Insatiable Appetites

by Stuart Woods

  Stone sighed. “I suppose that’s inevitable.”

  “Especially when your name is on the Lees’ guest list for the White House on election night. Did you really sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom?”

  “I did, and quite well.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Very Victorian. Lincoln never slept there, but he used it as an office.”

  “Any ghosts?”

  “I was sleeping too soundly to notice.”

  “How’s our Kate looking?”

  “Just great. Didn’t you watch her on TV?”

  “Sure, I did.” The phone rang and she went to answer it.

  Stone found four letters in his mail that alluded to his friendship with the Lees, and he dictated perfunctory replies.

  Herbert Fisher turned up at two o’clock, with a catalog case full of files to return. He accepted a cup of coffee and settled into the sofa.

  “Thanks for riding herd on my clients while I was gone, Herb,” Stone said.

  “Don’t mention it. Just vote for my partnership tomorrow.”

  “Is it tomorrow? I’ve lost track. You shouldn’t have anything to worry about, you know. You’ve brought more business into the firm than a lot of the partners.”

  “I still feel a chill here and there.”

  “That’s envy, not doubt.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “You’ll be the youngest partner.”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “And you’ve set a record for going from new associate to senior associate to partnership.”

  “I hear that, too. I think it was too fast for some of the partners.”

  “Has Bill Eggers offered you a better office?”

  “I’m happy where I am. I did ask for another associate and another secretary, though.”

  “If the workload demands it, he’s not going to turn you down.”

  “Do you think you’ll get new business because of your relationship with Kate Lee?”

  “I never got any because of my relationship with Will, and I’d decline anything I thought was nakedly political—or refer it to you.”

  “Referrals are appreciated.”

  “Herb, you seem a little down at a time when you should be elated.”

  Herbie shrugged. “I’m just not sure how I’ll like being a big boy in the firm. Being the kid was fun.”

  “You’ll like it at bonus time.”

  “I already like it at bonus time.”

  “Bonuses get bigger when you’re a partner.”

  “I guess.”

  “Herb, is there anything wrong? Anything I can help with?”

  He was about to answer when Joan buzzed Stone.

  “Yes?”

  “Eduardo Bianchi on one.”

  Bianchi was a kind of mentor to Stone. He knew everybody in town, served on the most prestigious boards, and had his fingers in many pies. He had also been long rumored to have been a power in the mob as a young man and an adviser to it in his maturity, but nobody had ever proved anything.

  Stone picked up the phone. “Eduardo, how are you?”

  “Better than I have any right to be, Stone.” Bianchi was well into his eighties. “Will you come to lunch tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to.” He had an idea. “May I bring a friend? A young attorney?”

  “Of course. I’m always happy to meet your friends. Twelve-thirty?”

  “See you then.” He hung up. “Herb, I have a lunch invitation for you tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, I’ve got a date—new business prospect.”

  “Reschedule,” Stone said.

  “Who’s lunch with?”

  “Eduardo Bianchi.”

  “I’ll reschedule.”

  Stone walked up to the Seagram Building the following morning and took the elevator to the highest of the four floors occupied by the law firm of Woodman & Weld. The firm’s grandest conference room had rows of folding chairs set up, and all the partners filled the room.

  Bill Eggers, the managing partner and Stone’s friend from law school, strode into the room, sat down at the head of the conference table, and rapped sharply with his gavel. “The partnership meeting will come to order.”

  Everyone took their seats and became silent.

  “There is only one item on the agenda this morning: the consideration of Herbert Fisher for full partnership. I know that some of you think that Herb has moved a little too quickly through our ranks, but you have only to consider his ability as a rainmaker. From the first week of his association with us, he has been bringing this firm business, and the importance of his clients to the firm has grown with each year he has spent with us as an associate and senior associate. I have a cashier’s check in my pocket for a million dollars, covering his buy-in. Do I hear a motion?”

  Stone, a little way down the table, stood. “I am pleased and honored to propose Herbert Fisher for full partnership.”

  “Do I hear a second?”

  “There were several shouts of “Second!”

  “Without objection,” Eggers said, looking around the room with a beady eye, “the motion is carried unanimously.” He rapped his gavel again and stood up. “This meeting is adjourned!” He walked quickly from the room, and the partners dispersed.

  Stone walked downstairs a flight and found Herbie sitting in his office, reading a contract. He looked up and smiled at Stone. “Something I can do for you, Stone?”

  Stone took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and hugged him. “May I be the first to congratulate you on becoming a full partner in Woodman & Weld?”

  “You certainly may,” Herbie replied.

  “Then let’s get downstairs. Fred is waiting to drive us to Eduardo’s.”

  Fred piloted the Bentley out to the nether regions of Brooklyn, where Eduardo Bianchi’s sixty-year-old Palladian mansion overlooked a fine beach and the sea. They were met at the door by Pietro, Eduardo’s longtime factotum and, allegedly, in his youth, assassin, said to be particularly good with the knife. Pietro looked Herbie up and down. Before he could start frisking the younger man, Stone said, “He’s with me, Pietro.”

