“Would you like a drink?” I asked. “It’s a very well-stocked minibar.”

She looked thoughtful. This wasn’t a conversation. It was a game. A contest. A set of maneuvers. Every little thing, looking for an edge. We were in Midtown. The place was modern. Clean. Innocuous. $565, including taxes and fees. On my tab. For the moment. I pulled the little refrigerator open. “I wouldn’t trust the wine, maybe a gin and tonic, both generic enough that the brand hardly matters.” I selected them for her, knowing that men were no longer supposed to make choices for women, even in such small matters. Let her make a quarrel over something that small. I opened the tiny gin bottle and the pocket-sized tonic, found the glasses and the small ice bucket, and made the drink for her while I talked.

“There’s a story he loves to tell. About Art Buchwald. Buchwald had written a bunch of film treatments. He handed them in, got paid, and forgot about them. Then, one day, a friend of his, all excited, says, ‘Art, I saw your movie!’ Art doesn’t have a clue what the guy is talking about. His friend tells him the name of it. Art goes to see it, and sure enough, it looks like it came from his treatment. It’s Coming to America, with Eddie Murphy.

“Art tries to make a claim. The company, Paramount, says that it’s based on an original idea from Eddie Murphy, who has a ‘story’ credit in the film, and has nothing to with Buchwald’s treatment.”

I put her drink on the blond wood table beside her. Next to our two cell phones, both shut off, and the batteries out, just to be sure about it.

“Art can afford some top-notch lawyers and he doesn’t care ‘that you’ll never work in this town again.’ He sues. Eddie’s so-called original story is, in fact, a lot like Art’s story. That wouldn’t mean anything, but Art’s very lucky because he’s able to prove a direct line from his treatment to Eddie Murphy, even that Murphy read it, talked about it, saw multiple screenplays based on it.

“Art wins. This is near the peak of Murphy’s career. The film has grossed over $200 million, back when that was a lot of money. He goes to Paramount to get his percentage of the net profits. They laugh. There is no net. Art sues again. Eddie, testifying in court, explains that net points are ‘monkey points.’

“The judge says, ‘I want to look at the books.’ At that point, Paramount settles. Out of court. They are not going to let anyone look at their books.”

“And the point of that story is?”

“For me or for Beinhart?”

“What the hell,” she said with a sigh, halfway through her gin and tonic, “for both.”