“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!
Stone thought that the piece was a remarkably accurate account of events, for a gossip column, and he was surprised to see a very good photograph of Carrie Cox, in balletic flight, accompanying it. He wondered where the paper had found it on such short notice.
His phone buzzed. “Carrie Cox on line one,” Joan said.
He picked up the phone. “Is this the beautiful and talented Carrie Cox?” he asked.
“That’s what it says in the papers,” she replied, giggling. “You were right!”
“I’ve seen the
Post
,” Stone said. “How did they get it so accurately?”
“There was a message from them on my answering machine when I got home,” she said, “and I played the tape for them.”
“If the tape should ever be mentioned again, deny its existence and tell them you took notes after the conversation.”
“All right,” she said, “but I made them promise not to mention that, and they didn’t.”
“You’re a lucky woman, as well as a smart one.”
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“How about dinner this evening?”
“I’ve been invited to a dinner party,” she said. “Another prediction of yours come true. Why don’t you come with me?”
“You’re on. Where shall I pick you up?”
“I’m downtown, and you’re closer to the dinner; why don’t I pick you up? You can make me a drink around, say, seven?”
“You’re on again. Is this a necktie party?”
“Well, I hope I’m not going to be hanged.”
“For me, not you.”
“My mother always said a gentleman can’t go wrong by wearing a necktie, and tonight you’re supposed to wear a black one along with a dinner jacket.”
“Then wear one I shall. You have my card; see you at seven.”
“Bye-bye.” She hung up.
Joan was leaning against his doorjamb. “I don’t believe this,” she said.
CARRIE ARRIVED
at seven on the dot, and Stone met her at the door.
“Oooh
,
”
she murmured, looking around the living room. “I want the tour! How many bedrooms?”
“Five, and as many baths, with three powder rooms scattered around the place.”
“How long have you owned it?”
“Since I inherited it from my great-aunt. I did most of the renovation myself. Come on. I’ll show you this floor.” He took her through the living room, the dining room, and a garage. Finally he sat her down in the study and produced a half-bottle of Schramsberg champagne from the wet bar.
“Such wonderful woodwork and bookcases,” she said.
“My father built all of them. In fact, you could say that this house saved his career and his marriage. He was going door-to-door in Greenwich Village, doing whatever carpentry work he could find. This house bought him his shop and equipment and made him feel that he could earn a living at what he did best.”
“That’s a wonderful story,” she said.
“I haven’t heard your story yet,” Stone said, “except the part about Delano and Atlanta.”
“Ah, well, there is a bit more,” Carrie said. “After Agnes Scott College I went to the Yale Drama School for a master’s, then went back to Atlanta and married my college sweetheart instead of going to New York when I should have. That went bad pretty quickly, but I did last a few years before I divorced him.”
“How long ago?”
“Three years, when his property development business was at its peak. That improved my settlement. Now he resents me because he’s nearly broke.”
“Wasn’t your fault,” Stone pointed out.
“Tell him that!”
“I hope I don’t have to.”
“Don’t worry; he’s well in my past.”
“So, after the divorce …”
“I danced with the Atlanta Ballet and worked in local theater and studied acting. I enjoyed it, but I wanted to try a bigger arena.”
“I’m glad you chose New York instead of L.A.,” Stone said.
She raised her glass. “So am I.”
“Tell me, where did the
Post
get the photograph?”
“I directed them to the
Atlanta Constitution
, which had done a piece on me last year.”
“I think you’re going to do well in this town.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” she said. “I Googled you and read some of your old press.”
“Not all of it favorable,” Stone said.
“Oh, I don’t know. Like you say, they spelled your name right. I was confused about your connection to a law firm.”
“Woodman Weld. I’m of counsel to them, which means I handle the cases they don’t want to be associated with publicly. They’re far too prestigious to be representing people who are involved in nasty divorces or have been accused of drunk driving or spousal abuse. Once in a while they throw me a nice personal-injury suit to settle, but I also generate a good deal of my own business.”
“Well, if I’m ever in terrible trouble, I’ll call you,” Carrie said.
“Don’t wait until then,” Stone replied. He looked at his watch. “Perhaps we’d better move along.”
“Yes, we’re already fashionably late,” she said, jumping gracefully to her feet.
They walked out into the spring night, hand in hand.
4
THE PARTY WAS
a ten-minute cab ride away, in a large apartment on Central Park South, overlooking the park. A uniformed maid answered the door, and the glitter began.
Stone didn’t know anybody there, but he recognized a few faces from the Broadway stage. There were at least forty people for dinner, so he reckoned it would be a buffet, and he was right.
