My mother is a writer too, she explained. She wrote fiction when she was very young, but she's been writing for television for years. She has a very successful show. But I think she always secretly regrets that she never went on to write a novel.

They must be very talented, he said, far more interested in her than them, but still greatly intrigued by this beautiful young woman.

They are talented, she smiled. And so are you, she said, cautiously turning the conversation back to him, which pleased him most. Weissman watched her handle Haverton with both admiration and fascination. She was both wise and artful. And he said as much to her when the elderly author was finally picked up by his driver and taken home. He left, waving fondly at Allegra as though they were old friends, having agreed to most of the deal she had proposed to him. And the agent and attorney went back to Weissman's office in his limousine to discuss the fine points of the contract.

You're very good with him, he said, intrigued by her, and amused too. She was very young, but she was quick, and she had a natural instinct for people.

That's what I do for a living, she said without artifice. Handle people like him. Actors are like children most of the time.

So are authors. Andreas smiled at her; he liked her.

They spent the next two hours working out the deal, and what they both thought Jason Haverton should get. After they worked it out, Allegra said she'd call the movie company, and let him know their reaction. Hopefully they could finish the deal that week, possibly before she left New York on Friday. In the meantime, she had several other meetings scheduled on other matters, but she would be in touch with Andreas as soon as she heard something from California about Jason's movie.

How long will you be here? he asked her again.

Till Friday, unless I get everything done before that. But I think it might be a good idea for me to be here while we work this out. I'm sure we're going to be getting some answers on this deal by Wednesday, at the latest.

He nodded agreement with her, and then jotted down an address for her on a piece of paper from an Hermes scratch pad. Everything around him was of the finest quality. He was a man who liked the best of everything, even clients.

My wife and I are having a little party tonight. One of my clients has an important new book, we think it could win a literary prize. But in any case, it's a good excuse for a small reception. I doubt if Jason will be there, but several of our clients will, and you might enjoy it. He handed the paper to her with an address on Fifth Avenue, and his home phone number, and he told her to come anytime between six and nine o'clock that evening. They would love to have her.

That's very kind of you, she said. She'd enjoyed the time she spent with him that afternoon, and she liked the way he did business. He was sharp and precise, and beyond the polish and the European charm was a brilliant businessman who knew exactly what he was doing and stood for no nonsense. And Allegra liked that about him. She had always heard good things about him, and she had always had successful dealings with his clients.

Try and come, you might get a taste of New York literary life, which could amuse you.

She thanked him again, and left his office a few minutes later. It had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. When she got out on the street, the snow had already turned to slush, and she slid slowly to the curb and hailed a cab to take her back to her hotel to make the calls she had to make to California.

It was five o'clock by the time she'd made all her calls from her hotel room, to begin the negotiations for Haverton's film deal. And an hour later, after she'd made some notes, she still hadn't decided whether to order room service or go to the party at the Weissmans'. It was freezing cold outside and she had brought nothing to wear except business suits and two wool dresses, and the idea of going out in the cold again was extremely unappealing. But on the other hand, meeting some of the local literary types seemed almost worth going out into the cold for. She thought about it for another half hour, as she watched the news, and then she got up hurriedly and went to the closet. She had decided to go to the Weissmans' party. She put on her only black wool dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves, and it was very flattering as it hugged her figure. She put on high heels and brushed her hair, and appraised what she saw in the mirror. Compared to the New York sophisticates, she was afraid she'd look like a bumpkin. The only jewelry she had brought with her was a gold bracelet her mother had given her, and a pair of plain gold earrings. She swept her hair back into a neat French twist, and put on some lipstick, before putting on her heavy coat again. It was an old one she had worn while she was in law school, whenever she went to the theater, but at least it was warm, even if it wasn't pretty.

She went down to the lobby and the doorman got her a cab, and by seven-thirty she was at Eighty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, right across from the Metropolitan Museum. It was a handsome old apartment building with a doorman and two elevator men, several big, dark red velvet couches, and a Persian-looking rug that kept her high heels from echoing on the marble floor of the lobby. The doorman told her that Weissman was on fourteen, and half a dozen people stepped out of the elevator as she got in it. They all looked like they had just come from the Weissmans' party, and she wondered if she was too late. But Andreas had said up to nine o'clock, and as soon as she got upstairs, she followed the noise. It was still very loud, so at least she knew the party was still going. She rang the bell, and a butler answered. At first glance, she could see that there were well over a hundred people there, and she could hear a piano playing somewhere in the distance.

