by Stuart Woods
“I don’t think I could survive that.”
She giggled. “Probably not, but you’d last a while. What made you show up here tonight? Where were you earlier this evening?”
“I went to Arrington’s house for dinner. Dolce was there.”
“Well, that must have been a teensy bit awkward.”
“You could say that. You could say I’m lucky I got out of there before the two of them tore me to pieces.”
“And how did this little soiree come about?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea. I arrived, and they were both there. I don’t think I’ve ever been at such a complete loss.”
“Poor baby,” she said. “I suppose you need consoling.”
“Oh, yes. Console me.”
She swapped ends and began kissing him lightly, getting an instantaneous response.
He placed a hand on her buttocks and pulled her to his face, searching with his tongue.
She took him into her mouth.
He found her.
They remained in that position for a long time.
Forty-six
STONE STOOD, HIS HANDS AGAINST THE TILE WALL OF the shower, his head under the heavy stream of water. His knees were trembling. He had no idea what time it was, except that the sun was up.
The bronzed-glass door opened, and Charlene stepped in. She grabbed a bottle of something, sprayed it on his back, and began soaping his body. “How you doing, sugar?”
“I’m shattered,” he said. “I can hardly stand up.”
“I can’t imagine how that happened,” she giggled. “All we did was make love.”
“How many times?”
“Several,” she replied. “Who’s counting?”
He leaned back against the tile and let her soap him. “I have the strange but almost certain feeling that sometime early this morning I passed some sort of physical peak in my life, and that everything from here on is downhill.”
“Sugar,” she said, “that’s the sort of peak that most men hit at eighteen. You should be pleased with yourself.”
“I’m never going to be the same again; I can hardly stand up. You may have to carry me out of here.”
She pulled him back under the shower and rinsed him, then turned off the shower. “Maybe if you hold my hand you can make it.” She led him out of the stall, dried him and herself with fat towels, and found robes for them both. “Come on, hon; breakfast is on the table.”
He followed her through the sliding doors and onto a terrace overlooking the beach. When they sat down a low wall cleverly blocked the view from the sand, but still allowed them a panorama of the sea. It was nicely private.
She removed the covers from two plates. His was eggs, home fries, sausages, and muffins; hers was a slice of melon.
“Why do I have so much and you so little?” he asked, digging in.
“Because you need your strength, and I need to keep my ass looking the way it does without surgery.”
“It looks wonderful, especially up close.”
“You should know; you were in and out of there a few times.”
Stone sneezed.
“God bless you.”
“I hope I’m not getting a cold.”
“I don’t think you can get a cold from anal sex.”
“Good point; maybe I’m just allergic to something.”
“For a while there, I thought you might be allergic to me.”
Stone shook his head. “Not in the least.”
“Then what took you so long to knock on my door?”
“Call it misplaced loyalties.”
“That’s it,” she agreed. “Neither one of them deserves you.” She smiled. “Only me. Tell me, do you always wear a gun to assignations?”
“What?”
“I seem to recall removing a shoulder holster from your body, along with everything else. Did you feel you needed a lot of protection from me?”
“A friend brought it out from New York for me. No offense.”
“None taken.”
Stone finished his eggs and poured them some coffee. “When are you going to see Beverly Walters?”
“Yesterday.”
“You’ve already talked to her?”
“Well, you didn’t give me a chance to tell you last night.”
“What did she say?”
“She was coy, which is unlike Beverly. Normally, she spills everything, usually without being asked.”
“But not yesterday?”
Charlene shook her head. “She had a secret, and she wasn’t going to tell me. I couldn’t worm it out of her.”
“She was there, I think. She must have seen what happened.”
“If I were you, I’d be worried.”
“I am.”
“What’s your next move?”
“I don’t know. We could depose her, get her under oath.”
“Why?”
“The idea is to find out what the prosecution witness knows.”
Charlene sighed. “The problem with that, Stone, is you don’t want to know.”
She had a point, he thought.
Stone got back to the studio bungalow a little before eleven. Louise Bremen, from the studio secretarial pool, was at Betty’s desk. “Good morning,” she said, handing him a phone message. It was from Dino, and the return number was at the Calder guesthouse.
“Good morning,” he replied, pocketing the message.
“Oh, you’ve spilled something on your jacket,” Louise said.
Stone had forgotten about the gazpacho from the night before.
“Take it off, and I’ll send it over to wardrobe for you; they’ll get the stain out.”
“Thanks,” Stone said. He went into the bedroom, took off the jacket, and put the Walther and its holster into a drawer. Then he took the jacket back to Louise. “Have we heard anything from Dolce Bianchi?”
“Not a peep,” she replied.
“Good.” He went into the study and called Dino.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
Dino spoke softly, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “Let’s meet for lunch,” he whispered.
“Okay, come over here, and we’ll go to the studio commissary. Borrow a car from Manolo; he’ll give you directions.”
“In an hour?”
“Good.” They both hung up. Stone buzzed Louise and asked her to arrange a studio pass for Dino.
