Desperate Measures

52

When Stone woke the following morning, a suit was hanging on the back of his door, along with a white paper bag. The suit was the one he had worn the day before, with a Madame Paulette ticket attached, and the white bag held his freshly laundered shirt, underwear, and socks. His shoes, newly polished, were on the floor, stuffed with tissue paper.

Breakfast arrived, having been ordered from a doorknob menu card, as in a hotel. The waiter swept away the lid to reveal soft scrambled eggs, breakfast sausages, a toasted Wolferman’s English muffin, fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a thermos jug of coffee, with Hermesetas sweetener in a dispenser, and a New York Times next to the tray. It was all exactly what he would have had at home.

He consumed his breakfast greedily, poured himself a cup of coffee, sweetened and stirred it, then picked up the Times. He had not made the front page, for which he was grateful, but he was annoyed not to find a report on the inside pages, either. This was the newspaper of record? He scanned it, then went straight to the crossword puzzle.

The nurse entered. “How’s your headache?” she asked.

“What headache?”

“I’m glad to hear it. When you finish the crossword, you can go home.”

“It’s a Saturday; do I have to finish it?”

“Take it with you. The paper is complimentary.”

“I’ll bet that’s all that’s complimentary,” he said.

“Your bill has been paid.”

The doctor came in and confirmed the nurse’s instructions. “Take it easy this weekend,” he said. “No strenuous physical activity — and that includes sex.”

Stone was instantly horny. The nurse, a plump woman of about sixty, was starting to look good. “When will I be healed?” he asked the doctor.

“If you aren’t dead or back in here by Monday morning, you may resume all normal activity, including...”

“I know, I know.”

Stone shaved with a provided razor, showered, then inspected his suit. “Remarkable,” he said aloud to himself. “No blood, no vomit.”

His cell phone began ringing, and he finally found it in an envelope, fully charged, inside the laundry bag, along with the contents of his pockets. His shoulder holster was there, but no gun. He answered the phone just before it would have gone to voice mail. “Hello?”

“I forgot to tell Joan to send you clothes,” Dino said.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Fortunately, Madame Paulette worked her wonders and delivered this morning, so I won’t have to leave in a hospital gown.”

“How’d she do?”

“Wonderfully well. I’m not throwing away the suit.”

“How’s the headache?”

“What headache? You were right about my forehead, though. I have a bruise.”

“I’m sure it’s very attractive. What are you doing for the weekend?”

“Nothing, if my doctor has anything to say about it, and that includes no women.”

“For a whole weekend? You’ll explode.”

“Why don’t you and Viv come over to my house for dinner?”

“Sold. Seven?”

“See you then.”

Stone thanked the nurse and anyone else he could see and left the hospital wing by its private entrance, where a uniformed doorman found him a cab in seconds.

His house was empty and disturbingly quiet. Stone sat down in his study, picked up the phone, then hung up. He had been thinking about the Whitehorn sisters, but they constituted a problem. They had both texted him their numbers, but by calling either one of them, he would insult the other. And anyway, how to choose? He decided to play for time: maybe something would happen to direct him to one or the other. He called Caroline.

“Good morning,” she said. “When do you get out?”

“Half an hour ago,” he replied. “I’d like to invite you and Charlotte to dinner at my house this evening.”

“On a Saturday night? You’re calling a girl on Saturday morning for a Saturday-night date?”

“Two girls,” he said. If one of them was busy, that could be his break.

“Hang on.” She covered the receiver for a moment, then returned. “We accept,” she said.

“You live together?”

“We can’t afford to live apart, at least not in the style to which we’ve become accustomed.”

He gave her the address.

“I know,” she said. “I stole your card from your wallet while you were still unconscious.”

“I forgive you. Seven o’clock?”

“How are we dressing?”

“Up to you. I’m wearing a suit and a tie, both of which have been restored to me by Madame Paulette, in perfect condition.”

“It was a mess the last time I saw it.”

“It apologizes. Seven o’clock.”

“We’ll be there. You couldn’t decide, huh?”

He started to reply, but she had already hung up. He called Helene and asked if she and Fred had dinner plans; they did not. He gave her a menu. “Dinner at eight, please, and ask Fred to pick us two bottles of good claret.” Fred was as good a judge as he.

Dino got there first. “Viv’s coming from the office. Some sort of flap, so she’ll be a little late. Did you manage to get a date?”

“Two,” Stone replied.

“Two dates?”

“The Whitehorn sisters.”

“You couldn’t decide, huh?”

Stone shook his head. “Dangerous to decide.”

“So you’re hoping one will decide for you?”

“I’m leaving this one in the hands of Providence.”

“Maybe one of them will fart during dinner, or something.”

“Or something,” Stone replied. “I have a terrible feeling it’s not going to be as easy as that.”

“I hope not,” Dino said. “If it were, it wouldn’t be any fun to watch.”