Dirt

that, even if she had.”
    “Well, I’m glad you’re not a blabbermouth.”
    “By the way, did you know that you made the latest edition of
DIRT
?”
    Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”
    He produced last night’s fax and handed it to her. She read it with bated breath.
    “Jesus, that was fast, wasn’t it?”
    “It was.”
    “At least it didn’t mention my name.”
    “I wonder why,” he said.
    “Why do you think?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. It would seem that the publisher’s information was good enough to do so, if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He did pay you the compliment of calling you bright, though.” “How would he know?”
    “Maybe the publisher is somebody who knows you. Did you tell anybody you were going to the dinner party?”
    “No; Vance only called me on Friday, and he didn’t say who’d be there, except for Amanda.”
    “What did you think of Amanda?”
    “I think she’s predatory,” Arrington said.
    Stone’s ears were burning, and he hoped she didn’t notice. “I don’t really know her well enough to confirm that,” he lied.
    “Trust me; a girl knows about these things.”
    “I think I do trust you. Why do you think that is?”
    She smiled. “Because you have good judgment.”
     
     
    As they left the restaurant, she immediately flagged down a cab.
    “I was hoping we could spend the day together,” Stone said.
    “Sorry, I’ve got plans. I’d like to see you soon, though; will you call me?”
    “I certainly will.”
    She pecked him on the cheek, got into the cab, and rode away.
    Stone walked slowly home, facing a Sunday alone with the papers and
60 Minutes.
Well, he thought, it wouldn’t be the first.
     
Chapter 19
     
    First thing Monday morning, Arnie Millman eased himself carefully into a chair in Stone’s office. “Hemorrhoids,” he said without being asked.
    “It’s all those years sitting on your ass at the Nineteenth Precinct,” Stone said. “What’ve you got for me?”
    “The girl, Helen, first,” Arnie said. “She’s seeing a guy; he’s an advertising art director at Young and Rubicam.”
    “How do they spend their time together?”
    “Screwing, mostly; the relationship is only a couple of weeks old, but neither one is seeing anybody else. They go out, they grab a pizza, they go home, usually his, and they screw. Noisily.” “Any connections to the publishing or entertainment industries?”
    “Not that I could see. His accounts are an airline and a hand lotion; neither one is good for much show biz contact, far as I can see.”
    “Still, advertising people mix with actors and other people who cross over into entertainment.”
    “Not this one, apparently.”
    “Okay, what about Barry?”
    “Barry is a different story; Barry mixes with anybody he thinks is cute. I saw him buy a gross of condoms at his neighborhood drugstore — they had ordered them for him. He hangs out at a bar in the East Village called the Leather Room, and he takes home somebody different just about every night. These boys are all over the place — actors, dancers, directors — he seems to prefer those in the business.” “Did you pick up on any pillow talk?”
    “I put a cup mike on his bedroom window, and I heard it all, and I mean
all,
believe me. Something I don’t understand about these people, these pansies: How come they can do it every night, two or three times a night? I could never do that, even when I was his age.” “The younger generation seems to be in better shape.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “And you can’t call them ‘pansies’ anymore, Arnie; too many people find that offensive.”
    “Tell me about it,” Arnie replied.
    Stone changed the subject. “Is Barry chatty about his work?”
    “The CIA should be so tight-lipped. The boy tells his new friends who he works for — that always gets a reaction — but he doesn’t blab about what he does for her, or about her. Strikes me as intensely loyal to his boss.” “I’m disappointed,” Stone said. “He seemed the likely one to me, and the multiple relationships would underscore that. But if you feel strongly….”
    “I kid you not, Stone, the guy’s a regular monument to discretion.” Arnie shifted painfully in his seat. “What about the other one?”
    “What?”
    “You said there was a third employee.”
    “Yeah, but she doesn’t look promising.” Stone sighed, wrote down Martha’s name and address, and handed it to Arnie. “About