Swimming to Catalina

again.”
    “So I’m stuck?”
    She put her hand back on his cheek. “Don’t take it so hard, baby; it’s only fame and fortune. Most men would jump at the chance.” She lowered her voice. “And most men would have propositioned me by now.”
    “You are bold, miss.”
    “By this time tomorrow, any woman on the Centurion lot can be yours; I figure I’d better hurry.”
    “I live near here.”
    “Show me.”
    Stone signed the check, and they left the bar and walked through the cool evening toward his suite. She put her hand in his, but neither of them said anything. Along with the scent of frangipani, there was anticipation in the air.
    The suite was softly lighted, and she went straight to the bedroom, dropping articles of clothing along the way. A message envelope had been pushed under the door; Stone couldn’t think about that now. He dropped it on the bedside table and started working on his own buttons.

    She was naked first. “Leave the lights on,” she said, stripping the bedcover and top sheet off the bed.
    He followed instructions.
    She stretched out on the bare bed and clasped her hands behind her neck. Her tan ran from top to bottom without interruption, something he wasn’t accustomed to seeing in New York.
    “Me first,” she said.
    He started with her breasts and worked his way down. She kept her hands clasped behind her neck until he hit bottom, then her fingers were in his hair, pulling, while she made little noises.
    After a while, it was his turn. It was worth the wait.

9
    Stone woke slowly, at first disoriented in the strange room. The bed was a wreck, with covers everywhere, and he was alone. He stretched and thought about the night before, which was indeed a pleasant memory, then jumped as the phone rang. The bedside clock said six-thirty. He grabbed the phone.
    “Hello?”
    “It’s Bill Eggers; why didn’t you call me last night? I was up half the night waiting.”
    “Why, Bill, I didn’t know you cared.”
    “Didn’t you get my message?”
    “Oh,” Stone said, ripping open the little envelope. It read:CALL ME TONIGHT, NO MATTER HOW LATE. “Sorry, Bill, I was preoccupied, I guess, and I didn’t even read it.”
    “How the hell did you get to know David Sturmack?”
    “I met him at a dinner party last night, at Vance Calder’s house.”

    “Only last night? He called me about you yesterday afternoon; that was before you even met him?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Jesus, what are you doing in Hollywood, having dinner with movie stars and fixers?”
    “Fixers?”
    “Don’t you even know who David Sturmack is?”
    “I know he has a lot of influence in the movie business; that’s about it. Who else is he?”
    “Stone, if it doesn’t happen on the Upper East Side between Forty-second and Eighty-sixth Street, you don’t have a clue, do you?”
    “Am Isupposed to know who Sturmack is?”
    “Well, maybe not. Only a handful of people really know, and I happen to be one of them.”
    “Why is he so little known for such a powerful fellow?”
    “Because he wants it that way. Things usually get to be the way Sturmack wants them.”
    “Oh.”
    “You bet your ass. That was some conversation I had with him yesterday; he called me right out of the blue. I’m glad I was in.”
    “Bill, you were telling me who Sturmack is.”
    “He’s the prince of fucking darkness, that’s who he is.”
    “You copped that line from a movie.”
    “That doesn’t make it any less true,” Eggers said defensively.
    “I guess not; now explain yourself.”
    “It started like this: Sturmack’s old man, whose name was Morris, or Moe, was Meyer Lansky’s right-hand man for thirty years.”
    “No kidding?”

    “Absolutely no fucking kidding. Word is, he sent son David to law school both to make him respectable and to make him useful.”
    “And he was useful?”
    “You better believe he was. His specialty was the mob connection to the unions; he was very tight with Hoffa and Tony Scotto and a dozen other big-time labor guys. In the late fifties he went west and became a conduit between the Hollywood unions and the mob. He was always very discreet; he didn’t even practice law out there, so nobody could go running to the bar association if they didn’t like his methods. Over the years, he’s sunk more and more out of sight until he’s practically invisible, but at the same time he’s gotten a better and better grip on the town.”
    “How do you know all this, Bill?”
    “I