Holly; the ambassador, to his relief, after Mirabelle’s comments, was at another table.
A large slab of foie gras had already been delivered to each plate, and a waiter was pouring Mondavi Reserve wines from California. “Given the new California laws,” Holly said, “I’ll bet the foie gras is from New York State.”
Introductions were exchanged with their dinner partners, and everyone fell upon the food, hardly bothering to chat.
The second course arrived, and the waiter announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the main course is Georgia fried chicken, and it is customary to eat it with your fingers, so silverware has not been provided for this dish.”
The Europeans at the table made positive noises and dug in. Stone turned to Holly, who had a mouthful of chicken. “Why are you really in Paris?”
“Tell you later,” she mumbled. “God, this is perfect fried chicken!”
After only bones remained of the chicken, the butler came into the room. “M’lords, ladies, and gentlemen, please turn over your place cards, rise, and find your new seats.”
Everyone did so and learned that they now had new tables. Stone found his card two tables over, and the ambassador was waiting for him to his left.
“Ah, Mr. Barrington,” she said, “I’ve missed you. How was the fried chicken?”
“Superlative,” Stone cried, “and the pâté before it.”
“A gift from Governor Jerry Brown, of California,” she said. “Apparently, he has to get rid of a lot of it.” A hand squeezed his knee.
Uh-oh, he thought; how am I going to handle this?
But the ambassador was doing all the handling, and she was making progress up his thigh. Dessert came, announced to be blueberry pie from Maine, and at the first bite Stone flew into a fit of coughing. The hand was already at his zipper as he excused himself from the table, still coughing, and made his way to a men’s room.
He hoped to God she didn’t follow.
18
B y the time Stone had returned to his table, dessert was gone, a small musical combo was playing, and everyone was dancing.
The ambassador took his hand from behind. “Dance with me,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. Stone took her in his arms, and they swirled to the music.
“Are you quite all right?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon, Linda, I inhaled some blueberry pie.”
The music changed to a slow ballad. She moved closer; being tall, her crotch met his. “Ah,” she said, “a response.”
“It would be caddish of me not to,” Stone said. He preferred this position to a hand under the tablecloth.
“We seem to be just the right relative heights,” she said, sounding a little drunk.
“I can’t complain,” he said, thrusting a little to please her.
“You are an attractive man,” she said.
“And you are an attractive woman.”
“Why don’t you stick around after the others leave?” she asked. “We can discuss our mutual attraction.”
“What a good idea,” Stone said. “Unfortunately, Ms. Barker seems to have Agency business to discuss, and she has preempted the remainder of my evening.”
“That is unfortunate,” she said. “Perhaps I should ring up Lance Cabot and have her recalled.”
Stone shook his head. “People would talk, and we can’t have that.”
She sighed. The music ended. “On another occasion, perhaps?”
“I would enjoy that.”
“I’ll see that you do,” she said, and was whisked away by another partner.
“May I have this dance?” Holly stepped into his arms. “What was that conversation about?”
“You. She suggested she might call Lance and get you yanked.”
“Jealous, is she? Then the stories I’ve heard about her must be true.”
“Oh? What have you heard?”
“That she was not unreasonably unhappy when she found herself a widow.”
“She struck me that way.”
“Would you like to hear what she’s said to be particularly good at?”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure you are her superior.”
Holly laughed. “I’m
A large slab of foie gras had already been delivered to each plate, and a waiter was pouring Mondavi Reserve wines from California. “Given the new California laws,” Holly said, “I’ll bet the foie gras is from New York State.”
Introductions were exchanged with their dinner partners, and everyone fell upon the food, hardly bothering to chat.
The second course arrived, and the waiter announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the main course is Georgia fried chicken, and it is customary to eat it with your fingers, so silverware has not been provided for this dish.”
The Europeans at the table made positive noises and dug in. Stone turned to Holly, who had a mouthful of chicken. “Why are you really in Paris?”
“Tell you later,” she mumbled. “God, this is perfect fried chicken!”
After only bones remained of the chicken, the butler came into the room. “M’lords, ladies, and gentlemen, please turn over your place cards, rise, and find your new seats.”
Everyone did so and learned that they now had new tables. Stone found his card two tables over, and the ambassador was waiting for him to his left.
“Ah, Mr. Barrington,” she said, “I’ve missed you. How was the fried chicken?”
“Superlative,” Stone cried, “and the pâté before it.”
“A gift from Governor Jerry Brown, of California,” she said. “Apparently, he has to get rid of a lot of it.” A hand squeezed his knee.
Uh-oh, he thought; how am I going to handle this?
But the ambassador was doing all the handling, and she was making progress up his thigh. Dessert came, announced to be blueberry pie from Maine, and at the first bite Stone flew into a fit of coughing. The hand was already at his zipper as he excused himself from the table, still coughing, and made his way to a men’s room.
He hoped to God she didn’t follow.
18
B y the time Stone had returned to his table, dessert was gone, a small musical combo was playing, and everyone was dancing.
The ambassador took his hand from behind. “Dance with me,” she said, and it wasn’t a question. Stone took her in his arms, and they swirled to the music.
“Are you quite all right?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon, Linda, I inhaled some blueberry pie.”
The music changed to a slow ballad. She moved closer; being tall, her crotch met his. “Ah,” she said, “a response.”
“It would be caddish of me not to,” Stone said. He preferred this position to a hand under the tablecloth.
“We seem to be just the right relative heights,” she said, sounding a little drunk.
“I can’t complain,” he said, thrusting a little to please her.
“You are an attractive man,” she said.
“And you are an attractive woman.”
“Why don’t you stick around after the others leave?” she asked. “We can discuss our mutual attraction.”
“What a good idea,” Stone said. “Unfortunately, Ms. Barker seems to have Agency business to discuss, and she has preempted the remainder of my evening.”
“That is unfortunate,” she said. “Perhaps I should ring up Lance Cabot and have her recalled.”
Stone shook his head. “People would talk, and we can’t have that.”
She sighed. The music ended. “On another occasion, perhaps?”
“I would enjoy that.”
“I’ll see that you do,” she said, and was whisked away by another partner.
“May I have this dance?” Holly stepped into his arms. “What was that conversation about?”
“You. She suggested she might call Lance and get you yanked.”
“Jealous, is she? Then the stories I’ve heard about her must be true.”
“Oh? What have you heard?”
“That she was not unreasonably unhappy when she found herself a widow.”
“She struck me that way.”
“Would you like to hear what she’s said to be particularly good at?”
“Whatever it is, I’m sure you are her superior.”
Holly laughed. “I’m
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