Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“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.

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 sprout. 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.

Stone thought he’d like to know the other half, but this didn’t seem like the proper occasion.

Later, when the party began to die, Stone called Fred and warned him they were on the way outside. As they were getting into the car, Stone looked across the street and saw Gloria Parsons and the lizard Teppi staring at them.

“They’re still around?” Holly asked.

“It’s funny, a couple of weeks ago I didn’t know they existed, and now they seem to be on hand wherever I go.”

On the Monday morning after Thanksgiving, Secretary of State Holly Barker stood on the sidewalk as Fred placed her bags in the trunk of the Bentley.

Stone stood with her. “Would you like Fred for the morning?”

“Thank you, yes. I have a meeting at the UN, and that’s my excuse for commandeering an official aircraft for the trip up here. Fred will drop me at the East Side Heliport when I’m done.” She hung an arm around his neck and kissed him. “You’ve been a dear,” she said. “I don’t know how the weekend could have gone better.”

He kissed her back, but he had an idea of how it could have gone better. He waved her off and went back into his office. “Joan,” he said, “please get Bob Cantor over here as soon as possible.”

“I’m on it,” she replied, picking up the phone.

Bob Cantor was ex-NYPD, an expert on everything technical, now a licensed private investigator of a high order. He was in Stone’s office half an hour later, and his van/tech shop was parked at the curb. “What can I do you for, Stone?”

“Bob, there are two people annoying me and friends of mine.”

“Shall I use a knife or a gun, or would you prefer to have it look like an accident?”

“It hasn’t come to that. Yet. I just want to know everything in their lives that is derogatory and, if possible, illegal.”

“What do you suspect them of?”

“For one thing, they’re working very hard to get a friend of theirs named Danny Blaine out of Fishkill. It would be very satisfying if they could be caught doing it.”

“I know of Blaine — a fashion heartthrob in Fishkill? He must be a very busy young man.”

“I expect so. The two people you seek are Gloria Parsons, who is a senior editor at Just Folks , and a cohort of hers with no visible means of support named Alphonse Teppi.”

“Parsons, I know — or rather, know of. The other one sounds vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. Where would I find them both?”

“You can find her at or around her magazine, and he will not be far behind. I don’t even know where they live.”

“And what would you like done to them when I find them?”

“That depends on what you can learn. I don’t want violence wrought upon them — I would be content with public disgrace, followed shortly by drawing and quartering.”

“So I’ll be working in the area of personal destruction, is that it?”

“You don’t have to destroy anybody, Bob, and I’m certainly not asking you to do anything illegal. It’s just that I’ve been attacked once by these people, and I feel another one coming on, and I want everything I can get to fight back with. If you could get a nice color close-up of Ms. Parsons being fucked by a donkey, that would be very helpful. Come to think of it, the same goes for Teppi.”