Dino was introduced to Louise, then Stone showed him around the bungalow.
“These movie stars live pretty well, don’t they?” he said.
“Better than cops and lawyers.”
“Better than anybody. That guesthouse we’re staying in is nicer than any home I’ve ever had.”
“The pleasures of money.”
“I’m hungry; let’s eat. We can talk over lunch.”
Stone drove him slowly through the studio streets, pointing out the exterior street set and the sound stages.
“It’s like a city, isn’t it?” Dino said.
“It has just about everything a city has, except crime.”
“Yeah, that happens in Bel-Air and Beverly Hills.”
Stone parked outside the commissary, which was a brick building with a walled garden. Stone showed the hostess his VIP studio pass, and they were given a table outside, surrounded by recognizable faces.
Dino took it all in, pointing out a movie star or two, then they ordered lunch.
“All right, what happened after I left last night?” Stone asked.
“Not much. What could compare to the scene just before you left?”
“What was Dolce doing there?”
“Mary Ann invited her, with Arrington’s permission. It was an innocent thing on both their parts, I guess.”
“How innocent could it be? Mary Ann was in Venice; she knew everything.”
“She thought Arrington knew everything, too. You didn’t tell her?”
“I hadn’t found the right moment,” Stone said.
“She was pretty upset after you left, even though she tried not to show it. I tried to smooth things over, but she wouldn’t talk about you.”
“I’ve never been double-teamed like that,” Stone said.
“I felt sorry for you, but there was nothing I could do. You’re going to have to find some way to square things with Arrington.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the ball’s in her court. I was ambushed, and I didn’t like it.”
“That wasn’t her intention, Stone.”
“Maybe not, but the result was the same.”
“Fortunately, Dolce left when you did. Did you go together?”
“No, I outran her.”
“You can’t run forever.”
“What else can I do? You can’t talk to her like a normal human being. I’ve got Marc Blumberg working on an Italian divorce.”
“I have a feeling this is not going to be as easy as divorce.”
“Funny, I have the same feeling,” Stone replied.
When they got back to the bungalow, Louise came into the study. “Lou Regenstein’s secretary called. Lou would like you to come to an impromptu dinner party he’s giving for some friends at his house tonight. He says to bring somebody, if you’d like. It’s at seven-thirty.” She laid the address on his desk.
“Let me make a call,” Stone said. He found the number for Charlene’s RV and dialed it.
“Hey, sugar,” she said. “How you feeling?”
“I think I’ve recovered my health. Would you like to go to a dinner party tonight?”
“Sure, but I won’t be done here until six-thirty or seven.”
“Have you got something that you could wear? We could leave from here.”
“I’ve got just the thing,” she said. “I wore it in a scene this morning.”
“Pick you up at the RV about seven-fifteen?”
“Seven-fifteenish.”
“See you then.” He hung up. “Call Lou’s secretary and tell her I’d love to come, and I’m bringing a date.”
Louise went back to her desk to make the call.
“Who’s the date?” Dino asked.
“Charlene Joiner.”
Dino’s eyebrows went up. “You kidding me?”
“Nope,” Stone replied smugly. “She’s a new friend.”
“One of these days, you’re going to screw yourself right into the ground,” Dino said.
Forty-seven
CHARLENE KEPT STONE WAITING FOR ONLY FIFTEEN minutes. When she emerged from her dressing room she was wearing flowing cream-colored silk pants and a filmy patterned blouse. Stone noticed in a nanosecond that the blouse was so sheer that nipples were readily in view.
“So that’s what L.A. women wear to dinner parties.” He laughed, kissing her.
“They do if they have the right equipment,” Charlene replied, wrapping a light cashmere stole around her shoulders.
“You’re going to be very popular tonight,” Stone said.
“With the men, anyway. Whose house are we going to?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I love a surprise,” she said, settling into the car. “This is Vance’s car, isn’t it?”
“It is. I borrowed it.”
“Such an incestuous town,” she said.
With Charlene’s help he found the house, or rather, estate, in Holmby Hills. Stone was beginning to believe that everybody in L.A. lived on four or five acres. He stopped in the circular driveway, and a valet took the car. As they approached the house, the front door was opened by a butler, and they stepped into a large foyer. From across the living room beyond, Lou Regenstein headed toward them.
“Oh, my God,” Charlene said under her breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered.
“Stone!” Lou cried, his hand out. “And Charlene!” He looked a little panicky. “What a surprise!”
“For me too, Lou,” she replied, accepting a peck on the cheek. She whipped off the stole, handed it to the butler, and swept into the room at Stone’s side, her back arched, breasts held high.
Lou led them toward a tall, handsome woman of about fifty, who was talking to another couple. “Livia,” he said. “You haven’t met Stone.”
“How do you do?” the woman said, taking Stone’s hand. Then she turned toward Charlene, and her eyes narrowed.
“And of course, you know Charlene Joiner,” Lou said.
“Of course,” she replied icily, then turned and walked away.
