Worst Fears Realized

museums. Mostly old masters.”
    “What’s the organization’s name?”

    “The Briarwood Foundation.”
    “I’ve seen that name on public television, as a sponsor of various stuff.”
    “They do that, too. Basically, they give to whatever interests the old man. Okay, your turn. How did you meet Bianchi?”
    “He’s Dino Bacchetti’s father-in-law.”
    “What?”
    “I kid you not. The older daughter; they’ve been married, seven, eight years.”
    Eggers shook his head. “Now I’ve heard everything.”
    “And that goes no further.”
    “As you wish.”
    They finished their coffee, and Eggers looked at his watch. “I’ve got a deposition; gotta go.”
    “Thanks for coming over here.”
    “Not at all. When do we get to see the Connecticut place?”
    “Give me some time to get it sorted out. By the way…” Stone wrote some numbers on his card and handed it to Eggers. “Here are the phone and fax numbers. They should be working by tomorrow night, but keep them to yourself for the time being.”
    “Okay, see you soon.” They shook hands, and Eggers left.
    Stone pushed the tray into the hall, then sat down and picked up theTimes. He read the paper thoroughly, as he always did, and in the Arts section a theater listing caught his eye. It read, “Judson Palmer presentsA Poke in the Eye with a Sharp Stick, a revue.”

    The name registered, and it brought Stone back to the problem at hand.What the hell, he thought,I’m not getting anywhere on my own. He fished Eduardo Bianchi’s card from his wallet and dialed a phone number. The ringing stopped, and he heard a beep, no message.
    “This is Stone Barrington,” he said. “I can be reached at the Carlyle Hotel, 744-1600. I’m registered as Elijah Stone, Room 1550.” He hung up. Was this the first step on the road to perdition?

36
    NOW STONE HAD NOTHING TO DO WITHhis day. He couldn’t go home safely, and the Connecticut house still had no furniture. He’d already read theTimes ; theWall Street Journal bored him; he wasn’t about to watch soap operas; and there, were no good movies on TV. He got up and walked around; he was stiff and sore from his experience of the night before. He picked up the phone and dialed the concierge.
    “Yes, Mr. Stone?”
    “I wonder if you could arrange a massage for me in my suite?”
    “Of course; what time?”
    “As soon as possible.”
    “Male or female?”
    “Female.”
    “Swedish or Japanese?”
    “Swedish.”

    “Please hold for a moment; I’ll check availability.” He came back after a moment. “Sheila will be with you in an hour.”
    “Thank you.” Stone hung up, watched two episodes ofThis Old House on television, then went to the bedroom, got undressed, and put on a robe. Shortly, there was a knock on the door, and a pretty girl came into the suite and set up a massage table in the bedroom.
    “Let’s start you facedown,” she said.
    Stone slipped out of the robe and lay on the table; she draped a small towel over his buttocks.
    “Oh, you’ve got some cuts on your back,” she said.
    “An accident; can you work around them?”
    “Sure; let me know if I hurt you.”
    She began kneading his back, and Stone gave himself to the experience. Soon, he was in a light sleep. Then the doorbell rang. “Would you get that, please?” he asked. “It’s probably the maid; I forgot to put out theDO NOT DISTURB Sign.”
    “Sure; I’ll be right back.” She left the bedroom.
    Stone heard the door open and some whispering; then the door closed, and she came back. “Did you put out the sign?”
    “Uh-huh,” she said, then began rubbing his back.
    He fell back into a doze, waking only long enough to turn over at her request. She put some sort of bean bag over his eyes as he turned, then he resettled the towel in the appropriate place and began to doze again. She rubbed his neck and his face, then began working her way down his body. She lingered over his nipples, which he thought was a little odd, but he wastoo comfortable to protest. Then he felt her remove the towel.Oh, well, he thought,if she doesn’t mind, I don’t.
    She rubbed his belly, then his upper thighs, and, occasionally, her hand would touch his penis, as if by accident. Then it began to be clear that it was no accident.What kind of service is the hotel running? He heard her squirt some lotion on her hands and rub them vigorously together, then she touched him in a very deliberate way. In a moment, she was massaging more than he had