Dirt

breath, and plunged into the East Side’s most fashionable hangout. She had timed her entrance for a moment when half the guests would have already come; that way she could easily spot those already there, then watch the others arrive.
    As the door closed behind her there was an audible pause in the conversation as people glanced her way, then a resumption as they pretended not to see her. In a trice she had located the Walter Cronkites, the Mike Wallaces, the Abe Rosenthals, and the Richard Clurmans, all friends of Norman Barton’s, who was rumored to be in line for the executive editorship of the
Times
when the present occupant of that office retired. She headed toward the honoree, giving a happy wave and a smile to acquaintances along the way.
    Norman was standing in the back room, surrounded by friends and admirers, autographing copies of his book. After only a brief pause, Amanda strode forward, and the others gave way like yachts before the Queen Mary. “Norman! How exciting this must be for you!” Someone from the publishing house handed her a book. “I can’t wait to read every page!” “Amanda!” Barton cried, touching his cheek to each of hers. “I’m so pleased you got back in time!”
    “Oh, I got back early this morning,” she replied.
    “I didn’t know the airlines arrived from the islands at that hour,” someone said.
    Amanda turned her gaze on a short, plump woman who collected gossip items for a news syndicate. “One doesn’t always fly the airlines, dear,” she replied sweetly. “Sometimes one’s friends provide.” “Oh, a private jet,” the woman cried. “You landed at Teterboro?” Obviously looking for something she could check.
    “No,” Amanda replied dismissively, then reached forward, took Barton’s elbow, and deftly plucked him out of the group as a cow pony cuts a steer from the herd, and, by her proximity to the honoree, placed herself at the center of the party.
    They chatted enthusiastically for a moment, and then, as Amanda had planned, people began to approach, greeting them both, complimenting Amanda on her tan, asking about her holiday.
    “Did you try that new little restaurant?” a rival columnist asked cattily.
    “Oh, my dear, no,” Amanda sighed. “All I did was work. I got up every morning, played the tennis ball machine for half an hour, worked for three hours, had lunch at the pool, then worked another three hours. The staff cooked every bite I ate.” “And what work kept you so occupied?” the woman asked.
    “Why, I finished my book, darling,” Amanda sang back. “It goes to my publisher’s tomorrow!”
    The woman blinked. “Congratulations,” she said, then disappeared.
    Amanda worked the crowd for an hour, then, at the moment when the tide seemed to turn toward dinner, she made her good-byes and headed toward the door, nearly colliding with Bill Eggers.
    “Oh, Bill,” Amanda said, “you are just the man I want to see. Come with me, you’re taking me to dinner.” She hustled him to her car.
    “Good thing I didn’t have plans,” Eggers said.
    “I’d have kidnapped you anyway,” Amanda said, sliding her arm through his. “Paul, we’re going to Elaine’s.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” Paul replied.
    “I see you got the car,” Eggers said, looking around admiringly.
    “Of course I did, darling,” Amanda giggled.
    “I don’t think Dick Hickock knew what hit him.”
    “Of course not, darling.” She made small talk all the way to Elaine’s, while simultaneously formulating her next move.
     
Chapter 6
     
    Amanda swept into Elaine’s, automatically casting an eye about for who was there and where they were seated. Elaine herself was way in the back of the restaurant, seated at a customer’s table. She lifted an eyebrow and Jack, the headwaiter, seated Amanda and her lawyer at a favored table up front. Amanda was just as happy not to have been greeted by Elaine, who she found hard to read, never quite sure whether she was being insulted. She came to the restaurant only for her work; before they were seated she had three items for tomorrow’s column.
    Bill Eggers ordered a double Jack Daniel’s on the rocks, and Amanda ordered a large bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water. She always kept her wits about her, relaxing enough to drink alcohol only when she was among trusted friends in her home or theirs. They chatted idly as they selected from the menu and ate two courses. Only when they had both declined dessert and