Indecent Exposure Page 7

  “There will be a big band, so you will have to dance with me.”

  “And I shall.”

  “No boogying, don’t worry.”

  “Do you think me incapable of boogying?”

  “I think you unwilling to.”

  “You have a point.”

  “Unless you are very, very drunk and that, in itself, would obviate boogying.”

  “A fine point, well made.”

  She set down her drink. “May I excuse myself to dress for dinner? It takes longer than it did before you bought me a new wardrobe.”

  “You are excused.”

  —

  Fred drove them to the restaurant so that Holly would not have to hoof it in very high heels, and deposited them on the sidewalk. They left their coats in the car.

  Then they walked into the restaurant and experienced something new—for Stone, at least. Someone began to clap, others joined in, and soon they were receiving a standing ovation.

  Holly leaned in to Stone. “Is this for Madam Secretary or for your newly revealed sexual prowess?”

  That had not occurred to Stone.

  “You’re blushing,” she said as the applause died and they were led by Ken Aretsky, the owner, to a favored booth, visible from anywhere in the restaurant. Drinks materialized.

  “I love this place,” Holly said.

  “And it loves you, as it has just demonstrated.”

  “How many women have you brought here, Stone?”

  “You are the two hundred and eleventh, if memory serves.”

  Stone ordered Caesar salads and Chateaubriand for two. Ken Aretsky appeared with a bottle of wine and presented it, a Château Mouton Rothschild 1978, with its label by Jean-Paul Riopelle. “With our compliments.”

  Stone accepted with a nod, and Aretsky produced a lighted candle and decanted the wine for them.

  Stone tasted a little. “Magnificent,” he said.

  Dinner arrived.

  “Remember,” Holly said, “we have to eat Thanksgiving dinner in only seventeen hours, or so.”

  “We’ll skip breakfast,” Stone said, digging in.

  —

  They arrived home pleasantly drunk, disrobed, and engaged, then engaged again.

  “Your reputation precedes you,” Holly said.

  17

  Stone and Holly arrived at Dino and Viv’s Park Avenue apartment on schedule. Many hugs and kisses ensued.

  “The wine you sent arrived,” Viv said to Stone, “but if we serve it, our guests will think Dino is on the take.”

  “A simple, unpretentious California Cabernet,” Stone said.

  “Caymus Special Selection? Simple? Unpretentious?”

  Stone looked around at the collection of retired police officers and politicians. “Most of your guests will never have heard of or really appreciate it,” Stone said. “Still, it’s nice to be good to them. When they taste it they’ll approve.”

  “They’d better,” Viv replied.

  “I was led to believe we would find you only in the kitchen,” Stone said.

  “Dino, the angel, hired a support team. All I have to do is instruct them or, maybe, slap them around a little. If my mother were here, she’d believe she cooked it all.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Holly,” Viv said, “you look fabulous!”

  “When I was appointed, the President insisted I dress like a grown-up,” Holly replied.

  “Some grown-up!”

  Dino extracted himself from a nest of blue suits and joined them. “Stone, the wine is sensational! Did you make it yourself?”

  “My feet are still red from the crushing of the grapes.”

  “I heard you had a visit from our colleagues at the state police.”

  “I did.”

  “It was true, as I told you, that Teppi had never been arrested, but, as it turns out, he’s been questioned more than a dozen times. The slippery type.”

  “All too clear.”

  “I ran Gloria Parsons’s name, too, but all we could convict her of is sleazy journalism.”

  “That’s pretty clear, too.”

  “I heard you got a standing ovation at Patroon last night.”

  “That was for Holly.”

  “That’s not how I heard it.”

  “I hope to God you’re wrong.”

  “I think it was for Stone, too,” Holly said.

  The Bacchettis were pulled away in different directions and Stone and Holly found themselves afloat in a collection of Hermès neckties and large wristwatches. The wives all seemed to be clad in red.

  They found seats at a card table, which saved them from having to eat from their laps, and the food was as good as Viv’s mother would have expected. It was hard not to eat too much, and when they left at half past three, Viv pressed a box of leftovers on them. “So you won’t have to dine out tonight.”

  —

  As they left the building they encountered a knot of media types and a couple of TV cameras confined to the gutter by half a dozen NYPD uniforms. Strobe lights flashed, and Stone caught a glimpse of Alphonse Teppi in the middle of the throng, for no apparent reason.

  “Who’s the lizard?” Holly asked.

  “He is what he appears to be,” Stone said. “He came to see me and suggested that I somehow get some acquaintances of his released from prison, and the sonofabitch recorded the conversation, which was played back to me by a couple of New York State cops. Fortunately, I was sufficiently abusive of him as to appear innocent in their eyes.”

  “Is that the Teppi Dino mentioned?”

  “Try and forget his name.”

  Fred had the car door open, and they were inside before too many photos could be taken.

  “I hope you’re getting used to the attention of the media,” Stone said.

  “It seems to happen only when I’m with you.”

