, Ronnie Young Chang holding67 and Ceriac Boo Lascaux sitting coolly at 65. That six point spread among these champions isn’t even worth mentioning. That’ll be reshuffled before they turn the tiles to close the third contract. Consider it a dead heat.”
“Who you got in the Battle?”
“My money’s on Pandora by a nose. You?”
“I’ve been a fan of the Alliance for longer than I can remember so… $100 straight up?”
They shake on it.
***
Bernardini’s eyes searched the collection of images on the array. “Show me number five of the second round.”
“Capo,” Vaccaro groaned. “You’ve watched it a half-dozen… ”
Bernardini made a noise. “Please. On the center screen.”
“Yes, sir.”
They watched the fifth contract unfold again. Chang two blue. Lascaux two silver. Kerensky three blue. Easton challenges. Chang three silver. Lascaux four blue. Kerensky four silver.
“Stop it there,” Bernardini instructed. “No, keep it running but frame by frame. Half second per. I’ll tell you when to pause.”More than two minutes later he said, “Stop. Tag that. Manually back up one frame at a time.” Twelve images after, he again paused, then directed a view the following 24. Satisfied, he asked the slides be grouped into a sequential five-by-five block then displayed in the monitor to the far upper left beside some earlier clips of Kerensky from the Territorials.
“How many angles do we have that sequence from?”
She checked a chart. “Three complete, another that might contain a cutaway.”
“Jack? Give me similar groupings of all of them.”
“Anything else?”
“Three things. First, when gathered, place them in adjoining screens. Second, I’ll expect all four of you to all be here following a new assignment.”
“Capo?” Vaccaro asked.
Bernardini reached into the pocket of his blazer and removed eight chits that he fanned like a peacock’s tail. “Two tickets apiece, Luxury Box number three, fifth and sixth rows. Enjoy yourselves. Tomorrow morning, eight sharp.”
***
The uniformed guard opened the door of Spotswood’s suite as he and Denny approached, saying “Your guests have arrived, sir.”
“Dave and Sharon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great!”
As they stepped into the great room, Sharon Stonetree looked up from her magazine, tossed it aside then trotted across to hug him. “Oh, Jip! It’s so good to see you, be here with you. This is so exciting.” Then turning to Denny, she extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Sharon. And you must be Cassie?”
She shook it then grinned, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, but no, I’m not her.”
“Shar? This is Denny. She works here in Security.”
“Oh. Well, still nice to meet you Denny.”
“Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a wardrobe change to make.”
As she stepped away, Spotswood glanced around then asked, “Where’s Dave?”
“Taking a shower.”
“First thing I always try to do after a flight.”
“I know.” She chuckled. “He picked that up from you.”
“I’m gonna fix myself a cocktail. Care to join me?”
“Love to.”
Stepping to the bar in the far corner, he poured himself a Scotch straight up then removed a chilled bottle of Chardonnay from the reefer for his guest. Glasses in hand, they went to one of the sofas and following a clink, sat down.
“You really look great, Jip. Been working out?”
“Uh, yeah,” he replied, taking a sip. “And so do you. You were gettin’ kind’a skinny last time I saw you.”
“At the wedding I was down about 12 pounds.”
“Did the… how’s your health?”
She beamed. “One hundred percent cured.” She chuckled again. “And I’ve got fifteen new pounds to prove it!”
They both laughed, then she leaned in and softly said, “Sorry things didn’t work out with you ’n Becky.”
“Just one of those things.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “She told me what happened. And it’s not like she’s an alcoholic or… well, I don’t know.”
&nb
sp; He cuffed her on the arm. “Don’t worry about it.”
“So when do I get to meet the replacement?”
“That one didn’t work out either.”
She patted his leg. “I’ve got a feeling after this weekend you aren’t going to be having a hard time getting dates. I mean… ”
“Is that the star of the publishing and media worlds,” David Stonetree called as he entered the room, “or just an impostor?”
Spotswood went across to greet him, placing an arm around his shoulder. “Same old clown you’ve known for years. How ya’ hittin’ ’em, Stoney?”
“I’m holding my own.”
“I would’a thunk you gave that up a long time ago!”
They both laughed.
“Shar? You’ve never caught me whippin’ the old lizard, have you?” her husband grinned.
“David!” she scolded as she stepped to join them, kissing his cheek. “Could you save that kind of talk?”
“That’s okay,” Spotswood said. “I’ve heard much worse from him.”
“How about the two of you discuss it without me.” She glanced at her watch. “Speaking of wardrobe changes, I ought to get going on mine.”
“Did you manage to get us a couple seats up in the nosebleed section?” Stonetree asked.
“Might say that,” Spotswood nodded. “More specifically, with me up in BB One. That work for you?”
‘Really?” Sharon gushed. “With you up in the studio?”
“C’mon. You kidding? Only the best for my bests.”
She hugged him again, rocking back and forth. “You are the absolute best!”
“Ought’a be fun. Open bar, best of catering. Chance to watch me screw up.”
“Not in a million years.” She kissed his cheek then patted away the lipstick. “Okay. You two catch up while I avail myself of the facilities.”
After she left, Spotswood gestured to the bar. “We’ve got Chivas.”
“Sign me up.”
Sitting on a pair of stools they chatted for a few moments, Stonetree relating some of his experiences thus far at The Camden Foundation and his friend running down some tidbits about the anchoring duties. Then setting his drink aside, Stonetree said, “There’s something I need to ask you about.”
Weekend at Prism Page 20
