Class Act

33

Stone was cleaning up his desk after his day when Joan rang.

“Yes?”

“Hilda Ross on one for you.”

“Tell her I’m on a conference call. And ask her for a number, one that works, and I’ll call her back in a few minutes.”

After a moment, the light on the phone went out. Joan came back. “She says she’ll call you.”

Stone continued to rearrange his desk for another half hour. “The hell with her,” he said, finally. Then his cell phone rang.

“Stone Barrington.”

“Hi, it’s Hilda.”

“Hi, there. Sorry I couldn’t talk before.”

“That’s all right. Listen, about last night.”

“How did your appearance at the Carlyle go? I’ll bet your dad enjoyed it.”

That stopped her for a count of about four. “I guess I have some explaining to do,” she said finally.

“One thing about explaining,” Stone said. “You never have to do it, if you don’t lie.”

“If I could tell you everything — but I can’t — you’d understand why I lied.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he said, “but when you want to, then I’d appreciate either the truth or silence.”

“That’s fair enough, I guess.”

“Anything you want to tell me now? I’m listening.”

“I didn’t expect to see you at Caravaggio last night.”

“Nor I, you.”

“I got the Carlyle gig on short notice and had to fly right back from Florida.”

“Lies one and two,” Stone said. “Try harder.”

“What do you mean ‘lies one and two’?”

“One: you made the Carlyle booking eight weeks ago. Two: you didn’t go to Florida. I’m still listening.”

“All right, here’s some truth: watch your back.”

“I guess that’s always good advice. Should I watch for anything or anyone in particular?”

“If Sal wants you dead, you’ll never see it coming.”

“I don’t know anyone named Sal.”

“Now who’s lying? I was sitting with him last night at the restaurant!”

“I didn’t know anyone at that table except you, and I’m not so sure about you.”

“Sal Trafficante is the number two man in the East Coast mob,” she said. “His dining companion was Antonio Datilla, who’s number one.”

“You know such interesting people,” Stone said. “Why would this Sal be concerned with my back?”

“Because of me.”

“Have I been unknowingly competing with Sal for your affections?”

“Sal thinks so, except for the ‘unknowingly’ part.”

“Is Sal a psychic in his spare time?”

“Pretty much,” she replied.

“Well, let’s do a little ESP,” Stone said. “I’d never seen nor heard of Sal until last night. The only person I know who is acquainted with Sal is you. Ergo, you told Sal that I was his competition.”

“Not exactly. He figured it out.”

“Based on what knowledge?”

“I may have said something that included your name.”

“What sort of something?”

“Something in bed.”

“What did you tell Sal about me?”

“Nothing. He had never heard your name until I spoke it.”

“In bed?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say, exactly, about me?”

“Nothing.”

“But you spoke my name?”

“I screamed your name!!! When Sal and I were fucking!!! Now do you get it?”

Stone was momentarily at a loss for words. “I hope you lied to him,” he said, finally.

“What could I say? That I made up somebody else’s name while I was fucking him?”

“That would have been a start.”

“I said it was the name of an old boyfriend from college,” she said. “That didn’t work.”

“What worked?”

“The truth. It was all I had left.”

“And that worked?”

“Well, he didn’t beat me up, so I guess so.”

“Did you tell him who I was?”

“I didn’t need to. It took him about three minutes to have somebody, ah, research you. It’s not a common name, you know.”

“What else does he know about me?”

“Have you ever googled yourself?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Maybe you’d better have a look at Wikipedia.”

“Maybe I’d better,” Stone admitted.

“Look, this will blow over. I can convince him that you’re nothing to me.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. I won’t be bringing up your name, though.”

“That’s good to know, but not very comforting.”

“I could come over there and comfort you,” she said.

“I think that would be an apocalyptic lapse in judgment,” Stone said.

“He won’t know. He’s already left town.”

“I expect he’s acquainted with persons who have not left town. And from what you’ve told me, they could be following you, as well as me.”

“You think so?”

“What phone are you talking on?” Stone asked.

“The phone in my suite, at the Carlyle.”

“Oh, swell,” Stone said. “That’s really confidential. He’s probably already hired a staff member to give him a daily rundown on your calls in his absence.”

“I didn’t think of that. Next time I’ll use a throwaway.”

“Listen to me, Hilda. You cannot communicate with me by any means.”

“For how long?”

“Forever is almost long enough. If he learns something that will make him want to kill me, he will probably include you on his revenge list.”

“All right, I won’t call again.”

“Or write or e-mail or FedEx or send carrier pigeons.”

“Oh, all right.”

“Then goodbye, my dear. I hope we’ll both live long enough to meet again after somebody has put two in Mr. Trafficante’s head.” He hung up.

He had only one thought. Jesus, what a mess!