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it was over, and the lights went up. Stone sat up straight and started looking for the door.

    “Jesus, that was damn good,” Ciano said, sounding surprised.
    “I wish I’d looked that good in my first movie,” Calder said. Both he and the director turned and looked at Regenstein.
    “Stone, you’re hired,” the studio head said.
    “Be in makeup at eleven tomorrow,” Ciano said, rising. “We start shooting at one.”
    Stone, stunned, stood up and shook the men’s hands. But he had been terrible, he thought. Couldn’t these people see that? He had never been so embarrassed. These people were crazy.

7
    Stone pulled up at the gate to Vance Calder’s house and rolled down the window. An armed, uniformed security guard approached.
    “Good evening, sir,” he said. “Your name?”
    “Barrington.”
    “Go right in, Mr. Barrington.” The gate slid open.
    Stone drove some distance up a winding drive, and it was not until he had crested a little hill that he saw the house. It was of white stucco, in the Spanish style, with a tiled roof A valet took charge of the car, and Stone walked through the open double doors into a broad tiled hallway that ran straight through the house. A man who looked Filipino, dressed in a white jacket, approached.
    “Mr. Barrington?”
    “Yes.”
    “I thought so; I know all the other guests. Will you come this way, please?”
    Stone followed him into a very large living roomwhere at least a dozen couples were chatting. He had worn a tan tropical suit and a necktie, and he was glad, because everyone he saw was, for L.A., very dressed. Vance came toward him from the other end of the room, wearing a white linen suit. Stone had always wanted such a suit, but he didn’t have the nerve to wear one in New York.
    “Good evening, Stone,” Calder said, grasping his hand warmly, “and welcome to the cast ofOut of Court. ”
    “Is that what the picture is called?”
    “That’s right; everyone is talking about your test. Come on and meet some people.”
    Stone followed Vance around the room, greeting other guests. Half of them looked or sounded familiar from the papers and television—some were actors, others were producers or directors. He spotted Betty Southard at the other end of the room, talking to another woman.
    “Stone,” Vance said, “I’d particularly like you to meet my good friend David Sturmack.”
    “How do you do?” Stone asked. He remembered that Vance had said that Sturmack was one of the most powerful men in L.A.
    “I’m very pleased to meet you, Stone,” Sturmack said. “I’ve heard a great deal about you from Vance and Lou.” He was a tall man in his mid-sixties, slim, dressed in beautifully cut but conservative clothes. He turned to an elegant blonde woman next to him who was a good twenty years younger. “This is my wife, Barbara. Barbara, this is Stone Barrington.”
    “Oh, hello,” she nearly gushed. “You’re Vance’s and Arrington’s friend from New York. I read about your Caribbean case in the papers. I’m so sorry about the way it turned out.”

    “Thank you,” Stone replied, “I’m glad to meet you, Barbara.”
    Louis Regenstein joined the group. “Everyone’s talking about your test this afternoon, Stone,” he said.
    “Oh,” Stone said, uncomfortable. Why the hell was everyone talking about it? A waiter took Stone’s order for a drink, and everyone chatted amiably for a few minutes. Stone wanted very much to get Vance alone for a moment to ask him why he wanted him in his picture, but his host was busy with his guests. Someone gently took hold of Stone’s elbow and turned him a hundred and eighty degrees. He was faced with a deeply suntanned man of forty who took his hand, squeezed it, and began shaking it, slowly, as he talked.
    “Stone, I’m Fred Swims of the SBC Agency. You need an agent, and I’d like very much to be the man.”
    “An agent?” Stone asked, nonplussed.
    “I saw your test, and I understand why everyone is so