Stone Barrington 06-11

him a moment to realize that their moving lips were not in synch with the music: That was recorded, and the boys were, apparently, child actors. The organist, too, was faking it; only the choir director seemed to truly understand the music. The whole scene was gorgeously lit.
    As the strains of the choir died, and the boys stopped moving their lips, a richly costumed priest (or actor?) walked onto the set and began speaking in Latin. If he was an actor, Stone reflected, he certainly had his lines down pat. Stone was glad the coffin was not open, if indeed Vance’s body was inside, because this was the first funeral service he had ever attended where he was wearing the corpse’s suit.
    The clothes he had brought with him had been chosen for Venice, and Dolce had insisted on light colors. When he had confessed to Arrington that he had nothing suitable for a funeral, she had suggested he wear some of Vance’s clothes, which had turned out to fit him very well—so well, in fact, that Arrington was insisting that he have all of Vance’s clothes, the thought of which made him uncomfortable.
    “Look,” she had said, “if you don’t take all these perfectly beautiful suits, jackets, and shirts, they’ll end up being sold at some ghastly celebrity auction. Please, Stone, you’d be doing me a great favor.”
    So now he stood staring at the coffin, wearing the deceased’s dark blue Douglas Hayward chalk-stripe suit, his handmade, sweetly comfortable Lobb shoes, and his Turnbull & Asser silk shirt and necktie. The underwear and socks were, mercifully, his own.
    The eulogies began, led by Lou Regenstein. They were kept short, and the speakers had, apparently, been chosen by occupation: There was an actor, a director, a producer, and an entertainment lawyer. Each, of course, spoke of Vance’s endearing personal qualities and gift for friendship, but his Oscars, New York Film Critics’ Awards, and his business acumen were all covered at some length, as well.
    When the service ended, the coffin was opened, and Vance’s body was, indeed, inside. Those in the pews were directed past the coffin to Arrington, who stood alone, well to one side of the coffin, while those in the folding chairs to the rear were directed out the hangarlike doors at the front of the sound stage.
    After speaking words of condolence, the mourners divided into two groups—some were directed toward the main doors, while the truly close friends and business associates were sent out the rear door, where their cars waited to take them to the cemetery.
    Stone stood near the rear door and, shortly, Eduardo Bianchi drifted over, while Dolce remained in the line of mourners. Eduardo, dressed in a severely cut black silk suit, held out his hand and shook Stone’s warmly. “Stone, I’m sorry not to have returned your call yesterday, but I was en route to Los Angeles and did not receive your message until this morning.”
    “That’s quite all right, Eduardo,” Stone replied. “It’s good to see you.”
    “I expect that you called to tell me of yours and Dolce’s … ah, difficulties. She had, of course, already told me.”
    “I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you myself,” Stone said. “This is not easy, of course, but I believe it is the best thing for Dolce. I’m not sure what it is for me.”
    “I understand that these things sometimes do not work out,” Eduardo said. “People’s lives are complicated, are they not?”
    “They certainly are,” Stone agreed.
    “I understand that Dolce can be a difficult woman, and I know that Vance’s death has, perhaps, meant a sudden change in your life. I want you to know that I remain fond of you, Stone, in spite of all that has happened. I had hoped to have you for a son, but I will be content, if I must, to have you for a friend.”
    “Thank you, Eduardo, for understanding. I will always be very pleased to be your friend and to have you as mine.” To Stone’s surprise, Eduardo embraced him, then turned and walked back to join Dolce in the receiving line.

    The drive to Forest Lawn was quiet, except for Arrington’s patiently answering Peter’s questions about the service and who all the people were. Stone was glad he didn’t have to answer the questions himself.
    At the brief graveside service, Stone stood to one side again, and when it was over, he was surprised to be approached by Charlene Joiner, who held out her hand and introduced herself.
    “I’d like to speak to you privately,