Class Act

by Stuart Woods

  “I’ll try to do that,” Dino said. He knocked back his Scotch and left.

  Stone felt a little unsettled, in spite of himself.

  28

  Stone glanced at his watched, just as his phone rang: 5:00.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Hilda.”

  “You all shopped out?”

  “Pretty much. I just got a call. I’ve got to go home. My daddy’s sick, and it looks bad.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it. You want Fred to drive you to the airport?”

  “The hotel is putting my luggage in a cab as we speak.”

  “Call me when you get in, to let me know you made it all right.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you staying at your father’s?”

  “Probably.”

  “Want to give me a number there?”

  “No. Daddy talks only on throwaway cells. You’ve got my number, if you need to reach me.”

  “Sure. Are you ever coming back?”

  “It depends on Daddy and work. Most of my work is in Florida. I get a job in New York only occasionally.”

  “You don’t need a job to come see me.”

  “I know that, baby, and I’m going to miss you. Bye, now. Gotta run.”

  “Bye bye.”

  She hung up.

  Stone suddenly remembered that she had some clothes upstairs in the guest dressing room. He called her cell to ask where he could send them, and got a recorded message: The number you have called is not in service at this time.

  He was sure he had called her on her cell phone at some point, but he couldn’t remember when. Hilda was gone—poof—and he didn’t know where. He’d keep his dinner date without her. Dino was going to love this.

  * * *

  —

  The after-office crowd at P. J. Clarke’s was at its peak when Stone arrived. Dino wasn’t there yet, so Stone squeezed himself into a spot at the bar and raised his chin toward the bartender, who already had his hand on the Knob Creek bottle.

  “You have a broad back,” a female voice said from behind him. “Is there a face at the top of it?”

  He turned around for a glimpse of his neighbor, then turned all the way around. “Will this do?” he asked pointing a finger at his head.

  She was tall, slender, and had a lot of dark, wavy hair. If she had a brain, then she was about all Stone required of a woman. She was wearing an expensive-looking black mink coat. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said, “if that’s all you’ve got.”

  “It’s the best I can manage on short notice,” Stone said. “What is your name, if I may ask?”

  “You may,” she replied. “I’m Tara Wilkes.”

  “Great-granddaughter of Ashley Wilkes? Do I detect what’s left of a Southern accent?”

  “If you have sharp ears.”

  “And I suppose your mother was a Gone With the Wind freak.”

  “An accurate supposition. You’d be surprised how few notice the name at first bite.”

  “Nobody reads thousand-page novels anymore.”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “it still sells a zillion copies a year.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Apart from your name, do you share any other features of the novel?”

  “Well, I’m nicer than Melanie’s sister-in-law, India, but not as nice as Melanie.”

  “That’s all right. Nobody is as nice as Melanie.”

  “You know,” she said, “I think we’re somewhere past the point where courtesy dictates that you tell me your name.”

  “I apologize for all my shortcomings,” Stone said.

  “That’s Rhett’s line.”

  “I apologize for my discourtesy and my lack of attribution. My name is Stone Barrington.”

  “That sounds almost pretentious. Is it from a novel?”

  “Not from one I’ve read or ever heard of. Stone is from my mother’s family and Barrington from my father’s.”

  “Then it’s honestly come by, unlike mine, which my grandmother thought was cheap.”

  “You’re lucky your mother didn’t call you ‘Scarlett.’ ”

  “That would have been too cheap, even for my mother.”

  Dino pushed his way to the bar behind Tara. “Don’t mind me,” he said to her.

  She looked down at him. “Does it matter if I do?”

  “Really,” Stone said, “don’t mind him. He’s with me.”

  “He’s your date?” she asked.

  “In a manner of speaking, but only that. However, I’m flattered that you think I could do better. Tara, this is Dino Bacchetti. Dino’s wife travels a lot, either on business or to get away from him, or both, and I have to buy him dinner when she’s gone or he would starve to death.”

  “Well, I suppose you two are going to dine now.”

  “We were hoping—at least I was—that you’d dine with us. You’re so much more attractive than Dino.”

  “I accept your judgment and your invitation,” she said.

  They were working their way through the crowd toward the dining room at the rear, when Dino asked, sotto voce, “Where’s Hilda?”

  “She had to go back to Florida, a sick father.”

  “What time did she fly out?”

  “Sometime after five,” Stone said. “That’s when she called.”

  “Interesting,” Dino said.

  “What?”

  “You know the bookie, Tiny Blanco?”

  “I’ve seen him at a clam house downtown.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” Dino said. “That’s where he got wiped this afternoon, around three o’clock.” He paused for effect. “Two in the head.”

  29

  They were given a corner table, with Tara Wilkes between them.

  “What’s good?” she asked, reading the menu off the wall.

  “Whatever sounds good,” Stone said, “the beef, particularly.”

