Stuart Woods: Insatiable Appetites

Bill Eggers, the managing partner and Stone’s friend from law school, strode into the room, sat down at the head of the conference table, and rapped sharply with his gavel. “The partnership meeting will come to order.”

Everyone took their seats and became silent.

“There is only one item on the agenda this morning: the consideration of Herbert Fisher for full partnership. I know that some of you think that Herb has moved a little too quickly through our ranks, but you have only to consider his ability as a rainmaker. From the first week of his association with us, he has been bringing this firm business, and the importance of his clients to the firm has grown with each year he has spent with us as an associate and senior associate. I have a cashier’s check in my pocket for a million dollars, covering his buy-in. Do I hear a motion?”

Stone, a little way down the table, stood. “I am pleased and honored to propose Herbert Fisher for full partnership.”

“Do I hear a second?”

“There were several shouts of “Second!”

“Without objection,” Eggers said, looking around the room with a beady eye, “the motion is carried unanimously.” He rapped his gavel again and stood up. “This meeting is adjourned!” He walked quickly from the room, and the partners dispersed.

Stone walked downstairs a flight and found Herbie sitting in his office, reading a contract. He looked up and smiled at Stone. “Something I can do for you, Stone?”

Stone took his hand, pulled him to his feet, and hugged him. “May I be the first to congratulate you on becoming a full partner in Woodman & Weld?”

“You certainly may,” Herbie replied.

“Then let’s get downstairs. Fred is waiting to drive us to Eduardo’s.”

Fred piloted the Bentley out to the nether regions of Brooklyn, where Eduardo Bianchi’s sixty-year-old Palladian mansion overlooked a fine beach and the sea. They were met at the door by Pietro, Eduardo’s longtime factotum and, allegedly, in his youth, assassin, said to be particularly good with the knife. Pietro looked Herbie up and down. Before he could start frisking the younger man, Stone said, “He’s with me, Pietro.”

The little man led them through the house and into Eduardo’s library, where a table had been set for them. At a more benign time of year they would have lunched on the back lawn, near the large, black-bottom pool that had been designed and crafted to look like a lake. Stone introduced the younger man to the elder.

Eduardo looked closely into Herbie’s face and held on to his hand for an unusually long time. “I have heard good things said of you,” the old man said.

“Stone is too kind, sir.”

“Not only from Stone.” He let go of Herbie’s hand and showed them to their seats.

“Eduardo,” Stone said, “Herb was, an hour ago, elected to partnership in Woodman & Weld.”

“My hearty congratulations, young man,” Eduardo said, pressing his hand again.

“Thank you, sir,” Herbie replied.

“How are you keeping busy these days, Eduardo?” Stone asked.

“Business,” Eduardo replied. “The usual. They won’t leave an old man alone.”

“I think you would be very unhappy if they did,” Stone said, causing Eduardo to emit a rare laugh.

“Perhaps you are right, Stone — you so often are. I hear that is why Katharine Lee thinks so highly of you.”

“Do you indeed? Do you know her?”

“Since she was an anonymous CIA analyst,” Eduardo said. “I was able to be helpful to her behind the scenes when she was being considered for the directorship, though I don’t think she would like that to be public knowledge, now that she will be president.”

“I should think she would be proud to have people know that you are her friend.”

“She is discreet, and that is better than being proud. It is good, though, that you and I may see more of each other when exercising our duties in her Kitchen Cabinet.”

That startled Stone, but only for a moment. Eduardo had a tendency to know things before they became public. “I will look forward to that,” Stone said.

Pietro brought antipasti that was passed around, and a crisp white wine, perfectly chilled, was served with it.

“I’ve never served on a Kitchen Cabinet,” Stone said. “What may I expect?”

“I was privileged to serve two other presidents in that capacity,” Eduardo said. “First, Lyndon Johnson, though we talked only of domestic matters. I wholeheartedly disagreed with him about Vietnam, and as that wore on we spoke less and less. And then there was Richard Nixon.”

Stone blinked, speechless.

“We only rarely talked directly, usually it was through John Ehrlichman, of whom I thought highly. After that little burglary, I withdrew. Dick was so obviously headed for ruin, and none of them would listen to reason.”

“Each time we meet I learn something new about you, Eduardo. You should write a memoir.”

Eduardo laughed again. “If word got out that I were even contemplating such a thing, not even Pietro would be able to protect me from those who would want my head in a basket. I know far more about too many people than is good for me. Or for them.”

“Have you ever written anything, Eduardo?”

“Well, I dabble with my journal from time to time,” the old man said. “I’d let you read it, but it is written in a Sicilian dialect that is quite impenetrable to the uninitiated. Sometimes I entertain myself by reading a few pages. There are eight volumes, so far, covering as many decades. They are covered in fine leather — red, the color of the devil!” He laughed and slapped Stone on a shoulder, a remarkably rare display of camaraderie. “When I and all I love are dead, you may publish it, Stone — if you can find a translator!”

“Have you met with Kate yet, Eduardo?” Stone asked.

“Not for a couple of years, but I expect to see her when she comes to New York again during the transition.” Eduardo looked thoughtful for a moment. “This Kitchen Cabinet thing could cause you problems, Stone.”

“How so?”

“Once you are identified as a member of that group, there are people who might try to damage Kate by damaging you.”

“I’ve already had a whiff of that during the campaign,” Stone said.

“All the more reason for them to try again,” Eduardo said.

After lunch, Eduardo gave them a little tour of the house, clearly for Herbie’s benefit, showing them his collections of books, sculpture, and pictures.

“I’ve always loved the Modigliani portrait,” Stone said, nodding toward the woman on the wall.

“She is my favorite,” Eduardo replied.

“I love the two Picassos,” Herbie said, nodding at two paintings hung side by side.

“One of them is a Braque,” Eduardo said, looking amused. “See if you can tell me which one.”

“The one on the right,” Herbie said without hesitation.

“You have quite an eye, Herbert.”

“No, I just made a lucky guess.”

Everyone laughed.

Stone was amazed at how well the two men got on together. He could remember when Herbie was little more than an overgrown street urchin, chiseling his way through life.

Finally, Eduardo walked them to the front door to say their goodbyes. Pietro approached them and handed Eduardo a very fine alligator briefcase; Eduardo handed it to Stone. “A little gift,” he said.

“Thank you, Eduardo.” The briefcase was not empty. Stone laid it on the front passenger seat of the Bentley, then Fred drove them away.

“What did Eduardo give you?” Herbie asked.

“I don’t know,” Stone said. “Maybe a picture. He’s given me things like that before.”

Fred dropped Stone at home, then drove Herbie back to his office.