Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

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.

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 important 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.”