  They all ordered strip steaks, and Stone ordered a good cabernet.

  “I’m sorry if Stone’s a little quiet,” Dino said to Tara. “He just got some bad news.”

  “Ignore him,” Stone said. “It’s just bad news in Dino’s head.”

  “Did I mention that the shooter was a woman?” Dino asked.

  “Why would you? It’s irrelevant.”

  “If you say so.”

  “ ‘Shooter’?” Tara asked. “Was somebody shot?”

  “A bookie named Tiny, down in Little Italy,” Dino replied. “You didn’t know him, did you?”

  “Dino,” Stone said, “I’m about to spill a lot of wine on you. You’ll have to pay Madame Paulette a fortune to get the stains out.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dino said, holding up both hands in surrender. “Not a fit discussion over dinner.”

  Tara looked at Stone. “How is that bad news for you?”

  “It isn’t. In fact, I think the world is a better place without him. Gamblers everywhere are rejoicing.”

  “Are you a gambler, Stone?” she asked.

  “Not even on sure things,” he replied. “Especially not on sure things.”

  “A man after my own heart,” she said.

  “My experience with gambling is that I go to a casino with Dino, buy a hundred bucks’ worth of chips, then I put them on a table, and somebody takes them away. Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Stone is not lying about his skills as a gambler,” Dino said. “Anything else, well . . .” He waggled a hand back and forth.

  “Are you a liar, Stone?” Tara asked.

  “Only when paying Dino compliments,” Stone said. “Dino, didn’t I hear your phone ringing? The one you always have to answer, then go see about something?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Dino said innocently.
<
br />   “Dino is a police officer,” Stone said to Tara. “His hearing is a little on the selective side.”

  “You two are a riot.”

  “That’s what everybody says,” Dino chimed in.

  “Dino’s work is what makes him so entertaining, with lines like ‘two in the head.’ It’s one of his best. Where are you from, Tara?”

  “I’m from a small town in Georgia called Delano.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Dino said. “What do you do, Tara?”

  “I design handbags,” she said.

  “I’ll bet you’ve got a huge wardrobe,” Dino said.

  “Well, I’ve got a lot of handbags.”

  “You deserved that, Dino,” Stone said.

  “Do you have a brand name?” Dino asked.

  “Yes. ‘Tara.’ ”

  Stone burst out laughing.

  “I know that name,” Dino said. “My wife has some handbags with that name on them.”

  “Well, let me know when her next birthday is, and I’ll give you a deal on something in alligator. That’s my specialty.” She produced cards and handed one to each of them. They responded in kind.

  “My goodness,” Tara said, reading Dino’s. “You are a policeman, aren’t you? You’re the commissioner!”

  “I cannot deny it.”

  “As I said, his work is the source of all his brilliant dinner-table conversation,” Stone said. “Any gory sex crimes today, Dino?”

  “Nothing good enough for the dinner table.”

  “What a disappointment,” Stone said.

  “Are you two sure you’re not married?” Tara asked.

  “You’re not the first to ask,” Stone said. “If we were, we’d be divorced.”

  “Well, if you keep up this banter I’m going to have to spank one of you and send him to bed early,” Tara said, reprovingly.

  They both raised their hands, and she finally laughed.

  * * *

  —

  After dinner they made their way to the street.

  “We both have cars,” Stone said. “Can one of us offer you a ride home?”

  “Mine has a siren,” Dino said. “If you’re good, I’ll let you turn it on.”

  “You don’t have to be good in my car,” Stone said, as the Bentley pulled up to the curb.

  “This one looks nice,” Tara said. “Thanks anyway, Dino. Maybe another time.”

  Stone got in beside her. “Where do you live?” he asked.

  “Bucks County, Pennsylvania,” she replied.

  30

  Tara was only kidding. She lived in the West Thirties, in Hell’s Kitchen. “Sometimes, it seems like it’s all the way to Bucks County,” she explained.

  “My house is closer,” Stone said. “Why don’t we save you the trip to Bucks County?”

  “Well, that’s blunt,” she said.

  “It wasn’t intended to be.” He kissed her lightly. “It was meant to be affectionate.”

  “Funny how a good steak and a bottle of wine can make you affectionate,” she said, kissing him back. “I don’t usually do this, but all right.”

  “ ‘All right’ is good enough for me,” Stone said. “Home, Fred.”

  * * *

  —

  They had cognac in Stone’s study.

  “This must be a staging area,” Tara said.

  “Think of it as a springboard,” Stone said, leading her to the elevator.

  “Too long a climb, is it?” she asked.

  “I have to conserve my strength.”

  “Good idea,” she said, and he led her into the bedroom. Undressing didn’t take long.

  * * *

  —

  The sun woke them early, and they took the opportunity.

  “Would you like some breakfast?” Stone asked afterward.

  “Thank you. Whatever you’re having.”

