Swimming to Catalina

2

Stone’s taxi driver, a former resident of the Indian subcontinent who had recently arrived in the United States, well ahead of his English, got lost in New Jersey, and by the time Stone had redirected him to Teterboro Airport, using sign language, it had begun to rain hard. Finally at Atlantic Aviation, Stone paid the man, grabbed his luggage, and ran into the deserted terminal, waking up a young woman behind the service counter. “I’m looking for the Centurion Studios airplane,” he said to her.

“It’s the only one on the ramp,” she replied, yawning and pointing at the rear doors.

Stone stopped at the doors, looked out onto the tarmac, and smiled. “A G-IV,” he said aloud to himself. It was the biggest and best of the corporate jets, and he had never been aboard one. Its engines were already running. He ran through the rain to the airplane and clambered up the steps, hauling his luggage into the cabin.

A young woman in a pale Armani suit materialized before him. “Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“Let me take your bags, and please have a seat; we’re ready for takeoff.” She disappeared aft with his two bags; he kept his briefcase and took the first available seat. In the rear of the airplane a distinguished-looking man was sitting on a sofa, talking on a small cellular phone. Stone buckled in as the airplane started to roll. He wanted to go forward and watch the takeoff, but the cockpit door was closed. Instead, he sat and watched the rain stream along his window.

The airplane never stopped rolling, but turned onto the runway and accelerated. Shortly they were airborne and climbing steeply. The attendant came forward again and hovered over his seat. She was pretty in a characterless sort of way, and she displayed some very expensive dental work. “Would you like something to drink?” she cooed.

Stone’s heart was still pumping hard from his dash to the airport. “Yes, a brandy, please.”

“We have some vintage cognac, a Hine ’55, and some very old Armagnac.”

“I’ll try the Armagnac,” he said. A moment later he was warming a tissue-thin crystal snifter between both hands.

“Mr. Regenstein would be pleased if you would join him aft when the seatbelt sign goes off” the woman said.

“Thank you,” Stone replied. Regenstein: the name had a familiar ring, but he couldn’t place it. He sipped his Armagnac, and presently the airplane leveled off and the seatbelt sign went out. He unbuckled and walked down the aisle toward where the other man sat.

As he approached, the man stood and offered his hand. “I’m Lou Regenstein,” he said.

Stone shook his hand. “I’m Stone Barrington.” The man was much older than he had looked from a distance; Stone reckoned he was in his mid- to late sixties.

“Oh, yes, Vance’s friend. Please sit down, and thank you for joining me. It’s nice to have some company on one of these flights.”

Stone took a comfortable armchair facing the sofa. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting; my cab driver got lost.”

“Of course,” Regenstein replied. “They always do. The trick is to order a car from Atlantic Aviation; that way you’ll have a Jersey driver.”

“I’ll remember that,” Stone said.

Regenstein wrinkled his nose. “You’re drinking the Armagnac?” He extended his hand. “May I?”

Stone handed him the snifter, and Regenstein stuck his nose into it and inhaled deeply.

“Ahhhhhh,” he sighed, handing back the glass. “I haven’t had a drink in more than thirty years, but I still love the bouquet of something like that. It’s just wonderful.”

“It certainly is,” Stone agreed.

“I believe I’ve come across your name recently,” Regenstein said. “Something in the Caribbean?”

“ St. Marks.”

“Ah, yes; you defended that young woman accused of murdering her husband.” He became conspiratorial. “Tell me, did she do it? Or would answering breach a confidence? I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“I can tell you with the greatest possible confidence that she didn’t do it,” Stone replied. “And no, answering doesn’t breach a confidence.”

“Keeping a confidence is a most important thing in life,” Regenstein said gravely. “Especially in our business. The entertainment business.”

“In any business, I should think.”

“But especially in ours. There are so many gossips and liars, you see, that keeping a confidence and telling the truth are magnified in their importance. Although I have a very large contracts department whose task it is to set down every nuance of an agreement, I have always prided myself on keeping a deal sealed with a handshake.”

“I suppose if everyone kept agreements sealed with handshakes, I and my colleagues would starve,” Stone said.

“Yes, lawyers are necessary in our world. Tell me, are you proud to be a lawyer?”

Stone thought about that for a moment. “I was proud when I graduated from law school and proud when I passed the bar examination, because those milestones marked the acquisition of a lot of knowledge, but I can’t say I’m proud of my profession as a whole; still, there are enough attorneys of sufficient integrity to keep me from being ashamed to describe myself as a lawyer.”

“A lawyerly reply,” Regenstein said, looking amused.

“I’ll be more direct,” Stone said. “I’m proud to be a good lawyer, the best I know how to be.”

“I prefer the direct answer,” Regenstein said. “I always have, and I so rarely hear it in our business.”

Then the penny dropped. Louis Regenstein was the chairman of the board of Centurion Studios. Stone had seen articles about him in the entertainment news and the business pages but had never paid much attention to them. “Are you proud to be in the movie business, Mr. Regenstein?” he asked.

Regenstein smiled broadly. “You bet I am!” he said. “Like you, I’m proud of the way I do it!” He shook his head. “Of course, there are at least as many scoundrels in our business as in the legal profession, and there are no boards of ethics or bar associations to even attempt to judge and regulate their conduct.”

“What do you love most about your position in the industry?”

Regenstein smiled again. “The power to say yes,” he replied emphatically. “There are hundreds of people in our business who have the power to say no, but only a few who can say yes.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Of course, like all power, it must be wielded with the greatest possible discretion. Used indiscriminately, such power can destroy the wielder, and more quickly than you might imagine.” Regenstein narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, Mr. Barrington, have you ever done any acting?”

“Only in front of a jury,” Stone said. “No, I’m wrong. I played a lead once-in my high school drama club’s production ofStalag 17. ”

“Were you any good?” Regenstein asked.

“I…well, the cast got a standing ovation, three nights running.”

“I’ll bet you werevery good,” Regenstein said. “I’m a very good judge of actors, and I think you’re a natural. You’re good looking, you have a resonant voice, and you project a very positive presence.”

Stone was nonplussed. “Why, thank you, Mr. Regenstein; coming from you, that’s high praise.”

“Please call me Lou,” he said.

“Thank you, and I’m Stone.”

“Stone, if you should ever wish to leave the legal profession, let me know, and I’ll put you into a movie. Not a lead, of course, but a good supporting part. It would give me pleasure to see you do it well, and I know you would. Leads might not ever come-you’re what, in your early forties?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s a bit long in the tooth for becoming a star, but you would be in great demand for featured roles.”

Stone laughed. “I doubt it.”

“Oh, I’m not just flattering you; you’d be very good. You have only one fault that would work against you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re not insecure enough. Oh, we all have our little chinks in our armor, but actors, the best ones, thrive on insecurity, and you don’t have it at a high enough level to make you malleable. Our business would find youdifficult. ”

“Well, Lou, if I decide to give up lawyering, you’ll be among the first to know.”

Regenstein stood up, took off his jacket, and kicked off his shoes. “If you’ll forgive me, I think I’ll get a little sleep,” he said. “You’d be well advised to do the same. It will be very early when we get into L.A. ” He stretched out on the sofa and, without another word, closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. The flight attendant appeared and spread a light blanket over him.

Stone went back to his seat, took off his jacket and shoes, accepted a blanket, which turned out to be cashmere, and pushed his seat as far back as it would go. The cabin lights dimmed, and he looked out the window at the stars and tried not to think of Arrington. He had done too much of that already.