“Shit!” Stone said. “Manolo, please bring me a large Knob Creek on the rocks.”
Rick sighed. “By my count, we now have forty-eight percent of the votes.”
“That’s my count, too,” Stone said, taking a gulp of his bourbon.
48
Stone and Rick sat, each staring silently into the middle distance. The only sound was the occasional clink of ice cubes as they imbibed.
“Hello, Rick!” Arrington said cheerfully, as she swept onto the patio in a silk pajama suit. Then she stopped in her tracks. “Did somebody die?”
“Not yet,” Stone said. He explained what had occurred.
“Only forty-eight percent?” she asked, taking a seat. “Manolo, bring me a large rum and tonic! No, make it a dark and stormy.”
“What’s a dark and stormy?” Rick asked.
“It’s Gosling’s Black Seal-a black Bermudan rum-and ginger beer.”
“Oh,” Rick said. He turned to Manolo and swung a finger between himself and Stone. “Refills,” he said.
“What are we going to do?” Arrington asked.
“Good question,” Stone said, staring into his empty glass, which was immediately replaced by Manolo.
“That means you have no answer, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Pretty much,” Stone said, sipping his new bourbon.
“That’s about the size of it,” Rick said, sipping his own new drink.
“Well, it isn’t the end of the world,” Arrington pointed out.
“It’s the end of my world,” Rick said.
“Oh, Rick, I’m so very sorry,” she said. “That was unfeeling of me.”
“Have we forgotten to talk to anyone with shares?” Stone asked.
Rick shook his head. “I’ve spoken with every single shareholder personally,” he said, “some of them three or four times.”
“There’s still Jack Schmeltzer,” Stone said. “Oh, you didn’t hear that, Rick.”
“I didn’t,” Rick replied. “Have you heard anything from Jack?”
“I’ve left messages at his home and office, but he hasn’t returned my calls,” Stone said. “His secretary said he would be in meetings all day and wouldn’t be able to get back to me before tomorrow morning.”
“I’ve used that excuse myself,” Rick said, “more than a few times, when I didn’t want to talk to someone.”
“Why wouldn’t he want to talk to you?” Arrington asked Stone.
“I think Terry Prince has gotten to him, and he’s embarrassed,” Stone replied. “Maybe I should call Charlene Joiner and ask her to fuck him again.”
“What?” Arrington and Rick said simultaneously.
“It was Charlene who talked him around to voting with us,” Stone said, “after an afternoon in bed.”
“I didn’t know people did that sort of thing anymore,” Arrington said.