son of a bitch?”
“First things first,” Stone said. “What may I get you to drink, and will you have some dinner?”
“Thank you, a Knob Creek on the rocks, please, and no, I’m not hungry, having already dined-partially, anyway.”
Stone ordered the drink. “And what do you mean by having dined ‘partially’?”
“Well, a friend, a stage manager, invited me to a very nice dinner party being given by a well-known actress. We arrived a little late, and to my surprise, I found myself seated next to Mr. Del Wood, who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Having fought that off in the afternoon-something the other diners seemed to be aware of-I tried to make conversation, but then Mr. Woodie interrupted me and announced for all to hear that the offer he had made me that afternoon was still open. He was beginning to explain to everyone what the offer was when I tipped his dinner plate into his lap-we were having spaghetti Bolognese-then I got up, offered my thanks to my hostess, and left.”
“Wow,” Dino said. “I wish I’d been there for that.”
“So do I,” Stone said. “Perhaps you’d like dessert, Carrie?”
“Thank you. Perhaps I would.”
Elaine grabbed a passing waiter and ordered up the dessert tray. Normally, she would have moved to another table by then, but she seemed to be enjoying the conversation.
The waiter appeared, and Carrie chose a creme brulee.
“How many people were at the dinner party, and were they all theater people?”
“Twelve, and yes, they were actors, composers, producers, the works. I was rather looking forward to doing myself some good there, but Old Woodie spoiled that.”
“Well,” Stone said, “by lunchtime tomorrow you will be famous among a certain level of the Broadway cognoscenti; people will be dining out on that story for weeks, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it made the gossip columns.”
“Would that be a good thing?” Carrie asked.
“Good for everybody but Mr. Woodie,” Stone replied. “You’ll be immediately famous, as long as they spell your name right.”
“Oh, good.”
“What part did he offer you?”
“The lead in his new musical.”
Stone was stunned. “The lead? What sort of audition did you do?”
“I sang ‘I Loves You Porgy’ from Porgy and Bess and a Sond heim tune, ‘I’m Still Here,’ and I danced a little. This was in the theater.”
“And he let you get all the way through the two songs?”
“Yes, and there were a dozen or so people sitting in the orchestra seats who all stood up and applauded. That’s when Mr. Wood invited me up to his office to talk.”
“That sounds like something out of a movie about a Broadway show,” Stone said. “Small-town girl shows up in the big city and wows everybody at her first audition.”
“Well, it wasn’t my first audition,” Carrie said. “I had to audition for the lip modeling, too.”
“And who did you have to kiss?” Dino asked.
“A mirror. I didn’t mind that; a mirror has no hands.” Her creme brulee arrived, and she did it justice.
“Coffee?” Stone asked
“A double espresso, please.”
“No trouble sleeping?” Stone asked.
“No trouble at all,” she replied, giving him a little smile that made those beautiful lips enchanting again. “The benefit of a clear conscience.”
“Always a good thing to have,” Stone said. “Tell me, do you remember the names of the people at the dinner party?”
“Most of them. My date, Tony, will know them all.”
“And have their addresses?”
“Yes, I think so. They were all his friends.”
“First thing tomorrow morning you should write little notes to those people, expressing your regret for having to depart the party and say how sorry you were that you didn’t have time to get to know them better. Start with your hostess.”
“Just to remind them who I am?”
“Exactly, and please be sure your address, phone number, and cell number are clearly printed on your letterhead. If the letters don’t get you other auditions, they will, at least, get you some dinner invitations-dinners Mr. Wood will not be attending.”
“What a good idea, Stone,” she said. “Now, will you be my attorney so that I can sue Mr. Woodie?”
“I’m afraid I have a serious conflict of interest that would prevent my representing you. However, I’d be happy to give you some free advice and to recommend an appropriate attorney.”
“What’s the conflict of interest?” Carrie asked.
“I am so impressed with your beauty, your intelligence, and your quick wit that I would much rather take you out to dinner than take you to court.”
She laughed. “I think I would like that, too,” she said. She opened a tiny purse and gave him a beautifully engraved card, and Stone reciprocated.
“Now, give me the free advice.”
“I don’t think you should sue Mr. Wood-at least, not right away. I think the dinner party incident will show up in tomorrow’s papers, and with nearly all the details. Mr. Wood can’t hold you responsible for that; he has only himself to blame. And who knows? You might even end up working for him some day, but under more favorable circumstances. Do you have your Equity card yet?” This referred to Actor’s Equity, the union representing stage actors.
“No, but all I need is one job to get it.”
“I think you are more likely to get that first job, if you don’t have a reputation for suing producers for sexual harassment. Anyway, having drawn a very firm line in the sand with Mr. Wood, you will henceforth have a reputation as an actress who does not brook unwanted advances from potential employers, and you will be treated with some respect.”
“A good point,” she admitted. “I will take your advice.”
“And, should you feel receptive to an advance at some point in the near future,” Stone said, “I will be around to fulfill that need in an entirely nontheatrical setting.”
She smiled broadly at him. “We’ll see,” she said.
3
WHEN STONE ARRIVED at his desk the following midmorning, the New York Post was lying on his desk, open to the “Page Six” gossip column, which was not on page six. His secretary, Joan Robertson, had left it there and had conveniently highlighted the passage:
Last night at dinner at the home of theater diva Gwen Asprey, the composer/producer Del Wood, whose reputation as a casting-couch Lothario is richly deserved, was given his comeuppance after having previously made advances on (including, we hear, a request for anal sex) and been rejected by a new girl in town, the beautiful and talented Carrie Cox. When Woodie, as he is known to some, began to tell the table of his thwarted attempt, Ms. Cox, who had, unaccountably, been seated next to him, dumped his own plate of red-sauce pasta into his lap and made a grand exit. The evening was greatly enjoyed by everyone present, except Mr. Wood. Incidentally, only that afternoon Carrie Cox had performed a brilliant audition for Mr. Wood and his backers that resulted in an offer of the lead in his new musical. Unfortunately, Woodie considered the transaction a trade instead of an offer, so the lovely Ms. Cox remains at liberty. (Other producers, take note!) Later in the evening, she was seen at Elaine’s in the company of local lawyer Stone Barrington. Out of the frying pan and into the fire!
