Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“Well, since you put it that way, I don’t suppose there’s anything in my moral code that would prevent me from helping you publicly humiliate them in a permanent fashion.”

“What moral code is that?” Stone asked.

“Exactly. I’ll go get ’em. Electronic surveillance okay?”

“As long as you don’t get caught doing it.”

“Daily reports?”

“Unless you get something sooner or more frequently.”

Cantor stood up. “I believe I grasp the scope of my employment. You’ll be hearing from me.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Just one thing, Stone.”

“What’s that?”

“You sound very angry with these people.”

“You could say that.”

“Someone, I forget who, once said, ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold.’ Anger can be self-destructive, Stone — be careful.”

“You be careful for me, Bob.”

“Gotcha,” and Bob Cantor left with a little wave.

Stone went back to work with a lighter heart.

Joan buzzed. “Dino on one.”

Stone pressed the button. “Good day!”

“You sound happy.”

“I feel happy,” Stone replied.

“Was that thing last night the bash to end all bashes, or what?”

“I would say it was the bash to end all bashes.”

“I don’t think I have ever seen a thing of that size carried off with such perfection!”

“How can I disagree with you, Dino?”

“You can’t.”

“Then I will hold my peace.”

“That girl Celeste is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. She could do just fine in Hollywood.”

“Once again, we are in complete accord.”

“And I didn’t know that you could serve that much food and drink to that many people and have it turn out so well.”

“Once again, accord.”

“Although, I think the wine could have used another year.”

“Sounds as if you’re beginning to have doubts.”

“Just another year, maybe two.”

“A damning judgment.”

“I mean, it was only three years in the bottle.”

“Not enough for a very fine Cabernet.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m just agreeing with you.”

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because I’m an agreeable guy.”

“Not that agreeable — you’re up to something.”

“You know me too well.”

“You sound like a man who is contemplating — no, relishing — revenge upon some unfortunate person.”

“That is a very astute judgment.”

“I want in on this — c’mon, who is it?”

“All right, it’s that horrible woman who said those terrible things about me in that magazine.”

“Stone, those were not terrible things. I’ve told you before, they were complimentary.”

“I didn’t view them that way.”

“What’s more, they sounded like they were judgments derived from a certain measure of personal experience.”

“I do not care to expand on what I have already said.”

“What are you going to do to her?”

“Them.”

“You mean Teppi, too?”

“Very likely.”

“What do you have on them?”

“I have Bob Cantor on them.”

“What has Bob found?”

“He has only just begun.”

“Well, if anybody can skewer them, it’s Bob. Do you think he can find something I can arrest them for?”

“Please, God.”

“You’ll keep me posted?”

“With pleasure. Good day, Commissioner.” Stone hung up.

Bob Cantor sat in his idling van, Mozart on the satellite radio, and watched as Gloria Parsons finally left her office building in Soho. He switched off the van and followed on foot for three blocks. Parsons rang a bell at street level, paused for the door to open, then went inside.

Cantor sauntered over to the door and checked the name on the bell: Teppi. Bingo! Two birds possible with one stone! Now all he needed was the right slingshot.

He took a credit-card-sized piece of clear plastic and slipped it into the doorjamb; a moment later the door popped open. Teppi was on the top floor, so Cantor ran lightly up the stairs. It was how he got his exercise. At the top he found an old, steel door wearing too many coats of paint, but it did have a peephole. He removed a small optical instrument from an inside pocket that, when pressed against the peephole, reversed its optical effect, allowing him to get a wide-angle view of Teppi’s living room, such as it was.

It was furnished with junk from garage sales and flea markets but still managed to be overdecorated. Parsons and Teppi sat on an old sofa with a blanket over it to hide the tears and cigarette burns in the fabric and sipped coffee from tiny cups. The distance between them supported Cantor’s theory about Teppi’s sexual persuasion. Parsons was a very nice package, and a straight guy would have already had his hand up her skirt.

Cantor removed a late-nineteenth-century stethoscope about four inches long from another pocket, pressed one end to the door and the other to his ear. The voices from the living room became instantly audible.

“C’mon, Al, what have you got for me?”

“He’s straight, good-looking, and rich — all a fella needs in this world to stay in clover and out of trouble. Anyway, you already know a lot more about him than I could ever come up with. I mean, how many times have you fucked him?”

“Several, on two occasions, but that is not relevant to our discussion.”

“What, exactly, do you want, Gloria?”

“It doesn’t have to be factual, just plausible.”

“Now you sound like a politician.”

“I didn’t come here to be insulted.”

“The hell you didn’t, you’re begging for it. Give me an example of what you’re talking about.”

“All right, you remember a few years back we did a piece on a guy named... well, I’ve forgotten his name, but his favorite charity was a dog rescue place on the Upper East Side. We managed to insinuate that he was taking two dogs out every day for a walk and having sex with them in the park. I mean, what could the guy say? ‘I don’t fuck dogs’? Who’s going to believe that, once the allegation has been made?”

“You’ve been inside the guy’s house, right, Gloria?”

“I told you, a couple of times.”

“Have you ever seen anything so impeccable? It looks like Ralph Lauren personally staged it for a photo shoot. All he needs is a few gorgeous people in tweeds sitting around, a dog or two, and it’s perfect!”

“What’s your point, Al?”

“All that is a metaphor for the guy’s personality. He’s squeaky clean!”

“Not in bed, he isn’t.”

“Just because he visited your every orifice doesn’t make him creepy, just enthusiastic.”

“I’ll grant you his enthusiasm. I need something, and it doesn’t have to be sexual.”

“Financial, then? I told you, he’s rich. I saw a Dun & Bradstreet report on him that was less than three months old, and while he’s no billionaire, he’s still rolling in it.”

“What has he got besides that house?”

“Two houses — he owns the one next door, too. The butler, cook, and secretary all live there.”

“What else?”

“A house in Paris and a country estate in England. A summer place in Maine, too.”

“You’re depressing me, Al.”

“Gloria, instead of trying to torpedo the guy, you should be trying to marry, then divorce him. That’s how a girl gets ahead in this city, if she’s not a tech wizard or a CEO.”

“That’s sexist, Al.”

“Maybe. I’m an equal opportunity sexist — I go both ways when it comes to marrying money.”

“Al, you just gave me an idea. Can you get me a copy of that D&B you saw?”

“Yeah, but it’ll cost.”