Free Dirt by Stuart Woods Page A

Amanda’s dinner party. He didn’t know who allher guests would be, but chances were at least some of them would have seen DIRT.
    He slipped into his jacket and surveyed himself in the mirror. Dark, chalk-striped suit by Ralph Lauren, black baby calf shoes from E. Vogel, an old family shoemaker in Chinatown, a cream-colored silk shirt from Turnbull & Asser in London, and a reasonably sober necktie and pocket square from the same people. His cufflinks were old gold, his wristwatch a Cartier Tank. Perfect East Side dinner party garb, he thought. He gave his hair a final brush, tucked his gold reading glasses into his jacket’s breast pocket, and let himself out of the house, whistling down a passing cab. That loud whistle, learned in boyhood, had served him well in New York City.
     
    Amanda heard the elevator chime as it stopped in her foyer. She smoothed down her dress and banished nervousness. She was ready for her first guest.

Chapter 15
    A manda opened the door, and Stone was very taken with what he saw. Before him was just about the most perfectly turned out woman he had ever seen.
    “Stone, darling, come in,” Amanda said, offering him a cheek to peck. She turned and led him into the living room, a vision of chintz and good pictures.
    “What a beautiful room,” Stone said, knowing he was saying the right thing.
    “Thank you, kind sir.”
    “And an even more beautiful hostess.”
    “For that, you get a real kiss,” she said. Amanda took his face in his hands and planted upon his lips a soft kiss, with only a hint of tongue. Her carefully blotted lipstick remained unsmeared. “And now a drink,” she said.
    “Bourbon on the rocks, please?”
    “Jack Daniel’s? Wild Turkey? Old Crow?”
    “Wild Turkey, please.”
    “A man after my own heart,” she said. “You must have southern blood.”
    “No, just southern tastes in some things.”
    “As a Georgian, I thank you,” she said, deftly pouring two drinks at a butler’s tray across the room. “I’m so glad you didn’t wear an overcoat. Gloria is busy in the kitchen, and I hate dealing with coats.”
    “I wear coats only when I am likely to be cold,” he said, lifting his drink.
    “New friends,” Amanda said, raising her glass.
    “I’ll drink to that.”
    They did.
    Amanda took his hand and led him to a soft sofa. “I hope you have nothing to report,” she said.
    “Nothing yet.”
    “Good; I’m in no mood to talk business. That is a very handsome suit; who made it?”
    “A Mr. Lauren runs them up for me.”
    “Can’t go wrong there, can you?”
    “Nope. Who’s coming to dinner, besides me?”
    “Bill and Susan Eggers, whom you know, of course.”
    “Bill since law school; Susan only from a few law firm parties.”
    “Dick and Glynnis Hickock.”
    “He owns your paper?”
    “Right, and don’t kowtow to him, whatever you do, or he’ll consider you his inferior forever.”
    “I’ll try not to be impressed. Anyone else?”
    “Vance Calder and some girl or other.”
    “Now I’m impressed.”
    “Be sure and let him know it, or he’ll be hurt.”
    “I don’t think I’ve ever had dinner with a real live movie star.”
    “Superstar, darling; if you forget, he’ll remind you.”
    “And his girl?”
    “One never knows with Vance. She might be a princess or a whore—more likely both.” She sipped her drink. “I’ve not asked you, Stone; is there a woman in your life?”
    “There was until yesterday.”
    Amanda smiled. “How convenient. I hope you’re not too crushed.”
    “I’m managing.”
    “Something I should mention before the others arrive: don’t be the last to leave, all right?”
    “Whatever you say.”
    “It’s not that I wouldn’t want you to stay, it’s just that I don’t want to start any rumors.”
    “As you wish.”
    “As a reward for giving up a late evening with me, how would you like to drive out to the country tomorrow?”
    “Sounds lovely.”
    “It will be. The autumn leaves are at their