There was something going on here, Stone thought, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was.
Lou quickly turned to the couple Livia had been talking to. “And this is Lansing Drake and his wife, Christina.”
Stone took the man’s hand. “It’s Dr. Drake, isn’t it?”
“Yes, and your name?”
“I’m sorry,” Lou said, “this is Stone Barrington, a friend of Vance’s and Arrington’s.”
For a split second, the doctor looked as though he had been struck across the face, then he recovered. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled, then turned to Charlene. “And of course, I know you,” he said, chuckling, his eyes pointing below her shoulders.
“Of course you do,” Charlene said.
Lou’s attention was drawn to the front door, where other guests were arriving. “The bar is over there,” he said to Stone, pointing across the room. “Please excuse me.”
Dr. Drake and his wife had suddenly engaged someone else in conversation, so Stone led Charlene toward the bar.
“Pill pusher to the stars,” Charlene said.
“Yes, I’ve heard of him; he’s Arrington’s doctor. What were you talking about at the front door?”
“If you hadn’t been surprising me, I’d have warned you,” she said.
“Warned me about what?”
“Livia; she hates me with a vengeance. Poor Lou is going to get it between the shoulder blades tonight.”
“Who is she?”
“Lou’s wife.”
“I didn’t know he even had a wife. Nobody’s ever mentioned her to me.”
“Nobody ever does, least of all Lou. They’ve had an arm’s-length marriage for twenty years. Word has it they occupy different wings of this house. They’re only seen together when he entertains here, or at industry events, like the Oscars.”
“And why does she hate you?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“You’re probably right.” They reached the bar; Charlene had a San Pellegrino, and Stone had his usual bourbon.
“Did you see the look on the doctor’s face when he met you?” Charlene asked.
“Yes; I thought he was going to break and run for a minute.”
“This is going to be a very weird evening,” Charlene said.
Stone looked toward the front door and nearly choked on his drink. “You don’t know how weird,” he said.
Charlene followed his gaze. “That, I suppose, is the fabled Dolce.”
“It is,” Stone replied, “and the man with her is her father, Eduardo.”
Charlene linked her arm in Stone’s. “Well, come on, then,” she said. “I want to be introduced.”
There was nothing else for it, Stone thought; may as well brazen it out. He walked toward the two, wishing to God he were on another continent. “Good evening, Eduardo,” he said. “Hello, Dolce.”
Eduardo took his hand, but not before a shocked glance at Charlene’s highly visible breasts. “Stone,” he managed to say.
Dolce said nothing, but shot a look at Charlene that would have set a lesser woman on fire.
“Eduardo, this is Charlene Joiner. Charlene, this is Eduardo Bianchi and his daughter, Dolce.”
“I’m so pleased to meet you both,” Charlene said, offering them a broad smile, in addition to everything else.
“Enchanted,” Eduardo said stiffly.
“Oh, yes,” Dolce said dryly, looking Charlene up and down. “Enchant
ed.”
“Charlene is one of Lou’s biggest stars,” Stone said, because he could not think of anything else to say.
“I never go to the pictures,” Eduardo said, “but I can certainly believe you are a star.”
“Oh, Eduardo, you’re sweet,” Charlene giggled. She turned and snaked an arm through his. “Come on, and I’ll get you a drink.” She led him away, leaving Stone suddenly with Dolce, the very last place he wanted to be.
“Alone at last,” Dolce said archly.
“Dolce, I . . .”
“Are you fucking her?”
“Now, listen. I . . .”
“Of course you are. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”
“Will you listen . . .”
“I’m sure she’s very good in the sack.”
“Dolce . . .”
“Is she, Stone? Does she give good head?”
“For Christ’s sake, keep your voice . . .”
“I’ll bet she’s spent more time on her knees than Esther Williams spent in the pool.”
“Dolce, if you don’t . . .”
“Oh, good, a martini,” Dolce said, as a waiter approached with a tray. She took one, tossed it into Stone’s face, returned the glass to the tray, and walked away.
The room was suddenly silent. Then Charlene’s laugh cut through the quiet. “I don’t believe you,” she was saying to Eduardo, who, uncharacteristically, seemed to be laughing, too.
“Dinner is served!” the butler called out, and the guests began filtering toward the dining room.
Charlene came, took Stone by the arm, and turned him toward dinner.
“Let’s get out of here,” Stone said, dabbing at his face with a handkerchief.
“Are you kidding?” Charlene laughed, dragging him toward the dining room. “I wouldn’t miss this dinner for anything!”
Forty-eight
THERE WERE SIXTEEN AT DINNER. STONE FOUND HIMSELF near the center of the long, narrow table, on his hostess’s left. Directly across from him was Dr. Lansing Drake, who had landed with Dolce on his right and Charlene on his left. Most men, Stone reflected, would have been delighted to find themselves bracketed by two such beautiful women, but Dr. Drake looked decidedly uncomfortable, and when Stone nodded to him, he looked at his plate, then up and down the table, as if seeking an escape route.