Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

Holly Barker arrived at mid-afternoon on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, having borne before her two large pieces of luggage, a matching makeup bag, and an unmatching, bulging briefcase bearing the seal of the secretary of state. She gave Stone a kiss, then spent half an hour transferring the contents of her luggage to her dressing room, then occupied Stone’s study for two hours of pawing at the briefcase and making and receiving calls on her cell phone.

Stone came up at six and stood in the doorway, observing her last five minutes at work. Finally, she switched off her phone, jumped from her chair, and threw herself at him, along with a very large kiss. “There,” she said, “may I have a drink now?”

“You may,” Stone replied, handing her a large Knob Creek on the rocks and fixing himself one. They flopped down onto the sofa before the fireplace, clinked glasses, drank, then looked at each other fondly. “You made it,” Stone said.

“I did.”

“I expected a last-minute call, canceling, with very good reasons.”

“My presence was never in doubt,” she said.

“Did you travel up on a bus?”

“I traveled on a helicopter the Air Force is kind enough to make available from time to time.”

“And where is your security entourage?”

“At home with their families, I hope. I dismissed them for the weekend, with some difficulty. I had to sign a document relieving them of any responsibility for anything you might do to me.”

Stone laughed. “How specific did you get?”

“It was a general sort of description that covered just about everything.”

“Well, just about everything is what I’m planning to do to you.”

“I had hoped for that, starting right after dinner, because I had my hair done earlier today and would not wish to sacrifice it to the god of sex.”

“Duly noted.”

“Where are we dining?”

“I thought I would force a large hunk of beef on you at Patroon.”

“Yummy.”

“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving dinner at the hands of Vivian Bacchetti — something about what her mother would do in the same circumstances, I believe. Then we have the rest of the weekend to lie around in bed, sending out for pizza and other delicacies, as necessary. We won’t be due anywhere until Sunday evening at the Metropolitan Club.”

“That is as perfect a Thanksgiving holiday as a girl could ask for.”

“I had hoped you would think so.”

“Just so I know, what gift did we bestow upon the newlyweds?”

“Twelve place settings of Tiffany silver.”

“Which pattern?”

“Faneuil.”

“Such elegant simplicity!”

“And in years to come we can give them matching serving pieces, et cetera.”

“How clever of you, not to mention lazy.”

“We didn’t get an invitation to the wedding. When is or was it?”

“Tomorrow, in the family quarters of the White House, attended only by family. Kate thought a blowout in the East Room would be overdoing it, since Peter is only a son. The father of the bride is a member of the Metropolitan, hence its choice. After all, he is — and his son-in-law hopes to be — a senator from New York, so best to have the reception here.”

“How many guests?” Stone asked.

“As many as the ballroom will hold, I imagine.”

“And that will be a great many, since it eats up about a hundred feet of Fifth Avenue.”

“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.

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.”