Stuart Woods: Bel-Air dead

Rick suddenly looked closer to his age.

“I believe her heart is with you,” Stone said, “and I will do everything I can to swing her shares to you. I’m afraid that’s all I can say, at the moment.”

“I see,” Rick replied.

“Please don’t be disheartened,” Stone said. “This could still work out. When is the new offer expected?”

“Early next week.”

“So we have a week or so to make it work.”

“Yes, I suppose we do.”

“Charlene, are you acquainted with any of the stockholders whom you might be able to swing our way?”

“I’ve pretty much done what I can,” Charlene replied.

Somebody’s cell phone rang. Rick Barron looked at his phone and stood up. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, then left the room.

Charlene turned her attention to Stone. “It’s good to see you,” she said. “I hope we can get together while you’re here. It’s been too long.”

Stone knew from experience exactly what “get together” meant to Charlene, and he hoped his health was up to it. “It certainly has been too long,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Rick returned to the study and sat down heavily in his chair. “Jennifer Harris is dead,” he said.

Stone and Charlene looked at him.

“How?” Charlene asked.

“I don’t know; the police are at her house.”

“Do you know what her will says about the stock?”

“No,” Rick replied. “She seemed in perfect health.”

Stone rose. “I think we’d better talk again, when you have more information. I hope we can get a grip on this.”

Everybody went home, and Stone returned to the guesthouse, where Dino was watching television.

“Nothing’s on at the right time out here,” he said. “The TV schedule is crazy.”

“That’s not all that’s crazy,” Stone said.

Stone awoke to the hum of his cell phone on the bedside table. He tried to turn over to pick it up, but he was impeded by an arm across his chest. He looked that way to see a tousled head of blonde hair on the pillow next to him.

His memories of the night before were hazy, involving arms, legs, and various other body parts in interesting, sometimes contorted positions and some loud noises. He lifted the arm and grabbed the phone.

“Hello,” he croaked.

“God, you sound awful,” Bill Eggers said.

“What time is it?”

“It’s after nine… oh, I forgot, it’s three hours earlier out there, isn’t it?”

“Forgot, my ass,” Stone said.

“Well, as long as you’re up, want some news?”

“If you insist,” Stone sighed, struggling to prop himself up with a pillow, in spite of the weight of Charlene’s arm.

“I’ve had chats with a couple of people who are acquainted with Rex Champion’s situation,” Eggers said.

“Which is?”

“Depends on whom you believe. One of them says that Rex is flush with cash, but is old and tired and wants out; the other says he has bad cash-flow problems and that the stables are losing money hand over fist.”

“And which one do you believe?”

“I’m stumped,” Eggers said.

“You’re a big help, Bill. You want to call me back when you have some indication of which way the truth lies?”

“Okay, go back to sleep.” Eggers hung up.

Stone put down his phone and suddenly realized that Charlene’s hand had migrated to his crotch. She gave a little squeeze.

“Oh,” she said, “nice response.”

“What did you expect?” Stone asked. He made to get out of bed, but she held on tightly.

“You appear to have me by the…”

“Yes, I do, don’t I?”

“Charlene, I’m going to be here for at least a week; do you want to kill me the first day?”

“I know you better than that, Stone,” she said, hoisting herself astride of him and slipping him inside her.

“I can’t deny that,” Stone said, “any more than I can extricate myself from your clutches.”

She tightened a few muscles and accentuated the clutch.

“How do you do that?” Stone asked, breathing faster.

“Practice,” she said, doing it again.

They continued in that fashion until they both came noisily. She gave him a wet kiss, then rolled off him.

“I still can’t seem to move,” Stone said, “but for entirely different reasons than before.”

“Then I’ll move first,” she said, getting out of bed and padding, naked, toward the bathroom.

Stone watched the body that had graced dozens of movies float across the room. He was either a very lucky man or doomed-he wasn’t sure which. He waited impatiently for her to get into the shower, then ran into the bathroom and, with a sigh of relief, let go.

“Join me?” she called from the shower.

He looked over at the half-misted glass door and watched for a moment. “Oh, what the hell,” he said, flushing, then opening the door and stepping in.

“Scrub my back?” she asked, handing him a brush.

He scrubbed her back.

“I’ll do yours, too,” she said, turning and reaching around him, pressing her body against his.

He marveled at how she could keep him interested, even after what they had just done in bed. He managed to extricate himself and found them robes.

“Breakfast?” he asked.

“Eggs Benedict, please.”

Stone called Manolo and ordered the dish for both of them. They managed to get dressed before breakfast arrived, Charlene in a minidress she had tucked in her large handbag.

Dino joined them in the garden.

Charlene kissed him loudly on the ear. “Good morning, Dino,” she said.

“What’s that you say?” Dino asked, feigning deafness.

“Easy, you two,” Stone said. “Charlene, tell me about this guy who runs the Prince hedge fund.”

“His name is Prince,” she said.

“Just one name, like the singer?”

“First name, Terry. There are rumors about how he got the money to start the fund.”

“Tell me.”

“You remember, some years ago, there was a guy named Prince running a huge drug business based in the Colombian jungle, way up the Amazon?”

“Yeah, the Colombian army raided it, didn’t they?”

“Yes, and Prince was killed when he ran in front of a small airplane that was taking off.”

“So it’s not the same guy?”

“Terry is that guy’s younger brother,” she said. “Nobody’s been able to prove it, but it’s been talked around that his original money came out of that drug operation-a hundred million, or so. Then he got very lucky investing in films, two of them enormous worldwide hits that each took in over half a billion each. He used his profits to start the hedge fund and got a lot of Hollywood money invested with him. I had a couple of million in the fund, but I took it out shortly before the last market crash.”

“You’re a smart girl,” Stone said.

“No, I wasn’t smart; I invested in two films that I expected big things of.”

“How’d you do?”

“One made money, one flopped; I just about broke even.”

“Tell me more about Prince.”

“He started a hotel group and bought four or five superluxury hostelries around the country. He was hot after the Bel-Air, where you’ve stayed, but he got outbid.”

“What’s the word on him now?”

“Well, he’s left the drug money rumors behind him, and seems to be squeaky clean these days. He wants to put a new, super hotel on the Centurion property, along with some houses and condos and office buildings, sort of like a bigger, fancier Centurion City.”

“So he’s not interested in the studio as a business?”

“Apparently, the production end has never excited him; he just wants to make money.”

“Do you know him?” Stone asked.