Doing Hard Time (3 page)

“Leo told me he’s going to treat us just like everybody else at the studio,” Peter said. “No favoritism.”

“Okay,” Stone said, “and if he fails to do that, we can always muster enough votes on the board to fire him.” Stone and his friend, Mike Freeman, CEO of Strategic Services, Stone’s principal law client, both served on the board and together voted a majority of the shares.

Peter laughed heartily. “I hope it won’t come to that, Dad.”

“You never know what can happen when you’re doing hard time in Hollywood,” Stone said.

“What do you mean by that?” Peter asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“After a few weeks at Centurion Studios, you won’t need to ask,” Stone said. “By the way, I know this will sound odd, but I’d like for you to call me if you meet anyone out there who is Russian.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know. I just saw someone at your graduation ceremony who looked familiar, and, on reflection, I somehow think he’s Russian.”

“Dad, I know you’ve recently had some serious troubles with a Russian Mob, but why would any of them be at my graduation ceremony?”

“I don’t know, but I want you to be alert to the possibility that, if you meet someone who is Russian, he may not be a friend. Please, just call me.”

“All right, I will.”

Dino wandered over, Viv in tow. “Now that we’ve outlasted Mary Ann, why don’t we get out of here and leave these kids to get drunk and have a good time?” Dino always worried when his ex-wife had too much access to his son. He said she had a way of eating people’s brains.

“The car’s parked out front,” Stone said. “Let’s say our goodbyes.”

There was a round of hugs, kisses, and standard advice, then they were in Stone’s car, headed from New Haven back to New York.

It was very quiet for a while, then Dino finally spoke. “I don’t know why,” he said, “but I feel like crying.”

“Oh, Dino,” Viv said, “get a grip.”

“I feel like crying, too,” Stone said.

But neither of them did.

Stone pulled into his garage, which had been enlarged into the basement space of the house next door. He had recently purchased and remodeled the house, and it now contained a duplex flat for guests and three other apartments, into which he had moved his secretary, Joan, his cook and housekeeper, Helene, and his newly acquired houseman or butler, Frederick Flicker, known as Fred. Stone had received a year of Fred’s service as a gift from his Parisian friend, Marcel duBois, and the man had quickly made himself indispensable.

Fred greeted them and took their coats as they let themselves into Stone’s house from the garage. “Good evening, Mr. Barrington, Chief, and Mrs. Bacchetti. Dinner will be served in about an hour. May I fix you all a drink?”

“You may, Fred,” Stone said, following him into the study. They sank into comfortable chairs and received their usuals from Fred’s silver tray. Fred inquired if they required anything else, was told no, then vanished.

“I want one of those,” Dino said, raising his scotch in Fred’s general direction.

“I don’t think there
is
another one of those,” Stone replied.

“Dino,” his wife said, “we have two unoccupied maid’s rooms in our new apartment. Why don’t you find yourself a nice retired cop and install him there?”

“I don’t think retired Irish or Italian cops fall into the employment category of butler,” Dino said. “I can just see one now, stumbling around the apartment, spilling drinks.”

“All right, I’ll look into it then,” Viv said.

Stone laughed. When Viv said she’d look into something, that meant it was practically done. “I predict you’ll have a houseman inside of a week,” Stone said.

“Now, wait a minute, Viv,” Dino said. “I don’t know if I can afford a houseman on my salary.”

“You forget, my darling, that we have two salaries now. We can’t afford a Rolls-Royce, but we can afford a houseman.”

“Dino,” Stone said, “shut up and leave this to Viv. Haven’t you learned to do that yet?”

“Awright, awright,” Dino said. “Don’t the two of you gang up on me.”

“Dino,” Stone said, changing the subject, “did you see anybody at the graduation ceremony that you made as Russian?”

Dino frowned. “Gimme a hint.”

“Tallish, pale hair and skin, hefty, decent suit.”

“Got him,” Dino said. “I didn’t read him as Russian, but you’re right, he could be. You worrying about Russians?”

“After the past few weeks,” Stone said, “I’ll worry about Russians for the rest of my life.”

“What would one of that mob be doing at Peter’s and Ben’s graduation?”

“That’s what worries me,” Stone said.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Viv said, rising. “I’ll be right back.”

“Dino,” Stone said when she had gone, “you don’t know how lucky you were to find that woman.”

“Oh, yes I do,” Dino replied, “and if I forget for a moment, she’ll remind me.”

“How’s the city’s new chief of detectives doing?” Stone asked, referring to Dino’s new job.

“He’s scared shitless that he’s going to make some big mistake and embarrass the commissioner when the guy’s about to announce his run for mayor.”

“You’ll do fine,” Stone said, “because you have good instincts—both cop instincts and political instincts.”

“There are a lot of unhappy captains who didn’t get the job,” Dino pointed out.

