L.A. Dead

Chapter 4

At nine o'clock the following morning, Stone was resurrected by a servant bearing a tray of blood-red orange juice, toast, prosciutto, sliced figs, small pastries, and coffee. A corner of the huge tray held that day's International Herald Tribune and the previous day's New York Times. By the time he had breakfasted and done the crossword puzzle, it was after ten.

The servant knocked and entered. "Mister Bianchi requests that you be downstairs at eleven o'clock," he said. "The civil ceremony is to be at noon." He disappeared.

Stone shaved and showered then went to the huge cupboard where his clothes hung, all freshly pressed. He dressed in a white linen suit he had bought for the occasion, a pale yellow, Sea Island cotton shirt, a tie with muted stripes, and tan alligator oxfords. Finally, he tucked a yellow silk square into his breast pocket, stuffed his trouser pockets with the usual contents, including some lire, and consulted the mirror. It occurred to him that he might never look so good again.

The group gathered in the central hall of the palazzo. Dolce wore a dazzling white silk dress that showed a becoming amount of very fine leg and wore only a single strand of pearls for jewelry, along with the five-carat, emerald-cut diamond engagement ring supplied by a man of Stone's acquaintance in the diamond district of New York.

"You are very beautiful," Stone said to Dolce, kissing her.

"Funny, that's what I was going to say about you," Dolce replied. "I love the suit."

"It's my wedding dress," Stone explained.

Dino and Mary Ann were well turned out, and to Stone's astonishment, Aunt Rosaria wore a dress of white lace. She was, apparently, out of mourning, at least for the day.

"Is the cardinal coming?" Stone asked Dino.

"No," Dino replied. "Cardinals don't attend civil marriage ceremonies."

"I suppose not," Stone said.

They were escorted to the palazzo's jetty where a small fleet of gondolas, garlanded with flowers, awaited, and they were rowed down a bewildering series of canals to the town hall, where the mayor awaited on the jetty.

Moments later, the party was arranged before an impossibly ornate desk in the mayor's office. Much Italian was spoken. At one point, the mayor turned to Stone, his eyebrows lifted high.

"Say 'si,'" Dino whispered.

"Si,"Stone said.

Dolce also said, "Si, "then an ornate document was produced and signed by Stone and Dolce, then by the mayor and the witnesses. The mayor said something else, delivered sternly.

Dino translated. "He says, 'Remember, you are not yet entitled to the pleasures of the marriage chamber.'"

Back on the jetty outside the town hall, Stone discovered that the gondolas had been replaced by Eduardo's motor launch, and shortly, they were moving fast over open water, toward an island.

Dolce, who held fast to Stone's arm, explained. "Papa has taken the Cipriani Hotel for lunch."

"You mean the dining room?"

"I mean the entire hotel; Papa has many guests. There will be many people at lunch, but don't worry about remembering their names; they don't matter."

Stone nodded.

The hotel occupied the entire island, and lunch was held in its garden.

"Not much chance of party crashers," Dino commented as they walked into the garden. "Unless they swim well." He looked around at the huge crowd of guests who were applauding their entrance- middle-aged and elderly Italians, dressed for Sunday, who were demonstratively affectionate with Dolce and who behaved toward Eduardo pretty much as if he were the Pope. Stone was introduced to each of them, but the flood of Italian names passed him by.

"Who are these people?" he asked Dolce.

"Distant relatives and business acquaintances," she replied tersely.

Stone could not see any family resemblance. "Who are these people?" he asked Dino, when he had a chance.

"I can't prove it," Dino said, "but my guess is you'd have a real problem placing a bet, buying a whore, or getting a fix anywhere in Italy right now."

"Come on, Dino."

"You'll notice that, although there's a band and lots of food, there's no photographer?"

Stone looked around and couldn't see a camera in anybody's hands.

"My guess is, the wedding pictures will be taken Monday, at the church, and that none of these people will be there, which is okay with me. I certainly don't want to be photographed with any of them.".

It was late afternoon before they returned to the palazzo. Stone was told to be downstairs at eight for cocktails, then he was allowed to stagger to his room, strip, and fall facedown on the bed, until he was shaken awake by a servant and told to dress. He'd had the bad dream again, but he still couldn't remember it.

Aunt Rosaria had prepared what Stone assumed was their wedding dinner. They ate sumptuously, then adjourned early, everyone being tired from the day's festivities.

"Sleep as late as you like," Eduardo said to the group. "Mass is at eleven tomorrow morning."

Each retired to his own room. Stone, having had a three-hour nap, was not yet sleepy; he changed into a sweater and decided to go for a walk.

He was almost immediately lost. There was a dearth of signs pointing to anywhere, except St. Mark's Square, and he didn't want to go there. Instead, he just wandered.

An hour later, he found himself approaching what he recognized from photographs as the Rialto Bridge. As he climbed its arc, a woman's head appeared from the opposite direction, rising as she walked backward toward him, apparently talking to someone following her. Immediately, Stone knew her.

The shining hair, the slim figure, the elegant clothes, the shape of her calves. It was Arrington. His heart did strange things in his chest, and he was suddenly overcome with the unexpected thrill of seeing her. Then he remembered that she was now Mrs. Vance Calder, of Los Angeles, Malibu, and Palm Springs, that she had borne Vance's child, and that he had sworn off her for life.

Stone was struck heavily by the fact that his reaction to seeing her was not appropriate for a man who would be married on the morrow, and he was suddenly flooded with what had been pent-up doubts about marrying Dolce. In a second, every reservation he had ever had about marriage, in general, and Dolce, in particular, swept over him, filling him with a sickening panic.

On Arrington came, still walking backward, talking and laughing with someone who was still climbing the other side of the bridge, probably Vance Calder. Stone recovered quickly enough to place himself in her path, so that she would bump into him. She would be surprised, they would laugh, Vance would greet him warmly, and they would congratulate him, on hearing of his plans.

She ran into him harder than he had anticipated, jarring them both. Then she turned, and she wasn't Arrington. She was American, younger, not as beautiful; the man following her up the bridge was young, too, and beefy.

"I'm awfully sorry," Stone said to her.

Her young man arrived. "You did that on purpose."

"I apologize," Stone said. "I thought the lady was someone I knew."

"Yeah, sure," the young man said, advancing toward Stone.

"Don't," the girl said, grabbing at his arm. "He apologized; let it go."

The man hesitated, then turned and followed the woman down the bridge.

Stone was embarrassed, but more important, he found himself depressed that the woman had not been Arrington. He stood at the top of the bridge, leaning against the stone railing, looking down the canal, wondering if the universe had just sent him a message.