Stone picked up the New York Times and read a front-page story to the effect that Benton and Vanessa Blake had amicably agreed to a divorce and that a property settlement fair to both had been reached. Essentially, Vanessa had gotten $15,000,000, plus a house or apartment still to be found, with a value of $5,000,000. Benton had also agreed to a lifetime of child support and school and university fees and support up to and including the Ph.D. level, for their daughter. He then turned on morning TV and found the story featured, but briefly, on every show. The whole thing had been conducted in a businesslike manner, with neither party criticized for his/her actions and attitudes. Step one was over.
Later, Stone encountered a front-page story in the Times to the effect that Benton Blake had resigned from the office of governor of New York State, with immediate effect, and that the lieutenant governor, one Pio Rinaldi, heretofore only rarely heard of, had been sworn in as governor.
Five days after that a story ran on the front page of the business section of the Times, with a similar story in the Wall Street Journal, that Benton Blake had joined the prestigious law firm of Woodman & Weld as a senior partner with responsibility for governmental relations with both Albany and Washington, D.C.
Two days after that a photograph appeared on the front page of the Arts section of the New York Times showing the former governor of New York attending a special benefit performance of the musical Hamilton, with his companion, Gloria Parsons, the well-known magazine journalist. In the days following, the couple appeared in the collection of tiny photographs taken at three big-time society functions, in a regular Times feature that Stone had always thought should have been entitled Parties That You Weren’t Invited To.
All of the rumors Stone had been privy to had now been enshrined in the political, business, arts, and social annals of the city and state. The social order had been slightly but firmly reordered, and all seemed right with the world.
—
Joan buzzed Stone: “Dino on one.”
“Good morning, Commissioner.”
“Good morning, prognosticator,” Dino said. “That’s what one calls a rumormonger whose dirt has been compressed into stone.”
“I thank you for the promotion,” Stone said.
“All that remains is the political action. When do you reckon that may come to pass?”
“I should think sometime after the New Year, since people wouldn’t want these extremely important announcements to become entangled in the Times’s holiday collection of Macy’s ads, heartwarming stories of how your contributions have given many disadvantaged families a hopeful holiday season, and stories of how members of Congress are spending their generous Christmas recesses, at home, serving their constituencies.”
“So I shouldn’t worry about that until, what, Super Bowl time?”
“Just a guess,” Stone said. “Maybe just after or in conjunction with the presidential inauguration, on January twentieth, after, of course, the incumbent has sorrowfully announced his intention not to seek reelection, in order to spend more time with his family.”
“This should make the conversation on our upcoming warm-weather cruise.”
“It’s good of you to call it that, since speaking the location over the telephone might broadcast it to all the wrong people. The White House has made no announcement of its inhabitants’ holiday plans, as yet. I expect the secretary will sneak it into a press room briefing at some point, surrounded by statements about more important or more exciting events.”
“What should Viv and I bring along in the way of clothing for this outing?”
“One or more bathing suits, of course, in the case of Viv, revealing ones, and the usual assortment of colorful cruise wear. Our guest of honor has requested, through her secretary of state, that gentlemen should also bring a business suit and a dinner suit, for some special occasion as yet unrevealed.”
“I take it ‘dinner suit,’ to us hoi polloi, means ‘tuxedo.’”
“You may assume that. You may also substitute appropriate naval or yachting formal wear, should you possess same.”
“I take that to mean that you possess such finery.”
“I and perhaps others. Ladies to dress appropriately, of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your wife will know.”
“How is our guest of honor planning to deal with her absence from her usual residence?”
“I can’t tell you that on the phone, only over dinner.”
“Patroon, at seven?”
“Done.”
—
At Patroon, after a first drink, Dino raised the subject not mentionable on the phone.
“This is how it’s going to go,” Stone said, “but it’s only a plan and can change.”
“Shoot,” Dino said.
Stone outlined the security precautions as he imagined they would be.
“Jesus,” Dino said when he had finished, “are they really that worried about our safety?”
“No, Dino, they are entirely concerned with the health and well-being of the people they are charged with protecting. I very much doubt whether they care if we live or die.”
“That’s not very comforting,” Dino replied.
“Perhaps it will comfort you to think that, if some attempt is made on the welfare of the people they are charged with protecting, they will have to protect us in order to protect them.”
“I’m a little less uncomfortable with that.”
“Then perhaps you should arrange for a platoon of New York Police Department personnel to charter another yacht and accompany us, with an eye toward saving your ass, in the event that an attack is made on our guests.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Dino said. “I’ll give it some thought.”