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Paris Match(105)

By:Stuart Woods


            “Okay, pick me up at four sharp. I’ll have a car meet us at, where, Manassas?”

            “Right. Given the traffic, I should think we’ll be there by seven.”

            “Perfect.”

            “How are things going?”

            “We’ve been slightly ahead inside the margin of error on most polls. A couple have shown Honk creeping up, but I’m ignoring those.”

            “So, you’re in a horse race, then?”

            “I wish we weren’t, but we are. I keep expecting something explosive from Honk’s campaign, but it hasn’t happened yet, and if he’s going to pull something, he’s running out of time.”

            “I hope there’s no chance of my name coming up again.”

            “So do I. It was after the paternity rumors that the polls started getting tight. Your name will not pass my lips until the polls have closed on the West Coast, maybe Hawaii.”

            “That’s just fine with me,” Stone said. “I hate getting phone calls from reporters.”

            “You seem to have charmed the last one you talked to,” Ann said.

            “Wasn’t I supposed to?”

            “Well, yes, but I’m jealous anyway. Since the apology by and disappearance of Howard Axelrod, she’s been slyly complimentary about you to a couple of people I know, and the news reports following Axelrod’s exit from the scene have been good to you. Even the evening news shows have gone out of their way to point out that you and Kate were defamed, and Rush Limbaugh expressed regret that he didn’t have you to kick around anymore.”

            “I’m glad I wasn’t around to hear all this,” Stone said. “It would have made me nervous.”

            “What have you been doing with your time the last few days?”

            “Oh, consulting with Marcel duBois on the grand opening, kibitzing with our board on last-minute details, that sort of thing.”

            “No grand meals at expensive restaurants?”

            “Nope, I’m lunching on a ham sandwich as we speak.”

            “No company of gorgeous women?”

            “Of course, every chance I get!”

            “I knew that—you didn’t have to tell me. After all, I set you free, didn’t I?”

            “Caged no more!”

            She laughed. There was a noise from her end like a door opening, people talking, then the door closing again. “Hang on a minute, will you?”

            “Sure.” Stone took another bite of his sandwich and tried to listen to the muffled conversation at the other end, which went on for three or four minutes.

            “I’m back,” she said, “and this is not going to make you happy.”

            “What isn’t going to make me happy?”

            “A reporter just came in here and said he’d heard a rumor out of the CIA—that means he’s got a source inside—that the Agency has spent a lot of money protecting you from those Russians that hate you so much while you’ve been in Paris.”

            “My goodness, am I supposed to be that important?”

            “According to his source, Lance Cabot thinks you are.”

            “I think I can say, without fear of contradiction, that any report of anything positive Lance Cabot has ever said about me would be grossly overblown and should be dismissed out of hand.”