“Good,” Stone said. “I’ll be right next door.” He hoped Peter got the message.
Stone left them there and went down to the master suite, where he opened the Times and started on the Saturday crossword, always the toughest of the week.
Kelli Keane got home to her little apartment on Third Avenue in the Seventies and immediately went to her computer. She opened a program that searched apartment buildings for the names of tenants or co-op owners, typed in Park Avenue and Sixty-third Street and the name Hattie Patrick. In a matter of seconds she had a hit at 576 Park, a prewar co-op building, and Hattie’s name appeared along with those of her parents, Sean and Margaret. She thought the name Sean Patrick sounded familiar, so she Googled him and got the Patrick Group, a hedge fund that, according to their website, managed more than fifty billion dollars. Wow! Kelli thought.
For good measure she Googled Hattie and got more than she had expected. The girl was a star music student at Knickerbocker who had played piano recitals and earned good reviews at some of the city’s better venues. She had been the piano soloist a year before in a performance of Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue and Concerto in F, with the New York Youth Orchestra at Carnegie Hall. Wow! again.
Just on the off chance, she Googled Peter Barrington and got zip. She tried Peter Calder and got zip, too. It was as if the kid had recently arrived from another planet.
Peter and Hattie sat on pillows on the floor at the foot of his bed and watched his film come to an end. Hattie now had a full set of notes.
“I know what I want to write now,” she said to Peter. “What I’d like to do is to record a rough track on film to make sure I’ve got the cues right, then I’ll write some additional parts for cello, bass, and flute, and when I have the piano part perfectly recorded, we’ll dub in the other instruments.”
“That sounds perfect,” Peter said. “How did you get so good at this so young?”
“The same way you got good at filmmaking,” she said. “I studied, then practiced all the time and played with other musicians whenever I could.”
“That’s not exactly how I got to be a filmmaker,” Peter said. “I just went to the movies a lot, then made a movie. What are you going to do after graduation?”
“I’ve been accepted at Juilliard,” she said, “to study composition. I’m not really interested in a career as a concert artist; I want more freedom than that.” She reached into her handbag and handed Peter a disc. “Here’s a present for you.”
Peter looked at the label. “ Rhapsody in Blue? It’s one of my favorites. So is Concerto in F. Can I put it on now?”
“No, it will just embarrass me,” Hattie said. “Listen to it when you’re alone.”
“All right.”
Stone knocked at the open door and came in. “Everything go well with the film?”
“Yes, Dad,” Peter said. “Hattie’s got what she needs now to write the whole score. And she gave me this.” He handed Stone the disc.
Stone read the label. “Carnegie Hall!” he said. “That’s very impressive.”
Hattie turned pink.
“She embarrasses easily,” Peter said. “She won’t even let me listen to it while’s she’s here.”
“I’ve heard it before,” Hattie said, getting to her feet. “And now I think I have to get home and walk the dog. I take him to Central Park about this time every day, and he’ll be expecting me.”
“I’ll walk you down and get you a cab,” Peter said.
The two went downstairs and got their coats.
Peter was back in ten minutes, and he came into the master suite.
“You want to listen to Hattie’s recording?”
“Sure,” Stone said. “Put it in the player over there.” He pointed. He tossed Peter the remote for the other side of the electric bed. “Get comfortable,” he said. Peter inserted the disc.
The music started, and Stone turned up the volume to concert level.
The two pieces finished, and they were both silent for a moment.
“That was breathtaking,” Stone said after a moment.
“It sure was.”
“Did you know she was that good before today?”
“I heard her improvise some stuff in a recital hall at school, but I’m astonished.”
“Is she going to pursue a concert career?”
“No, but she’s going to study composition at Juilliard this fall. She says she doesn’t want a career as a concert artist.”
“I don’t blame her,” Stone said. “That’s quite a girl, Peter. Hang on to her, if you can.”
“I wonder if Yale has a music school,” Peter said.
42
S tone was in bed the following morning with the Sunday
Times when Peter came into the room. “Good morning,
Dad,” he said.
“Good morning, Peter. Did you sleep well?”
Peter looked a little sheepish. “Not all that well.”
“Ah,” Stone said, “thinking about Hattie?”
“Well, yes.”
“Tell you what: Ben is off to Choate tomorrow morning; why don’t you and I and Ben and Dino have dinner at Elaine’s, and you can ask Hattie to join us.”
“Terrific!” Peter said. “She’s never been to Elaine’s, and she wants to go.” He ran out of the room, then quickly returned. “I know that she usually has dinner with her parents on Sunday nights. May I ask them to join us, too?”
“Of course,” Stone said. “Let me know how many to book for.”
Peter ran out and returned in ten minutes. “Everybody’s aboard. There’ll be seven of us. I wish Mom were here.”
“So do I.” As if on cue, the phone rang. “Hello?”
“Hey, there,” Arrington said.
“Hang on, I’ll put you on speaker; Peter’s here, too.” He pressed the button and Peter came and sat on the edge of the bed.
“How’s the house coming along?” Stone asked.
“Beautifully,” she replied, “if I do say so. I did a brilliant job of packing at the old house, and everything is going right into place. We’re hanging pictures tomorrow.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Stone said. “Peter has a new friend.”
“Yes, I do,” Peter said, then launched into a monologue about Hattie and how brilliant she was.
“Whew!” Arrington said when he finally paused. “That’s the longest I ever heard anybody talk without taking a breath!”
“She’s quite a girl,” Stone said.
“Well, Peter, why don’t you ask her down for our housewarming? It’s next Saturday night. You can ask her folks’ permission at dinner tonight, and tell them they’re invited, too.”
“That would be wonderful, Mom,” Peter said.
“Come down on Friday, so we’ll have all of Saturday and Sunday together,” Arrington said. “You can fly back on Monday morning. Will the school let you do that?”
“I pretty much make my own schedule,” Peter said.
“Stone, you’d better take Peter to get a new tux. His old one isn’t going to fit. And don’t forget to get some riding clothes for yourself. I’ll have the perfect horse for you.”
“I’ll do that.”
“I can’t wait for you to see the house. It’s going to look like it’s always been here and we’ve always lived here. Architectural Digest is coming on Friday to photograph the place.”
“Who’s doing your PR?” Stone asked.
“I am. Paige Rense, the editor, is an old friend.”
“Are they going to photograph us?” Stone asked.
“No, just the house.”
“When will the piece run?”
“I don’t know; not for some time, I expect. They have a long lead time.”
“Well, I suppose everything will be more settled by then.”
“Mom,” Peter said, “I’ve got a new room upstairs.” He told her about his plans for his suite.
“That sounds perfect for you, Peter. May I speak to Stone alone for a moment?”
“Sure. Good-bye, Mom. I’ll see you on Friday.” He padded back to his own room.
“Is he gone?” Arrington asked.
“Yes, we’re alone.” Stone picked up the phone. “What’s up?”
“There’s something I have to tell you about,” she said.
“All right.”
“Tim Rutledge will be around this weekend for the photo shoot and for the housewarming, of course. He’s from an old family in the county, and everyone here will know him.”