Dishonorable Intentions (3 page)

O
n Monday morning, Stone had breakfast with his party, then hopped into an Arrington Bentley for the twenty-minute drive to Centurion Studios and his board meeting. Traffic was moving briskly at mid-morning as the car moved onto the freeway, and Stone settled in with the
New York Times
as the car motored smoothly along the route. Then it came to a full stop.

“What's going on?” Stone asked the driver.

“I don't know, Mr. Barrington. The GPS has a lot of red symbols ahead. Let me see what I can find out on the radio.” He fiddled with the tuning knob, and the two men listened to reports of a multivehicle pileup on the 405.

“This sounds bad,” the driver said.

Stone checked his watch. “My board meeting starts in fifteen minutes.”

“I think all we can do is just wait it out,” the driver said.

“How about if I hoof it?”

“It's probably an hour's walk, and if traffic starts moving again, you'll be in danger of being run down.”

Stone got out his cell phone to call Leo Goldman and explain his absence. “I can't get a connection,” he said. “Zero bars.”

“Sounds like we're in a dead zone,” the driver said.

Stone got out of the car and stood on the door sill for a little elevation. “I can't see a damned thing but parked cars.”

“This is L.A.,” the driver said.

Stone got back in and started on the crossword. Since it was a Monday, the easiest day, that took eleven minutes by his watch. He put his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes for a moment.

—

W
e're moving,” the driver said suddenly. “That's the longest tie-up I've ever had on the freeway.”

“How long have we been stopped?”

The driver checked his watch. “An hour and thirty-five minutes. The radio said eleven vehicles had to be cleared away.”

They arrived at the executive building at Centurion in time to see Leo Goldman Jr. and the remainder of the board getting into golf carts for the short trip to the studio canteen for lunch.

“Where the hell have you been?” Leo asked.

“Stuck on the freeway for an hour and thirty-five minutes—an eleven-car pileup.”

“That's not even near a record,” Leo said. “Hop in. I'll bring you up to date.”

Stone got in beside him. “I hope you didn't need my vote for anything important.”

“Nah, it was pretty routine, except for the Boris Tirov thing.”

“What happened?”

“We had a hell of a fight among ourselves. He had a couple of advocates on the board, but the rest of us were pissed off about the ass he made of himself on TV and in the
Times.
”

“I'm not surprised,” Stone said.

“Boris is sure going to be. His buddies on the board will have already hit him with the news.”

“He actually left Sony for the deal at Centurion?”

“There never was a deal here. He was assisted out of Sony with a pat on the back and a kick in the ass, and he was trying to save face and pressure us to let him move onto the lot. I don't think we'd even rent him office space at this point. The guy's a moneymaker, but he's an asshole. Everybody who's worked with him says so. I expect Gala has told you about that.”

“Gala doesn't like to talk about him, so I've heard only the bare minimum, and I couldn't find anything to like in that.”

They pulled up at the canteen, and everybody got out of the carts and went into the dining room, where a large table had been reserved for the board. Two of them hung back at the door, their cell phones glued to their heads.

“I'm glad I'm not a part of those conversations,” Leo said.

They took their seats, Stone next to Leo.

“Oh, and Ben Bacchetti was confirmed as senior VP in charge of production.”

“I'm delighted to hear it,” Stone said.

“The kid is going to be great. There hasn't been anybody that smart at the studio since me. Not that your kid isn't smart—he just doesn't have the ambition to run things, the way Ben does. All he wants to do is write and direct movies, and that's just fine with me—he keeps going like he is, and he'll be one of the greats.”

“Thank you, Leo. I'm glad to hear that.”

Leo's cell phone went off. “Goldman. He's where? I don't care what he says, I don't want to see him. And revoke his gate pass right now. I don't want him on the lot again.” Leo hung up. “That was our head of security. Boris Tirov showed up at the main gate, demanding to see me. The guard didn't like the way he sounded and called his boss, who called me. You heard my response.”

