Go screw yourself, she said pleasantly, and he laughed.

Okay. I get it. So go to New York and get laid, at least, it might do you good.

You're disgusting. She was laughing at him, and a minute later they hung up, and he and Carmen took off their wigs and drove to Malibu. And when they got there, his house was quiet and sunny and peaceful, and completely deserted. She thought it was the prettiest place she'd ever seen, and he was happy to be there with her, and suddenly wished they could stay forever.

Allegra was on the way to the airport by then. She had called Bram Morrison before she left, and left him the name of her hotel in New York. He liked knowing where she was all the time. It was one of his quirks. The others could all reach her, if they had to, through the office.

She boarded the plane shortly after three o'clock, in business class, and she sat next to an attorney she knew from a rival law firm. Sometimes it was easy to let oneself believe that the world was full of lawyers. It certainly seemed to be, and it was odd to think, as she flew East, that at that moment Brandon was flying back to L.A. For the moment, at least, they certainly seemed to be going in different directions.

She read her papers for the movie deal the next day, made some notes, and even had time to read some journals. By the time they got to New York, it was just after midnight. She picked her bag off the carousel, and went outside to hail a cab, and she was surprised to find it was freezing cold. By one o'clock in the morning she was in her room at the hotel, and she was wide awake and wished she could call someone. It was only ten o'clock in L.A., but she knew Brandon wouldn't be home until eleven. So she took a shower, put on her nightgown, turned on the TV, and slipped between immaculate, crisp sheets. It was total luxury, and there was something fun and very grown-up about being in a fancy hotel in New York on business.

She wished she knew someone to call, or had friends to see. All she had planned to do in New York that week was meet the author she was seeing the next day, and then several other attorneys and agents. It was going to be a busy week, but she had nothing to do at night, except sit in the hotel and watch TV, or read her legal papers. And lying there, in the enormous bed, she felt like a kid, with a mischievous grin, eating the chocolates they had left at her bedside.

What are you laughing at? she asked the face she saw in the mirror when she went to brush her teeth. Who told you you were grown-up enough to stay in a place like this, and meet with one of the most important authors in the world? What if they figure out who you are, and you're really just a dumb kid? The idea that she had made it this far, and had so much responsibility, suddenly seemed funny to her, and she laughed again as she finished brushing her teeth, and went back to the enormous, luxurious bed, and ate the rest of the truffles.

Chapter 5

The alarm went off at eight o'clock the next day. It was barely light on a snowy January day in New York, and it was still five o'clock in the morning in California. Allegra turned over with a groan, and forgot where she was for a minute or two, and then she remembered the author she had to meet that morning. He was a much older man, and he was leery about anything to do with the movies. But his agent thought it would be a boost to his career at this point, since he was inevitably slowing down. And she had come to New York to help convince the author to let her pursue the deal, at the request of the agent. The agent himself was as illustrious as the people he represented, and having him ask her to come to New York to work on the deal was a feather in Allegra's cap. It was an important step toward her becoming a full partner in her law firm. But as she rolled over in bed, the prospect of meeting with either of them had very little appeal, no matter who they were or how important. It was a cold, snowy day, and she would have been happy to stay in bed all morning.

As she lay arguing with herself about getting up, her breakfast came, and with it The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. And by the time she was drinking coffee, and eating oatmeal and croissants with jam, and glancing at the newspapers, the prospect of a day in New York seemed almost exciting. The literary agency where she was going was on Madison Avenue, and the law firm where she had meetings later that afternoon was on Wall Street. And somewhere between the two were a thousand stores, at least as many art galleries, and a plethora of fascinating people. Sometimes just being in New York was a heady experience. There were so many people doing so many interesting things, a myriad of cultural events, opera, concerts, exhibitions of all kinds, theater. It made even Los Angeles seem provincial.

