She wore a black suit and a heavy coat and boots to the meeting she had at ten o'clock that morning. She arrived by cab, holding on to her handbag and her briefcase, and by the time she got inside, she was sorry she hadn't worn a hat. Her face was tingling from the cold, and her ears were frozen.
The elevator stopped at the top floor, which the agency occupied in its entirety, and on the walls were an impressive collection of Chagall, Dufy, and Picasso, some pastels, one small oil, and a series of drawings. The agency was clearly doing well. And in the center of the room was a small Rodin sculpture.
Allegra was quickly ushered in to see the head of the agency, a small, round man with the faintest of German accents. His name was Andreas Weissman.
“Miss Steinberg?” He extended a hand, looking her over with interest. Her fine, blond, Anglo-Saxon looks couldn't help but catch his attention. He thought her very beautiful, and he was intrigued by her throughout their meeting, before the arrival of the author. And then finally, an hour later, he arrived, a man of perhaps some eighty years, but as sharp as anyone half his age. Jason Haverton was quick and witty and very shrewd, and Allegra suspected from looking at him that he had once been very good-looking, and even at his age he was still very attractive. They talked about the film industry generally for about an hour, and Jason Haverton very calmly asked her if by any chance she was related to Simon Steinberg. And when she admitted that she was, Haverton told her how much he admired his movies.
The two men invited her to lunch then at La Grenouille, and it was only when the main course came that they finally got down to business. Jason Haverton admitted to her that he had done everything possible to avoid this deal, and he had no interest whatsoever in having one of his books made into a movie. He thought it was prostitution at his age, but on the other hand he wrote less often than he had in the past, his readers were no longer young, and his agent felt strongly that selling a book for film was an ideal way to expand his audience again and appeal to younger readers.
“I'm afraid I agree with him,” Allegra said, smiling first at Haverton, then at Weissman. “It doesn't have to be a bad experience for you,” she went on, outlining several possible avenues to minimize the stress for him and make the deal more appealing. He liked what she had to say, and he was impressed with her. She was a smart girl, and a good lawyer. And by the time the chocolate soufflé came they were fast friends, and he told her he wished he'd met her fifty years earlier. He'd had four wives, but he claimed to no longer have the energy to acquire a fifth one.
“They're so much work,” he said with a twinkle in his eye that made Allegra laugh, and she could easily see why he had been so successful with women. He was intelligent and amusing, and incredibly charming. Even at his advanced age, there was something totally appealing about him. He had lived in Paris in his youth, and his first wife had been French, the next two had been British apparently, and the last one American. And she, too, had been a famous author. She had passed away a decade before, and although he had been involved with several women since, none of them had succeeded in luring him to the altar. “They take so much energy, my dear. Like fine racehorses, they're far too delicate, but so lovely to watch, and unbearably expensive. But they certainly do give one a great deal of pleasure.” He smiled at her, and she could feel herself melt as she looked at him. He made her want to put her arms around him and hug him. But she suspected easily that if she had, he would have pounced on her with glee, like a cat on a mouse who had been overcome with trusting emotions for the feline. Jason Haverton was clearly no pussycat. He was still very much a lion, even at eighty. And a very attractive one. It amused Weissman to watch him pursue her. They were old and dear friends, and he couldn't disagree with Jason's opinion of her. She was an extraordinary girl, and he wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear that Jason had at least tried to woo her. But she seemed too smart for him, and although she wore no ring on her left hand, she managed to convey, from small things she said, the impression that she was taken.
“Have you always lived in L.A.?” Jason asked as they sipped their demitasse and played with the last of their soufflés. It would surprise him if she had, there was something far more sophisticated about her, which suggested Europe to him, or the East of the United States at the very least. But she did, in fact, surprise him.
“I've lived in L.A. all my life, except when I went to Yale.”
“Then you must have remarkable parents,” he complimented her and them, and she smiled. He already knew who her father was and he thought, looking at her, that, spiritually in any case, Allegra was very much like him. Sensitive and sincere, direct and spare with words, but not with feelings.
“My mother is a writer too,” she explained. “She wrote fiction when she was very young, but she's been writing for television for years. She has a very successful show. But I think she always secretly regrets that she never went on to write a novel.”
“They must be very talented,” he said, far more interested in her than them, but still greatly intrigued by this beautiful young woman.
“They are talented,” she smiled. “And so are you,” she said, cautiously turning the conversation back to him, which pleased him most. Weissman watched her handle Haverton with both admiration and fascination. She was both wise and artful. And he said as much to her when the elderly author was finally picked up by his driver and taken home. He left, waving fondly at Allegra as though they were old friends, having agreed to most of the deal she had proposed to him. And the agent and attorney went back to Weissman's office in his limousine to discuss the fine points of the contract.
“You're very good with him,” he said, intrigued by her, and amused too. She was very young, but she was quick, and she had a natural instinct for people.
“That's what I do for a living,” she said without artifice. “Handle people like him. Actors are like children most of the time.”
“So are authors.” Andreas smiled at her; he liked her.
