Son of Stone (7 page)

“And what kind of judge are you going to get to do that?”

“One that you and I went to law school with. Remember Carling Steadman?”

“Steadman is a judge in L.A.? I didn’t know that.”

“Then you must not read the alumni journal.”

“I guess not.”

“The firm has had some dealings with him the past few years; he’s always ruled in our favor. And I had dinner with him and his wife when I was in L.A. a few weeks ago. Carling has started a foundation dedicated to the defense of indigents in L.A. County. He doesn’t know it, but I’m going to make a twenty-five-thousand-dollar donation at a fund-raising dinner they’re having next week.”

“The media are going to be a bigger problem in L.A. than they would in Virginia,” Stone pointed out.

“We’ll petition that the boy’s old birth certificate be permanently sealed. No reporter is going to be looking for one belonging to a Peter Barrington.”

“Good point.”

“Leave it with me. How do you want the name to appear on the certificate? You don’t want Calder there, do you?”

“No.” Stone thought for a minute. “Make it Malon Peter Barrington.”

“Your father’s name, as I recall. A happy coincidence.”

“Correct. Better make it Malon Peter Barrington the Second.”

Eggers wrote it down, along with Peter’s new birth date. “I’ll get on it,” he said. “Will Peter need any help with getting into the school? I’ll see if anybody here has a connection.”

“Thank you, yes. I can get Leo Goldman to write a recommendation, too, based on what he’s seen of a film Peter is working on.”

“At a film school, that couldn’t hurt.”

“And he wants to go to Yale Drama School after Knickerbocker.”

“I can get half a dozen letters to back him there. Just tell him to make outstanding grades, join some school organizations, and do some charity work.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem.”

“I’ll call you when I have a grip on this,” Eggers said. The two men shook hands and Stone headed for home, a ten-minute walk.

 

 

As Stone walked into his office Joan called out, “Bill Eggers on line one.”

Stone went to his desk and picked up the phone. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I spoke to Carling Steadman. His order will be issued tomorrow, and you’ll have a dozen certified copies of the new birth certificate by FedEx on Monday. Peter will need them for school applications, et cetera. A couple of other things: we’ve got a partner here, Willard Powers, who is an alumnus of Peter’s school in Virginia and who is a trustee. He’s going to speak with the headmaster about changing the name on Peter’s records. He knows of another case where this was done, so he doesn’t think it will be a problem.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“And do you know of a grand dame actress named Letitia Covington?”

“The new Helen Hayes? Of course.”

“She’s the mother of a client of ours, and she was a founding board member of the performing arts program at Knickerbocker Hall. Peter has an appointment to meet her on Monday afternoon at three o’clock. Tell Peter to bring some sort of example of his film work.” Eggers gave Stone the address.

“Wow, Bill,” Stone said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“All part of being a partner of the firm,” Eggers said. “This won’t be the last time the relationship will work for you.”

Stone hung up. Joan came in and handed him a FedEx package from Leo Goldman. “This just arrived,” she said.

L
ater in the afternoon, Herbie Fisher called.

“Yes, Herbie?”

“Stone, the two guys are still outside. I can see them from my terrace. If I can’t get a carry license, I’m going to have to carry anyway.”

“Herbie, if you have ambitions to practice law, then you do not want a felony weapons charge on your record. You can understand that, can’t you? It would mean
no law license
, and the one you illegally obtained would be shredded.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

“Then what can I do?”

“We can call your uncle Bob and get a couple of his guys put on the job. They can watch your back.” Herbie’s uncle Bob was Bob Berman, a retired police officer who often did technical and security work for Stone.

“I don’t want to bring Uncle Bob into this,” Herbie said. “He’s getting used to my being a straight character, and I want nothing to change his mind.”

“Very well, I’m on the board of a very large, very able security company called Strategic Services. I can arrange for them to supply you with anything from a bodyguard to a fleet of black helicopters, bristling with air-to-ground missiles.”

“Sounds good. Let’s talk to them about something at the low end of that range.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Stone said, then hung up and dialed Mike Freeman.

“Yes, Stone?”

“Mike, I have a small security job for you.”

“How small?”

“Two armed men, round the clock?”

“Tell me about it.”

“A client of mine, a wealthy young man named Herbert Fisher, a law student, is attempting to disentangle himself from a poor decision called marriage. Although his wife has agreed to the terms of the divorce, she appears to be having him followed by two men who, on one occasion, have driven him off a yacht at knifepoint into New York Harbor. They’re still on him.”

“Is Mr. Fisher presently operating as a single man?”

“Yes, he likes women.”

“Then I have an idea,” Mike said, and told him about it.

“I think he would be very pleased,” Stone said.

“Eight o’clock tonight be a good starting time?”

“Yes, and I think it might be useful if your two men at some point had a conversation with the two sinister men regarding their intentions.”

“Of course. Tell Mr. Fisher to expect three operatives at eight o’clock this evening. They will identify themselves properly.”

“Thank you so much, Mike.” Stone hung up and called Herbie. “What are your plans for the evening, Herbie?”

“I was going to go to Elaine’s for dinner, but I don’t want to leave the house, so I’m just going to order in.”

“Reschedule,” Stone said, “and don’t bother getting a date, just be ready at eight.” Stone hung up.

 

 

Arrington and Peter bustled in from Radio City, shaking snow off their coats and rubbing their red cheeks. “I need a drink,” Arrington said.

“Right this way,” Stone replied, leading them to his study. He poured Knob Creeks for them, then made a hot cup of tea and honey for Peter. They all sat down.

“How was the show?” Stone asked.

“Spectacular!” Peter replied. “They even had three-D! And the Rockettes, wow!”

