Sex, Lies & Serious Money

by Stuart Woods

  STONE LEFT SANTA FE without resuming his sexual relationship with Gala. Something had gone out of it for him, he realized, and she seemed to feel it, too.

  He took off for Los Angeles and landed an hour and a quarter later at Santa Monica, where a car from the Arrington awaited.

  It was a hot day, and as soon as he had been dropped off at his house on the property, he stripped off his clothes, grabbed a towel, and headed for the pool. He tossed the towel aside, then, naked, swam a few laps, then pushed off underwater and started toward the other end. To his surprise, someone dove in from the far end of the pool, and, as the bubbles cleared, he saw that it was a woman and that she was naked, too. Then she saw him, and they both rose to the surface.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she replied uncertainly, sweeping a lot of dark hair back from her forehead. “I wasn’t aware that the Arrington was a haven for naturists.”

  “And yet you appear au naturel,” he said.

  “Not having any way to deny that, I confess,” she said.

  “And this is not, strictly speaking, one of the hotel pools. It belongs to my house, which is just there.” He nodded.

  “Well, that means that one of us should leave, and that it should be me. I apologize for the intrusion.”

  “Oh, you’re not an intrusion, just a surprise. My name is Stone Barrington.”

  “How do you do?”

  “Very well, thank you. And now I believe the quaint American custom requires you to tell me your name.”

  “I’m not sure I want you to know it,” she replied. “I’m afraid you already know too much about me.”

  “From what I’ve observed so far, you possess the same equipment as other women, except that it may be delineated and arranged more artfully than usual. Your name is currently the only secret.”

  “Jinx,” she replied. “Jinx Jameson.”

  “Is Jinx a family name?”

  “A childhood nickname, because of my tendency as a toddler to break things. I was born Jennifer, but when people call me that, I tend to think they’re talking to someone else.”

  “What would you like to do now, Jinx?”

  “Well, I’d like to swim for a bit, since I’m already here.”

  “Would you be more comfortable if I got you a swimsuit?”

  She thought about it. “In the circumstances, that seems a retrograde notion. If it’s all right, I’ll just swim a few laps, and then, while you avert your gaze, I’ll flee the premises.”

  “I have a better idea—I’ll give you a robe when you emerge, and then we can have some lunch at poolside.”

  “A kind invitation, thank you.” She began swimming again, while Stone got out of the pool, found some robes, and ordered lunch.

  —

  AFTER THE WAITER had departed she swam to the ladder; Stone held up a robe between them, and she slipped into it and toweled her hair.

  “Hungry?”

  “Ravenous,” she replied, slipping into the chair he held for her. “I just got off a plane from New York. What have we for lunch?”

  “A lobster salad and a very nice Chardonnay by Far Niente, which also has the advantage of having the most beautiful of labels.”

  She sipped the wine and examined the bottle. “Right on both counts. Have you just come from somewhere?”

  “Also from New York, by way of Santa Fe, where I spent a few days with friends.”

  “You don’t have a home in Santa Fe? How disappointing. I always wanted to meet a man with a Santa Fe house.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but my friends make me so comfortable that I’m loath to invest in real estate.”

  “You’re not penurious, are you? I despise that in a man.”

  “No one has ever accused me of such.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it.”

  “I’m happy to relieve you. So we’re both New Yorkers?”

  “I’m not a native, but a Southerner, from a small town in Georgia, called Delano. I came to New York after studying theater design at the Yale Drama School, nearly fifteen years ago.”

  “That’s enough to make you a neo-native.”

  She laughed. “That’s a new word. It describes me well. Are you a native?”

  “Born and bred.”

  “And how do you occupy yourself in the Apple?”

  “I’m an attorney, sort of.”

  “Sort of?”

  “Well, my interests have broadened over the years, so I’m only a part-time attorney these days.”

  “What other interests do you have?”

  “This hotel, among other things, and a growing list of others of the same name. And you design theater sets?”

  “I do.”

  “And what brings you to Los Angeles? Film work?”

  “No, I came to supervise the installation of a set that I originally designed for New York. After L.A., they’ll take it on the road for a national tour, and the hell with them—they can install it themselves.”

  “What play?”

  “Native Daughter.”

  “I saw it a few months ago, and I enjoyed it, but of course I particularly admired the set.”

  She laughed. “Hardly anybody ever says that, unless they know I’m the designer.”

  “I admired it before I knew you were the designer. I especially liked your very effective use of the scrim.”

  “Careful, you’ll make me blush with such language. What brings you to L.A.?”

  “A meeting of the Arrington board, upon which I sit.”

  “Is it painful, talking company business while sitting on a board?”

  “The board is well-cushioned, and the company good.”

  “You said that’s your house?” she asked, nodding at it.

  “I did.”

