Indecent Exposure

by Stuart Woods

  “Yes, you’ll be waving in the wind, for all the world to see.”

  “And all the world would know that you had gone Brazilian.”

  Holly roared. “Just imagine, I’d never live that down.”

  “Probably not. You could never run for office.”

  Holly looked startled. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “That I might run for office.”

  “I’ve never heard that at any time. What office did you have in mind?”

  “I didn’t have any office in mind,” she replied.

  “But somebody brought it up?”

  She looked away.

  “Kate?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What office?”

  Holly held up a hand. “Stop, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “You’re not easily embarrassed—what’s going on?”

  “Nothing is going on, she just brought it up the last time we were in the Oval together.”

  “And when was that?”

  “This morning.”

  “Wait a minute—do you mean . . .”

  “I haven’t said a word—you remember that.”

  “What, exactly, did Kate say?”

  “Well, she mentioned that my four years as national security advisor had gone very well, and they went down well with Congress, too. After all, I did sail through the Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearing, when she nominated me.”

  “That is so. As I recall, the vote was unanimous, and when your nomination came to the floor, only one senator voted against you.”

  “Oh, that was Flora Ridges, the idiot from Oklahoma. She votes against anything that comes from Kate.”

  “So, Kate thinks you might have a shot at the Big One?”

  Holly actually blushed. “Don’t you ever say that to another person.”

  Stone thought about it for a moment. “I think Kate is right.”

  “Now, don’t you start.”

  “There’s no one in the party out front to succeed Kate,” Stone pointed out.

  “True enough, but they’ll start coming out of the woodwork pretty soon,” Holly said.

  “There’s nobody out there you couldn’t take. What is Kate’s plan?”

  “How do you know she has a plan?”

  “Kate always has a plan.”

  “Well, I’m addressing the UN in her place next week, so you’ll have me on your hands a little longer.”

  “Fine with me.” He thought a little more. “I suppose I’m going to have to drop out of the picture.”

  “Kate thinks your presence in my life is already baked in, that it won’t matter if the world knows I’m fucking somebody. She thinks it might even help.” She smoothed her skirt. “It also helps if the world knows I’m not fucking everybody.”

  “What else does Kate have planned?”

  “I’m going to be present at more of her events and speeches, especially in the swing states.”

  “Good idea. I think you should do more serious interviews, too.”

  “I’m doing Meet the Press next Sunday. Word is, Chuck Todd thinks I’m hot.”

  “Lots of people think you’re hot.”

  “I’m lucky Katty Kay is British.”

  Stone raised his glass. “Today Meet the Press—tomorrow, the world!”

  53

  Gloria unpacked two very large bags at Benton Blake’s uptown apartment, then checked her makeup and went into the living room, where Blake poured them a drink.

  “All settled in?” he asked.

  “For the moment,” she said, accepting the martini.

  “It’s best that you don’t spend every night here just yet. Give the press people a chance to see us together a few times. Then, when we’re no longer such an item, you can move in and get rid of your apartment.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she said. “Listen . . .”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Do we really need to go to the Bacchettis’ tonight?”

  “Do you have something against the Bacchettis?”

  “No, I like them, but Stone Barrington will certainly be there.”

  “You’re going to have to get used to seeing Stone. He’s my law partner, after all, and he was very cordial last night, sending us the champagne. A very good champagne, too.”

  “I’m still nervous around him.”

  “He won’t bite. He clearly wants to make peace, so don’t resist it.”

  “Who will be at the Bacchettis’?”

  “A few cops and judges, a few minor celebrities, the mayor, certainly. God knows who else. They have a wide acquaintance and a big apartment.”

  Her cell rang. She glanced at it in her handbag: Danny. She sent it to voice mail. Danny was a part of her earlier life that she wanted to put behind her.

  “Anything important?”

  “Far less than important,” she replied. The phone rang again: Al. She sent it to voice mail.

  “Still unimportant?” Benton asked.

  “It’s time I put away childish things,” she said, “and childish people.”

  “Everybody has baggage,” he replied.

  —

  Stone and Holly were still having their talk when Joan buzzed, and Stone picked up the study phone. “Yes?”

  “There was a thug on a motorcycle eyeballing the house a few minutes ago,” she said.

  “Did you shoot him dead?” She had done that before.

  “Not yet, but I’d better not see him again, I don’t like thugs on motorcycles.”

  “Well, I’m not crazy about bodies in the street, so contain yourself.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Stone hung up. “Joan saw somebody she didn’t like on the street, and she’s thinking of shooting him.”

  “Does she do that often?”

  “Rarely, but she thinks about it a lot. I think the .45 in her desk drawer makes her feel powerful.”

  “The Secret Service could use her—maybe I can get her a new job.”

  “If you took away Joan, I’d have to shoot myself. I don’t know how to do anything without her.”

