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.