Spinelli chuckled. "I mean right here and now. This is a very
well-equipped car." Leaning forward, he pressed his fingers against a
wooden panel on the rear of the front seat, and the panel swung open,
revealing a miniature bar within. "What about a Manhattan?" Spinelli
asked.
Laura was too astonished to answer the question, at first. Staring at
the bar in wonder, she said, "I didn't know automobiles could have
things like this."
"A custom job can. A Manhattan?"
"Oh--yes. Yes, thanks."
Spinelli took a glass from a rack and punched a spigot. Amber liquid
squirted out. "I keep Manhattans and Martinis readymade under
refrigeration here," he explained, as he took a cherry from a plastic
container and popped it into her drink. "It's a nuisance trying to mix
things while the car is moving." He filled a second cocktail glass with
a martini for himself, and they sat back. Laura sipped her drink, it
was delicious; and, in the big car, there were no jounces, no bumps.
The ride was serene.
Spinelli said, "I suppose you're wondering how I happened to get your
phone number."
"I suppose I am," Laura said.
Spinelli smiled amiably. "I have a number of friends around town who
keep me informed about promising newcomers," he said. "I like to know
about it whenever a lovely girl comes to New York--especially when
she's looking for a job in the entertainment world. One day last week
there was a call from one of my friends, a Mr. McCarten."
Laura stiffened involuntarily.
"Something wrong?" Spinelli asked easily.