Harkness reared up in the bed, upsetting Cary from her perch atop him.

“Jesus, the guy’s hung!” Eggers said admiringly. “And look at the tits on that broad! Shit, I don’t blame the guy!”

The camera backed out of the room as Harkness rose from the bed and came after it. In the nick of time, the front door closed, and the camera wobbled out of control. Teddy’s hand could be seen applying his latch to the knob and the molding.

“An absolute goddamned Academy Award winner!” Eggers yelled, jumping out of his chair and doing a little dance. “Gotta call my client; she’s waiting on tenterhooks.” He grabbed a phone and started dialing. “Stone, you win the Oscar for best producer,” he was saying.

Stone willed himself to move. He shoved the photograph into his overcoat pocket and got shakily to his feet.

“Hello, Charlotte? This is Bill Eggers. My dear, your settlement is assured!” Eggers crowed into the phone. “I’m going to come over to your house right now and show you the videotape that’s going to do it. Hang on a minute…” Eggers looked up to see Stone leaving the room. “Stone, where are you going?”

Stone didn’t reply. He continued down the hallway to the reception room and straight to the waiting elevator. Riding down in the car, he tore at his collar; he couldn’t seem to get enough air. Ignoring the security guard’s pleas to sign out, he rushed into the street, gulping the cold air, trying to keep his breakfast down. He stumbled through the deep snow, gasping for still more air. After a while, he slowed to a walk; a little while later, he found himself inside his house, leaning against the front door, weeping.

When he had calmed himself a little, he noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. There was only one message.

“Stone, darling,” she said, “I’ve had a little family emergency, and I’m going to have to go to Virginia to see the folks for a few days. I’m leaving this morning, so I’m afraid I can’t see you tonight. I’ll call you when I get back. Take care.”

Chapter

39

The rest of the weekend was awful. Stone felt ill and stayed in bed, getting up only to make soup and bring in the newspapers. He couldn’t concentrate on the papers, and, for the first time in months, the house did not intrude into his thoughts. He thought of nothing but Cary.

He tried to think of something else, but nothing worked. Sunday sports on television were a blur; the news meant nothing; he couldn’t keep his mind on the book review or the Sunday magazine. The crossword puzzle worked for a few minutes, but every time he stopped to think, Cary popped into his head—Cary and the awful photograph in his overcoat pocket.