  “On the grounds of a hotel?”

  “The hotel is named for my late wife, Arrington, and the house was built for her on this property, which belonged first to her previous husband, then after his death, to her.”

  “And now to you?”

  “And now to the hotel, which bought it.”

  “It’s becoming clear, as through a scrim. The actor Vance Calder once owned the land, didn’t he?”

  “He was her previous husband.”

  “Such a history!”

  “Indeed.”

  She stretched. “That was a delicious lunch, but I feel a nap coming on.”

  “Shall we continue this conversation over dinner?”

  “What a good idea.” She stood up, shed the robe, and draped it over her chair, then she walked slowly away.

  Stone appreciated the view for a few seconds before calling, “Seven o’clock? My house?”

  She waved a hand in assent, then stepped through a small opening in the hedge that separated Stone’s house from the cottage next door and disappeared from view.

  32

  THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS OF the Arrington Hotels Group convened at five PM that afternoon, and Stone, refreshed by his swim and renewed by his new acquaintance, attended.

  His friend Marcel duBois chaired and began with an announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, at around noon today a maintenance crewman watched a bellman unload a hotel van carrying half a dozen guests, and after they had claimed their luggage, a single suitcase remained. Our maintenance man immediately obtained what we call, with apologies to Linus, of ‘Peanuts’ fame, a security blanket, and covered the case. These blankets are woven of a metallic cloth that stops cell phone and Wi-Fi transmissions. The Los Angeles bomb squad was called to the scene immediately and arrived in unmarked cars, while our security people checked Stone Canyon Road and found a single individual in a car, attempting to make a cell call. They held him for arrest by the police. The case was taken to a safe distance by the bomb
squad and was found to contain a homemade explosive device which was capable of killing anyone within fifty feet, and the cell phone confiscated from the arrestee was found to contain the number of a cell device attached to the bomb.” There was a murmur of alarm from the board, but Marcel held up a hand for silence.

  “Our security people immediately contacted their counterparts at the other three Arringtons—in Paris, Rome, and the south of England—who discovered similar devices at each location and suppressed them with security blankets until bomb squads arrived. One person was arrested, in England. I need hardly tell you that the quick work of our security people has undoubtedly saved lives today.”

  That got a round of applause from the board members present.

  “These events have caused a question to arise which we must answer. To wit—should a public announcement be made regarding these events, and if so, in what detail? The floor is open.”

  A woman member raised her hand.

  “Karen?”

  “Thank you, Marcel. I believe we should make an immediate announcement about this, primarily because other hotels will wish to take precautions.”

  “I’m sorry, I should have told you that the police, employing an established protocol, have already contacted every hotel in the city and alerted them to the threat. Also, the police have searched the home of the arrestee and found a small-scale bomb factory in his garage. From the lack of further explosive materials found, and from questioning the arrestee, they are convinced that it was a one-man operation and that there were no accomplices. The same appears to be true at the other locations. However, that fact does not rule out the possibility that the arrestee was aided and abetted by some organization, and the police are making that a point of their investigations. Federal authorities are involved, as well.”

  Stone raised his hand. “Do the police know how the bag containing the device got into our van?”

  “They believe it happened at Los Angeles International Airport, where the van was briefly unattended while awaiting passengers.”

  “The same at the other locations?”

  “We have not had word yet about that. Stone, you are an attorney, is it your belief that, if we do not make a public announcement and an explosion should occur elsewhere in the city, we could be held liable by victims in a court of law?”

  “I think not. I believe that whether or not to make a public announcement is for the police to decide. They may feel that an announcement might do more harm than good, not to mention the possible effect on the business and tourist trades. We cannot be blamed for leaving the decision to them.”

  “And certainly,” said Karen, “keeping it quiet will make our own lives easier.”

  “That should be the least of our concerns,” Stone said. “We must put our guests first. Still, I don’t see how leaving the announcement decision to the police violates that principle. Certainly, our guests might be frightened to know that a bomber came so close, and we don’t want them unnecessarily frightened. I do think that, in light of what has happened, we have an obligation to review our security practices, to see that there is no recurrence of this activity.”

  “That has already been done,” Marcel said, “and although our security was sufficient to prevent an explosion in this case, patrols of the hotel grounds and the roads around us are being increased in frequency, and it will now be standard practice that any driver leaving his vehicle, for however short a time, will lock it.”

  “That said,” Stone observed, “it appears that we have met our legal, moral, and ethical obligations to our guests and staff.”

  “Is that the sense of you all?” Marcel asked.

  There was a murmur of assent, and the chairman moved on down the agenda.

  33

  JINX JAMESON APPEARED on Stone’s doorstep, fashionably after seven PM, clad in white trousers and a thin white blouse that gave him a glimpse of her breasts through the gauzy material.

