Stuart Woods_Stone Barrington 21

quiet, since Joan brushed the woman off, so we probably don’t need to do anything about publicity, until Peter is a famous director.”
    “Then he can get his own publicist. Oh, a delivery truck has just pulled up outside; I have to go. I love you!”
    “Wait a minute!”
    “Yes?”
    “How did it go with Timothy Rutledge?”
    “I managed very well, thank you. Bye-bye!”
    “I love you, too,” Stone said, but she had hung up.

    Peter arrived at the Brasserie ten minutes early, was given a booth with a view of the front door, and sat down and waited nervously. Hattie was ten minutes late, and Peter had already had a glass of iced tea and needed to go to the bathroom.
    He went to meet her as she descended the stairs from the door and escorted her to their booth.
    “I really liked your film,” she said, as she slid into her side of the table, “and I already have some ideas about what the score could sound like.”
    “Wonderful!” he said.
    “Do you have a piano at your house?”
    “Yes, but I’m not sure it’s in tune. That’s all right, though, I have an electronic keyboard.”
    “Do you play?”
    “Sort of. I amuse myself with it sometimes.”
    They were brought menus and studied them carefully.
    “What would you like?” he asked.
    “I’ll have the eggs Benedict,” she replied.
    “Good idea. So will I.”
    They ordered, and Peter sat back in his seat and looked at her. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you when you weren’t in profile,” he said.
    “And what is your opinion?” she asked, archly.
    “Very high,” he said. “I have a high opinion.”
    “That was just the right thing to say,” she said, blushing a little.
    They seemed stuck for words for a moment, so Peter said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the men’s room.”
    And he did.

40
    K elli Keane sat at the bar at the Brasserie and toyed with her lunch. She had spotted Peter Barrington the moment he entered the restaurant, and he had made it obvious that he was waiting for someone. Kelli was delighted with the coincidence that she and Peter had chosen the same restaurant. She had been working too hard at this, she thought, and she deserved a break.
    When the girl arrived Kelli saw how Peter hurried to meet her. This was obviously a first date, and he had probably met the girl at school. She was a pretty thing and fashionably dressed for a high school girl. This was the first time Kelli had had an opportunity to stare unblinkingly at Peter and take his measure. He seemed exceptionally mature for an eighteen-year-old, and she knew a lot about the subspecies, having started to date eighteen-year-olds when she was thirteen, and having lost her virginity to the second one, at thirteen and a half. She had had an abortion at sixteen, as the result of carelessness with yet another eighteen-year-old, and she had turned her attention then to twenty-one-year-olds, who seemed to have a greater appreciation of the pitfalls of the menstrual cycle.
    Peter did not have the native slovenliness of the current crop of eighteen-year-olds, nor did he seem to need the appearance of stubble or a patchy beard to build his confidence. She was willing to bet that his room was very neatly kept.
    The headwaiter drifted by and Kelli snagged him. “Hey, Geoffrey,” she said.
    “Kelli, how you doing? You want a table?”
    “No, I’m fine at the bar. Tell you what I do want, though: see those two kids over there in the booth?”
    “Yeah.”
    “There’s a hundred in it if you can find out the girl’s name and where she lives.”
    “Would you like to pay now or later?” he asked.
    “Payment is on delivery,” she said.
     
     
    Bruce ambled over to where the young couple sat. “Good day, folks,” he said. “Is this your first visit to the Brasserie?”
    Both shook their heads.
    “Well, we’re very happy to have you as regulars. I’m Bruce, your mâitre d’.” He offered his hand to the boy, who shook it and replied, “Peter Barrington.”
    He turned to the girl. “And you?”
    “Hattie Patrick,” she replied, shaking his hand.
    “I’m very pleased to meet you both. Do you live in the neighborhood?”
    “I’m at Sixty-third and Park,” the girl said, “and Peter lives in Turtle Bay.”
    “Great. I hope we’ll see both of you often.” He strolled away, spoke to a couple of other diners for cover, then went back to the bar.
    “Hattie Patrick,” he said, “Sixty-third and Park.”
    Kelli slipped him the hundred. “Bruce,