Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

said to his son. “And as soon as you get home, you have to write a check for five million nine hundred and fifty thousand to the Internal Revenue Service.”
    “Ouch!” Peter said.
    “Get used to it, Peter,” Mort said. “You’re going to be writing a lot of checks to the IRS.”
    “And, Peter,” Leo said, “I have a surprise for you: your film has been accepted for the Sundance Film Festival.”
    Somebody found a bottle of champagne, and Peter’s success was toasted.
     
     
    On the way home Peter said, “What do you want me to do with the money?”
    “I think you should open a brokerage account with the Chase Private Bank and let them recommend how to invest it, then buy yourself a nice gift.”
    “I’ll have to think about that,” Peter said.
    “I’m not going to have anything to do with the money you earn,” Stone said. “I want to see what you do with it.”
    “Thank you, Dad,” Peter said.
    “Thank you for asking,” Stone replied.
     
     
    That weekend, Ben Bacchetti took the train down from Choate, picked up his father’s car, and drove himself, Peter, and Hattie to New Haven, to look for housing for themselves. Joan had reserved three rooms for them at a local hotel.
    The following day Peter called home.
    “Hello?” Stone said.
    “Hi, Dad.”
    “Everything okay?”
    “Yes. In fact, it’s better than okay.”
    “How so?”
    “We found the perfect apartment for us—three bedrooms, living/ dining room, kitchen, and a nice study.”
    “What’s the rent?”
    “It would be around five thousand a month, if we were renting,” Peter replied. “It’s a new building, to be completed in a couple of months. We saw the model apartment, then took a look at the top-floor unit to get an idea of the space. I’ve decided to buy the apartment.”
    Stone thought about that for a moment. “That might be a good use for some of your money, and you’ll probably make a profit on it when you leave Yale. How much is it?”
    “It would normally sell for around a million and a half, but they’re asking a million two, because of the recession. I’ll buy the place, and Peter and Hattie will split the monthly maintenance payments.”
    “Offer them a million, then settle for a million one,” Stone said. “Give them a check for ten percent and bring home the contract for me to read before you sign it.”
    “Great, Dad, I’ll do that. Something else.”
    “What?”
    “As soon as I get home I’m going to take driving lessons and get my license, then I’m going to buy a car. I’ll need it around here.”
    This, Stone thought, was as inevitable as sex with Hattie. “All right,” he said, “but if you get a speeding ticket the keys are mine.”
    “Agreed,” Peter said.
     
     
    That night after dinner at a New Haven restaurant they returned to their hotel, and Hattie led Peter to her room. There, she did some more leading, having had slightly more experience than Peter, and from that point on, Peter led.
     
     
    At home the following day, Peter gave Stone the contract for the condominium. “How did you know they would take a million one?” he asked his father.
    “I didn’t, but you always have to try. You have to remember that developers these days have excess inventory and not enough buyers. They need the cash, and with you as a buyer, they don’t have to wait for mortgage approval.”
    Stone read the contract and found it acceptable. “Sign it, and I’ll find a New Haven attorney to close the sale for you as soon as the apartment is finished and has been inspected. You’ll need to speak to our insurance agency about insuring it, too.”
    “I hadn’t thought of that,” Peter said. “Dad, I’m also going to buy Hattie a piano, a Steinway, as a surprise.”
    “That’s a very generous gift, Peter, but you should take her up to Steinway Hall and let her choose it herself. A piano is a very personal thing for a pianist.”
    “Hattie’s going to decorate the apartment,” Peter said. “How much should I budget for that?”
    “That’s up to you,” Stone said, “or perhaps, up to Hattie. My advice is, buy nice things, but don’t go crazy. In four years, you may not want anything you buy now, except for Hattie’s piano.”
    “That’s good advice,” Peter said.

65
    S tone lay back in the cockpit seat of the twenty-nine-foot Concordia and watched the sun fall toward Penobscot Bay.
    Hattie was at the helm, Peter was looking after the foredeck, and Ben Bacchetti and a