“Thank you, Felicity,” Stone said.
Felicity took a sip of her Rob Roy. “If they are in league, then Hackett knows that you and I know each other, because you introduced me to Wight at the ambassador’s dinner party.”
“Good point,” Stone said. “Also, Hackett seems to be the sort of guy who knows everything about everybody, so we’d best assume he knows everything about us.”
“Everything?” Felicity asked.
“Well, not everything.”
“Hackett also made me a job offer,” Stone said. “Sort of.”
“What sort of job offer?”
“He gave me his card and said if I ever tired of working for Woodman and Weld, he would make me comfortable at his company.”
“Take the job,” Dino said. “Then maybe you’d know everything.”
“I think he did it just to annoy Bill Eggers,” Stone said, “and it worked.”
“Dino has a point,” Felicity said.
“You want me to go to work for Hackett?”
“That would never do,” Dino said. “Then Stone would actually have to work for a living.”
Felicity couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Why don’t you drop him a note and manage to indicate some interest?”
“Because Hackett would see that Eggers knew about it, and I’d catch hell from him.”
“Then tell Eggers why you’re doing it,” she said.
“You want him to know about Whitestone?”
“You already mentioned the name in his presence at the dinner party.”
“You want me to tell him I’m working for you?”
“Certainly not. You can lie about that.”
“Lies have a way of coming back and biting one on the ass.”
“Oh, handle it, Stone,” she said.
Dinner came, and the waiter began pouring an expensive bottle of wine.
“That’s two, Dino,” Stone said.
“And two to go,” Dino replied.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone was in his office when the phone rang. Joan had gone out for something, so he picked it up. “Stone Barrington.”
“You answer your own phone?” Hackett said. “Don’t you have a secretary?”
“You place your own calls?” Stone asked. “Don’t you have a secretary?”
Hackett laughed heartily. “Let’s have lunch today,” Hackett said. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“All right,” Stone replied.
“The Four Seasons at one?”
“That’s Eggers’s hangout,” Stone replied.
“All right, Michael’s?”
“Good,” Stone replied. “See you at one.” He hung up and called Eggers. The secretary put him through.
“Good morning, Stone,” Eggers said. “I thought that went well yesterday.”
“I don’t know about you, Bill, but it wore me out,” Stone replied.
“You should stay in better shape,” Eggers said, chuckling.
“You going to get any business from Hackett?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“How close are Hackett and Wight?”
“They know each other. I don’t know any more than that.”
“Hackett just called and invited me to lunch today. I accepted.”
“Now you listen to me, Stone…”
“Easy, Bill.”
“You’re not going to…”
“Bill, if I were job hunting, I wouldn’t be telling you about it, would I?”
“Then why are you having lunch with him?”
“Because I need some information for one of my own clients, and Hackett may have it.”
“What client?”
“You know I can’t tell you that. I can tell you there’s no conflict with Woodman and Weld.”
“Well, all right, then, but I want to know if he tries to poach you away from me.”
“But then I’d be violating Hackett’s confidence.”
“Goddamn it, Stone…”
“Bill, you’re going to have a stroke if you’re not careful.”
“Don’t you accept any work of any kind from Hackett, without my agreement.”
“Bill, I’m not trying to screw you. You’ve been very good to me, from the beginning. I just want to tap Hackett’s brain for my other client.”
“All right, all right, but you call me after lunch.”
“I will, but I don’t know how much I can tell you.”
Eggers hung up without another word.
27
Michael’s was a restaurant on West Fifty-fifth Street that catered to the publishing and media crowd, and Stone wondered why Hackett had chosen it. It was a wide-open room with contemporary furniture and good art on the walls. Michael Mc-Carty, the owner, had opened his first Michael’s in Santa Monica, California, in the late 1970s and the New York place not long afterward.
Hackett was already seated at a prime table when Stone arrived on time. They shook hands, and Stone took a seat. “This is a publishing hangout,” Stone said. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s close to my office, and the food is great,” Hackett replied.
“That’s about all I demand of a restaurant, except for fine wines, good service, attractive decor and beautiful women to look at.”
“Who could ask for more?” Stone said.
Hackett had already ordered a bottle of wine and poured Stone a glass. “One of my favorite chardonnays,” he said. “Far Niente.”
“One of mine, too,” Stone said, sipping the delicious wine.
Menus were brought, and Hackett, with Stone’s permission, ordered sweetbreads with morel mushrooms for both of them.
“I wasn’t kidding yesterday,” Hackett said.
“That’s what I’d like Bill Eggers to think,” Stone said.
Hackett laughed. “You can use me as a ploy, if you like, but I’m serious.”
“And I’m seriously appreciative,” Stone said, “but I’m very happy with my arrangement with Woodman and Weld. It gives me a lot of freedom.”
“What sort of freedom?”
“I can travel pretty much when I like: I enjoy Maine and the Florida Keys. I fly myself around.”
“What do you fly?”
“Something called a JetProp. It’s a Piper Malibu that’s had the piston engine replaced with a turbine. Does two hundred sixty knots at twenty-seven thousand feet.”
“I fly myself, too,” Hackett said, “except I have a new Cessna Citation Mustang. I just got type-rated last month.”