  They took a drive down Fifth Avenue on the way home; the trees in Central Park were mostly bare but showed a lingering bit of color here and there.

  “I miss the leaves,” Holly said.

  “They’ll be back in the spring—happens every year.”

  —

  Viv had been right, they dined in the late evening on leftovers and a good bottle of wine. Later, in bed, they found a movie on TV.

  “I’m glad you’re not a football nut,” Holly said.

  “Only when I care who wins. NYU didn’t have a football team.”

  “Did you notice that there was a gang of men in Dino’s study watching a game?”

  “It’s the Thanksgiving affliction,” Stone replied.

  18

  On Friday, Holly flung herself into the looting of Madison Avenue and, on her way home, Bloomingdale’s. She arrived home empty-handed.

  “All that and no shopping bags?” Stone asked.

  “I sent it all. It was mostly clothes for work, more businesslike things than I’m accustomed to.”

  “Congrats on sending everything—that’s what FedEx is for, isn’t it?”

  —

  They ordered in Chinese food from up the street and ate too much.

  “I’m not going to be able to get into my ball gown,” Holly said.

  “You’re wearing a ball gown?”

  “It’s that kind of event, Stone. All you have to worry about is pressing your tuxedo.”

  “Already pressed.”

  —

  On Sunday evening, Fred dropped them at One East Sixtieth Street. There was a delay because of the line of limos. It had begun to snow lightly, so they checked their coats.

  The crowd was aglitter with bright colors and serious jewelry. “I reckon this crowd is divided among family friends, the one-tenth of one percent, and the political types from upstate, who will be importan
t to Peter’s election to the Senate.”

  “How do you figure out which ones are the upstate politicians?”

  “They’re wearing clip-on bow ties and wingtips with their tuxes.”

  She looked around. “That is an astute observation.”

  Then someone was tugging at Stone’s elbow. He turned to find Gloria Parsons with her notebook and gold pen in hand, showing too much cleavage. “Good evening!” she said brightly.

  Stone smiled, since camera flashes were going off. “Get out of my sight,” he said softly.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to the secretary of state?”

  “I am not, and if you don’t go away, I’ll have the Secret Service throw you out into the street.”

  She took a step back, and her smile became a snarl. “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” she hissed.

  “I know exactly who and what you are.” Stone looked around for a man with a little badge in his lapel and a microphone in his ear. There was one six feet away. “Agent?” he said in a normal voice.

  The man stepped over. “Yes, sir?”

  “This . . . person is annoying the secretary of state. Would you be kind enough to remove her?”

  “Yes, Mr. Barrington,” the man said. He stepped deftly between Stone and Parsons, took her by the wrist, and tucked her arm over his, as if he were escorting her to dinner. “Right this way, madam,” he said, and began towing her toward the door.

  “But I’m press,” Parsons protested, holding up her invitation.

  The agent reached over and plucked it from her hand. “Not anymore,” he said, quickening his pace.

  Stone and Holly watched as she stopped at the door, stamped her foot, and handed him a ticket. He looked at it, handed it to another agent, and waited while he got her coat. He helped her on with it, then through the door and outside into the snow.

  “Nicely done,” Holly said. “I suspect that was the woman from Just Folks.”

  “You suspect correctly,” he said. “She won’t get back in here tonight. How did that agent know my name?”

  “He knows my name,” Holly replied. “You’re on the list as my escort.”

  “Ah.” He led her toward the grand ballroom. “I see they’re confining the media to the foyer,” he said. “We will have peace inside.”

  They got their table number from the reception table and worked their way through a receiving line manned by the happy parents—one of them a United States senator—the President of the United States and her husband, the former President of the United States, and in the middle, the happy couple, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Rule, she, née Celeste Saltonstall. Everyone was happy to see everyone else.

  Immediately, they began to run into people they knew: Stone knew the New Yorkers, Holly, the Washingtonians, and they busied themselves with introductions. They saw senators from a dozen states and God-knew-how-many congressmen, all with their wives.

  —

  They passed into the ballroom, which was everything in the way of Italian Renaissance design that the eminent turn-of-the-twentieth-century architect Stanford White could throw at it. The room was ornate and much of it was gilded. Many dining tables had been set around a large dance floor, and at one end what appeared to be the entire New York Pops orchestra was leaning into a Strauss waltz.

  “This is as grand as Americans know how to make it,” Stone said. “To do better, we’d need a king, a queen, and an aristocracy to show us how.”

  “We do have an aristocracy,” Holly said, “based mostly on money, and we’re standing in the middle of some of it.”

  Stone took her hand, snaked an arm around her waist, launched her into a Viennese waltz, buoyed along by the big string section. “I thought we’d get this out of the way early, before the floor is jammed with the competition.”

  “I should have known you’d know how to waltz.” Holly laughed, throwing her head back and enjoying the moment. The waltz ended, mercifully, just before Stone would have broken a sweat, and they found their way to their table. Along the Fifth Avenue side of the room, the family party had split up and each member hosted a table. Stone and Holly drew Peter Rule, who was seated between them.