  The little man led them through the house and into Eduardo’s library, where a table had been set for them. At a more benign time of year they would have lunched on the back lawn, near the large, black-bottom pool that had been designed and crafted to look like a lake. Stone introduced the younger man to the elder.

  Eduardo looked closely into Herbie’s face and held on to his hand for an unusually long time. “I have heard good things said of you,” the old man said.

  “Stone is too kind, sir.”

  “Not only from Stone.” He let go of Herbie’s hand and showed them to their seats.

  “Eduardo,” Stone said, “Herb was, an hour ago, elected to partnership in Woodman & Weld.”

  “My hearty congratulations, young man,” Eduardo said, pressing his hand again.

  “Thank you, sir,” Herbie replied.

  “How are you keeping busy these days, Eduardo?” Stone asked.

  “Business,” Eduardo replied. “The usual. They won’t leave an old man alone.”

  “I think you would be very unhappy if they did,” Stone said, causing Eduardo to emit a rare laugh.

  “Perhaps you are right, Stone—you so often are. I hear that is why Katharine Lee thinks so highly of you.”

  “Do you indeed? Do you know her?”

  “Since she was an anonymous CIA analyst,” Eduardo said. “I was able to be helpful to her behind the scenes when she was being considered for the directorship, though I don’t think she would like that to be public knowledge, now that she will be president.”

  “I should think she would be proud to have people know that you are her friend.”

  “She
is discreet, and that is better than being proud. It is good, though, that you and I may see more of each other when exercising our duties in her Kitchen Cabinet.”

  That startled Stone, but only for a moment. Eduardo had a tendency to know things before they became public. “I will look forward to that,” Stone said.

  Pietro brought antipasti that was passed around, and a crisp white wine, perfectly chilled, was served with it.

  “I’ve never served on a Kitchen Cabinet,” Stone said. “What may I expect?”

  “I was privileged to serve two other presidents in that capacity,” Eduardo said. “First, Lyndon Johnson, though we talked only of domestic matters. I wholeheartedly disagreed with him about Vietnam, and as that wore on we spoke less and less. And then there was Richard Nixon.”

  Stone blinked, speechless.

  “We only rarely talked directly, usually it was through John Ehrlichman, of whom I thought highly. After that little burglary, I withdrew. Dick was so obviously headed for ruin, and none of them would listen to reason.”

  “Each time we meet I learn something new about you, Eduardo. You should write a memoir.”

  Eduardo laughed again. “If word got out that I were even contemplating such a thing, not even Pietro would be able to protect me from those who would want my head in a basket. I know far more about too many people than is good for me. Or for them.”

  “Have you ever written anything, Eduardo?”

  “Well, I dabble with my journal from time to time,” the old man said. “I’d let you read it, but it is written in a Sicilian dialect that is quite impenetrable to the uninitiated. Sometimes I entertain myself by reading a few pages. There are eight volumes, so far, covering as many decades. They are covered in fine leather—red, the color of the devil!” He laughed and slapped Stone on a shoulder, a remarkably rare display of camaraderie. “When I and all I love are dead, you may publish it, Stone—if you can find a translator!”

  “Have you met with Kate yet, Eduardo?” Stone asked.

  “Not for a couple of years, but I expect to see her when she comes to New York again during the transition.” Eduardo looked thoughtful for a moment. “This Kitchen Cabinet thing could cause you problems, Stone.”

  “How so?”

  “Once you are identified as a member of that group, there are people who might try to damage Kate by damaging you.”

  “I’ve already had a whiff of that during the campaign,” Stone said.

  “All the more reason for them to try again,” Eduardo said.

  After lunch, Eduardo gave them a little tour of the house, clearly for Herbie’s benefit, showing them his collections of books, sculpture, and pictures.

  “I’ve always loved the Modigliani portrait,” Stone said, nodding toward the woman on the wall.

  “She is my favorite,” Eduardo replied.

  “I love the two Picassos,” Herbie said, nodding at two paintings hung side by side.

  “One of them is a Braque,” Eduardo said, looking amused. “See if you can tell me which one.”

  “The one on the right,” Herbie said without hesitation.

  “You have quite an eye, Herbert.”

  “No, I just made a lucky guess.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Stone was amazed at how well the two men got on together. He could remember when Herbie was little more than an overgrown street urchin, chiseling his way through life.

  Finally, Eduardo walked them to the front door to say their goodbyes. Pietro approached them and handed Eduardo a very fine alligator briefcase; Eduardo handed it to Stone. “A little gift,” he said.

  “Thank you, Eduardo.” The briefcase was not empty. Stone laid it on the front passenger seat of the Bentley, then Fred drove them away.

  “What did Eduardo give you?” Herbie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Stone said. “Maybe a picture. He’s given me things like that before.”

  Fred dropped Stone at home, then drove Herbie back to his office.

  Stone set the briefcase on his desk and looked through his messages, then Joan came in.

  “Did Herbie make partner?”

  “He did,” Stone said. “I took him to lunch with Eduardo. They got on amazingly well.”