She stepped inside and gave up her coat, as she looked around at the hallway of the elegant duplex. But it was the people who caught her eye. They looked totally New York in cocktail dresses and dark gray suits, a few tweeds, and everyone seemed to have excited eyes and looked alive, and as though they had a thousand stories to tell about a million places they'd been to. This was definitely not laid-back California. And for once there were no famous faces she recognized. She knew that the faces she was looking at were probably just as well-known, but in a different world from Hollywood, and they were intriguing to her because she didn't know them. She realized that she probably knew most of their names, and then as she looked around she saw Tom Wolfe and Norman Mailer, Barbara Walters and Dan Rather and Joan Lunden, and an array of illustrious figures sprinkled in among publishers and editors, professors, and writers. And there was a small group who someone said were curators from the Metropolitan Museum. The head of Christie's was there, and a handful of important artists. It was the kind of gathering that never happened in L.A., because there wasn't the available variety of important eclectic figures. In Los Angeles it was all people involved in the industry, as it was called, as though they made automobiles instead of movies. But in New York it was everything from theatrical designers, to actors from off-off-Broadway, to the heads of department stores, and important jewelers, mixed in with editors and writers and playwrights. It was a fascinating mix, and Allegra watched them all as she took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and was relieved to see Andreas Weissman in the distance. She made her way toward him in the library as he stood in front of the view of Central Park, talking to his arch competitor in the literary world, Morton Janklow. They were talking about a mutual friend, who had been one of Weissman's clients, and had recently died. It was a great loss to the literary community, they agreed, just as Andreas spotted Allegra, and came to greet her. In her black dress, and her upswept hair, she looked more serious than she had that afternoon. She looked incredibly beautiful and young, as Andreas Weissman watched her. She had a lovely, graceful way as she moved slowly toward him, holding her glass of champagne. Everything about the way she moved was elegant and fluid, it made him think of the ballet, and Degas paintings. Jason Haverton was right, Andreas Weissman thought with a private smile. He had called late that afternoon to say again that she was not only a good lawyer, but he thought she was exquisite. He had loved having lunch with her, and told Andreas that if it had been only a few years before, things might have been different. He said it in a wistful way that made his agent smile, even now, as he extended a hand toward Allegra. She seemed to inspire fire in men's hearts, even in the depths of winter.

I'm so glad you could come, Allegra. He carefully put an arm around her shoulders and guided her across the room to where another knot of guests stood. There were more faces she recognized, an important gallery owner she'd read about, a famous model, and a young artist. It was an incredibly mixed group, and exactly what she loved about New York. It was why people in New York never wanted to leave and come West. New York was much too exciting. Andreas introduced her around the room and explained to everyone that she was an entertainment lawyer from L.A., and everyone seemed happy to meet her.

Andreas disappeared then, and left her with her new friends. An older woman challenged her, and said she moved like a dancer. Allegra admitted to having done eight years of ballet as a child, and someone else asked if she was an actress. Two very handsome young men said they worked with Lehman Brothers on Wall Street. Several more worked at a law firm where she'd interviewed while she was at Yale. And her head was spinning by the time she made her way upstairs to the upper floor to see the spectacular view of the park, and meet more guests, and then came back to the lower floor again at nine o'clock. The party was still going strong, and a fresh group that looked like businessmen had just arrived, accompanied by an equal number of well-dressed women. Some of them had on fur hats, and all of them had perfectly done hair. It was a different look from L.A., with its face-lifts and its youthful look and its blond hair; this was a darker look, a more interesting one, with less artifice and less makeup, but with expensive clothes, a smattering of jewels, and serious, intense faces. There were a handful of face-lifts too, and bodies so thin they looked like pencils, but for the most part these were people accomplishing things, and affecting the world just because they'd been there. Allegra was fascinated by them, and the things they were saying. They talked about interesting things, and they were in fact interesting people. It's quite something, isn't it? a voice said just behind her, and she turned to see a man watching her, just as she had been scrutinizing the others around the room. He was long and lean, with dark hair, and the aristocratic look of a true New Yorker. And he was wearing the right uniform, a white shirt, dark suit, and conservative Hermes tie in two shades of navy, but something about him didn't match the way he looked. She wasn't sure if it was his tan, the spark in his eye, or the broad smile. In some ways, he looked more California than New York, and yet he didn't fit that description either. She couldn't figure him out, but as he sized her up, he was mystified by her as well. She seemed to fit in, yet there was something about her that made him think she didn't belong here. He liked coming to the Weissmans' he always met the most fascinating people, from ballet dancers to literary agents to venture capitalists to conductors. It was fun just mingling with them, and trying to guess why they had come and who they were. He was doing that now, and getting nowhere. Allegra could have been anything from decorator to doctor. She was trying to guess what he did too, and she was debating between stockbroker and banker. And as she looked at him pensively, he smiled broadly.