New York Dead

enjoying the way Lauren was playing Rodgers and Hart. When they had finished dinner, Elaine joined them.
    “Remember that guy, Doc? At the bar awhile back? The diagnostician?”
    “Yeah. In fact, I saw a lot of him during the Nijinsky thing.”
    “We had a weird thing in here with him last night. He was playing doctor with some little girl at the bar, and they left together, and, a minute later, she’s back in here, nearly hysterical. She said Doc had tried to muscle her into a van, and she was scared to death.” “Did you call the precinct?”
    “Nah, it didn’t seem as serious as that. I gave her a brandy and calmed her down; she didn’t want to take it any farther. I’m going to throw the bum out the next time he walks in here, though.” “He wrote Sasha Nijinsky a thousand or so letters over the past couple of years.”
    “No kidding?”
    “It didn’t get in the papers, but we had a look at his place and where he works. He’s an embalmer for a funeral parlor, you know.”
    “He’s not a doctor?”
    “Nope. He did graduate from medical school, but he was never licensed. I thought the guy was harmless, but when he starts trying to drag girls into vans, well…”
    “He’s never setting foot in here again,” Elaine said emphatically.

    In bed, Cary seemed tired and distracted, and their lovemaking was brief and perfunctory, something that had never happened before. The extra work seemed to be getting her down, and, God knew, Stone was tired himself. Eight hours a day of class and another four of varnishing was wearing him down.
    On Sunday morning, Cary ate her breakfast listlessly. “Are you as zonked as I am?” she asked.
    “Yeah. It’s okay; we’re both under the gun at the moment.”
    “Thanks for understanding. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all week, and now I’m a wreck.”
    “It’s okay, really it is.”
    “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go home and try to get some sleep this afternoon.”
    He did his best to hide his disappointment. “Next Saturday?”
    “Absolutely.”

The next Saturday was much the same.

    Another letter came from the bank, this time a flat-out demand. Stone, his back against the wall now, called a real estate agent.
    “I think it’s wonderful what you’re aiming at for the place,” she said, “but I guess you know what the New York residential property market is like right now. In good times, with the place finished and ready to move into, we might get three, three and a half million for this house. Right now, for an immediate sale, we might be lucky to get three hundred thousand.” Stone was shocked. “Is the market that bad?”
    “It is. Listen, you’re lucky; at least you’d get something out of a sale. I’ve got clients with perfectly beautiful town houses who are being forced to sell for far less than they paid, and they’re having to pay off the rest of the mortgage out of savings.”
    Bright and early on a Monday morning, Stone presented himself to be examined for admission to the bar of New York State, along with about fifteen hundred others. Like everyone else, he labored over the questions. There were occasional gaps in his knowledge, but, on the whole, he thought he did well; certainly, he aced the questions on criminal law. Now there was only the waiting.
    He got home feeling enormously relieved. He had finished his study for the bar and the varnishing of the library at the same time. Now, if Cary could just get a break in her work schedule, maybe they could…
    The phone rang.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, it’s Bill Eggers.”
    “Hi, Bill.”
    “How’d you do today?”
    “How’d you know?”
    “I have spies everywhere.”
    “Well, I did okay on criminal law, at least.”
    “Good. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
    “Fine.”
    “The Four Seasons, at eight thirty?”
    “Sounds good.”
    “Don’t bring anybody. It’s just you and me.”
    “If you promise not to put your hand on my knee.”
    “Don’t worry, you’re not cute enough. By the way, I might have some news for you.”
    “What sort of news?”
    “Let’s wait and see.”

Chapter
32

    The Four Seasons was busy, as always. The hum of voices from the Pool Room echoed enjoyment of the surroundings and the food, but Bill Eggers had a table in the Grill, next to the bar.
    “It’s quieter here,” Eggers said. “It’s crazy at lunch, but at dinner everybody wants to be in the Pool Room. Here, we can talk.”
    Stone wondered exactly what they