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performance at The Arrington,” Stone said.
    “I’m looking forward to it, too,” she replied. “Hattie and I have been rehearsing.” Immi was stolen away by somebody.
    “I like it out here,” Ann said. “The quality of celebrities is better than in New York, and when they turn up, they’re more relaxed. Hattie is a pianist?”
    “A brilliant one. And a composer, too. She scores all of Peter’s films.”
    “All two of them?”
    “And more to come. He and Ben never stop working, and Leo Goldman is thrilled to have them on the Centurion lot. They’ve turned Vance Calder’s old cottage into their offices.” Calder, the late movie star, had been Peter’s stepfather.
    “How old can Peter be? Twenty-five?”
    “Not that old. The boy is a prodigy.”
    “Does he get that from you?”
    “No, and not from his mother, either. It must be some sort of genetic mutation.”
    “And who are Billy and Betsy Burnett?”
    “That one is difficult to explain,” Stone said. “Someday, when I’ve known you for forty or fifty years, I’ll tell you the whole story. Billy is a jack-of-all-trades who has become an associate producer with Peter and Ben. He knows more about everything than anyone I know. And anyone you know, too. He can fix anything, build anything, and fly airplanes—he’s been instructing Peter, Ben, and Hattie. And I wouldn’t want to have him for an enemy.”
    “I like his wife, Betsy.”
    “She handles Peter’s PR, schedules interviews, and makes his travel arrangements, among other things. She’s made herself invaluable in the production office.”
    “You seem to have such a perfect life, Stone. Do you have any enemies?”
    “Apparently I do,” Stone said. “Last year I got into it with some Russians, out of Paris, and I thought it had ended.”
    “Hasn’t it?”
    “It seems there is an unending supply of greedy Russians. Last year they wanted The Arrington. Next year, who knows?”
    Ann looked at her watch. “I know it’s early, but I’m fading fast.”
    “Do you have a car, or do you want to ride with me?”
    “I was dropped off by a campaign car. I’m with you.”
    They said their good nights and found The Arrington’s car waiting for them out front.
    They had just pulled away from the house when Ann’s phone buzzed and she answered it. “Oh, look,” she said, showing Stone the phone. “Marty and Charlene in Hollywoodland!”
    The sidewalk in front of Spago was choked with paparazzi, and Stanton and Charlene were elbowing their way through the mob, smiles fixed on their faces, apparently enjoying themselves.
    “I guarantee you,” Ann said, “that picture will be on the front page of the New York Post tomorrow morning. And a lot of other rags, too.”

S tone was having breakfast in bed with Ann the following morning when his phone rang. “Hello?”
    “Stone, it’s Ed Eagle. How are you?”
    “I’m very well, Ed, and it’s good to hear from you. Are you in Santa Fe?”
    “No, I’m in L.A. for the convention. I’m a New Mexico delegate.”
    “When did you get in?”
    “Last night. We’re staying at Susannah’s place in Century Center—unless you can get me something at The Arrington.”
    “Come and stay with me. I have an unoccupied guest room, and you haven’t seen my place since it was finished. Get here in time for lunch and we’ll catch up.”
    “I’d love to. Susannah can’t make it until later—she’s having a beauty day at some spa or other.”
    “Come at half past twelve. I’ll leave your name at the gate, but prepare for a thorough pat down from a security guard.”
    “As long as she’s beautiful,” Ed said. “See you then.” He hung up.
    “That was my friend Ed Eagle,” Stone said to Ann. “Do you know him?”
    “He’s a New Mexico delegate. I’ve seen his name on the list. Who is he?”
    “A remarkable man. He was born in Brooklyn to a Hasidic Jewish family and became a fanatical basketball player in high school. His family