“There’s an old Jack Douglas story,” Stone said, “—he was a comedy writer for
The Tonight Show
—about a young couple who went to Radio City Music Hall on their honeymoon, and during the stage show, the young man got up to go to the men’s room, took a wrong turn, and was kicked to death by the Rockettes.”

Peter collapsed in laughter; it took Arrington a moment to get it, then she laughed, too.

“I’m going to tell all my friends that happened when we were there,” Peter said.

“Always attribute,” Stone replied. “It’s good manners.”

“Will you take us to Elaine’s tonight?” Arrington asked. “Peter is dying to go.”

“Of course.” Stone picked up the phone and made the reservation.

“We have some news,” Arrington said, glancing at Peter, who smiled broadly.

“What is it?” Stone asked, puzzled.

“You are looking at the most recent high school graduate of Peter’s school,” she said, pointing at her son.

“I don’t understand.”

“I had a call this afternoon from his headmaster. Peter neglected to tell me that he had a major oral examination just before the holidays.”

“It was more like a conversation with half a dozen faculty members,” Peter said, looking sheepish.

“I think that’s how they meant it to seem,” Arrington said. “Apparently, there was some concern among the faculty about Peter’s advanced state in all his courses, so they decided to test in depth his knowledge and comprehension of the high school curriculum. Long story short, he knocked the oral out of the park, and as a result they agreed, after he left, that the school had nothing further to offer him of any value. So, they have issued him a high school diploma, with honors, and recommended that he either be privately tutored or attend a good university with a program for exceptional students.”

“Congratulations, Peter,” Stone said, clapping him on the back.

“Well, it would have been boring to spend the rest of the academic year there, except for my film, of course, but I can work on that anywhere. All the footage is shot; I just have to edit and score it.”

“And,” Arrington said, “it looks as though Peter himself has already scoped out his next few years of education.”

“That, I have,” Peter said.

“Well, I have news, too,” Stone said. “Woodman & Weld are arranging for a petition for Peter’s name change to be lodged with a Virginia court, and also—this surprised me greatly—a Los Angeles judge is directing that Peter’s original birth certificate be reissued with his new name . . . and age.”

Peter was jumping up and down, now. “Yes, yes, yes,” he kept shouting.

“If you approve,” Stone said, “you will be named after your grandfather: Malon Peter Barrington the Second.”

“I love it!” Peter shouted.

They finally managed to calm him down. “Now, Peter,” Stone said, “does the name Letitia Covington mean anything to you?”

“Sure,” Peter said, “she’s the great old actress. Mom and I saw her in a big production at the Kennedy Center in Washington last year.”

“Well, Ms. Covington is a founder of the performing arts program at Knickerbocker Hall, and you have an interview with her on Monday afternoon at three.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. “How did you do this?”

“The lady is the mother of one of Woodman & Weld’s clients, and a phone call was made on your behalf. She wants you to bring with you what you have of your screenplay and film.”

Peter fell back onto the sofa, clutching his chest. “I’m having a heart attack!”

“Relax, and drink your tea,” Stone said.

“Oh, listen, I’d like to get my driver’s license,” Peter said.

“Peter!” his mother interjected. “You’re only sixteen!”

Peter smiled. “Not anymore,” he said.

“Oh, God,” Arrington moaned, “we’ve created a monster!”

A
rrington was stretched out on the bed in her slip. She took A a deep breath and let it out. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.

Stone sat down on the bed. He didn’t like the sound of this. “All right.”

“I’ve been seeing someone for the past year. Back in Virginia.”

Stone allowed himself to think about all the women he’d been out with during that time. “All right,” he said.

“You’re not jealous?” she said with mock concern.

“Well, of course, but you’re a free woman. Are you having some sort of problem with him?”

“He’s the architect for the new house,” she said, seeming to evade his question. “The relationship began to sour a few weeks ago, but I didn’t want to cut him off at the knees while he was still working on the house.”

“That’s a reasonable decision to make,” Stone said. “I assume you will eventually get around to answering my question.”

“What question was that?” she asked, innocently.

“Is he giving you trouble?”

“Sort of.”

“Sort of how?”

“He’s becoming jealous of you.”

“Why has he even heard of me?” Stone asked.

“I’ve mentioned you a few times as being an old friend. He latched onto your name immediately, and began making little digs about you.”

“I can handle little digs,” Stone said.

“He turned up at the hospital in Charlottesville yesterday and intimated to the nurse at the desk that he was some sort of intimate of mine, and they let him into my room. An argument ensued, not our first.”

“Was his behavior an escalation over what you’ve seen in the past?”

“Yes. He very nearly became violent, but a doctor walked into the room at just the right moment.”

“What do you think he would have done?”

“I’m not sure, but recently I heard that he had beaten up a woman he’d been seeing last year, and that he was just off probation for that incident. Then, when he had gone a nurse came into my room when I was alone and warned me about him.”

“Warned you how?”

“She told me that he had been seeing her older sister earlier this year, while he was still on probation, and he had been violent with her, had broken her nose. The nurse called him and said if he saw her sister again, she’d report him and he’d be sent to prison for breaking his probation. He responded that, if she did that, he would kill both her sister and her.”

“This is not good,” Stone said.

“No, it’s not. I felt lucky to have gotten out of the state without further trouble from him.”

“I think it might be best if I speak to him,” Stone said.

“Oh, no, Stone! That might just roil the waters.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve handled this sort of thing before for clients, and you’re my client. He just needs to be reminded of what he has to lose. He’s a professor at UVA; he’s a respected architect, well known in the community. If he behaves badly, that could all go away. Requesting a protective order from the court could make that happen, once the locals heard about it.”

“If you think that’s the way to go, then fine, but I’m just afraid that he’s become more irrational the past few months, and I don’t want you to push him over the edge.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be very lawyerly,” Stone said. “I won’t yell at him or make overt threats.”