Стюарт Вудс - Class Act

Tara was only kidding. She lived in the West Thirties, in Hell’s Kitchen. “Sometimes, it seems like it’s all the way to Bucks County,” she explained.

“My house is closer,” Stone said. “Why don’t we save you the trip to Bucks County?”

“Well, that’s blunt,” she said.

“It wasn’t intended to be.” He kissed her lightly. “It was meant to be affectionate.”

“Funny how a good steak and a bottle of wine can make you affectionate,” she said, kissing him back. “I don’t usually do this, but all right.”

“ ‘All right’ is good enough for me,” Stone said. “Home, Fred.”

They had cognac in Stone’s study.

“This must be a staging area,” Tara said.

“Think of it as a springboard,” Stone said, leading her to the elevator.

“Too long a climb, is it?” she asked.

“I have to conserve my strength.”

“Good idea,” she said, and he led her into the bedroom. Undressing didn’t take long.

The sun woke them early, and they took the opportunity.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Stone asked afterward.

“Thank you. Whatever you’re having.”

Stone called down for breakfast. They had just finished making love again when the dumbwaiter chime rang. Stone took the trays to the bed and used the remote controls to sit them up.

“I have to say,” Tara said, “I made the right decision last night.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I mean, I thought I’d get a cup of bad coffee, then be cast into the street.”

“Fred will drive you home or to work, or both, whenever you like.”

“I have a studio in my house,” she said, “and a showroom, too.”

“Sounds like a big house.”

“Not as big as yours. I live on the top two floors and deduct the bottom two from my taxes.”

“I work on the ground floor, in what was a dentist’s office when I inherited the house.”

“Nice inheritance.”

“She was a nice great-aunt,” Stone said. “I hold her in fond remembrance.”

“Were you ever married?” Tara asked.

“I’m widowed.”

“Kids?”

“A son, who lives in California now.”

“What does he do out there?”

“He writes and directs films at Centurion Studios. His partner, Ben, who is Dino’s son, runs the studio.”

Stone showed her where her dressing room and bath were, and she showered and dressed. “That was refreshing,” she said. “Nice dressing room. Not a shred of another woman’s clothing visible.”

“The staff has standing orders to donate any stray garments to Goodwill.”

“I plan to leave fully clothed,” she said. “The girls in my workshop don’t mind if I wear the same thing on successive days.”

“What took you across town last night?”

“A failed trip to Bloomie’s. I had hoped to find a thing or two and didn’t, so I went to P.J.’s to console myself with Scotch.”

“I’m so glad you did. May I call you again, soon?”

“You’d damned well better!”

Stone called Fred, and she kissed him and left.

Stone’s cell rang. “Good morning, Dino.”

“I’m sure I didn’t wake you. Has she left already?”

“I’m sure I don’t know to whom you’re referring.”

“Yeah, sure. You said Hilda left for Florida yesterday afternoon?”

“Sometime after five. Why are you interested?”

“I got curious, so I had somebody check the airlines. Nobody by either name — Hilda or Ross — flew to anywhere in Florida after five yesterday.”

“You’ve got this bone in your teeth, and you’re not going to let it go, are you?”

“Well, I don’t mind her running loose around Florida, but yesterday she made the error of committing first-degree murder on my turf. I don’t let go of that. Ever.”

“So, I have to hear about it forever?”

“No, just until the DA gets a confession or a conviction.”

“You forgot something.”

“What’s that?”

“The DA isn’t stupid enough to charge her on the evidence you have. Oh, wait a minute. You don’t have any evidence, do you?”

“I have a nose,” Dino said. “The nose knows.”

“You should spend less time listening to your nose, which is sort of an impossibility anyway, and exercise your other senses, dull as they may be.”

“I hope you’re not in love with her,” Dino said. “That would make it harder for me to bust her.”

“I am not, but I remain fond of her.”

“But you’re fond of Tara, too, aren’t you? Hasn’t she replaced Hilda in your affections?”

“You’re just jealous because Tara didn’t want to play with your siren last night. That must have stung. Say, is your wife home yet? I miss Viv.”

“Then you can join us for dinner tonight, seven at Caravaggio.”

“Will do.” Stone hung up, found Tara’s card, and called her.

“Yesss?”

“Is it too soon to ask you out to dinner again?”

“Certainly not.”

“We’re dining with Dino and his wife, Vivian — called Viv. I’ll pick you up at six-forty-five, if the address on your card is correct.”

“I gave you the correct card. I have another one with a bad address and phone number, for jerks, of which I seem to meet too many. Where are we going?”

“To Caravaggio, an Italian joint on the Upper East Side. I’m afraid you’ll have to enter that neighborhood again.”

“I’ll bring my passport,” she said. “Gotta run.”

She hung up, leaving Stone all warm and funny inside.

They were ushered to a deep corner of the dining room, where Dino and Viv awaited them. Dino looked as if he was bursting to tell Stone something, but he contained himself until everybody had a drink before them.

“Did you notice who you walked right by on the way in?” Dino asked, finally.

Stone, who was facing the front of the room, checked out the tables they had passed on the way in. “The older guy with the heroic nose,” Stone said. “Who he?”

“He be Antonio Datilla,” Dino said.

“The Don?”

“The actual Don. Hisself.”

“And the other guy?”

“Sal Trafficante, his consigliere. He’s known as the Don’s brain.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Not the first time I’ve seen him here,” Dino said.

“I see two guys in suits, across the aisle from the Don’s table,” Stone said. “Two guys who look like they’re unaccustomed to wearing suits.”

“They would be the Don’s version of the Secret Service.”

“Hence the bulges under their jackets.”

“I wish, just once, somebody would try to stop by the Don’s table and say hello,” Dino said. “I’d like to see those two spring into action.”

“Then why don’t you stop by on your way out and check their response time.”

“I would, if I thought they knew I’m the police commissioner,” Dino said. “If they didn’t recognize me, I might catch a couple of rounds.”

“Don’t you go anywhere near that table, Dino,” Viv said firmly.

“I’m just speculating,” Dino said.

“If you do, I’ll take you outside and beat you up. Your guys would never try to stop me.”

“Speaking of your guys, Dino,” Stone said. “Where are they?”

“They’re standing around outside, smoking cigarettes and waiting for something terrible to happen.”

“You stole that line,” Stone said. “It’s from Alex Atkinson’s article on Spain, in the September 1963 issue of Holiday magazine. I think he was referring to Franco’s Guardia Civil. I remember, because I gave you the piece to read.”

“Whatever,” Dino said

“Come on, Stone,” Viv said. “Who remembers stuff like that from September 1963?”