Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

is what I’m studying at Knickerbocker,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
    “Because I’ve made a film, which is nearly finished, but I don’t have a score. Would you like to try writing it?”
    “How old are you?” she asked.
    “I’m eighteen,” he said. “How old are you?”
    “I’ll be eighteen on Saturday,” she replied. “You talk like someone a lot older, no slang.”
    “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” Peter said. “So do you.”
    She laughed. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard that, either.”
    “If you’re interested, I’ll take you to a birthday lunch on Saturday and then screen the film for you.”
    “Screen it where?”
    “At my house. Don’t worry, my dad will be there to chaperone us.”
    She looked at him. “I’m not worried,” she said. “I’d like that, but could I see the film before then? That way I might have some ideas about the score to talk about.”
    Peter took the screenplay and DVD from his leather envelope and handed it to her. “It looks best on Blu-ray.”
    “I’ve got Blu-ray in my room. I’ll watch it tonight. What’s it about?”
    “You’ll know tonight. Where do you live?”
    “At Park and Sixty-third Street.”
    “Do you know the Brasserie restaurant in the basement of the Seagram Building, entrance on Fifty-third?”
    “Yes, I’ve been there.”
    “May we meet at the Brasserie at twelve-thirty on Saturday?”
    “Yes, that will be fine. You said your dad will be at the house. How about your mother?”
    “She’s back in Virginia for a couple of weeks,” Peter replied, “moving us into a new house.”
    “Are you going to live there?”
    “Only part-time. New York is home, now.”
    “Welcome to the big city. How do you like it so far?”
    “It’s everything I dreamed it would be,” Peter said.
    “You dreamed about living here?”
    “Everybody who doesn’t live in New York dreams about living here. I’m no exception. I can go to the movies as often as I like.”
    “The movies are your thing, are they?”
    “I like the theater, too, but I’m crazy about movies. If you’re not, I’ll probably bore you rigid.”
    She laughed. “I like movies, and you don’t seem in the least boring.”
    “That’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me in the big city,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment with some editing equipment. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see you on Saturday.”
    “I’ll look forward to it,” she replied. She turned back to the piano and began to play again.
    Peter left the recital hall and walked back to the film department, feeling a little light-headed. He felt some other things he hadn’t felt before, too.

37
    A lan Ripley switched off the light in his office and, in the gathering dusk, walked across the campus at Herald Academy in tidewater Virginia, kicking at little piles of leaves the wind had gathered. Autumn came late here, but now there was a real nip in the air. He wrapped his muffler tighter.
    He climbed the stairs to his small apartment in the faculty residence and switched on the lights, then he lit the already laid fire and backed up to the hearth as it caught. When his backside got too hot to handle he poured himself a small scotch, settled in a leather wing chair near the fire, and picked up the le Carré novel he had been reading. He had just opened the book when the phone rang. He closed the book and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”
    “Alan?” A vaguely familiar voice.
    “Yes, who’s that?”
    “A voice from the past. It’s James Heald.”
    Ripley was pleasantly surprised. “James? It’s good to hear from you. I haven’t heard that voice since we left Harvard.”
    “Good to hear yours, too.”
    “Where are you? What are you doing?”
    “I’m teaching set design at the Yale School of Drama.”
    “Good for you. I’d heard you were working on Broadway at some point.”
    “Yes, but it was too fast a track for me, and the gaps between jobs were too long. I’ve been at Yale for nearly two years, now, and it suits me better.”
    “Congratulations. It sounds like a good place to be. How did you find me?”
    “Well, I stopped in the dean’s office for a minute last week and I caught a bit of your performance.”
    “Performance? What do you mean?”
    “Your screen acting performance.”
    “You baffle me.”
    “Didn’t you act in a student film down there?”
    “Oh, Christ, yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t make the connection. We don’t