The waiter appeared and began gathering their dishes. “How about some of our cheesecake?” he asked.

“Don’t say that,” Betty said, throwing up a hand. “I could gain weight just listening.”

“A double espresso for me,” Stone said.

“I’ll have a cappuccino,” she said.

The waiter left.

“I want to have a look around the back,” Stone said, rising.

She caught his sleeve. “Are you nuts?”

“I’m just going to the men’s room; I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked into the rear hallway, looking to the right and left. He passed the kitchen and came to the men’s room door, looked inside, found it empty, and continued down the hall, where he found a door markedSTAFF ONLY. He looked over his shoulder, then walked in.

It was a good-sized storeroom, with refrigerators lining one wall and steel shelving lining the other. In the middle of the floor were empty crates with the remnants of vegetables stuck to them. Stone walked to the rear of the room and found a toilet and, across from that, a small office.

“Hey!” a deep voice yelled.

Stone spun around. A large man in kitchen whites was standing a few feet behind him. “I was looking for the men’s room,” he said, and he caught sight of something familiar on the floor between him and the man.

“You walked right past it,” the man said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and walked toward the door.

Quickly, Stone stooped and picked up the small object, tucking it into a pocket.

“It’s right here,” the man said.

“Thanks, sorry for the trouble,” Stone replied, turning into the men’s room.

“No trouble.”

Stone opened the men’s room door and found another of Ippolito’s party standing at one of the two urinals; he took his position at the other one. The man ignored him, in the way of strangers standing at urinals. Stone washed his hands and went back to his table.

“So?”

“I got caught in a storeroom,” he said.

“Drink your coffee, and let’s get out of here,” Betty said under her breath.

Stone sipped his espresso, then dug into his jacket pocket. “I found something, though.” He held it up her to see.

“A matchbook? Congratulations, you’ve won the California lottery.”

“But look where it’s from.”

She didn’t look. “Tell me.”

“It’s a matchbook from Elaine’s,” he said.

“Can we get out of here now?”

They were driving back to the Bel-Air with the top down, enjoying the desert air.

“Elaine’s in New York?” she asked.

“Right. Arrington and I spent a lot of time there; she used to steal matches by the handful.”

“I guess finding one at Grimaldi’s is a little too much of a coincidence, then?”

“Yes, especially since we know that Arrington called from the restaurant.”

“No, we don’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Did you speak to her?”

“Well, no.”

“Did she tell the hotel operator who she was?”

“No.”

“Then all we know is that a woman called and left a message and said to put the initial ‘A.’ on it.”

“You should have been a lawyer.”

“You should be a better one.”

“All right, all right.”

“You know any other women whose names start with an ‘A’ and who’ve been to Elaine’s?”

“Possibly; I can’t think of any at the moment.” He could think of two.

“What kind of food does Elaine’s serve?”

“Italian.”

“Any wiseguys ever go there?”

“All the time.”

“So we don’t know but that one ofthem dropped the matchbook in the storeroom.”

“You’d make a fine lawyer but a lousy detective. Didn’t you ever hear of a hunch?”

“I’m a woman.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot.”

Her hand wandered onto his thigh. “I guess I’m going to have to reimpress you with the fact.” She began unzipping his fly.

“Uh, Betty, can we wait a few minutes?” They were on the freeway now.

“I’m an impatient woman,” she said, freeing him.

“Jesus,” he breathed as she arranged herself with her head in his lap.

I’m driving up the freeway,he thought, and…he made a noise…and I hope the cops don’t pull us over.He kept to the speed limit as best he could, under the circumstances.

Stone got to the studio on time the following morning, but he was tired; between Betty’s attentions and thinking about the events of the night before, he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. He was in the makeup chair when the assistant director came in.

“Morning, Stone; good news: so you’ve only one more scene to shoot.”

“I thought I was working for four days,” Stone said, surprised.

“They’ve done some doctoring for time on the script, so you’ve just got one scene left-your closing statement to the jury, then a quick pickup to get your reaction when the verdict comes in.”

“Whatever you say,” Stone said, picking up his script. He thought he knew the speech, but he hadn’t expected to give it today; by the time he was dressed and on the set, though, he felt ready. Vance was nowhere to be seen, but since the scene was Stone’s alone he was not surprised. He rehearsed the scene once, then did a take.

“Cut, print,” the director said. “That was great, Stone, now let’s get your reaction to the verdict.”

Surprised, Stone sat down at the prosecution table and tried to look pissed off when the bailiff read the verdict.

“That’s a wrap for Stone,” the director said. He came over, shook Stone’s hand, and thanked him for his work. “I’ll send you a videotape when we’re done. Take care.”

Stone stood up; it was not yet ten o’clock. Vance came onto the set and strode toward him, smiling, his hand out. “I hear you were great,” he said, then, still holding Stone’s hand, he pulled him to a corner of the court set. “Great news,” he said. “Arrington called last night.”

“What did she have to say?” Stone asked.

“Everything is all right. She had been worried about my reaction to having a child, and she just needed a few days alone.”

“Where has she been?”

“Staying with a friend out in the Valley.”

“So she’s home?”

“She will be in a day or two. She’s helping her friend with some personal problem.”

“Well, I’m relieved to hear that, Vance. She apparently tried to call me last night, but I wasn’t in at the time.”

“Yes, she mentioned that; she was embarrassed that you’d made a trip out here for nothing, and she wanted to apologize. She sends her love.” He clapped Stone on the shoulder. “Well, old man, thanks for everything; we’ll call you when we’re in New York. Oh, Betty will take you to the airport.” He clapped Stone on the shoulder again and went to take his place on the set.

Stone stood there, puzzled. Betty walked up.

“Your plane leaves in an hour and a half,” she said, handing him a ticket. “I’m afraid the Centurion jet wasn’t available; you’ll have to make do with first class.”

“I guess I can stand that,” Stone replied.

“And here,” she said, handing him an envelope, “is your paycheck; don’t spend it all in one place. Oh, and Mr. Regenstein said to keep the clothes-a personal gift from him.”

“That’s very kind of him.”

“Come on, let’s get to your dressing room and get that makeup off.”

As they left the set he saw a man standing at the rear wearing a suit identical to his own. He hadn’t been aware that he’d had a stand-in. He followed Betty to his RV, where he found the wardrobe lady packing the suits and shirts he had worn in the film into a handsome, old-fashioned leather suitcase. He gave her the suit he was wearing and started rubbing on cold cream. Ten minutes later, they were on the way to the airport, with Betty at the wheel of Stone’s temporary car, Vance’s Mercedes SL600. Stone turned in his studio pass at the front gate, and soon they were on the freeway.

“I have to pick up my clothes at the Bel-Air,” he said.