“He’s kind of gross, isn’t he?”
“I think that sums him up very well.”
“I met him once when he came to pick up Marilyn at the day spa. He’s been very generous, though; he bought her that apartment. You know the skinny modern building on Park Avenue in the sixties?”
“The one with one apartment per floor?”
“Yes. He bought her the penthouse in that building.”
“What do you want to bet the deed is in Bernie’s name?”
“I wouldn’t take that bet, and Marilyn isn’t smart enough to insist on having it in her name. He tells her they’re going to be married as soon as he can get a divorce.”
“I’ll bet he tells her that.”
She laughed. “Marilyn says he loves to make love out on their terrace.”
“Right out in the open?”
“Yes, and there are taller buildings all around them.”
“Then they must enjoy exhibitionism.”
“I guess. I’m hungry.”
“What would you like?”
“You made me think of oysters,” she said.
“It’ll be more fun watching you eat them than watching Bernie.” They ordered.
Two hours later they stood on the curb, looking for a taxi.
“Can I tempt you back to my house?”
“I’ve already seen your etchings,” she said, “along with everything else. It’ll have to wait until next time.”
“Is tomorrow too soon for next time?”
“Yes. Call me and we’ll figure it out.” A cab stopped.
“I’ll drop you at home,” Stone said.
“That would be inconvenient,” she said, getting into the cab.
“Where do you live?” Stone asked, but she had already closed the door, and the cab was moving.
Stone watched her drive away, regretting her reluctance to come home with him. He’d have to work on that.
14
The next morning, Joan buzzed Stone. “It’s Herbert Fisher,” she said.
“Tell him to get lost.”
“He insists on talking to you. Says it’s urgent; his life is in danger.”
“God, I hope so,” Stone said, punching at the flashing light. “I told you not to call me, Herbie.”