  “I know that. I was just trying to frighten you with my influence.”

  “At some point,” he said, “we’re going to have to talk about what happens to us when you run, and even worse, after you’re elected.”

  “Let’s jump off that bridge when we come to it,” she said.

  “All right. Would you like to hear about our plans for the evening?”

  “You don’t want to surprise me?”

  “You hate surprises.”

  “That’s true. All right, tell me about it.”

  “We’re going to see Michael Feinstein’s holiday show, the eight-o’clock performance, at Studio 54, then we’re going to Dino and Viv’s New Year’s Eve party in plenty of time for midnight.”

  “That all sounds perfectly delightful—you should have surprised me.”

  “I miss Bobby Short at the Café Carlyle, but he up and died on me. He and Elaine.”

  “Everybody does that—it’s catching.”

  “Still, Michael Feinstein is a worthy successor, and I have a shot at outliving him.”

  “Speaking of living, what sort of shape are you in?”

  “You have to ask?”

  “Not that—heart, lungs, liver, especially liver.”

  “I had my FAA physical a while back. The doctor said everything was, and I quote, ‘perfectly normal.’”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “What about you? Will you live into a second term?”

  “Well, I saw my gynecologist last week—did you know we have a staff gynecologist at the White House now?”

  “I did not
know that. I expect it was Kate’s idea.”

  “It was my idea, actually, but Kate bought it. After all, we have a lot of women on the White House staff.”

  “And what did he have to say?”

  “She said I’m not getting enough sex, but apart from that, I’m startlingly healthy.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” she said. “If you were living in Washington, I’d have a hard time getting up in the mornings.”

  “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s said to me in this millennium,” Stone replied.

  “And the truest,” she replied. “You can let it go to your head, if you want to.”

  —

  Crank Jackson parked between two cars around the corner and made a couple of passes up and down the block. This time he turned his reversible parka inside out and put a folding tweed hat on his bald head.

  —

  Joan saw him pass outside her window, but she fell for the disguise and did not connect him with the previous thug. She did notice when he returned up the block, but then he disappeared around the corner.

  —

  Crank returned to his motorcycle and found a parking ticket taped to the handlebars. He stuffed it into a pocket. The switched license plates would put the wrong bike in the wrong place, if it ever came to that. He would switch plates again later, if he had the opportunity.

  He checked his watch: seven o’clock, too early for Barrington to be going out on the town on New Year’s Eve. He got back on the motorcycle and looked for a place to have a quick bite; he’d be back on station by seven-thirty.

  54

  Stone tied his bow tie in one sweeping, nonstop motion. Perfect. He’d seen Cary Grant do that in a movie once, and he practiced it for years before he finally could do it.

  “I saw that,” Holly said from over his shoulder, “and I’m very impressed.”

  “Nothing to it; it just comes naturally, I guess.”

  She was dressed in his favorite color on her, an emerald-green dress that worked so well with her auburn hair. “Wow,” he said.

  “You always say that.”

  He shrugged. “You always wow me. The White House press is going to love you.”

  “They don’t love anybody for very long.”

  “They love Kate.”

  “If they did, would she have to pull off an elaborate ruse in order to have an undisturbed vacation?”

  “You have a point.”

  “And by their attitude, they screwed themselves out of the diplomatic story of the year, which she pulled off without a hitch because they weren’t looking over her shoulder.”

  “They sort of shot themselves in the foot, didn’t they?”

  “They do that all the time, without seeming to notice.”

  “What’s the old saying? Insanity is doing the same thing over and over while expecting a different outcome?”

  “That’s sort of the old saying. I can’t remember it exactly but your version will do. Yes, they do that.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “Well, dinner is part of the New Year’s thing at the Feinstein show, but we have to eat again at Dino and Viv’s or they’ll be hurt, so go easy on the first dinner.”

  “I’ve never gone easy on a dinner in my life,” she said. “I have the kind of metabolism that burns up food faster than I can eat it.”

  “Is that why I’ve never noticed your gaining a pound?”

  “I’ve never gained a pound,” she explained. “Don’t ever repeat that to a woman, she’ll hate me forever.”

  “So the big secret, when you’re in the White House, is . . .”

  “That I eat like a horse and never gain weight. If you ever tell anybody, I’ll have you deported.”

  “Speaking of getting deported, how do I get you to my place in England without the country collapsing in your absence?”

  “There’s going to be a big confab with European leaders in April, in London. Maybe I can vanish for a few days, like Kate.”

  “I’ll have to work on a plan,” Stone said, “with diversions and everything.”

  “Run it by me so I can build it into my schedule. It’s not too early to start planning.”

