r /> 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. He turned 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 Heineken. Perhaps half the available lounges were occupied, a dozen of them by quite striking women. It’s Hollywood, he thought. He shucked off his robe, dove into the pool, swam a couple of laps, then walked back to his table. Moments later, his sandwich arrived, and he ate hungrily. Then he found a lounge and fell asleep in the afternoon sun.
It was nearly six when he woke, feeling refreshed. Maybe he’d finally adjusted to the time difference, he thought. He went back to his suite, showered, and dressed in a tropical-weight blazer and gray slacks. After a moment’s debate with himself, he put on a knitted necktie.
Stone was standing under the awning at the entrance to the hotel when, precisely at seven, a dark green Bentley swung in and stopped before him. The parking lot attendant ran around the car and opened the driver’s door. “Good evening, Mr. Calder,” he said.
“Thanks, Jerry, but I’m just picking up a friend,” Vance Calder replied.
Another attendant opened the door for Stone. He got in, and received a warm handshake from his host.
“Ever been to Spago?” Calder asked.
“No.”
“Let’s go there, then.”
“Sounds good. Have you heard anything from Arrington?”
“No. We’ll talk about it over dinner.” Calder drove out of the parking lot and into Stone Canyon.
Stone leaned back in his seat. He was on his way to Spago in a Bentley with a major movie star. He liked it.