Stone scanned the front page and, alarmingly, saw his name mentioned, along with Axelrod, in a box. “What does this say?”
Holly read it a couple of times. “I can’t make much sense of it, but they use the word ‘excuses.’”
“Axelrod is making excuses for something?” Stone’s cell phone rang. “Yes?”
“Good morning,” Lance said with enthusiasm. “Seen the papers?”
“Yes, we’re looking at them right now. I think we figured out the headlines, but the text is rough going for us, with Holly’s French.”
“Have you got the Times?”
“Yes.”
“Page six, bottom half. They didn’t play it quite as big.”
The headline read “Blogger ‘Howard Axelrod’ looses salvo in the French Press.” Then, in smaller letters, “Apologizes for false rumor about Democratic nominee Katharine Lee.’” Stone read quickly. “Howard Axelrod, as he styles himself, added to his French story an apology to Katharine Lee for a rumor he published claiming that she was pregnant by a man not her husband, New York attorney Stone Barrington. Said Axelrod, ‘I relied on a source who turned out to be unreliable. In fact, he has been revealed to be a Republican provocateur who has been instrumental in airing other falsehoods about Mrs. Lee. I apologize, unreservedly, for any distress I have caused both Katharine Lee and her friend Stone Barrington by the publication of this scurrilous fabrication. Neither I nor anyone else has presented the slightest evidence that her child was fathered by anyone but her husband, the president.’”
“How does that sound, Stone?”
“It sounds just wonderful.”
“I know you must be relieved.”
“I certainly am.”
“There is, however, one more step that has to be taken to fully clear your name.”
“What’s that?”
“We need a news story by a credible, well-placed journalist.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Do you remember meeting Carla Fontana last evening? She’s the Washington bureau chief for the New York Times.”
“Yes, of course.”
“She has expressed a desire to have dinner with you this evening and interview you about this experience.”
“I can see how that could be advantageous.”
“However, she doesn’t want to be seen interviewing you, so dinner will have to be in your suite at l’Arrington. Must you ask Holly’s permission?”
“Hang on.” He covered the phone and turned to Holly. “Lance wants me to have dinner with Carla Fontana, of the Times, tonight. He thinks she will help to further clear the air.” Holly shrugged. “Also, he says I have to see her here—she doesn’t want to be seen doing this in public.”
Holly’s eyebrows shot up. “Aha! Lance wants to get you laid!”
“I don’t think that’s what he has in mind,” Stone said, and went back to the phone. “Okay, Lance, Holly doesn’t have a problem with that. What time?”
“She will present herself there at seven P.M. And if sex raises its ugly head, it can’t hurt.”
“Thanks, Lance, I’ll see her then.” He hung up.