Swimming to Catalina

staying? May I offer you a lift?”
    “At the Bel-Air, and thank you, but Vance said I would be met.”
    “How long have you known Vance Calder?” Regenstein asked.
    “A year or so, I guess; actually, I’ve met him only once, at a dinner party in New York.”
    “So that would be when you met Arrington?”
    Stone was surprised. “Yes.”
    “You and Arrington were close for a time.”
    More surprise. “Yes.”
    Regenstein seemed to take a cue from Stone’s reticence. “Vance is a most remarkable man, for an actor,” he said. “I’ve never known a movie star so in control of his career. That would drive many studio executives crazy, but I prefer dealing with people who know what they want and insist on having it. Vance always has a keen perception of what is available in a deal and what isn’t—of what’s reasonable, you might say.”
    “That’s a rare attribute in any field,” Stone said.
    “I suppose it is.” Regenstein put down his fork and napkin. “Well, if you will excuse me, I want to get in a quick shower before we land; that way, I can go directly to the studio.” He left Stone to finish his coffee.
    The big Gulfstream landed at Santa MonicaAirport and taxied to a Fixed Base Operator called Supermarine. As the door opened, Stone saw two cars waiting on the ramp—a limousine-sized Mercedes and a little convertible, a Mercedes SL 600. He followed Regenstein from the airplane, and they shook hands.
    “I expect I’ll see you at Vance’s tomorrow evening,” the studio head said.
    “I hope so.”
    “I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”
    “Thank you, so will I”
    Regenstein got into the limousine and was driven away, then a young man handed Stone a sealed envelope. He tore it open.
    My dear Stone,
    Rather than having a driver, I thought you might like the freedom of driving yourself. I’ll call you later in the day, when you’ve had some rest.
    Regards,
    Vance
    There followed typed directions to the Bel-Air Hotel. Stone put his bags in the open trunk and settled behind the wheel. He adjusted his seat and started the twelve-cylinder engine. He had been thinking of buying a Mercedes, but this was out of his reach—something like a hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars, he remembered. He drove out the gate, made a couple of turns, and found himself on the freeway. At that early hour traffic was busy, but not heavy, and he drove quickly, enjoying the open car, which made a pleasant noise, like a distant Ferrari, he thought. Heturned off the freeway onto Sunset Boulevard and followed the winding road toward the hotel, looking around him at Beverly Hills. He had been to L.A. only once before, when he and Dino had retrieved an extradited felon, and that had been a brief trip. He turned left on Stone Canyon Road and drove another mile to the hotel. Even at this early hour there was someone to unload his luggage and park the car.
    The bellman didn’t stop at the front desk, but led him through the small lobby and down a walkway. The hotel was set in a garden, and the cool morning air was scented with tropical blossoms. Shortly the bellman let him into a handsome suite overlooking the hotel’s pool, accepted a tip, and left him alone. Stone walked around the place; it seemed more like the apartment of a friend than a hotel suite. He liked it. He could get used to it, he thought. He ordered breakfast, had a shower, then stretched out on the bed for a moment.
    He was awakened by the phone. A glance at the bedside clock showed that it was half past two in the afternoon. He grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
    “Stone, it’s Vance; I hope your flight out was pleasant.”
    “Yes, Vance, thank you.”
    “Are your rooms all right?”
    “Better than that; thank you.”
    “Not at all. Why don’t you relax this afternoon, and we’ll have dinner this evening.”
    “All right.”
    “I’ll pick you up out front at seven; that all right?”
    “That’s fine, Vance. And thank you for the car.”
    “It’s a wonderful car, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is.”

    “Drive it anywhere you like while you’re here. See you at seven. Goodbye.”
    “Goodbye.” Stone hung up and sat on the bed, trying to wake up. Could he possibly have jet lag with only a three-hour time difference? Possibly. He had to do something to wake up. He called the desk and asked if they could provide him with a swimsuit.
    Fifteen minutes later he sat down at a table by the pool and ordered a club sandwich and a