Dirt

That was an embarrassing question, and Stone didn’t answer it. “I got a call from Dick Hickock last night. He’s interested in finding out who the publisher of DIRT is, too.”

“I’m not surprised, after the contents of last night’s fax. He’s already been onto me this morning. I don’t mind in the least if you work for him, too.”

“Well, so far I don’t have anything more to tell him than I have to tell you.”

“Keep at it,” she said, and hung up without another word.

Wide awake now, Stone brushed his teeth, took his vitamins, and got into a robe. He went to the little kitchenette outside his bedroom, got some English muffins and coffee going, then retrieved the Sunday Times from his front doorstep. He was back in bed, eating breakfast and reading the paper, when the phone rang again. “Hello?”

“It’s Arrington Carter,” a low voice said.

“Morning.”

“You had breakfast yet?”

“Nope,” he replied, setting down his half-eaten muffin.

“Can I buy you brunch?”

“Why don’t you come over here; I’ll fix you an omelette.”

“I’d rather meet you at the Brasserie in half an hour.”

“Make it an hour; I haven’t really gotten started this morning.”

“An hour it is,” she said, “and brunch is on me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They both hung up.

She was waiting at the top of the stairs that descended into the restaurant; they shook hands and got a table immediately. She ordered a pitcher of mimosas, sat back in the booth, and looked at him through large, dark glasses. “So,” she said.

“Tell me about you.”

“What do you want to know?”

“More than you’re probably willing to tell me.”

“I’m an open book,” Stone said, “but I’d rather talk to eyes than shades.”

She took them off, revealing large green eyes, a little red around the rims, no makeup.

“Late night?”

“Swine,” she said equably. “I reveal myself, and you point out my weaknesses.”

“I don’t see any weaknesses.”

“Good. Now, you were going to tell me about yourself.”

Stone gave her the sixty-second version of his biography. “Now,” he said, “who you?”

“Me Jane,” she said.

“Who Tarzan?”

“No Tarzan, just me.”

“Good news.”

“I’m glad you think so. Who your Jane?”

“She took a hike last week.”

“You all broken up?”

“No, just mystified.”

She laughed. “I’ll bet she told you exactly why she was dumping you.”

He shrugged. “You’re right, she did, and she was specific.”

“Not enough of a commitment?”

“Something like that; how’d you guess?”

“Attractive men your age who’ve never been married nearly always come up short in the commitment department.”

“You were telling me about you,” Stone said.

“In sixty seconds or less, like you?”

“If you like.”

“ Virginia girl from old Virginia family, Virginia schools, etcetera, etcetera.”

“You’ve got fifty-five seconds left.”

“Came to New York to be an actress, didn’t like the process, wrote about it, wrote other stuff, still writing.”

“Fiction or non?”

“Non, although there’s half a novel somewhere in my computer.”

Something rang a bell. “Did you once write a piece for The New Yorker about being an actress in New York?”

“Guilty.”

“I liked that piece; I guess I’d never given any thought to what a tough life it can be.”

“Thank you for the kind review.”

“Were you any good as an actress?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.”

“Why didn’t you stick with it?”

“You read my piece.”

“I find it hard to believe that someone so beautiful would have a hard time making it if she had talent, too.”

“Let me tell you something: Being beautiful is hard work, maybe even harder than acting.”

“I’d always thought beauty was a great advantage in any field.”

“There are advantages, God knows, but they are offset by the liabilities.”

“Such as?”

“The difficulty of hanging on to one’s soul. There are lots of people out there who are in the market for it, and some of their offers are hard to turn down.”

“I see your point.”

“You probably don’t, or at least not much of it, but you’ll just have to take my word for it, because the subject is too boring to be discussed while sober. Let’s order some breakfast.”

They both ordered eggs benedict, and passed the time until their food came discussing the variety of people sitting around them in the restaurant.

“What made you call me?” Stone asked, finally.

“You fishing for compliments?”

“Apart from my devastating attractiveness, I mean.”

She laughed. “I haven’t spent very much time with men as gorgeous as Vance Calder,” she said, “but it occurred to me that meeting me in the company of somebody like that might slow a man down when it came to calling me. You didn’t, for instance, ask me for my number, or even ask me anything that might tell you how to get in touch with me.”

“You’re right; I judged the competition to be impossibly tough.”

“Well, relax; Vance isn’t competition.”

“What is he?”

“A friend, sort of; sometimes. He’s mostly on the coast; sometimes he calls me when he’s in town and he needs a date.”

“It never occurred to me that Vance Calder would ever need a date.”

“Well, he does, and he doesn’t like bimbos. Vance is a very bright man, as anyone who has ever negotiated a contract with him can tell you, and he likes bright company. That’s not so easy to come by, even for him.”

“Is he gay?”

“Not so’s a girl would notice,” she said. “I’ve never known a more attentive man. There are rumors, but there are always rumors about people in his position, even when they’ve been married and divorced a couple of times, as he has.”

“I hope I’m not being inattentive. May I have Your number again? I’d like to call it often.”