by Stuart Woods
“Gee, thanks, Bill, I’m just sitting here, having lunch with Ed Eagle, and you had to interrupt.”
“Tell Ed I said hello. This could be a good client,” Bill said. “A Britisher named Charles Grosvenor is making a move to Los Angeles and he wants a law firm to represent him. Word is, they’re part of the London Grosvenor family, which includes the Duke of Westminster.”
“You’ve got a dozen good lawyers in the L.A. office,” Stone said.
“Your name came up—apparently he’s heard of you from a friend.”
“What friend?”
“I don’t know, but I’d appreciate it if you’d meet with them. They’re staying down the road at the Bel-Air Hotel.”
“All right, I’ll call them this afternoon,” Stone said. “Maybe we can have a drink later in the day.”
“That’s good. Let me know what comes of your conversation.”
“I’ll do that.” Stone hung up and went back to the table.
“Bill Eggers says hello, Ed. He also says I’m having too much fun out here, so he’s found me some work.”
“It’ll be good for you,” Ed said.
“We’ll see.”
Stone called the Bel-Air and was connected to Grosvenor’s suite. A young woman with an upper-class English accent answered the phone.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Barrington,” she said. “Mr. Grosvenor is out at the moment, but he asked if you could meet him at the Bel-Air for a drink later today.”
“Of course.”
“Five o’clock, in the bar, then?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Mr. Grosvenor looks forward to meeting you.” She hung up.
—
THE BAR AT the Bel-Air was virtually deserted when Stone arrived, wearing a necktie for the occasion, and he looked around, then selected one of two chairs by the fireplace, where a small blaze lit up that side of the room. A moment later, a tall, beautifully dressed, distinguished-looking man, fiftyish, entered the room, spotted him, and walked over.
“I expect you must be Mr. Barrington,” he said, smiling, “since you’re the only person here.”
Stone rose to greet him. “I am Stone Barrington,” he said.
Grosvenor took the other chair, and Stone waved at a waitress who was loitering by the bar, waiting for business to pick up. “What may I order for you?” Stone asked as the waitress arrived.
“A Laphroaig,” Grosvenor said, “no ice, please, just a little cool water.”
“And a Knob Creek on the rocks,” Stone said to her, and she disappeared.
“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Stone said.
“Thank you. We’ve been here many times, of course, but we’ve come this time to purchase a residence and settle.”
The waitress returned with their drinks, then left.
“Bill Eggers said that someone had referred you to me.”
“Ah, yes, a New York friend, Emerson Wilson.”
Stone had met the man at a dinner and talked with him for half the evening, but that was it. “Of course.”
“I regard Emerson as a keen judge of character,” Grosvenor said, “and he regards you as a good man to deal with.”
“I’m flattered,” Stone said. “What sort of services will you require from Woodman and Weld?”
“Perhaps you might tell me how your firm could best serve?”
“We can provide you with essential legal services, including finance and tax assessment. We can introduce you to a reputable investment adviser and a realtor to help in your search for a residence. We can also help you deal with any immigration issues you may have.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem for us—my wife is an American citizen.”
“That makes things much simpler. Where do you currently reside, Mr. Grosvenor?”
“In Eaton Square, London, and we have a country house near Chester.”
Stone recalled that Eaton Square was owned by the Duke of Westminster and that his family seat was near Chester. “And how soon do you plan to relocate?”
“You might say that, having arrived, we have already relocated. All we need is a house to complete the move.”
“Have you chosen a neighborhood?”
“We quite like Bel-Air,” Grosvenor said.
“You understand that I work in the New York office of Woodman and Weld and that I live in that city.”
“Quite.”
“There are a dozen partners in our Los Angeles offices. I think it’s best that I introduce you to one of them tomorrow and that he begin to assess your needs and make recommendations.”
“I was rather hoping that you could be involved.”
“Of course, but I think it’s best that you have an attorney on the ground in Los Angeles. I can be available in New York whenever I’m needed.”
“Do you not have a residence in Los Angeles?”
“I do, at The Arrington, just up Stone Canyon, but I’m normally here only two or three times a year. I may be here more often now since my son is living here, working as a film director at Centurion Studios.”
“Ah, Hollywood. That interests me.”
“Well, you’ll see a lot of it in Los Angeles,” Stone said. “Are you available for lunch tomorrow?”
“I believe so.”
“Let me invite a partner to join us who is more savvy about living in California. He will be up to date on taxes, for instance.”
“Of course. What is his name?”
“I have in mind Thomas Wise, our managing partner here. He’s a native Angeleno and a very knowledgeable attorney.”
“May I bring Mrs. Grosvenor?”
“Of course. Would you like to have lunch in the garden here? Say, at one o’clock tomorrow?”
“That would be delightful.”
Stone set down his glass, stood up, and offered his hand. “Until tomorrow at one, then.”