“Everybody at the table heard it, Leo,” Stone said.

“I wanted his buddies to hear it. Now no one will so much as mention his name to me again. Nothing like a little yelling to make a point.”

Stone laughed. “That works, does it?”

“You bet your sweet ass it works. I'm not going to spend my last couple of years here dealing with assholes. Life is too short, especially mine.”

“Are you unwell, Leo?”

“Let's just say I've been better. My doctor says I'll have a good year or two, then one day I'll clutch my chest and turn blue.”

“How about a transplant?”

“I'm not a candidate for that, and anyway, who wants to spend months in bed getting over it? I mean, Bob Altman got himself a new ticker on the quiet, and nobody was the wiser, not even the insurance companies, and he worked like a dervish for another ten, eleven years after his transplant. Tell you the truth, I'm not anxious to live all that long. I've had a great ride, I'll leave the studio in great shape, and if he's as good as I think he'll be, Ben will have a shot at succeeding me. Anyway, my wife would put me in the Motion Picture Home the minute I got to be a pain in the ass, and I don't want to sit around there in a wheelchair listening to old actors tell me how they were screwed out of the Oscar that time.”

“I don't blame you, Leo,” Stone said.

—

S
tone got back to the house at the Arrington in time for a swim and a drink by the pool with the Bacchettis, the Eagles, and Gala. And Bob, who was soaking wet.

“Boris didn't get his deal at Centurion,” Stone said to her in a quiet moment.

“I heard from him about it. He takes the view that you screwed him because of me.”

“I wasn't even at the meeting,” Stone said. He related his freeway experience. “I got there in time for lunch.”

“I don't think Boris will ever buy that,” Gala said. “Not for a minute. He's always liked having a bête noire in his life, somebody to blame for his failures, and now, it looks like you're it. I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” Stone said. “Anyway, what could he do to me?”

S
tone's son, Peter, arrived for pre-party drinks with Ben Bacchetti, and Stone sat them down in the library with his houseguests.

“Congratulations, Ben,” Stone said. “I missed the board meeting today, but I heard about it from Leo Goldman.”

“Thank you, Stone,” Ben said. “I signed my first production order today.” He raised his glass to Gala. “It's a wonderful script,” he said. “I'm not going to mess with it, and I'll see that nobody else does, either.”

“That's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me, Ben,” Gala replied.

“From now on, you have your agent send your ideas directly to me, and we'll cut some red tape.”

“I like having the ear of God,” she said.

“Peter,” Stone said, “Leo told me today that if you keep going like you have, you're going to be one of the greats.”

Peter laughed. “Hyperbole is Leo Goldman's native tongue,” he said. Peter took a sip of his drink. “Dad, there's something you should know.”

Ben broke in. “This one is my fault—let me tell him.”

“Okay, tell me,” Stone said.

“I invited Boris Tirov to the party tonight, at a time when I thought he would be the new guy on the lot.”

“Uh-oh,” Gala said quietly.

“I've tried to reach him, but he's not at home, and he's not answering his cell.”

“He must be smart enough not to show up tonight,” Dino said.

“Don't count on it,” Gala threw in.

“Well,” Dino said, “if he does show, Stone, as host, can just explain to him that he's no longer welcome.”

“Gee, thanks, Dino,” Stone said.

“I don't want to be anywhere nearby when that happens,” Gala said.

“Is he likely to make a fuss?” Stone asked.

Gala just rolled her eyes.

Stone excused himself for a moment and went into the living room, where he picked up a phone and called the head of hotel security.

“Yes, Mr. Barrington?”

“I'm having a party tonight at the house, and I've had word that there may be an unruly guest.”

“We can take care of that. I'll send a couple of men over.”

“Plainclothes, please, and ask them to handle it as discreetly as possible.”

“Of course. Our people are good at that. May I have the gentleman's name?”

“Boris Tirov.”

