Desperate Measures

19

They were halfway through their steaks.

“Do you have any children?” she asked.

“One, a son, Peter. He’s a film director in L.A.”

“Peter Barrington?”

“That’s right.”

“I have actually seen his work, and it’s good.”

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“I’d like to tell him myself,” she said.

“Well, if you someday decide that I meet your standards for male company, that might happen.”

“I haven’t told you what my standards are.”

“I was guessing. All right, what are they?”

“Self-supporting, usually sober, intelligent, kind, and good company.”

“Those sound like all the qualities not possessed by your current husband.”

“A coincidence, but it’s a start. What are your standards?”

“Pretty much the same as yours,” he replied. “Oh, and two working legs. I insist on that.”

She laughed. “All right, I know enough about you not to be paranoid anymore.”

“Is paranoia your usual condition?”

“Only in dealing with men, and as I said, I’m over that now.”

“What a relief. There’s a Key lime pie in the fridge at home. Would you like to have a nightcap at my house?”

“I’d love that,” she said.

Stone paid the bill, and they got into the Bentley. “Home, Fred,” he said, “and pull into the garage, so we can take the elevator.”

Fred did so, and Stone and Cilla got out at the living room level and made their way across it to Stone’s study. He poured them each a cognac, found the pie in the fridge, and sliced it.

“Heavenly,” Cilla said, taking a big bite. “This is a lovely house.”

“Thank you. I inherited it from a great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister, who thought I’d never amount to anything, so I should at least have a roof over my head. All the woodwork and much of the furniture was built by my father, who was a designer and cabinetmaker.”

“A house with a heritage,” she said. “I like that.”

“I like it, too, and the staff lives next door.”

“Why do you have a staff house?”

“The house next door came up for sale, and it’s hard for working people to find affordable housing in this city, so I just moved them all in. Also, the purchase doubled the size of the garage.”

“I saw another car under a tarp down there.”

“That’s a French sports car, a Blaise, designed by a friend of mine. I don’t drive it very often; it’s more convenient to have Fred drive the Bentley.”

“Don’t be surprised if you get a rock through a front window. That will be Donald’s next move.”

“The glass is armored, so it won’t be a problem. Tell me, does Donald own a gun?”

“Several.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. When he sobers up, is he going to come to his senses?”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” she said. “Are you unaccustomed to women with baggage?”

“Most people have baggage of one sort or another, and with women, it usually seems to be a disagreeable and unmanageable male former companion.”

“Unmanageable is a good word to describe Donald,” she said. “God knows, I tried hard enough, and the most it got me was a sock in the kisser.”

“If you have any concerns at all about your safety, I can arrange for someone to watch over you.”

“Like the Gershwin song?”

“Not quite. He’ll be about Donald’s size with a bulge under his arm.”

“I think I’m all right for the moment; I’m sure his attorney has instructed him on behaving during trial.”

“Do you think he’ll go to trial?”

“Maybe, he’s very competitive.”

“If I may ask, what sort of deal did you and Herb offer him on the real estate?”

“Sell it and divide the proceeds.”

“It might help you to avoid trial if you use some of your newfound wealth to just buy his half of the house and the Carlyle apartment. That would put some cash in his pocket almost immediately, which I’m sure he’d like. And there’d be less to argue about in court.”

“I’m sure he’d like that, too,” she said. “It’s a damned good idea. How do we reach agreement on the value of the two properties?”

“Each of you hires your own appraiser, and the two of them pick a third. You take the average of the three appraisals.”

“Brilliant!”

“Herb would have thought of it in the second round of negotiations. Wait and see if he doesn’t bring it up.”

“All right.”

“How did you and Margot get on?”

“Blazingly! I forgot to tell you, she showed me three apartments, and I loved two of them. I’m leaning toward the one on Fifth Avenue in the Sixties.”

“You can’t go wrong there. Put down a deposit, but don’t close until after the divorce is final. Another property in the mix might muddy the waters and slow things down.”

“Where were you when I was making all the big decisions in my life, like whether to marry Donald?”

“Probably about that time I was a police officer.”

“You? A cop?”

“A detective, thank you very much. I was invalided out — a bullet in the knee.”

“Then how did you get to be a lawyer?”

“I had already graduated from NYU Law School when I joined the force, so I just needed to pass the bar exam. I took a two-week cram course and passed, and an old classmate brought me into Woodman & Weld.”

“My goodness.”

“See how much you learn when you just talk to people?”

“You’re absolutely right,” she admitted. “And anyway, you’re fun to talk to.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about my baggage,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I hope he doesn’t make a further nuisance of himself.”

“I hope so, too,” Stone said.

He put her in the Bentley and Fred drove her back to the Carlyle.