They spent the next two hours working out the deal, and what they both thought Jason Haverton should get. After they worked it out, Allegra said she'd call the movie company, and let him know their reaction. Hopefully they could finish the deal that week, possibly before she left New York on Friday. In the meantime, she had several other meetings scheduled on other matters, but she would be in touch with Andreas as soon as she heard something from California about Jason's movie.
“How long will you be here?” he asked her again.
“Till Friday, unless I get everything done before that. But I think it might be a good idea for me to be here while we work this out. I'm sure we're going to be getting some answers on this deal by Wednesday, at the latest.”
He nodded agreement with her, and then jotted down an address for her on a piece of paper from an Hermes scratch pad. Everything around him was of the finest quality. He was a man who liked the best of everything, even clients.
“My wife and I are having a little party tonight. One of my clients has an important new book, we think it could win a literary prize. But in any case, it's a good excuse for a small reception. I doubt if Jason will be there, but several of our clients will, and you might enjoy it.” He handed the paper to her with an address on Fifth Avenue, and his home phone number, and he told her to come anytime between six and nine o'clock that evening. They would love to have her.
“That's very kind of you,” she said. She'd enjoyed the time she spent with him that afternoon, and she liked the way he did business. He was sharp and precise, and beyond the polish and the European charm was a brilliant businessman who knew exactly what he was doing and stood for no nonsense. And Allegra liked that about him. She had always heard good things about him, and she had always had successful dealings with his clients.
“Try and come, you might get a taste of New York literary life, which could amuse you.”
She thanked him again, and left his office a few minutes later. It had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. When sh
e got out on the street, the snow had already turned to slush, and she slid slowly to the curb and hailed a cab to take her back to her hotel to make the calls she had to make to California.
It was five o'clock by the time she'd made all her calls from her hotel room, to begin the negotiations for Haverton's film deal. And an hour later, after she'd made some notes, she still hadn't decided whether to order room service or go to the party at the Weissmans'. It was freezing cold outside and she had brought nothing to wear except business suits and two wool dresses, and the idea of going out in the cold again was extremely unappealing. But on the other hand, meeting some of the local literary types seemed almost worth going out into the cold for. She thought about it for another half hour, as she watched the news, and then she got up hurriedly and went to the closet. She had decided to go to the Weissmans' party. She put on her only black wool dress. It had a high neck and long sleeves, and it was very flattering as it hugged her figure. She put on high heels and brushed her hair, and appraised what she saw in the mirror. Compared to the New York sophisticates, she was afraid she'd look like a bumpkin. The only jewelry she had brought with her was a gold bracelet her mother had given her, and a pair of plain gold earrings. She swept her hair back into a neat French twist, and put on some lipstick, before putting on her heavy coat again. It was an old one she had worn while she was in law school, whenever she went to the theater, but at least it was warm, even if it wasn't pretty.
She went down to the lobby and the doorman got her a cab, and by seven-thirty she was at Eighty-second Street and Fifth Avenue, right across from the Metropolitan Museum. It was a handsome old apartment building with a doorman and two elevator men, several big, dark red velvet couches, and a Persian-looking rug that kept her high heels from echoing on the marble floor of the lobby. The doorman told her that Weissman was on fourteen, and half a dozen people stepped out of the elevator as she got in it. They all looked like they had just come from the Weissmans' party, and she wondered if she was too late. But Andreas had said up to nine o'clock, and as soon as she got upstairs, she followed the noise. It was still very loud, so at least she knew the party was still going. She rang the bell, and a butler answered. At first glance, she could see that there were well over a hundred people there, and she could hear a piano playing somewhere in the distance.
She stepped inside and gave up her coat, as she looked around at the hallway of the elegant duplex. But it was the people who caught her eye. They looked totally New York in cocktail dresses and dark gray suits, a few tweeds, and everyone seemed to have excited eyes and looked alive, and as though they had a thousand stories to tell about a million places they'd been to. This was definitely not laid-back California. And for once there were no famous faces she recognized. She knew that the faces she was looking at were probably just as well-known, but in a different world from Hollywood, and they were intriguing to her because she didn't know them. She realized that she probably knew most of their names, and then as she looked around she saw Tom Wolfe and Norman Mailer, Barbara Walters and Dan Rather and Joan Lunden, and an array of illustrious figures sprinkled in among publishers and editors, professors, and writers. And there was a small group who someone said were curators from the Metropolitan Museum. The head of Christie's was there, and a handful of important artists. It was the kind of gathering that never happened in L.A., because there wasn't the available variety of important eclectic figures. In Los Angeles it was all people involved in “the industry,” as it was called, as though they made automobiles instead of movies. But in New York it was everything from theatrical designers, to actors from off-off-Broadway, to the heads of department stores, and important jewelers, mixed in with editors and writers and playwrights. It was a fascinating mix, and Allegra watched them all as she took a glass of champagne from a passing tray and was relieved to see Andreas Weissman in the distance. She made her way toward him in the library as he stood in front of the view of Central Park, talking to his arch competitor in the literary world, Morton Janklow. They were talking about a mutual friend, who had been one of Weissman's clients, and had recently died. It was a great loss to the literary community, they agreed, just as Andreas spotted Allegra, and came to greet her. In her black dress, and her upswept hair, she looked more serious than she had that afternoon. She looked incredibly beautiful and young, as Andreas Weissman watched her. She had a lovely, graceful way as she moved slowly toward him, holding her glass of champagne. Everything about the way she moved was elegant and fluid, it made him think of the ballet, and Degas paintings. Jason Haverton was right, Andreas Weissman thought with a private smile. He had called late that afternoon to say again that she was not only a good lawyer, but he thought she was exquisite. He had loved having lunch with her, and told Andreas that if it had been only a few years before, things might have been different. He said it in a wistful way that made his agent smile, even now, as he extended a hand toward Allegra. She seemed to inspire fire in men's hearts, even in the depths of winter.
