Stuart Woods: Two-Dollar Bill

"Well, tell him to call and make an appointment."

"Wants to speak with you now ."

Stone checked the bedside clock. "At this hour of the day?"

"Get dressed," the man said.

What the hell could the U.S. Attorney want with him? Stone wondered. He went back into the bathroom, dried and combed his hair, then went back into the bedroom. The two FBI agents were still standing there, looking bored. He went into his dressing room and got his clothes on.

"The occasion isn't formal," an agent said, when Stone reappeared.

"I always dress for the U.S. Attorney," Stone said. "Let's go." They went downstairs, and Stone grabbed a heavy, black cashmere topcoat a white silk scarf, a black hat and some warm gloves. New York was in the midst of its coldest winter in years. They went outside and got into a black Lincoln that was idling at the curb, apparently driven by another agent.

"We have to go all the way downtown?" Stone asked. "It's rush hour: it'll take at least an hour, and I have to be somewhere."

"Relax, we're not going far," an agent said.

Ten minutes later they stopped at the Waldorf-Astoria, at the Towers entrance. The agents led him to an elevator, and they went up many floors, stopping near the top of the building. The elevator opened into a large vestibule, and Stone could hear the sound of many voices beyond a set of large double doors. An agent opened a side door and showed him into a small study.

"Be right with you," the agent said, closing the door behind him.

Stone shucked off his overcoat and tossed it onto a sofa, next to somebody's mink coat. He looked around the room: It didn't appear to have been done by a hotel decorator but seemed actually to be used as a study. Behind him, a door opened and closed, and Stone turned around. A tall, blond woman in a tight black cocktail dress walked toward him, her hand extended.

"Good evening, Mr. Barrington. I'm Tiffany Baldwin, the U.S. Attorney for New York."

Stone shook her hand. "The last time I saw you," he said, "you had a different name and were six feet six and wearing a double-breasted suit."

"I believe you're referring to my predecessor," she said.

The change was news to Stone. "When did he predecess?"

"He handed over the reins an hour ago. He's the new Deputy Attorney General; I'm replacing him tomorrow morning at nine. Those voices you hear through there are a welcome-aboard party for me." She waved him toward a chair and took one, herself.

"U.S. Attorneys are not named Tiffany," Stone said, "and they don't look in the least like you."

"Thank you, I think," she replied. "Sorry about the name, but by the time I graduated from Harvard Law, it was too late to change it. I'll never forgive my parents, of course, but what are you going to do?"

"Well, now we know why you're here," Stone said. "But what am I doing here? Are you going to offer me a job as your deputy?"

She smiled sardonically. "Hardly."

"What do you mean, 'hardly'?" Stone said, sounding wounded. "I went to law school, too, you know, though not at Harvard."

"Well, that immediately disqualifies you, doesn't it?"

"Watch it. I'll spread the word, and you'll spend all your time in New York being given a hard time by old NYU Law grads."

"I'll look forward to it. Now to business. I want to talk with you about a client of yours."

Not Billy Bob Barnstormer, Stone thought. Not already. "What client is that?"

"Rodney Peeples."

"Rodney who?"

"Peeples."

"Never heard of him."

"Come now, Stone; confirming that you represent him is not a breach of attorney-client confidentiality."

"I'm not being confidential, I'm being baffled," Stone replied.

Tiffany Baldwin sighed. "It's going to be like that, is it?"

"Like what, baffled? I am genuinely baffled. I have never heard of Rodney Peeples, and I suspect neither has anyone else, name like that."

"It does seem improbable, doesn't it?"

"My whole evening, so far, seems improbable," Stone said. "Whose apartment is this?"

"It belongs to the Ambassador to the United Nations; the Attorney General borrowed it for the event."

"The Attorney General is in there?" Stone asked, pointing at a door.

"He is."

"I'd like to leave now; I don't want to catch anything."

"What?"

"I'm afraid that if I breathe the air I might leave here as a tight-assed, right-wing, fundamentalist, anti-civil libertarian with a propensity for singing gospel music. And I don't think that's treatable."

She laughed in spite of herself. "Come on," she said, rising. "Let's get out of here."

Stone stood up. "You're afraid of catching it, too, aren't you?"

"Not a chance."

"Where are we going?" he asked, helping her into the mink coat from the sofa.

"To the same party," she said.

"No kidding?"

"No kidding. I may as well give you a lift."

"You're just a party animal, aren't you. Do you have another one after Woodman and Weld's?"

"My last party of the evening."

Stone grabbed his coat and followed her into the vestibule, where an FBI agent had the elevator door held open. They rode down in the elevator in silence, then got back into a waiting Lincoln, which was longer than the other one, while the two agents accompanying them got into a black SUV behind them.

"I don't think I've ever had this many chaperones on a date," Stone said. "And armed, too."

"This isn't a date," she said. "It's a coincidence."

TIFFANY BALDWIN pressed a button, and a glass partition between them and the driver slid up. "Okay," she said, "it's not a coincidence."

"Oh?"

"Nope. I'm new in town, and I needed a date for this party, and I once saw you across a crowded room, and I figured, what the hell?"

"I'm flattered. And is this Rodney Peeples fiction?"

"Nope, he's real, but elusive. We heard a rumor that you were involved with him, so it was a good excuse to call you."

They pulled up in front of the Four Seasons, and the doorman got the door.

"Let's leave our coats in the car," Tiffany said. "Then we won't have to stand in line for the coat-check room when we leave."

Stone tossed both coats and his hat into the rear seat and hustled her into the building, his teeth chattering. They climbed the big staircase and emerged into the Grill Room, which had been mostly cleared of tables so those present could drink and pump each other's hands without bumping into the furniture. A string quartet was sawing away at some Mozart in a corner, and great quantities of food and drink were being consumed.

Stone snagged two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, and they waded into the crowd.

"Well," Tiffany said, "this is a good introduction to New York City. I recognize a lot of faces here; how many of them do you know?"

"Hardly any, except for the lawyers I run into in the hallowed halls of Woodman and Weld, but I recognize the same faces you do." They were former cabinet members, politicians, a couple of United States senators, the mayor, the police commissioner and enough city councilmen, CEOs and movers and shakers that if laid end to end would reach somewhere into the northern regions of Central Park.

Bill Eggers elbowed his way through the mob and, ignoring Stone, gave Tiffany a big hug and kiss. "Welcome home, kiddo," he said.

"Home?" Stone asked.

"I interned at Woodman and Weld for two summers during law school," she said.

Eggers took her by the hand and led her up some stairs to a level overlooking the party. Somebody rang a silver bell, and the crowed quieted a bit.

"Good evening, everyone," Eggers said. "On behalf of Woodman and Weld I want to welcome you all here to our annual profit-draining salute to our clients and friends. I will keep you long enough only to introduce you to the newest member of the New York legal fraternity, who has just been appointed the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York. Formerly, as a law student, she worked summers at Woodman and Weld, and I firmly intend to use that connection every chance I get on behalf of our clients. May I introduce Ms. Tiffany Baldwin!" There was loud applause. Tiffany raised a glass to the crowd and mouthed a thank you, but said nothing. She descended the stairs with Eggers, and Stone could not get near her for an hour, such was the press to meet her.