Two-Dollar Bill

31

THEY LUCKED INTO a table in the busy Grill Room of the Four Seasons, probably because Arrington was Vance Calder's widow. When a bottle of Chardonnay had been brought and their lunch had been ordered, Stone began to explain.

"First of all, the U.S. Attorney is female; second, she has denied that the video is of her; third, I am not the person in bed with whoever the woman is."

Arrington nodded. "All right, whatever you say."

"Do I detect a note of disbelief in your voice?"

"Yes, you do. This is just the sort of trouble you're always getting yourself into, Stone, and I know very well that there is one of your mother's pictures on your bedroom wall."

"I have done nothing whatever to get myself into trouble; it's been done for me. And there are thousands of reproductions of my mother's paintings on bedroom walls all over this city. They seem to have replaced Utrillo prints as the thing to exhibit one's good taste in art."

"Whatever you say."

"While we're speaking of my troubles, I'd like to take this opportunity, not having previously had one, to explain what happened when we were having dinner in London."

"Are you referring to the occasion when you walked out of the Connaught Hotel's restaurant and vanished into the night without a word?"

"I was arrested, sort of."

"How do you get arrested, 'sort of?"

"The London police turned up at the Connaught and demanded to see me. They took me up to my suite and grilled me for more than an hour and would not allow me to leave or make phone calls. When I finally came back downstairs, you, quite understandably, were gone. All my efforts to contact you and apologize were fruitless."

"Well, that's a very entertaining story, even if I didn't find it entertaining at the time. What were they grilling you about?"

"I can't tell you; it's a client confidentiality thing."

"How convenient."

"Oh, all right, I'll tell you. The London police found a car with two dead Israeli Mossad agents in the trunk; one of them was wearing my raincoat."

Arrington burst out laughing. "Stone, you should be writing novels, really you should. You're able to come up with the most preposterous stories at the drop of a hat."

"Arrington, have I ever lied to you?" This was a dangerous question, he knew.

"Of course you have."

"On what occasion?" he demanded, trying to sound wounded.

"All right, all right, Stone," she said, patting his hand, "I believe your story, even if it is preposterous, but may I ask a question? Just to see how quick you are?"

"What?"

"How did the dead Israeli agent end up wearing your raincoat?"

"He owned a nearly identical raincoat, and apparently, we had inadvertently exchanged them at a pub or a restaurant. Fortunately, I was able to show the police his raincoat, which was hanging in my closet."

"You are a wonder, really you are." She took his hand. "I've missed you."

The melting inside him started again. "I've missed you, too," he said, without missing a beat, and meaning it, even if she didn't. "What brought you to New York?"

"You did, of course. I wanted to be near my New York friends- and you-again, so I'm looking at apartments."

"If you really want to be near me, you needn't buy an apartment; I have a perfectly good house."

"I think it's best if we don't rush into things, don't you? Our… distance, for want of a better word… has been a strain, at least on me, and…"

"On me, too."

"Well, then, let's take it slowly and see where it leads us. Anyway, I can't be here all the time. Peter is starting school in the autumn, so I still have to be in Virginia much of the year."

"It may surprise you to learn that there are very good schools in New York City."

"I think the country life and the horses are better for him than adventure trips to Central Park. I'm not sure he's the sort of boy who would thrive in the big city."

"What sort of boy is he?"

"Sensitive, a bit shy. Happy to ride his pony, or spend the afternoon alone in the barn, grooming him."

"He sounds a lot like me."

"Now, let's don't start that again. As far as I'm concerned, Vance was his father."

"Don't you want to know for sure?"

"What would that solve?"

"It might supply him with a father. Don't you think he needs one?"

"I don't think he needs the confusion, and I would not look forward to explaining things to him. Now, let that be an end to it, please."

"Whatever you wish."

"Ah, just the words I long to hear from a man."

"You've been manless for too long."

"Oh? What makes you think so? There is an ample supply of men in Albemarle County."

"Chinless wonders in baggy tweeds; wastrel trust-fund boys with no character."

"Well, there is an element of that, but there are other types. Tell me, who have you been seeing?"

"Until this morning, the U.S. Attorney, but apparently, never again."

"Are those the words she used?"

"That was a direct quote."

"Well, you can hardly blame the woman, can you? What with all this unwanted notoriety."

"I can't be blamed, either, although she's blaming me, anyway. It's not my fault she has a doppelganger disporting herself on the Internet."

"But how did this get on the Justice Department Web site?"

"I've no idea, but it seems to have been done to embarrass her before her peers, and I certainly had no reason to do that. It seems the only thing I can do now is to try to stay out of federal court, lest I encounter her."

"That would seem a good idea, in the circumstances."

A young man in a bad suit with spiky hair stepped up to their table. "Hello, Mr. Barrington," he said, "and Mrs. Calder."

Stone looked at him, baffled. "Could you excuse us, please?"

"Well, yes, but the U.S. Attorney probably won't. Do you have any comment for our viewing audience?"

"What viewing audience?" Stone asked, looking around.

The young man pointed to his lapel, to which was pinned a round object. "Right here," he said. "Twenty million Americans watch us every night, right after the news. Our viewers want to know your side of the Internet sex scandal."

The headwaiter suddenly appeared at their table, looking distastefully at the young man. "Is everything all right, Mr. Barrington?" He asked.

"This gentleman seems to be using a hidden camera to videotape your guests," Stone said. "I think he needs your assistance in leaving."

The headwaiter took the young man's elbow and marched him toward the stairs. "My apologies, Mr. Barrington," he called over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about that," Stone said to Arrington.

Arrington shook her head. "Not the way I wanted to reenter New York life," she said, folding her napkin and laying it on the table. "I'd like to go now, and we'd better find another way out of the restaurant. I have a feeling there will be a knot of cameras at the front door."

Stone waved for a check.