“I'm so glad you could come, Allegra.” He carefully put an arm around her shoulders and guided her across the room to where another knot of guests stood. There were more faces she recognized, an important gallery owner she'd read about, a famous model, and a young artist. It was an incredibly mixed group, and exactly what she loved about New York. It was why people in New York never wanted to leave and come West. New York was much too exciting. Andreas introduced her around the room and explained to everyone that she was an entertainment lawyer from L.A., and everyone seemed happy to meet her.
Andreas disappeared then, and left her with her new friends. An older woman challenged her, and said she moved like a dancer. Allegra admitted to having done eight years of ballet as a child, and someone else asked if she was an actress. Two very handsome young men said they worked with Lehman Brothers on Wall Street. Several more worked at a law firm where she'd interviewed while she was at Yale. And her head was spinning by the time she made her way upstairs to the upper floor to see the spectacular view of the park, and meet more guests, and then came back to the lower floor again at nine o'clock. The party was still going strong, and a fresh group that looked like businessmen had just arrived, accompanied by an equal number of well-dressed women. Some of them had on fur hats, and all of them had perfectly done hair. It was a different look from L.A., with its face-lifts and its youthful look and its blond hair; this was a darker look, a more interesting one, with less artifice and less makeup, but with expensive clothes, a smattering of jewels, and serious, intense faces. There were a handful of face-lifts too, and bodies so thin they looked like pencils, but for the most part these were people accomplishing things, and affecting the world just because they'd been there. Allegra was fascinated by them, and the things they were saying. They talked about interesting things, and they were in fact interesting people. “It's quite something, isn't it?” a voice said just behind her, and she turned to see a man watching her, just as she had been scrutinizing the others around the room. He was long and lean, with dark hair, and the aristocratic look of a true New Yorker. And he was wearing the right uniform, a white shirt, dark suit, and conservative Hermes tie in two shades of navy, but something about him didn't match the way he looked. She wasn't sure if it was his tan, the spark in his eye, or the broad smile. In some ways, he looked more California than New York, and yet he didn't fit that description either. She couldn't figure him out, but as he sized her up, he was mystified by her as well. She seemed to fit in, yet there was something about her that made him think she didn't belong here. He liked coming to the Weissmans'—he always met the most fascinating people, from ballet dancers to literary agents to venture capitalists to conductors. It was fun just mingling with them, and trying to guess why they had come and who they were. He was doing that now, and getting nowhere. Allegra could have been anything from decorator to doctor. She was trying to guess what he did too, and she was debating between stockbroker and banker. And as she looked at him pensively, he smiled broadly.
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“I was just trying to figure out what you do, who you are, and where you come from,” he confessed. “I love playing that game here, and I always manage to guess wrong. You're probably a dancer, judging by the way you move and stand, but I guessed copywriter at Doyle Dane. How bad am I?”
“Pretty bad,” she laughed, amused by his game, as he was pushed a little closer to her by the crowd. He looked as though he had a good sense of humor, and he seemed totally relaxed with her as he looked her straight in the eye. “Maybe you're not too far off. I am in business, and I do a lot of writing. I'm an attorney,” she said, returning his gaze, and he seemed surprised.
“What kind of firm?” He pressed on, enjoying their guessing game. He loved figuring out what people did, and in New York, there was such a rich assortment of jobs and people. There was never a simple answer to any question, least of all to what one did. He guessed silently again, and figured corporate law. “I guess corporate, or probably something very serious like antitrust law. Am I right?” It seemed incongruous to him because she was very feminine and very pretty, and he liked the combination of a beautiful woman involved in serious business.
She laughed in answer, and he loved watching her. She had a gorgeous smile, incredible hair, and there was an immediate warmth about her. He could tell she liked people, and there was something very intriguing about her eyes. They said a lot to him about who she was and what she thought about. She was a woman of principle, he could tell, and firm beliefs, and probably strong opinions. But she obviously had a sense of humor too. She laughed a lot, and there was something very gentle and feminine about the way she moved her hands. And her mouth looked delicious.
The Wedding Page 10