“Good day,” Grosvenor said. He left the bar, leaving Stone to deal with the check.
—
BACK IN THE car he phoned Tom Wise.
“Good afternoon, Stone.”
“Good afternoon, Tom. I think Bill Eggers must have alerted you to the possibility of an important new client?”
“He did.”
“I’ve made a lunch date with him and his wife for tomorrow at one in the garden at the Bel-Air.”
“That’s fine. Will you be joining us?”
“I will, then I’ll hand off to you. His name is Charles Grosvenor, of Eaton Square, London.”
“Family connection to Westminster?”
“I assume so but have no real knowledge. Perhaps you can pry it out of him.”
“What’s his wife’s name?”
“He didn’t say, but she’ll be at lunch. Will your secretary book the table?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you, Tom. See you tomorrow.”
Stone called Eggers.
“And did you meet your new client?”
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s Tom Wise’s new client,” Stone replied. “I told Grosvenor I’d be available for consultation from New York.”
“Did that put him off?”
“Didn’t seem to.”
“Did he say that he was related to the Duke of Westminster?”
“No, but he did say that he lives in Eaton Square and has a country place near Chester. That puts him in the duke’s neighborhood. Are you coming out for the convention?”
“Can you put me up?”
“No, I’ve got Dino, Mike Freeman, and Ed Eagle staying. I can try to do something at The Arrington for you.”
“Okay, let me know.” He gave Stone his dates.
Stone called the manager and found Eggers a suite and got him some tickets for the gala.
Stone took
Dino and Viv and the Eagles to dinner in The Arrington’s garden restaurant, where Ann Keaton joined them just in time to order. Stone introduced her to Ed and Susannah, Ann complimented her on her film work, and they settled in for dinner.
“I’ve been hearing so much about your two sons,” Susannah said. “I’d love to meet them.”
“I think we can arrange that,” Stone said.
“I heard that they bought a novel that’s a favorite of mine,” she said. “Not Far Enough, by a Santa Fe writer, Helen Bradford.”
“That’s true,” Stone said. “They have a script and they’re going into production in a couple of weeks.”
“There’s a woman in the novel that I’d like to play,” she said. “It’s a character part, but I have to start doing those at some point.”
“When would you like to meet them?” Stone asked.
“As soon as possible. It’s going to get crazy as the convention gets cranked up. How about lunch tomorrow?”
“Excuse me a moment,” Stone said. He walked away from the table and called Peter. “Would you like to meet Susannah Wilde?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” Peter said. “I’m a great admirer of hers.”
“Can you and Ben host her at lunch tomorrow?”
“Yes, we can do that.”
“I should tell you that she’s interested in playing a woman in the novel. She says it’s a character part.”
“God, she’d be great in the part!”
“Twelve-thirty tomorrow?”
“Yes. Can you come?”
“I have to have lunch with a new client, but you don’t need me there.”
“Tell her to come to the bungalow. We have a chef now.”
“I’ll do that. Oh, and thank you again for the party last night. I love your house—Ben’s, too.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Stone hung up and returned to the table. “Twelve-thirty tomorrow? They’ll give you lunch at their bungalow.”
“Which one?”
“It used to be Vance Calder’s.”
“Oh, I know it. Do you think they’ll let me have a look at the script?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Stone said.
—
THE FOLLOWING DAY he went back to the Bel-Air for lunch and found Tom Wise waiting for him at the table. Tom was in his early sixties but looked tan and fit.
“Just how rich are these people?” Tom asked.
“They have a house in Eaton Square, and a country place, and they want to buy in Bel-Air. If I were you, I wouldn’t press them on the subject. The British upper class tend to be reticent about wealth.”
“All right. If we take them on, I expect I’ll find out anyway.”
“I expect so.”
Stone saw Charles Grosvenor approaching with a woman and he stood up to greet them. “This is Mrs. Grosvenor,” he said.
“And this is Tom Wise, the managing partner of our Los Angeles office,” Stone said. Mrs. Grosvenor had beautiful iron-gray hair to her shoulders, straight and parted in the middle. She appeared to be considerably younger than her husband, but they looked good together.
They sat down and ordered lunch, and Tom probed them lightly about what he could provide in the way of services.
“I think our first order of business will be an estate agent,” Grosvenor said.
Tom produced a card. “This woman is the queen of Bel-Air real estate,” he said. “I’ll have her call you this afternoon, if that’s all right.”
“Of course,” Grosvenor said, pocketing the card. He began asking questions, doing the talking for both of them, and Tom responded, revealing a depth of knowledge on every subject raised. Stone hardly got a word in edgewise, but he wasn’t bored. Mrs. Grosvenor seemed content to just listen. Two hours later, they parted company.
“What do you think?” Stone asked Tom as they walked to the parking lot together.
“He asks all the right questions and doesn’t seem put off by the property prices in Bel-Air. He’ll do for a client, I think. Did you catch the reference to his airplane?”
