Silent Witness Read Free Page A

cases out of town, he just did; just as, on her own, Stacey had become more selective about what roles she considered – the Oscar was five years behind her, and she had grown less willing to accept the total removal from reality, and from their life, that shooting on location required. Lately she had returned to writing and recording her own songs – somewhat like Bonnie Raitt and Carly Simon, she had held her popularity – but now was reading an unusually good script of the kind, she had said to Tony wryly, suited to a woman her age: no nude scenes, car chases, dinosaurs, or child actors. Some of their fleeting dinners during the Belfante trial had been spent mulling this: Tony and Christopher had given Stacey’s life a center, and she was reluctant to leave it.
    When they entered the living room, Christopher was there, his Nike-shod feet flopped up on the couch, the rest of him looking somewhat like a clothes pile – baggy jeans, baggy sweatshirt, baseball cap. From beneath the cap, a face remarkably like a seventeen-year-old Tony Lord’s regarded them with a pleasant smile.
    â€˜Hi, guys,’ he said without moving. ‘How’re things?’
    He was fresh from baseball practice, Tony knew, and this air of sloth amidst affluence was his current persona: Christopher viewed his fortunate circumstances as an elaborate joke, which might end by sunset. It was, Tony knew, a reflection of his son’s inherent caution; though he never spoke of this, Christopher seemed to remember the conflicts of his first six years of life – his parents’ fights over money, his father’s ambitions, his mother’s discontent – and of the three years, after the divorce, when his mother’s insistence on raising him seemed less from love than a weapon aimed at Tony, the real constant in Christopher’s life. Tony adored his son: he could never understand how Marcia could cede the pleasure and responsibility of raising Christopher by moving to Los Angeles to live, in Tony’s view, a shallow life with her shallow second husband. But she had, and Tony was deeply thankful.
    He stood next to Stacey, hands on hips, gazing at his mock-lethargic son. ‘Things,’ he informed Christopher, ‘are just dandy.’
    â€˜Great,’ his son said cheerfully. ‘So do you think I can borrow the car tonight? Aaron and I are studying for finals.’
    Eyeing her stepson, Stacey cocked her head. ‘Is that all? Weren’t you about to ask why your father’s home so early?’
    Christopher gave her a blank look, and then Tony saw the comprehension dawn. ‘Oh, yeah – the trial . Sorry.’ He turned to Tony. ‘Did you win?’
    â€˜Yup.’
    â€˜Cool.’ Now Christopher sat up. ‘Did she do it?’
    â€˜Of course she did it,’ Stacey said dryly. ‘But your dad informs me that’s not the point.’
    Christopher looked from one to the other, amusement in his eyes. And then he got up, took three steps across the living room, and gave his father an awkward hug. ‘Well, congratulations, padre .’
    Tony took the opportunity to hold his son tight. Leaning back, he said with a smile, ‘Thank you for this spontaneous interest in my life.’
    Christopher grinned. ‘No problem,’ he said, and mussed his father’s hair. ‘Anyhow, you’re doing fine without me.’
    With that, Christopher Lord went looking for the keys to his father’s car.
    Tony made a pitcher of martinis and, sitting next to Stacey, poured a drink for each of them. Together, they looked out at the sailboats dotting the bay.
    â€˜Whatever will we do,’ he remarked, ‘when Christopher heads off to college.’
    Stacey checked her watch. ‘The same thing we’re going to do in, I’d say, about fifteen minutes.’ Smiling over at him, she added, ‘I gave Marcella the night off.’
    Tony put down his