“You’re going to have enemies no matter what job you’re in,” Stone said. “You had enemies when you were running the detective squad at the Nineteenth Precinct, and you always handled them with aplomb.”

“Aplomb? That’s a word I’ve never associated with myself,” Dino said. “I like it.”

“It comes naturally to Italians.”

Viv returned to the study and sat down. “We have an interview tomorrow at six
PM
,” she said.

“Who’s interviewing us?” Dino asked, looking mystified.

“We’re doing the interviewing: I spoke to Eduardo Bianci, and he spoke to his man, Peter, who recommended a nice couple.”

“If I wanted to find a guy to slip a knife into somebody’s liver, then I’d ask Peter’s advice.”

“Can’t a person have more than one talent?” Viv asked.

“Eduardo is in love with you,” Dino said. He had introduced her to his former father-in-law at their wedding.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“Hey, wait a minute! You said ‘couple’?”

“We need a housekeeper,” Viv said. “That daily cleaning lady isn’t cutting it—nothing gets really clean. And anyway, we have two maid’s rooms—they can use one for a sitting room and the other for a bedroom.”

“You’ve got this whole thing worked out already?”

“Dino,” Stone said, “I told you: shut up and get out of her way.”

Fred appeared. “Dinner is served in the kitchen, as requested,” he said.

They polished off their drinks and went downstairs.

“I’ll see what I can learn about the Russian guy at graduation,” he said to Stone as they started down the stairs.

• • •

After a first course of smoked salmon, Fred set three plates in front of them, each covered with a slab of meat that hung over the edges.

Dino cut off a chunk and ate it. “Interesting,” he said.

Viv tried it, too. “A little gamy, but nice, even tender. What is it?”

“Moose,” Stone replied.

The Bacchettis set down their knives and forks and stared at Stone. “What?” Dino said. “Did you find that at Grace’s Market?” he asked, referring to a tony East Side grocery.

“Bill Eggers shot it. He sent me fifteen pounds of it.”

“And you thought you’d feed it to us?” Dino asked incredulously.

“What have you got against moose?” Stone asked.

“Nothing that would make me want to kill it and eat it.”

“It’s like when you’re eating venison you’re eating Bambi,” Viv said.

“There is no moose equivalent of Bambi,” Stone said. “At least I don’t think there is. Anyway, Bambi is a baby deer. Eggers shoots only grown-up moose. Or meese. What is the plural of moose, anyway?”

“Mice?” Dino offered.

“Dino,” his wife said, “you’re just making it worse.”

Reluctantly they re-attacked their moose. Finally, Dino had had enough and dropped his utensils. “Maybe it’s more like horse,” he said.

“A moose is almost as big as a horse,” Stone said. “And the French eat horse.”

“I give up,” Viv said, putting down her fork. “Too many comparisons. Next time you serve us moose, Stone, disguise it in a stew or something.”

“I’ve still got twelve pounds of it,” Stone said.

“Is that a threat?” Dino asked.

“Just information.”

“I didn’t want to know that.”

Hattie was driving. “Look, a hill,” she said, pointing ahead.

“I don’t believe it,” Peter said from the backseat.

“No,” she replied. “Upon reconsideration, it’s not a hill, it’s a landfill. There was a sign back there.”

“Where are we?”

“Somewhere in western Kansas, according to the GPS map.”

“How can people live here?” Ben asked from the front passenger seat. “There are no hills and no trees.”

“I saw a tree about an hour ago,” Hattie said.

“That one doesn’t count,” Peter said. “It was in somebody’s front yard. They probably imported it from someplace with a surfeit of trees.”

“Like North Carolina,” Ben said. “They have a surfeit of trees.”

“Can’t you guys think of anything to talk about?” Hattie asked.

“We’re talking about trees,” Ben said.

“And very earnestly,” Peter added.

“Talk about ideas, not plants.”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “Anybody got an idea for a movie we can make?”

“We’ve already got a movie to make,” Peter said.

“But what do we make after that?” Ben asked.

“How about a musical?” Hattie suggested. “I love musicals.”

“Leo Goldman Junior says musicals lose money,” Ben said.

“Okay, then let’s make a moneymaking musical.”

“A musical with old music or new music?” Peter asked.

“Old music,” Hattie replied. “It’s a lot better than new music.”

“With dancing?” Ben asked. “I mean with real dancing, like Fred Astaire, not dancing like boogieing.”

“Real dancing.”

“Then we’ll have to discover a new Fred Astaire,” Peter pointed out. “The old one died.” He looked over his shoulder. “Is there a car following us? All I can see is the U-Haul trailer.”

Hattie checked the rented mirror that was clipped onto their SUV. “There’s a dot in my mirror. I don’t know if it’s a car.”

“What else could it be?” Peter asked.

“A truck.”

“Then it would be a bigger dot. Anyway, it’s been following us all day.”

“Maybe it’s the only other car in Kansas besides ours,” Ben said.