“I must have zoned out for a while there.”
“They own a Gulfstream G450. That puts them in the stratosphere in more ways than one.”
“Yes, it does,” Stone said. He shook Tom’s hand.
“Thanks for taking them off my hands,” he said. “I doubt you’ll need any help from me, but call if you do.”
The two men got in their cars and left the hotel.
Stone was having a drink before dinner with the Bacchettis and Mike Freeman, waiting for the Eagles to arrive, when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“You son of a bitch.” A woman’s voice, low and threatening. “You goddamned motherfucking bastard.” The volume was growing.
“Who is this?”
“You filthy, scum-sucking piece of shit!” She was screaming now.
“Who is this?” Stone said, then held the phone away from his ear as the screaming continued. “Stop it!” he shouted, and she did for a moment. “Now, let’s start over. Who is this?”
“This is the best actress working in movies,” she said, “the one who’s not going to get a nomination next year.”
“Charlene? Is that you?”
“How could you do it?”
“Do what? What on earth are you talking about?”
“My part in Peter’s picture—you gave it to Susannah Wilde, who won’t have the slightest idea what to do with it!”
“I didn’t give Susannah anything,” Stone said. “Peter is in charge of his own work and I stay out of it.”
“Then how is it that she’s staying at your house and she just happened to turn up at Peter’s bungalow for lunch today?”
“I set up the lunch because they both wanted to meet.”
“And he gave her my part just like that! That horrible, preposterous bitch, who can’t act her way out of a paper bag!”
“Charlene, you’re not yourself. Let’s talk another time when you can be more civil about this.”
“And thank you so much for getting me involved with that slimy adulterer Marty Stanton.”
“I didn’t get you involved—you said you wanted to meet him, so I introduced you.”
“And now my picture is on the front page of half the newspapers in the country with an infamous adulterer!”
“Two things, Charlene. When did you start giving a hoot about adultery? And when did you not like having your picture on the front page of half the papers in the country?”
“The whole world knows his wife just walked out on him and endorsed Kate Lee.”
“The whole world including you,” Stone pointed out. “He didn’t take you to dinner at gunpoint, did he?”
“I’m ruined. It’s all over the trades that I had the part in Peter’s film.”
“And who gave that to the trades?” Stone inquired. “Might it be your publicist?”
“And now fucking Susannah Wilde has the part. It’s on Entertainment Tonight right this minute, I’m watching it. Oh, shit, they just said that Peter dumped me for her!”
“Charlene, you’re behaving like a petulant child. You know how the game is played out here. You shouldn’t have given that information to the trades until you’d signed a contract. Do I have to explain that to you?”
“I will never forgive you for this, Stone, never! And you tell that friend of yours Mike never to call me again!” She slammed down the phone.
Stone hung up. Everybody was staring at him.
“What was that all about?” Dino asked.
“Did I hear my name mentioned?” Mike asked.
“I’m afraid you were right, Mike, you’ll never get laid again. At least not by Charlene Joiner.”
“What’s going on?”
&nbs
p; “I arranged for Susannah to have lunch with Peter and Ben today, and Charlene seems to think that they offered her the part that Charlene thought she had.”
“Did they?” Dino asked.
“I don’t know,” Stone said. He looked up to see Ed and Susannah getting out of a car and waved them over to poolside. “But I think we’re about to find out.”
Ed and Susannah sat down, and Manolo brought them their usuals.
“Congratulations on the new role,” Stone said tentatively.
“Oh, thank you, Stone. How did you know? Did you speak to Peter?”
“No, I spoke to Charlene Joiner—or rather, she spoke to me.”
“Uh-oh,” Susannah said, then she grinned impishly. “Did she think she had the role?”
“So I gathered,” Stone said, “between the screaming and the name-calling.”
“Well, if anybody knows how this town works, it’s Charlene.”
“I said something to that effect to her,” Stone said.
“I’ve always thought she didn’t like me,” Susannah said.
“I think that has been confirmed. And what’s more, she blames me!”
“Well, you did put me together with Peter and Ben,” Susannah said. “Are you upset with me?”
“No, no, not in the least. I’m happy for you and the boys. I’m just a little shaken—no woman has ever talked to me in quite that fashion.”
“Don’t worry about it, Stone, you just got between two actresses who wanted the same part.”
“I’ll make a point of never doing that again,” Stone said.
Ann arrived and was given a martini. “Stone,” she said tentatively, “I think we may have made a wrong move.”
“What did we do?” Stone asked.
“We got Marty Stanton into the newspapers with a movie star on his arm.”
“Why wasn’t that a good idea?”
“Well, there was an overnight poll and Marty picked up eight points on Kate. They’re tied now.”
“What?”
“Apparently white males over thirty-five now think Marty is the greatest swashbuckler since Errol Flynn.”
Ed Eagle spoke up. “From what I’ve heard, that’s not far off the mark.”
