Dirt

“How did you know that name?”
    “I wrote something for
New York
magazine once, about a case at the Nineteenth Precinct. I interviewed him for it.”
    “I’m surprised you got out of his office with your virtue.”
    She laughed. “I nearly didn’t; Dino is very smooth.”
    “That he is.”
    “So you were white bread among the Italians, the Irish, and the Hispanics in the department?”
    “That’s about the size of it.”
    “What, exactly, do you do for Woodman and Weld?”
    “Their dirty work, mostly; the odd criminal case, the odd investigation.”
    “Now I’m getting the picture.”
    “So I add up now?”
    “The house doesn’t add up.”
    “I inherited it from a great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister.”
    “Money, too?”
    “Just the house. I did a lot of the restoration myself, but it damn near broke me.”
    “I’m glad you’re not filthy rich,” she said.
    “I’m not glad,” he replied. “I’ve got nothing at all against filthy rich. My father, God rest his soul, would be deeply ashamed of my attitude.”
    “Your father the Communist?”
    “Father and mother; they met at a Party meeting. They were idealistic; they had both broken with their families in New England and had been through a depression.”
    “Your polish must have come from them.”
    “Unlike some of their colleagues in the Party, they had abandoned a lifestyle, but not the manners acquired therefrom.”
    “Good for them.”
    “You would have liked my mother.”
    “I
love
her work. How about your father?”
    “He’d have been deeply suspicious of you.”
    “Why?”
    “He knew class when he saw it, and he wanted to live in a classless society.”
    “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
    “You should.”
    She went to the oven, removed an iron pot, and set it on a small table in the living room that had been carefully set. “Open another bottle of wine, will you? It’s right there on the kitchen counter.” Stone found a corkscrew, opened the bottle, and took it to the table.
    She poured them another glass of wine and raised hers. “
Bon appétit.
”
    “
Bon appétit.
”
     
     
    They sat among the ruins of dinner, sipping coffee.
    “That was wonderful,” he said.
    “Thanks; if you only cook half a dozen things, they have to be wonderful.”
    “Tell me about this guy you just broke up with.”
    She looked into her wineglass. “I’m embarrassed. Why do you want to know?”
    “I just want to know where you are and how you got there. It seems to have become important to me.”
    “I’m still embarrassed. He’s younger than I am.”
    “How much younger?”
    “A couple of years.”
    “Not so bad; lots of men date women a lot younger.”
    “It’s not the same for a woman.”
    “Why not?”
    “Men see younger women for sex, whereas…” She stopped.
    “Whereas…?”
    “Well, all right, I did it for the sex, too, mostly.”
    “Is sex in such short supply for you?”
    “It’s not that; I mean, anybody can get laid. For some reason, I was feeling old, so I was vulnerable.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirty-one. Do you always ask women that?”
    “Always.”
    “Why? It’s supposed to be rude.”
    “It’s not important to know how old a woman is, but it’s important to know if she’ll tell you. It’s a matter of character.”
    “Do you know how old Amanda Dart is?”
    Stone shrugged. He could feel the tops of his ears turning red.
    “She’s fifty; I have it on the best authority.”
    Stone was surprised, but not shocked. “Why are we talking about Amanda Dart?”
    “Because you’re involved with her.”
    “Am I?”
    “I could tell at dinner that night; not from your behavior, from hers.”
    “You were wrong; we weren’t involved, except professionally.”
    “Liar.”
    “Not until the next day. We spent that … together.”
    She shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame you. After all, you had just broken up with somebody, and she is quite attractive.” She looked at him levelly. “Everybody’s entitled to a sex life.” “You have me at a disadvantage; you know more about me than I about you.”
    “All right,” she sighed, “his name is Jonathan. He’s one of those young men who seem to earn their living by … being charming and attractive.”
    “You mean, he was paid?”
    “Not exactly. Men like Jonathan don’t ask for money; they just seem always to be broke. I picked up a lot of tabs.”
    “I’ve known women like that,” Stone said. “Still, it’s more