They worked the room slowly, and they could just as well have stood still and let the crowd come to them, such was Carrie’s new fame. Stone admired the way she met people, not as an equal, but as the new girl. One or two of the young women seemed to be looking her over enviously, but most people seemed impressed with her. Some of them were agents who offered their cards.
“I wish I could recommend somebody,” Stone said, “but this crowd is not part of my world. I’m a theatergoer, but I’m no insider.”
“I think that’s refreshing,” Carrie said. “I love theater people, but it’s nice to know people from other worlds, too.”
They sat on the big terrace with the park views, and a waiter brought them plates. When they had finished dining and were on brandy, a middle-aged man pulled up a chair in front of Carrie, turned and spoke briefly to Stone, then turned his attention back to Carrie.
“I’m Mark Goodwin,” he said, “and I’m one of the two or three best theatrical agents in this town. I’m not going to tell you who the others are.” He gave her the names of half a dozen clients, and it was an impressive list. “I want you to talk to everybody you can, then come and see me.” He gave her his card. “You’ve made a splash already,” he said, “and I’m not talking about the columns, though that doesn’t hurt. I heard about your audition for Del Wood less than an hour after you finished it, and so did a lot of other people.”
“If I were your client,” Carrie asked, “how would you handle me right now?”
“The first thing I would do would be to heal the breach with Del, though not in a way that would put your virtue in jeopardy. Del is an important man in this business, and the part he offered you is the best thing to come along in years. I’ve read the script and heard the score, and you’re perfect for it.”
“How are you going to get him to apologize?” Carrie asked.
“Oh, he’s never going to apologize,” Goodwin said. “The best you can hope for is that he will deign to forget what he did in his office and what you did at the dinner party. If you can forget it, too, he might be willing to call it a draw. I’ve known him a long time, and I know how to handle him.”
“Mr. Goodwin,” Carrie said, “I’m well aware of who you are and how good you are. Get me the part, and I’ll be your new client the same day.”
“It won’t be that hard,” Goodwin said. “After all, you’ve already aced the audition. Come see me tomorrow afternoon at three.” He shook her hand, then Stone’s, and then wandered off into the crowd.
“That sounds promising,” Stone said.
“If I could have picked anybody for an agent, it would have been Mark Goodwin,” Carrie said. “The day before yesterday, I couldn’t have gotten in to see him.”
“Your movie continues,” Stone said. “Next, we’ll have some shots of rehearsals, then a triumphant opening-night scene, then trouble of some sort—alcohol or drugs or an awful man, then recovery and … well, you know the rest.”
“I’m not inclined toward addictions,” Carrie said, “and especially not to bad men. I’ve had one, and that was enough.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Carrie stood up. “Let’s get out of here. I want to show you something.”
Stone followed her downstairs and into a cab, and she gave the driver an address in the West Fifties, between Fifth and Sixth avenues. Once there, they got out of the cab in front of an elegant building. Taking a key from her purse, she led him up the front steps, opened the front door, then another door.
Stone found himself standing in the large room that had, apparently, been the living room when the building had been a single-family house. It was empty of furniture, but it had recently been painted and seemed in very good condition.
“It’s a duplex,” Carrie said, pointing to a balcony at one end of the room. “The bedrooms are up there, and I signed the lease this afternoon.”
“That was quite a leap of faith,” Stone said. “Maybe you’d better slow down a little.”
“No need; I told you that I got a good divorce settlement and that my ex was a rich man then. I’ve been living downtown with a friend, and when I’ve furnished this place, it will be a good leading lady’s apartment. The lease is for two years, and after that I’ll buy something grander on the East Side.”
“A woman with a plan,” Stone said.
“I’ve learned to make my plans happen,” Carrie replied. “It’s something I’m really good at.”
“What other plans do you have?” Stone asked.
“If I had planned better, I would have had a bed delivered this afternoon,” she replied, standing on her tiptoes and kissing him. “I guess we’ll have to make do with one of your bedrooms.” She took his hand and trotted him out to the street and into another cab.
Stone did not offer any resistance.
5
STONE WOKE SLOWLY
to the sound of Carrie on the phone, speaking quietly but urgently. She had been a transcendent lover the night before, and in the middle of the night, too, and he felt a little worn out.
Carrie finished her conversation and hung up. “Oh, you’re awake. Good morning. Your housekeeper made me tea and toast.” She began pulling on clothes. “I’ve got a dance class in half an hour, then I’m meeting my designer at the apartment. I’d like you to attend my three o’clock meeting with Mark Goodwin, if you’re available.”
Stone pressed the button on the remote control that raised his bed to a sitting position. “Good morning, Carrie,” he said. “I should tell you that I have no experience with theatrical work, so I’m not sure what use I’d be to you.”