  —

  Crank Jackson was a little late getting back to Turtle Bay, and as he turned the corner he saw the green Bentley emerge from the Barrington garage, just in time for him to follow. It surprised him how difficult it was for a motorcycle to follow a car in midtown Manhattan on New Year’s Eve. Traffic kept coming to a halt, blocking the gaps, and he would have to pull over to the curb to wait for a light to change. Very annoying. He would have to transfer the anger into a fund reserved for killing Stone Barrington.

  The car eventually made it to West Fifty-fourth Street, near Eighth Avenue, and Barrington and his girlfriend got out of the car and stepped into the crowd rushing the door. No opportunity. Then the car drove away and, to his further annoyance, went back to Turtle Bay and into the garage. The driver was obviously not going to wait outside for Barrington to emerge.

  Crank decided his mark was having dinner and seeing a show, so he decided to find a place for dessert and come back in, say, an hour and a half.

  —

  The show was terrific: all the music Stone loved best, and Holly enjoyed herself, too. Stone ate a third of his dinner and had his plate taken away before he could weaken, but Holly ate everything. She had apparently not been kidding about her capacity.

  Somewhat to his surprise, Stone spotted Alphonse Teppi across the room with a woman. He hadn’t expected that. Teppi saw him, too, and pretended to ignore him.

  —

  When he got a chance, Teppi called Danny Blaine.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At a W party, downtown.”

  “Is your guy on the job tonight?”

  “He is.”

  “Tell him his target is at Studio 54 and will be until the show is over around ten o’clock.”

  “Right.” He hung up.

  —

  Danny called Crank.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are you?”

  “At a restaurant on Second Avenue, having dessert.”

  “Good. Your guy is at Studio 54 until around ten.”

  “I know, I followed him there and suspected he’d be awhile.”

  “Don’t lose him, this needs to be done tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask questions, just earn your money.”

  “Gotcha.”

  —

  Crank was back in Turtle Bay by 9:30 and watched as the Bentley left the garage. More traffic, more stops. Finally, in a bust of glee, Crank gunned the Honda and zipped uptown between lanes of traffic. After all, he knew where the car was going, and he was there, waiting, when the Bentley pulled up to the line of limos in front of the door. Eventually, Barrington and the woman came outside and found the car, then Crank was in for another round of stop-and-go traffic.

  They went up Madison Avenue and took a right on East Sixty-third Street, and looking down the block, Crank thought he had come upon the policeman’s ball. He counted four police cars and SUVs double-parked, two of them with lights flashing, and at least a dozen cops outside the building on the corner, standing around and waiting for something terrible to happen.

  Crank made his way down the street slowly, legs out, skimming the ground, and because of the clot of traffic he was able to get a really good look at what was going on. He reckoned everyone would pour into the place and then start trickling out after the midnight toast.

  “What the hell,” he said aloud to himself, “I may as well take in a movie and catch ’em coming out.”

  55

 
Stone and Holly had to wait until two elevator loads had gone upstairs before them. Finally, they stepped into the vestibule of the Bacchetti apartment, where a helper was taking coats. Stone was glad they had left theirs in the car, and Holly wore a stole over her shoulders.

  They worked their way across the living room, shaking a hand here and there. Stone noticed he got a lot more attention because Holly was his date; most of them had never met a secretary of state.

  They finally reached Dino and Viv and embraced both.

  “Wow,” Dino commented on Holly’s dress.

  “You never gain a pound, do you?” Viv asked.

  “I have to watch my weight like a hawk,” Holly replied with a groan for emphasis.

  —

  Shortly, Benton Blake and Gloria Parsons entered the room, and the former governor was rushed by nearly everybody there. Gloria clung to his arm, to keep the crowd from coming between them. And then they were face-to-face with Stone Barrington and Holly Barker.

  Gloria shrank from them, but Benton pushed her forward and Stone introduced them both to Holly. Gloria wondered if one curtsied to a secretary of state.

  “Loved your piece in that magazine,” Holly said, without a trace of a smile.

  “Sorry,” Gloria said, “it’s the nature of the beast.”

  “Stone loved it, too,” Holly said, rubbing it in. “It did wonders for his reputation.”

  “Which is well earned,” Benton said, stepping in to rescue her. He and Stone shook hands warmly. Fortunately, a waiter appeared with champagne, which gave the ex-governor an opportunity to change the subject. “I haven’t seen you around the office,” he said to Stone.

  “I come in a couple of times a week, if there’s a meeting I can’t handle on the computer,” Stone replied. “I like working at home.”

  “All alone?” Benton asked.

  “The company is good.”

  Everybody laughed, easing the tension.

  A man in a tuxedo that was a little too tight for him approached and shook Stone’s hand.

  “Have you met Holly Barker, Chief?” Stone asked. “Holly, this is Deputy Chief Mallory.”

  “How do you do, Madam Secretary? I’ll be supervising your security detail for your UN speech this week.”