Kisser Read Free

invitations—dinners Mr. Wood will not be attending.”
    “What a good idea, Stone,” she said. “Now, will you be my attorney so that I can sue Mr. Woodie?”
    “I’m afraid I have a serious conflict of interest that would prevent my representing you. However, I’d be happy to give you some free advice and to recommend an appropriate attorney.”
    “What’s the conflict of interest?” Carrie asked.
    “I am so impressed with your beauty, your intelligence, and your quick wit that I would much rather take you out to dinner than take you to court.”
    She laughed. “I think I would like that, too,” she said. She opened a tiny purse and gave him a beautifully engraved card, and Stone reciprocated.
    “Now, give me the free advice.”
    “I don’t think you should sue Mr. Wood—at least, not right away. I think the dinner party incident will show up in tomorrow’s papers, and with nearly all the details. Mr. Wood can’t hold you responsible for that; he has only himself to blame. And who knows? You might even end up working for him some day, but under more favorable circumstances. Do you have your Equity card yet?” This referred to Actor’s Equity, the union representing stage actors.
    “No, but all I need is one job to get it.”
    “I think you are more likely to get that first job, if you don’t have a reputation for suing producers for sexual harassment. Anyway, having drawn a very firm line in the sand with Mr. Wood, you will henceforth have a reputation as an actress who does not brook unwanted advances from potential employers, and you will be treated with some respect.”
    “A good point,” she admitted. “I will take your advice.”
    “And, should you feel receptive to an advance at some point in the near future,” Stone said, “I will be around to fulfill that need in an entirely nontheatrical setting.”
    She smiled broadly at him. “We’ll see,” she said.

3
WHEN STONE ARRIVED at his desk the following midmorning, the New York Post was lying on his desk, open to the “Page Six” gossip column, which was not on page six. His secretary, Joan Robertson, had left it there and had conveniently highlighted the passage:
    Last night at dinner at the home of theater diva Gwen Asprey, the composer/producer Del Wood, whose reputation as a casting-couch Lothario is richly deserved, was given his comeuppance after having previously made advances on (including, we hear, a request for anal sex) and been rejected by a new girl in town, the beautiful and talented Carrie Cox. When Woodie, as he is known to some, began to tell the table of his thwarted attempt, Ms. Cox, who had, unaccountably, been seated next to him, dumped his own plate of red-sauce pasta into his lap and made a grand exit. The evening was greatly enjoyed by everyone present, except Mr. Wood. Incidentally, only that afternoon Carrie Cox had performed a brilliant audition for Mr. Wood and his backers that resulted in an offer of the lead in his new musical. Unfortunately, Woodie considered the transaction a trade instead of an offer, so the lovely Ms. Cox remains at liberty. (Other producers, take note!) Later in the evening, she was seen at Elaine’s in the company of local lawyer Stone Barrington. Out of the frying pan and into the fire!
    Stone thought that the piece was a remarkably accurate account of events, for a gossip column, and he was surprised to see a very good photograph of Carrie Cox, in balletic flight, accompanying it. He wondered where the paper had found it on such short notice.
    His phone buzzed. “Carrie Cox on line one,” Joan said.
    He picked up the phone. “Is this the beautiful and talented Carrie Cox?” he asked.
    “That’s what it says in the papers,” she replied, giggling. “You were right!”
    “I’ve seen the Post ,” Stone said. “How did they get it so accurately?”
    “There was a message from them on my answering machine when I got home,” she said, “and I played the tape for