Amanda pulled on a pair of stockings and secured them to her garter belt. Her legs were too long for most pantyhose, and she felt somehow more alluring in a garter belt anyway. She slipped silk panties over the stockings and stepped into a short, low-cut black dress from her favorite, Chanel, that showed off both her good legs and her firm breasts. She needed no bra, and with the twitch of a shoulder she could give a properly attentive man a glimpse of nipple. A pair of black alligator Ferragamos and a modest diamond necklace and earrings completed her outfit.
She walked into the living room and gave it a quick once-over. She had long since trained her housekeeper, Bela, to perfection, but knowing that Amanda noticed kept her that way. She strolled into the dining room and checked the place settings, then toured the kitchen to see how the caterers were coming along. The television was on in the kitchen, and she was stopped in her tracks by the lead story on Gossip Tonight, which followed the evening news. An “anchorman” was saying:
“Word is out around New York and L.A. that two of gossip’s leading figures have figured unflatteringly in a newsletter-by-fax called DIRT, which has been going out to a list of movers and shakers over the past week. The lady was allegedly caught in a most compromising position in a New York hotel, and the gentleman, who has taken part in a number of public outings of gay men and women, was said to have been photographed during a sex act with a pizza deliveryman. Can libel suits be far behind? It will be interesting to see.”
Amanda kept moving, but her heart was pounding. She glanced at her Cartier watch. Stone Barrington was due for an early drink in fifteen minutes.
Stone was knotting his tie when Gossip Tonight followed the news and Amanda’s indiscretion was mentioned. Not by name, though, thank God. That would have certainly played hell with Amanda’s dinner party. He didn’t know who all her guests would be, but chances were at least some of them would have seen DIRT.
He slipped into his jacket and surveyed himself in the mirror. Dark, chalk-striped suit by Ralph Lauren, black baby calf shoes from E. Vogel, an old family shoemaker in Chinatown, a cream-colored silk shirt from Turnbull & Asser in London, and a reasonably sober necktie and pocket square from the same people. His cufflinks were old gold, his wristwatch a Cartier Tank. Perfect East Side dinner party garb, he thought. He gave his hair a final brush, tucked his gold reading glasses into his jacket’s breast pocket, and let himself out of the house, whistling down a passing cab. That loud whistle, learned in boyhood, had served him well in New York City.
Amanda heard the elevator chime as it stopped in her foyer. She smoothed down her dress and banished nervousness. She was ready for her first guest.
Chapter 15
Amanda opened the door, and Stone was very taken with what he saw. Before him was just about the most perfectly turned out woman he had ever seen.
“Stone, darling, come in,” Amanda said, offering him a cheek to peck. She turned and led him into the living room, a vision of chintz and good pictures.
“What a beautiful room,” Stone said, knowing he was saying the right thing.
“Thank you, kind sir.”
“And an even more beautiful hostess.”
“For that, you get a real kiss,” she said. Amanda took his face in his hands and planted upon his lips a soft kiss, with only a hint of tongue. Her carefully blotted lipstick remained unsmeared. “And now a drink,” she said.
“Bourbon on the rocks, please?”
“Jack Daniel’s? Wild Turkey? Old Crow?”
“Wild Turkey, please.”
“A man after my own heart,” she said. “You must have southern blood.”
“No, just southern tastes in some things.”
“As a Georgian, I thank you,” she said, deftly pouring two drinks at a butler’s tray across the room. “I’m so glad you didn’t wear an overcoat. Gloria is busy in the kitchen, and I hate dealing with coats.”
“I wear coats only when I am likely to be cold,” he said, lifting his drink.
“New friends,” Amanda said, raising her glass.
“I’ll drink to that.”
They did.
Amanda took his hand and led him to a soft sofa. “I hope you have nothing to report,” she said.
“Nothing yet.”
“Good; I’m in no mood to talk business. That is a very handsome suit; who made it?”
“A Mr. Lauren runs them up for me.”
“Can’t go wrong there, can you?”
“Nope. Who’s coming to dinner, besides me?”
“Bill and Susan Eggers, whom you know, of course.”
“Bill since law school; Susan only from a few law firm parties.”
“Dick and Glynnis Hickock.”
“He owns your paper?”
“Right, and don’t kowtow to him, whatever you do, or he’ll consider you his inferior forever.”
“I’ll try not to be impressed. Anyone else?”
“Vance Calder and some girl or other.”
“Now I’m impressed.”
“Be sure and let him know it, or he’ll be hurt.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever had dinner with a real live movie star.”
“Superstar, darling; if you forget, he’ll remind you.”
“And his girl?”
“One never knows with Vance. She might be a princess or a whore – more likely both.” She sipped her drink. “I’ve not asked you, Stone; is there a woman in your life?”
“There was until yesterday.”
Amanda smiled. “How convenient. I hope you’re not too crushed.”
“I’m managing.”
“Something I should mention before the others arrive: don’t be the last to leave, all right?”
“Whatever you say.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t want you to stay, it’s just that I don’t want to start any rumors.”
“As you wish.”
“As a reward for giving up a late evening with me, how would you like to drive out to the country tomorrow?”
“Sounds lovely.”
“It will be. The autumn leaves are at their peak, and the weather forecast for tomorrow is perfection.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Will you meet me downstairs at nine sharp? We’ll take my car; it’s new, and I can’t get enough of it. Do you drive?”
“I do, but I’ve always thought of a car as a liability in this city.”
“It is, unless you have a convenient garage and a driver.”
The doorbell rang, and Amanda looked at her watch. “That will be Dick Hickock,” she said. “He always comes to dinner exactly on time, damn him.”
A moment later, the maid ushered in the Hickocks and introductions were made. A man appeared to mix drinks while the maid went to answer the door again.
Hickock was a stocky, balding man in an expensive suit; his wife, Glynnis, looked expensive, too.
Hickock fixed him with a stare. “What do you do, Barrington?” he asked.
“I’m a lawyer, and please call me Stone.”
“You can call me Mr. Hickock.”
“Thanks, Dick.”
Hickock managed a small smile. “What firm?”
“I’m of counsel to Woodman and Weld, but I practice privately, too.”
“What sort of practice? Financial?”
“Only if the transaction is perceived as being of a criminal nature.”
“Ah, a mob lawyer, eh?”
“No, my clients seem to arrive one at a time.”
“But they’re criminals?”
“I represent only the innocent, even if they’re proven guilty.”
Hickock laughed aloud. “And what did you think of this O.J. business?”
“If I should ever be charged with a double murder, I would be very pleased for Johnnie Cochran, Bob Shapiro, and Lee Bailey to represent me.”