“Not bad seats, huh?” Dino said.
“What was that about being on duty?” Stone asked, but his question was drowned out by a flood of music from the orchestra pit.
Stone and Dino watched as the curtain went up on a nearly bare stage-only a park bench and a lamppost. The backdrop was an autumnal view of Central Park.
Carrie moved onstage, holding the hand of a young man, and they began to dance. After a moment Carrie began to sing.
Stone relaxed and enjoyed it.
WHEN THE FIRST-ACT curtain came down, the audience roared and wouldn’t stop until Carrie and other members of the cast came back for a curtain call. Stone had never seen a first-act curtain call, and the critics sitting near him were on their feet, too.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Stone asked.
“Nope,” Dino said. Then, as the curtain was being slowly lowered for the intermission, a single gunshot rang out.
Stone and Dino turned and looked toward the rear of the theater, where they saw a scuffle going on in the dress circle. A woman screamed, and a second shot was fired, bringing down a drizzle of plaster from above.
“Stay here,” Dino said, and he ran up the aisle, pushing people out of his way.
As Stone stood watching the scuffle in the dress circle, he thought he saw Willie Leahy there. Dino joined the group, and someone was dragged up the stairs and out of the theater. The crowd now moved toward the lobby for intermission.
Stone was sipping a glass of champagne at the bar when Dino returned.
“There appears to be something you didn’t tell me,” Stone said to him.
“I told you I was on duty,” Dino said.
“Was that Max Long doing the shooting?”
“Carrie’s ex? One and the same.”
“How did this come about?”
“I had a tip from Atlanta. Max took off in his King Air this afternoon and, surprise, surprise, turned up at Teterboro. He’s been followed ever since by my guys.”
“And how did Willie Leahy get involved?”
“Willie took a personal interest in the events,” Dino replied. “We got him a seat behind Max.”
“And you didn’t tell me any of this?”
“I didn’t want to concern you,” Dino said. “Now let’s go enjoy the rest of the show.”
Before the curtain went up, Del Wood walked to center stage and held up his hands for silence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I wish to apologize for the small disturbance at the end of the first act. It appears that someone wasn’t enjoying my show as much as you were and wished to register a protest. He has been relocated and will not disturb us further. Please enjoy the rest of the show. Thank you.” He walked off the stage to a rousing hand.
AND ENJOY the rest of the show Stone and Dino did, along with the rest of the audience. There were eighteen curtain calls, and the stage was flooded with flowers. The critics rushed up the aisle while the audience was still standing and beating their hands together.
“I’d say it’s going to run,” Dino said.
AFTERWARD, Stone and Dino went to Sardi’s for the opening night party to wait for the reviews with the other invited guests.
Somebody rushed in with stacks of the papers around midnight, and someone else stood on a table and read them aloud, a series of raves, particularly for the show’s star.
Stone stood with Dino at the edge of the crowd, watching Carrie accept the congratulations of everyone. At no time did she let go of the hand of her handsome young costar, who was wearing almost as much of her lipstick as she was.
There was a tiny moment when Carrie spotted Stone and gave him a small wave, as if to say good-bye.
Stone and Dino walked into the cool night air and got into Dino’s car.
“Elaine’s,” Dino said to his driver.
“Right,” Stone said.
LATER, STONE RETURNED HOME, let himself in, and went upstairs to his bedroom. There was a note on his pillow from Joan.
Stone, I haven’t wanted to mention this but something strange has been going on. I’ve noticed from my office window that a woman has been standing across the street from the house for periods of two hours or more for the past three days. She is accompanied by a large man who seems concerned for her welfare, but she does nothing but stare at the house. Finally, the man seems to persuade her to leave, but she always returns. I thought you should know about this.
Stone sat down on the bed, put his face in his hands, and made a low, moaning noise.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I never open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.
Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of Writer’s Market at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, CA 98212-1825.
Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 445 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10022. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)
If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website, www.stuartwoods.com, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Rachel Kahan at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.
Stuart Woods
