To Michael and Marilyn, Michael and Mardi,
Irving and Sylvia, Carole, Don and Rose,
David, Mitch and Cobray, DeSales, Bobby
Byrd, Missy, Joel, Ira and DeeDee, Peter and
Cathy, and Betty and Dr. Sam Gray.
To George, Eddie, James, Chack, Paul, and the
News department of Channel Five, Atlanta.
To Betsy Nolan, Tommy, Ed, Sidney Sheldon
and Burt.
To Marc Jaffe and Random House, and Nat
Lefkowitz and William Morris -
To an inspiring editor, Peter Gethers.
A wondrous agent, Owen Laster.
And finally in loving memory of the old bear,
Townsend:
So long, Stromboli, wherever you may be.
PROLOGUE
—AMBROSE BIERCE
He had been watching her for almost an hour. She was absolutely stunning as she moved gracefully through Bloomingdale’s, carefully pondering each gift before buying it, then checking it off her list before moving on to the next department. An elegant and exotic creature, tallish, trim, chic, wonderfully stylish in black Jordache jeans, Lucchese cowboy boots, a pale-blue silk blouse and a poplin jacket lined with rabbit fur.
The clincher was the hat, a black derby, cocked almost arrogantly over one almond-shaped eye with just a trace of black veil covering her face.
He moved with her, a counter or two away, fifty feet or so behind her. She methodically did the store. Her shopping bag was full by the time she reached the first floor, and as she stepped off the escalator, suddenly picking up speed, heading toward the Lexington Avenue entrance. In a few more moments she would be outside. And that would be that. If he was going to make a move, now was the time.
He slipped into his leather coat as he hurried along a row of blinking Christmas trees, past a red and white banner that said:
‘Merry Christmas, from all your friends at Bloomingdale’s’ (and under it, a commercial prod: ‘only 4 more shopping days left’), down the stairs from the mezzanine and below a balcony where a group of timid high school carolers were almost whispering their version of ‘The Little Drummer Boy.’ Then he almost lost her. An army of resolute shoppers, fleeing before the wind and wet snow, charged through the revolving doors, forging relentlessly into the store. He was a temporary victim, caught up in the momentum of the rude assault.
He side-stepped and angled his way through the mob, shouldered his way free, lurched forward, and almost ran into her. They were face to face, almost touching, and then, just as suddenly they were apart again. Her move away from him was so graceful he sensed rather than saw it. Before he could apologize, she recovered her composure and quickly appraised him. An older man, forty-five or so, and handsome, although his face was beginning to show the strains of the good life and his brown hair was peppered with gray. His dress was impeccable: tweed jacket, slate-brown wool slacks, a wide- striped shirt and Cardin tie.
He stared straight back at her, smiled, motioned her into the door and gave it a shove when she entered the glass triangle. Was she Oriental? Polynesian? A mixture? Mexican and French, perhaps. She seemed a bit tall to be Japanese.
Outside, cold wet snowflakes raked Lexington Avenue, dancing over the subway grates before the harsh cross- town wind swirled them up Fifty-first Street. They flagged the same cab, dodged the same shower of slush as it pulled up, and since most of the cabs had either vanished or gone to lunch at the first sign of bad, weather, they decided to share it.
That was the start of it.
He suggested a drink. She stared at him for a moment from under the rakish brim of the derby and,, to his surprise, nodded. They stopped at the Pierre and she played it just right. One drink and she was gone. While he was paying the bill, the maitre d’ came to the table and handed him a note. Her phone number was scribbled across the slip of paper
Perfect.
They had lunch the next day at La Cote Basque, spent part of the afternoon browsing through a new exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, had a drink at Charley O’s and went ice-skating at Rockefeller Plaza. She went home to change and met him later at the Four Seasons for dinner. She was wearing a severe black suit with a white silk