She wore a black suit and a heavy coat and boots to the meeting she had at ten o'clock that morning. She arrived by cab, holding on to her handbag and her briefcase, and by the time she got inside, she was sorry she hadn't worn a hat. Her face was tingling from the cold, and her ears were frozen.

The elevator stopped at the top floor, which the agency occupied in its entirety, and on the walls were an impressive collection of Chagall, Dufy, and Picasso, some pastels, one small oil, and a series of drawings. The agency was clearly doing well. And in the center of the room was a small Rodin sculpture.

Allegra was quickly ushered in to see the head of the agency, a small, round man with the faintest of German accents. His name was Andreas Weissman.

Miss Steinberg? He extended a hand, looking her over with interest. Her fine, blond, Anglo-Saxon looks couldn't help but catch his attention. He thought her very beautiful, and he was intrigued by her throughout their meeting, before the arrival of the author. And then finally, an hour later, he arrived, a man of perhaps some eighty years, but as sharp as anyone half his age. Jason Haverton was quick and witty and very shrewd, and Allegra suspected from looking at him that he had once been very good-looking, and even at his age he was still very attractive. They talked about the film industry generally for about an hour, and Jason Haverton very calmly asked her if by any chance she was related to Simon Steinberg. And when she admitted that she was, Haverton told her how much he admired his movies.

The two men invited her to lunch then at La Grenouille, and it was only when the main course came that they finally got down to business. Jason Haverton admitted to her that he had done everything possible to avoid this deal, and he had no interest whatsoever in having one of his books made into a movie. He thought it was prostitution at his age, but on the other hand he wrote less often than he had in the past, his readers were no longer young, and his agent felt strongly that selling a book for film was an ideal way to expand his audience again and appeal to younger readers.

I'm afraid I agree with him, Allegra said, smiling first at Haverton, then at Weissman. It doesn't have to be a bad experience for you, she went on, outlining several possible avenues to minimize the stress for him and make the deal more appealing. He liked what she had to say, and he was impressed with her. She was a smart girl, and a good lawyer. And by the time the chocolate souffl+¬ came they were fast friends, and he told her he wished he'd met her fifty years earlier. He'd had four wives, but he claimed to no longer have the energy to acquire a fifth one.

They're so much work, he said with a twinkle in his eye that made Allegra laugh, and she could easily see why he had been so successful with women. He was intelligent and amusing, and incredibly charming. Even at his advanced age, there was something totally appealing about him. He had lived in Paris in his youth, and his first wife had been French, the next two had been British apparently, and the last one American. And she, too, had been a famous author. She had passed away a decade before, and although he had been involved with several women since, none of them had succeeded in luring him to the altar. They take so much energy, my dear. Like fine racehorses, they're far too delicate, but so lovely to watch, and unbearably expensive. But they certainly do give one a great deal of pleasure. He smiled at her, and she could feel herself melt as she looked at him. He made her want to put her arms around him and hug him. But she suspected easily that if she had, he would have pounced on her with glee, like a cat on a mouse who had been overcome with trusting emotions for the feline. Jason Haverton was clearly no pussycat. He was still very much a lion, even at eighty. And a very attractive one. It amused Weissman to watch him pursue her. They were old and dear friends, and he couldn't disagree with Jason's opinion of her. She was an extraordinary girl, and he wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear that Jason had at least tried to woo her. But she seemed too smart for him, and although she wore no ring on her left hand, she managed to convey, from small things she said, the impression that she was taken.

Have you always lived in L.A.? Jason asked as they sipped their demitasse and played with the last of their souffl+¬s. It would surprise him if she had, there was something far more sophisticated about her, which suggested Europe to him, or the East of the United States at the very least. But she did, in fact, surprise him.

I've lived in L.A. all my life, except when I went to Yale.

Then you must have remarkable parents, he complimented her and them, and she smiled. He already knew who her father was and he thought, looking at her, that, spiritually in any case, Allegra was very much like him. Sensitive and sincere, direct and spare with words, but not with feelings.