  Stone called down for breakfast. They had just finished making love again when the dumbwaiter chime rang. Stone took the trays to the bed and used the remote controls to sit them up.

  “I have to say,” Tara said, “I made the right decision last night.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “I mean, I thought I’d get a cup of bad coffee, then be cast into the street.”

  “Fred will drive you home or to work, or both, whenever you like.”

  “I have a studio in my house,” she said, “and a showroom, too.”

  “Sounds like a big house.”

  “Not as big as yours. I live on the top two floors and deduct the bottom two from my taxes.”

  “I work on the ground floor, in what was a dentist’s office when I inherited the house.”

  “Nice inheritance.”

  “She was a nice great-aunt,” Stone said. “I hold her in fond remembrance.”

  “Were you ever married?” Tara asked.

  “I’m widowed.”

  “Kids?”

  “A son, who lives in California now.”

  “What does he do out there?”

  “He writes and directs films at Centurion Studios. His partner, Ben, who is Dino’s son, runs the studio.”

  Stone showed her where her dressing room and bath were, and she showered and dressed. “That was refreshing,” she said. “Nice dressing room. Not a shred of another woman’s clothing visible.”

  “The staff has standing orders to donate any stray garments to Goodwill.”

  “I plan to leave fully clothed,” she said. “The girls in my workshop don’t mind if I wear the same thing on successive days.”

  “What took you across town last night?”

  “A failed trip to Bloomie’s. I had hoped to find a thing or two and didn’t, so I went to P.J.’s to console myself with Scotch.”

  “I’m so glad you did. May I call you again, soon?”

  “You’d damned well better!”

  Stone called Fred, and she kissed him and left.

  * * *

  —

  Stone’s cell rang. “Good morning, Dino.”

  “I’m sure I didn’t wake you. Has she left already?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know to whom you’re referring.”

  “Yeah, sure. You said Hilda left for Florida yesterday afternoon?”

  “Sometime after five. Why are you interested?”

  “I got curious, so I had somebody check the airlines. Nobody by either name—Hilda or Ross—flew to anywhere in Florida after five yesterday.”

  “You’ve got this bone in your teeth, and you’re not going to let it go, are you?”

  “Well, I don’t mind her running loose around Florida, but yesterday she made the error of committing first-degree murder on my turf. I don’t let go of that. Ever.”

  “So, I have to hear about it forever?”

  “No, just until the DA gets a confession or a conviction.”

  “You forgot something.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The DA isn’t stupid enough to charge her on the evidence you have. Oh, wait a minute. You don’t have any evidence, do you?”

  “I have a nose,” Dino said. “The nose knows.”

  “You should spend less time listening to your nose, which is sort of an impossibility anyway, and exercise your other senses, dull as they may be.”

  “I hope you’re not in love with her,” Dino said. “That would make it harder for me to bust her.”

  “I am not, but I remain fond of her.”

  “But you’re fond of Tara, too, aren’t you? Hasn’t she replaced Hilda in your affections?”

  “You’re just jealous because Tara didn’t want to play with your siren last night. That must have stung. Say, is your wife home yet? I miss Viv.”

  “Then you can
join us for dinner tonight, seven at Caravaggio.”

  “Will do.” Stone hung up, found Tara’s card, and called her.

  “Yesss?”

  “Is it too soon to ask you out to dinner again?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “We’re dining with Dino and his wife, Vivian—called Viv. I’ll pick you up at six-forty-five, if the address on your card is correct.”

  “I gave you the correct card. I have another one with a bad address and phone number, for jerks, of which I seem to meet too many. Where are we going?”

  “To Caravaggio, an Italian joint on the Upper East Side. I’m afraid you’ll have to enter that neighborhood again.”

  “I’ll bring my passport,” she said. “Gotta run.”

  She hung up, leaving Stone all warm and funny inside.

  31

  They were ushered to a deep corner of the dining room, where Dino and Viv awaited them. Dino looked as if he was bursting to tell Stone something, but he contained himself until everybody had a drink before them.

  “Did you notice who you walked right by on the way in?” Dino asked, finally.

  Stone, who was facing the front of the room, checked out the tables they had passed on the way in. “The older guy with the heroic nose,” Stone said. “Who he?”

  “He be Antonio Datilla,” Dino said.

  “The Don?”

  “The actual Don. Hisself.”

  “And the other guy?”

  “Sal Trafficante, his consigliere. He’s known as the Don’s brain.”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Not the first time I’ve seen him here,” Dino said.

  “I see two guys in suits, across the aisle from the Don’s table,” Stone said. “Two guys who look like they’re unaccustomed to wearing suits.”

  “They would be the Don’s version of the Secret Service.”

  “Hence the bulges under their jackets.”

  “I wish, just once, somebody would try to stop by the Don’s table and say hello,” Dino said. “I’d like to see those two spring into action.”