  Earlier in the week, Stone had hosted Peter at Woodman & Weld, during his visit to get to know the legal team of The Barrington Group and sign on as a client.

  “Stone, I very much enjoyed my visit to your firm,” Peter said, “and I feel very well taken care of.”

  “We enjoyed having you,” Stone replied, “and we look forward to a long and successful relationship.”

  Holly told him how beautiful Celeste looked, and they chatted about the origins of her dress for a few minutes.

  “How did the wedding go?” Stone asked.

  “Since we had to deal with fewer than a dozen guests, it went very quickly, and we had a nice lunch.”

  “Have you been given Secret Service protection yet?” Stone asked.

  “I’ve managed to avoid it up until now,” Peter replied, “because I lived in London for four years. When I came back and went to work for Senator Saltonstall, I still avoided it because I was unknown to the general public, but now, after this and all the resulting press coverage, I will no longer be able to avoid it. Celeste regards their presence as a convenience, someone to hold her shopping bags while doing Madison Avenue, so she doesn’t mind, and I suppose I don’t mind being driven to work, so I can open my briefcase and get some things done on the way, but I’m sure that, eventually, they’re going to become a royal pain in the ass.”

  “The only way to deal with it is to get used to it,” Stone said. “They’ll likely be with you for the rest of your life.”

  Peter looked at Stone as if his secret had been learned. “From your lips to God’s ear,” he replied.

  19

  Peter leaned toward Stone. “Do you know a woman called Gloria Parsons, from some magazine?”

  “Unfortunately,” Stone replied. “Half an hour ago I took the liberty of asking a Secret Service agent to throw her out into the street.”

  “Celeste and I are so grateful to you for that,” Peter said. “After seeing what she did to you and Holly, we had her name taken off the press list, but she got in somehow.”

  “I don’t think she’ll get back in,” Stone replied.

  “I don’t mind dealing with the political reporters,” Peter said, “but these ‘lifestyle’ reporters are another thing entirely. Celeste has stopped speaking to any of them.”

  “Do you have a publicist?” Stone asked.

  “The senator has a press officer and an assistant, but they don’t work for me.”

  “If you like, I can recommend a woman who has been very helpful to clients of mine over the years. She seems to be especially good at making the media go away, or at least, minimizing their presence.”

  “I’d be grateful for a chance to speak with her.”

  “I’ll e-mail you her particulars tomorrow.” Stone looked up to see Alphonse Teppi glide past their table. “Excuse me for a moment, I spy another interloper, a colleague of Ms. Parsons.”

  Stone’s fervent wish was to collar Teppi, take him by the seat of his pants, and haul him to the front door, but discretion in the matter was the better part of valor, and he found another agent and pointed him at the man. The two left the ballroom, arm in arm, appearing to be in the midst of a fascinating conversation. Stone admired the agent’s skill in the circumstances. He returned to the table.

  “Is all well?” Peter asked.

  “Couldn’t be better,” Stone said. “Tell me, I don’t know much about your father, Simon.”

  “I suppose I could say the same,” Peter said. “My parents were divorced when I was quite young, and my father always seemed more like a mysterious uncle, sending a gift about every other birthday or Christmas. Will has been much more the dad since I was a sp
rout. I’ve always thought of him as my real father. The mysterious Simon did me one great favor, though—making me his heir. He came from a line of only sons, so the family fortune wasn’t dissipated but handed down intact and very healthy, as you saw when you read my financial statement.”

  “That was a great gift, since you had a replacement father present in your life.”

  “I spent a week one summer on Nantucket with him and some cousins from his side of the family, and I was miserable. I felt much more at home on the farm in Georgia, and Grandmother Lee was a real peach.”

  “Why did you never change your name to Lee?” Stone asked.

  “Because Simon would have disinherited me,” Peter said, “and Mom wouldn’t have that. I’m glad I didn’t change it, because the Rule name has provided some shelter over the years from the storm of public interest in the Lee family, as did the years in London, when everybody pretty much forgot about me. Of course, since I’ve reentered American life and decided to seek office, I’ll have to leave that shelter and deal with the world, but at least it will be on my own terms.”

  “I admire the grip you have on your life, Peter. When I was thirty I was spending my days solving murders with Dino, and I thought I’d put in my thirty years doing that.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “A bullet in the knee helped. When Dino and I got involved in a case with some political import, I went my own way and got bounced out of the NYPD for being uncooperative. They used the knee as an excuse.”

  “You should write an autobiography,” Peter said. “Yours sounds like a fascinating life.”

  The President of the United States, Peter’s mother, suddenly appeared between them, and they leaped to their feet.

  “Everything going well here?” Kate Lee asked. “Is Peter being a good host?”

  “Splendid,” Stone said.

  “Have a good time,” she said, and swept on to the next table.

  “I know you’ve been told this before,” Stone said, “but you have a remarkable mother.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Peter said.