“Ah, yes, we had to remove that gentleman from the bar a couple of weeks ago. He took a swing at the film critic of the
L.A. Times
. Apparently, the man didn't like his movies enough. I'll have the main gate warn me when he arrives.”

Stone thanked the man and returned to his guests.

—

B
y seven o'clock most of the guest list had arrived, and servers were bringing platters from the kitchen to the buffet tables set up by the pool. Stone was in a conversation with Billy Barnett, who had become an important part of Peter and Ben's production company, when he glanced toward the hedge separating the pool from a guesthouse beyond and saw Boris Tirov step past the hedge, a drink already in his hand. “Oh, shit,” he said.

“What's wrong?” Billy asked.

“A disinvited guest has just snuck into the party.” He looked around for the security men and saw them on the opposite side of the group, where one would expect guests to arrive.

“Would you like me to speak to the gentleman?” Billy asked.

“No, I'll handle it myself.” Stone set his drink on a table and
walked around the pool, meeting Tirov before he could reach the crowd. “Good evening, Mr. Tirov,” he said, offering his hand. “I'm Stone Barrington.”

Tirov brushed the hand aside. “Ah,” he said, “the guy who torpedoed my deal at Centurion today.”

“You've been misinformed,” Stone replied. “I wasn't at the board meeting this morning.”

“You lying piece of shit,” Tirov said, swaying slightly. “I know who you are and why you killed my deal.”

Stone realized that the man was already drunk. “You never had a deal at Centurion,” he said, “but if I had been at the meeting, I would have done what I could to see that it didn't happen.”

Tirov threw his drink in Stone's face, momentarily blinding him, and swung with a wide left at his head.

Stone barely had time to see it coming, but he took a step backward toward the pool, coming close to stepping into the water. Tirov's momentum took him straight into the pool, making a huge splash.

Stone looked up to see Billy Barnett moving toward him, followed closely by the two hotel security guards. He looked back toward Tirov, who was flailing in the water. Stone wondered if the man could swim. He saw a life ring with a length of rope hanging on a post a few feet away, and he retrieved it and tossed it to Tirov. He certainly wasn't going in after him.

“Let security take care of it,” he said to Billy, taking his arm and steering him back toward the party.

“We've got this, Mr. Barrington,” one of the guards said.

“Take him out past the guesthouse and around to wherever he parked his car,” Stone said, handing the man the end of the rope. “If you think he's too drunk, drive him home.”

“Yes, sir. We'll take care of it.”

Stone took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face and clothes. It wasn't bad enough to require a change.

“Oh,” he said, turning to the guards. “Tell the front gate not to admit him to the grounds again, on my authority, and tell the restaurant manager not to take any further reservations from him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stone and Billy returned to the party. Ben approached. “I saw that,” he said. “I'm going to bar the guy from the studio.”

“Leo's already taken care of that,” Stone replied, “and he won't be welcome at the Arrington, either. Did you include any press for the party?”

“A couple of film critics.”

“Then they will already have phoned their papers. You'd better get studio publicity to make some calls, and if they can't kill the story, at least be sure they have the facts straight.”

“Good idea.” Ben reached for his cell.

Stone grabbed a new drink from a passing waiter.

“I've heard some nasty things about that guy,” Billy Barnett said. “You'd better watch yourself for a while.”

“I don't think he'll be a problem. He's going to come off badly in the press over his lost Centurion deal, and I think he'll want to lie low for a while.”

“The rumor is, he's connected to the Russian mob,” Billy said.

“Oh, God, not those people again,” Stone said, groaning.

“Don't go anywhere alone while you're out here,” Billy said. “I can arrange for studio security to hang with you, until you're ready to go back to New York.”

“Thanks, Billy, but I don't think that'll be necessary.”

Stone went to find Gala.

—

B
en put away his phone and approached Billy. “I heard that, Billy,” he said. “Good idea—put a couple of people on Stone, but not too closely. Keep them in the background.”

“Got it,” Billy said.