“Like those two couples,” Stone said, nodding at a table in a less desirable part of the restaurant. They watched as one of the men, dressed in a silk suit and a pearl gray tie, offered the headwaiter money and had it refused.

“Tourists,” Cary said.

“Not your ordinary tourists,” Stone replied. “They’re wise guys.”

“Mafia? You know them?”

“I know the look. The suits, the women’s clothes. Just about everybody else in here is casual, but they’re dressed to kill. Here’s how it goes: the wise guys like places they’re known, where they’re known to be connected; they’re treated like princes—the best tables, the best wines on the house. Tonight, though, the ladies wanted to break out, wanted to come to De Niro’s restaurant and see him up close. The guys went for it, because De Niro is Italian, he’s their hero, and they’re already regretting it. They got the worst table in the house, and the headwaiter won’t be bought. They’ll sulk all through dinner, and it’ll be the last time for a while the ladies will get to go to a new restaurant.”

Cary laughed. A wonderful sound, Stone thought. “Do you deal much with Mafia guys?”

“Not unless there’s a homicide. My partner, Dino, grew up with them, though. Dino says that everybody he was in school with is either dead, in prison, or has his phones tapped by the FBI.”

“I’d like to meet Dino.”

“He’ll charm you right out of your pants,” Stone said.

She leaned close. “Only you can do that.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

They dined well, and Cary pointed out the regulars to him, told him who the producers and directors were. When coffee came, she was quiet for a while.

“That’s really strange, Barron not telling me that Sasha and I were going to be next-door neighbors,” she said finally.

“It really seems to bother you,” Stone said.

“It does. During the time I’ve been with Barron, he’s come to trust me on just about everything, I think, and then, when there’s something you’d think he would just naturally tell me about, he clams up. If Sasha’s stuff hadn’t got moved in there, I’d never have known about her buying the place.”

“Is Barron married?”

“Sure. He and Charlotte celebrated their twentieth anniversary last year. Now, that could have something to do with it. Maybe he didn’t want Dolly to know—but hell, that doesn’t make any sense either. How could he move her into the building and expect to keep it from Dolly? And why would he think I would tell her, anyway? I’ve never told her about anything else he’s done. I hardly know her.”

“What’s Charlotte like?”

“Straight arrow; utterly conventional. They were college sweethearts, and she worships the ground he slithers on.”