“Mr. Barrington,” the young woman said with a pleasingly southern accent, “you and I must never, ever marry.”
Stone and Calder both erupted with laughter, while she regarded them coolly. “Gentlemen, you make my point for me,” she said.
Stone had an urgent desire to sweep her out of the room someplace where he would not have to share her company with anyone else. Then he reminded himself who her date was, and what his own chances were of taking her away from a man whom People magazine, only the week before, had dubbed “the most beautiful man in America.”
They sat at a beautifully set round table and dined on caviar, followed by a crown roast of lamb, with bearnaise sauce on the side, and very good, fairly old wine. Stone was placed between Amanda and Arrington, and his hostess gave him the distinct impression that she would have arranged things differently if she had met the other woman beforehand.
Hickock was holding forth about the newspaper business. He took a swig of the Opus One ’89 and addressed Stone. “Do you read my newspaper?”
“Only for Amanda’s column,” Stone replied.
“Isn’t he sweet?” Amanda said, squeezing Stone’s thigh under the table.
“What about my editorial page?” Hickock asked.
“I only read your editorial page if I want to be annoyed,” Stone said.
Everybody laughed but Hickock. “I take it you’re a Democrat,” he said.
“A liberal Democrat,” Stone replied.
“These days nobody decides to become a liberal Democrat,” Hickock said. “It must run in your family.”
“On the contrary, my father was a Communist; so was my mother.”
Hickock looked genuinely shocked. “You can’t be serious.”
“Entirely,” Stone said. “I can’t really complain about it, because their politics brought them together. Where would I be if one of them had been a Republican?”
Vance Calder spoke up. “What work did your father do?”
“He was a carpenter.”
Bill Eggers broke in. “…and something of a genius as a maker of furniture and cabinet work. If he had been working in this country during the eighteenth century, Sotheby’s would be selling his work for very high prices today.”
“Why did he become a Communist?” Hickock asked.
“He had a Republican father,” Stone explained.
Amanda spoke up. “Stone’s mother was Matilda Stone.”
Hickock and Calder looked blank.
“The painter,” Amanda explained.
Arrington Carter was smiling broadly. “I own one of her pictures,” she said to Stone. “Of Washington Square in winter.”
Stone was surprised. “What good taste you have.”
“I certainly do.”
“Arrington has a very good collection,” Vance Calder said.
“I explained that to Vance,” Arrington said to the table. “He only knows about clothes, scripts, and leading ladies.”
Coffee was served in the library, and Stone declined brandy. “I really have to be leaving,” he said, rising. “I have an early appointment tomorrow morning.” He collected a grateful smile from Amanda, shook hands with the other guests, and went home.
As he lay in bed, waiting for sleep, he thought of Arrington Carter, but tried to dismiss her from his mind. He couldn’t compete with the likes of Vance Calder.
Arrington Barrington. He laughed aloud.
Chapter 16
Stone took the wheel and pulled away from Amanda’s apartment building. “Wonderful car,” he said, heading across Seventy-ninth Street toward the West Side Highway.
“Isn’t it?” Amanda agreed. “This is the first time I’ve sat in the front seat.”
As he accelerated onto the highway, Stone realized for the first time what twelve cylinders meant. “Unbelievable,” he said.
Amanda smiled. “Don’t get a ticket; I don’t want to waste a minute of today.”
After paying the toll as they left Manhattan, Stone set the cruise control at a reasonable number and relaxed, letting the amazing car do the work. The leaves along the Sawmill River Parkway were beginning to change color, but as they drove north, the colors intensified. By the time they were north of Danbury, the maples were so brilliant as to be distracting. Following Amanda’s instructions, Stone ran the car along the winding Connecticut roads through Brookfield and Bridgewater. South of Washington, they turned down a narrow road into the woods, and after two miles they came to a beautiful little colonial house set back from the road behind a screen of birches and flaming maples. A handful of geese sunned themselves beside a small pond.
“Spectacular,” Stone said, as they got out of the car.
“I bought it twelve years ago for peanuts, and I’ve been redecorating ever since,” Amanda said. “After Sister Parrish died, I did it mostly myself. Will you get the basket from the trunk, please?”
Stone followed her through the front door and to the kitchen, where he deposited the basket. Amanda got a bottle of Krug Brut from the fridge and poured them both a glass. “Ready for lunch?” she asked.
“I’m ready for anything,” Stone replied.
“I’m delighted to hear it. Why don’t you light the fire in the living room, and I’ll be in in a moment. Take the champagne with you.”
Stone followed instructions, kneeling on a deep sheepskin rug to fan the fire. He tossed his jacket onto the sofa and sat cross-legged on the sheepskin, staring into the crackling flames.
“I love a fire,” Amanda said, setting down a silver tray and joining him on the rug. Having shed her coat, she was wearing a red cashmere jumpsuit that zipped up the front. The tray contained a lobster salad and a loaf of French bread, and they dug into it. When they had finished, Amanda pushed the tray aside and stretched out on the rug, her head in Stone’s lap. Sunlight streamed into the room, bringing out the soft colors in the carefully chosen furnishings. “Mmmm, I feel almost perfect,” she said.
“What would make you feel completely perfect?” Stone asked.
She laughed a low laugh and turned on her side. Gently, she put her mouth on his crotch and softly bit at his penis through his trousers. “That would,” she said. “Why are we wearing all these clothes?”
“I can’t imagine,” Stone replied.
She sat up and began working on his buttons. When she had stripped him of all his clothing, she stood, tugged at the long zipper, and stepped out of her jumpsuit. He was already fully erect, and she knelt on the sheepskin and took him into her mouth.
“If you do that much longer there won’t be anything left,” Stone panted.
She stopped and climbed on top of him. “I’ll be the judge of when there’s nothing left,” she said, taking him inside her. For better than half an hour they lay on the sheepskin, changing positions occasionally, experimenting, until she let out a sharp cry and began her orgasm. Stone rose to meet her, and they came nearly together, noisily, groping and gasping. Finally she fell, panting, beside him on the rug. “What a wonderful first time,” she breathed, stroking his damp penis.
“Wonderful is the word,” Stone agreed.
“Let me tell you how it’s going to be with you and me,” Amanda said.
“All right, tell me.”
“We’re not going to become an item around the city,” she said. “We’re not going to fall in love. We’re going to be friendly, maybe even friends, and we’re going to meet when we feel like it, not out of any sense of mutual obligation, but when we both feel like fucking each other, and when we do, we’re going to do it well. Can you live with that?”