know." Donald walked over and stood as a guard right
outside the telephone booth. He heard Stanley saying,
"Ben? You know why I'm calling ... Yes ... Yes ... You will?
... That's wonderful" His voice was filled with relief. "No not
there. Let's meet in Corsica... That's perfect after our
meeting, I can return directly home. Thank you, Ben."
Stanley put down the receiver. He stood there a moment,
smiling, and then dialed a number in Los Angeles. A
secretary answered. "Mr. Frank Harold's office."
"This is Robert Stanley. Let me talk to him."
"Oh, Mr. Stanley! I'm sorry, Mr. Frank Harold is on
vacation. Can someone else ...?"
"No. I'm on my way back to the States. You tell him I
want him in Los Angeles at Bell Air at nine o'clock Monday
morning. Tell him to bring a copy of my will and a notary."
"I'll try to..."
"Don't try. Do it, my dear." He put down the receiver
and stood there, his mind racing, when he stepped out of
the telephone booth, his voice was calm. "I have a little
business to take care of, Sophia. Go to the Grand Hotel and
wait for me."
"All right," she said flirtatiously. "Don't be too long."
"I won't."
The two men watched her walk away.
"Let's get back to the yacht," Stanley told Donald. "We're
leaving."
Donald looked at him in surprise. "What about ...?"
"She can screw her smart ass way back home."
When they returned to the Blue Skies, Robert Stanley
went to see Captain Bargas. "We're heading for Corsica," he
said "Let's move."
"I just received an updated weather report, Signor
Stanley I'm afraid there's a bad storm. It would be better if
we waited it out and..."
"I want to leave now, Captain."
Captain Bargas hesitated. "It will be a rough voyage, sir.
It's a libeccio...the southwest wind. We'll have heavy seas
and squalls."
"I don't care about that." The meeting in Corsica was
going to solve all his problems. He turned to Donald. "I want
you to arrange for a helicopter to pick up us in Corsica and
take to Roma. Use the public telephone on the dock."
"Yes, sir."
Donald Herman walked back to the dock and entered
the telephone booth. Twenty minutes later, Blue Skies was
under weigh.
3
The person that he loved and adored was David Smith,
and he often used the name as his touchstone...
"I don't care what you say about Smith, he's the only
politician with real values. Family-that's what it's all about.
Without family values, this country would be up the creek
even worse than it is. All these young kids are living
together without being married, and having babies. It's
shocking. No wonder there's so much crime. Physical and
sexual assaults against women occur both inside and
outside the family. Violence in the home is as much a crime
as violence from a stranger, so do not put up with it. If David
Smith ever runs for president, he's sure got my vote." It was a
shame, he thought, that he couldn't vote because of a stupid
law, but, regardless, he was behind Smith all the way.
He had three children: Bob, seven; and two girls: Any
and Mary, nine and twelve. They were wonderful children,
and his greatest joy was spending what he liked to call
quality time with them. His weekends were totally devoted
to the children. It's obviously that children have the
important function in his life. The children probably appear
for him to be a source from which to develop new
relationships and the immediate perception. He barbecued
for them, played with them, took them to movies and ball
games, and helped them with their homework. All the
youngsters in the neighborhood adored him. He repaired
their bikes and toys, and invited them on picnics with his
family. They gave him the nick name of DADDY. On a
sunny Saturday morning, he was seated in the bleachers,
watching the baseball game. It was a picture perfect day,
with warm sunshine and fluffy cumulus clouds dappling
the sky. His seven-year-old son, Bob, was at bat, looking
very professional and grown up in his Little League
uniform. Daddy's two girls and his wife were at his side. It
doesn't get any better than this, he thought happily. Why
can't all families be like ours?
It was the bottom of the eighth inning; the score was
tied, with two outs and the bases loaded. Bob was at the
plate, three balls and two strikes against him. Daddy called
out, encouragingly, "Get 'em, Bob! Over the fence!"
Bob waited for the pitch. It was fast and low and Bob
swung wildly and missed.
The umpire yelled, "Strike three!"
The inning was over. There were groans and cheers
from the crowd of parents and family friends. Bob stood
there disheartened, watching the teams change sides.
Daddy called out, "It's all right, son. You'll do it next
time!" Bob tried to force a smile.
John Blackburn, the team manager, was waiting for Bob.
"You're done! Get the hell out of here! You can't play
again" he said.
"But, Mr. Blackburn ..."
"Get out. Get off the field. Now!"
Bob's father watched in hurt amazement as his son left
the field. He can't do that, he thought. He has to give Bob
another chance. I'll have to speak to Mr. Blackburn and
explain.