  “Nice briefcase,” Joan said.

  “A gift from Eduardo.”

  She went back to her desk, and Stone opened the briefcase. Inside were eight slim volumes bound in red leather. The color of the devil, he reflected. He picked up one and opened it. The hand was florid, almost artistic, obviously the product of the teaching of one or more long-gone nuns, but it was incomprehensible to Stone—perhaps even to most Italians.

  An envelope was tucked into the volume, and Stone’s name was written on it in the same hand. He opened it and read the short note.

  I want these to be in your keeping, Stone. When I am gone there are those who will want them, so be careful.

  Under Eduardo’s signature there were four groups of two-digit numbers, but no explanation of them. He read them several times, trying to make sense of them, but nothing came to him.

  He took the eight volumes to the big safe in an alcove off his office, opened it, and made room for them on the bottom shelf. One day, he thought, he would try to have them deciphered. He sat down and went to work.

  Near the end of the day Joan buzzed him. “Mary Ann Bacchetti is on line one. She says it’s important.”

  Mary Ann was Dino’s ex-wife, the mother of his son, Ben, and Eduardo’s elder daughter. Stone picked up the phone. “Hello, Mary Ann.” He hadn’t spoken to her since Dino’s divorce, except in passing.

  “Daddy’s had a stroke,” she said. “He’s not expected to live.”

  Stone was stunned. “I had lunch with him today, and he seemed in great form.”

  “He’s ninety-four,” she said. “Nobody that age is in great form. Pietro said that after you and your friend left, he went into his study and dictated some things to his secretary, worked all afternoon. He signed some documents she had typed up, then he complained of a headache and collapsed onto his desk.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you, Mary Ann?”

  “It looks as though I’m going to need a better lawyer than I’ve got,” she said. “I’d like to hire you, Stone, and whoever you need from Woodman & Weld.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Stone, his doctor thinks he won’t make it through the night, and when he goes, all hell is going to break loose, and everything will fall into my lap. It’s not too soon to start thinking about that.”

  “Where did they take him?”

  “To his bed. There didn’t seem to be any point in taking him to a hospital when his room is well stocked with medical equipment. He hates hospitals and always wanted to be treated at home when he got sick.”

  “All right, let’s meet, then.”

  “Can you come out here tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course.”

  “Around ten.”

  “All right.”

  “And will you call Dino and tell him? I can’t deal with him right now.”

  “All right, but you should call Ben, if you haven’t already. He’ll want to be here.”

  “He’s already on his way,” she said. “And, Stone, not a word to anybody outside our families. I don’t want it known that he’s dying.”

  “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” They hung up.

  Joan buzzed him. “Your son is holding on line two.”

  Stone punched the button. “Peter?”

  “Hello, Dad. You’ve heard about Mr. Bianchi?”

  “Ben’s mother just called me.”

  “We’re on our way to Santa Monica Airport. The studio’s jet is bringing us east. We should land around ten tonight.”

 
; “I’ll have Fred meet you at Teterboro and bring you and Ben to the city. Is Hattie coming, too?” He knew she would be; he never went anywhere without his girlfriend and collaborator.

  “Yes, and Tessa, too.” Tessa Tweed was Ben’s girlfriend, and she had had featured roles in two of his and Peter’s films.

  “Your old suite will be ready,” Stone said. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  “Good, Dad. We’re looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Shall I call Hattie’s folks?”

  “She’s doing that now. I’d like for us all to have dinner tomorrow night if . . . circumstances allow.”

  “Of course. We’ll do it here.”

  “Thank you, Dad. See you at breakfast.” They hung up.

  Stone called Dino, who was in a meeting. “Please ask him to call me the moment he’s free,” he said to the policewoman sergeant who guarded Dino’s gate. “It’s important. Has his son called?”

  “Yes, just a moment ago.”

  “Good.” Stone hung up.

  Five minutes later, Dino called.

  “Have you talked to Ben?”

  “No, I’ve just been handed his message. I called you first.”

  “Mary Ann called me a few minutes ago.”

  “Since when is she speaking to you?”

  “Eduardo has had a stroke, a bad one. She says he may not live through the night. Ben and Peter and their girls are flying in late tonight, and I’m having them met.”

  “Where is Mary Ann?”

  “At Eduardo’s house. She asked me to call you, so she may not be ready to talk to you.”

  “I’ll send a patrol car and some uniforms out there,” Dino said. “Keep the press away.”

  “No one knows he’s ill yet. She asked me to keep it in confidence.”

  “She won’t be able to keep the lid on that one for long.”

  “I had lunch with Eduardo today,” Stone said, “and I took Herbie Fisher out there to meet him. He looked wonderful.”

  “He always does.”

  “Mary Ann told me he’s ninety-four. I had no idea.”

  “I didn’t know that, either. I thought he was, maybe, in his mid-eighties.”

  “When you talk to Ben, find out where he’s sleeping. He’s welcome here, of course, but he may want to go to Mary Ann’s or your place, or he may want to go to his grandfather’s. I’ll have Fred take him to wherever he wants to go.”