  Stone greeted her with a light kiss on the cheek and showed her into the house. The butler took their drink orders, hers a single-malt scotch, his a Knob Creek Rye.

  The desert air outside had cooled and made a fire in the study a cheerful sight. Jinx tossed the wrap she had brought onto a nearby chair and accepted a seat on the sofa next to Stone before the fireplace. “How was your board meeting?” she asked.

  “Interesting. Forgive me if I don’t supply details—those are confidential.”

  “I assume the bomb was discussed.”

  That brought Stone up short. “I beg your pardon?” he said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “You are not the only board member with whom I am acquainted.”

  “I assume you’re referring to Karen Miles,” he said, guessing wildly.

  “That’s very astute of you.”

  “And very foolish of her to mention it.”

  “Confidentiality among women is sometimes defined more loosely than among men.”

  “Then it was very loose of her. May I suggest that you not pass that information on to anyone else of any gender?”

  “You may.”

  “Consider it suggested.”

  She took a deep draught of her scotch. “She scared the shit out of me. At first I thought the bomb might have been near my cottage.”

  “It was not, and it was quickly discovered, disarmed, and removed. The person responsible was arrested nearby.”

  “Karen didn’t bother to tell me all that.”

  “I should have thought that, having breached the board’s rule of confidentiality, she would have been kind enough to put your mind at rest.”

  “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suggest that, in the future, you not reveal anything to Ms. Miles that you would not like to see at the supermarket checkout counter.”

  “Has she a history of that sort of indiscretion?”

  “I don’t know, but I’d like to find out. How well do you know her?”

  “I met her at lunch with friends in New York a couple of months ago. I’ve seen her twice since, in similar settings.”

  “It would be interesting to know if, after those three occasions, anything discussed there ended up in the tabloids.”

  “Funny you should mention that. One of my friends at the last lunch, a well-known actress, confessed to me that she had decided to divorce her husband, a well-known actor. While that comment was not addressed to Karen, she was certainly within earshot. I heard from my friend the next day that she had gone grocery shopping and had seen her face on the cover of a tabloid. She accused her husband of the leak, and he denied it vehemently. Perhaps he was innocent.”

  “Husbands are occasionally innocent,” Stone replied.

  Jinx laughed. “I suppose they are.”

  “How did you spend your afternoon?”

  “Napping.”

  “And are you now feeling refreshed?”

  “I am.”

  “So am I. I’ve felt that way since we met.”

  “Perhaps the circumstances may have something to do with that feeling?”

  “More than perhaps,” Stone said. “And your blouse reinforces the effect.”

  She smiled. “I suppose that, when choosing my clothes for the evening, I thought that I had nothing more to hide from you.”

  “A pleasant thought.”

  “Or you to hide from me.”

  “Touché.”

  The butler brought canapés and set them on the coffee table in front of them.

  “I suppose you’ll be working tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s my intention to supervise the erecting of my set by lunchtime, then spend the remainder of the day dressing it, then I’ll fly back to New York the following day. What are your plans?”

  “I plan to visit my son, who is a film director
based at Centurion Studios, and see how he’s doing.”

  “Ah, that must be Peter Barrington.”

  “It is.”

  “I had been told he was the son of Vance Calder.”

  “Stepson. His mother and I had a relationship before she and Vance were married.”

  Her eyes widened slightly. “And she married him, knowing that she was carrying your child?”

  “A few weeks passed before she knew.”

  “And what did she do then?”

  “Nothing, as far as I know.”

  “She didn’t tell either of you?”

  “No, though she thought that Vance came to suspect later on. Still, he and Peter had a good relationship.”

  “And when did the two of you have that opportunity?”

  “A few years ago. It worked out very well in the end.”

  The butler refreshed their drinks.

  “I’m sorry to be digging into your personal life.”

  “I don’t mind. I’d like you to know me better, as I would like to know you.”

  “What a nice thought.”

  “And since you so immediately satisfied my curiosity, I’m happy to satisfy yours.”

  “That was a mutual satisfaction, if you recall.”

  “I’m happy you think of it that way. Oh, and I hope you like beef.”

  “One of my favorite things.”

  “Good. I’ve ordered chateaubriand for us. They do it very well here.”

  “Oh, that kind of beef. Well, I like that, too.”

  Stone laughed aloud.

  The butler called them to dinner, at a table for two set in the study. Stone tasted the wine and pronounced it satisfactory.

  “And what are we drinking tonight?” she asked.

  “A Château Mouton Rothschild 1978.”

  “My goodness!”

  “Drinking better wines was something I started to do when I began to prosper.”

  “What a good idea! When I began to prosper I began drinking wines with corks, instead of screw tops.”

  “A good move up. By the way, since we’re both returning to New York the same day, may I give you a lift?”