Son of Stone (31 page)

“You’re sure Mr. Janklow is better than someone on the coast?” Peter asked.

“He has a deal with Creative Artists Agency. If he feels they can help, he’ll go through them, but I thought I’d leave that up to him.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “Now I’m starting to get nervous.”

“Don’t be. You already know that Leo wants your film. The rest is haggling.”

Peter laughed. “Oh, something I forgot. If the film is released, I think we’ll have to come to some arrangement with the various unions and pay the actors and others at least union scale. I paid each actor a hundred dollars and got a release from everybody.”

“Smart move,” Stone said. “The studio will know how to handle that.”

Peter stood up. “I’ve got some reading to do,” he said. “I’ll see you at supper.”

 

 

At half past five Joan buzzed him. “Mr. Janklow on one.”

“Hello, Mort?”

“Stone, I’ve watched the first twenty minutes of the film, and I’m rapt. And, guess who just called me about another matter? Leo Goldman. I mentioned that I have a new client, and when he heard who, Leo went quietly nuts.”

Stone laughed.

“I’m overnighting the DVD to him, but he’s already made an offer, which I did not accept.”

“What’s the offer?”

“Ten million dollars for all the rights, plus five percent of the gross. Don’t worry, when he sees what I’m seeing, with titles and a score, we’ll do better.”

“What did he say about a limited license?”

“Exactly what I thought he’d say, but wait until tomorrow. I’ll hear from him by noon his time, maybe sooner, if he’s really excited.”

“When you talk to him again, tell him he has to make the various unions happy about the release, at his expense, and he has to pay Hattie Patrick, who wrote the score.”

“Good point.”

“Thank you, Mort. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”

“How old is your boy?”

“Eighteen.”

“I want to meet him.”

“Of course; we’ll arrange that.”

“He must be very smart, if he got into Yale.”

“You have no idea,” Stone said.

S
hortly after noon the following day, Stone got a call from Morton Janklow.

“Leo got back to me,” Janklow said. “We’re at twenty million and ten points.”

“Wonderful. How about the rights issue?”

“Seven years. I think that’s good. Peter will end up owning his film outright.”

“That’s perfect, Mort.”

“Leo is okay with dealing with the unions, and he likes the score, so he’ll pay Hattie Patrick a hundred grand. If Peter wants to give her or anybody else points, it has to come out of his end.”

“You’ve done a great job, Mort.”

“I’ll send Peter our representation contract to sign, and make sure he understands our commission is fifteen percent.”

“I’ll explain the facts of life to him.”

“If I know Leo, we’ll have contracts in a couple of weeks, and after we iron out the fine print, we should have a check in a month or so.”

“Thank you again, Mort.”

“When the contract is finalized, bring Peter to my office to sign, and he can meet some of our people.”

“I’ll do that.” Stone said good-bye and hung up.

Joan came in holding a letter. “This came from Bill Eggers,” she said, handing it to Stone.

“This is an outline of Arrington’s estate,” Stone said.

“That number,” Joan said. “Is that now yours?”

“Yes, except Peter gets it when I die.”

“Then I never have to worry about paying your bills again?”

Stone chuckled. “I’m sorry, but you do. I’m not touching this money.”

“I always thought you were nuts,” Joan said, “but now I know it.”

Stone laughed. “I want these numbers kept strictly between you and me,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else to see them.”

“Sure thing,” Joan said, then returned to her office.

Stone called Bill Eggers. “Thanks for your letter, Bill,” he said.

“It’s just a summary of what I talked about with you and Peter.”

“I don’t want the money,” Stone said.

Eggers was quiet for a moment. “Stone, listen to me: I understand that your feelings are still raw about Arrington’s death and that you feel you shouldn’t profit from her passing.”

“That’s very understanding of you, Bill. It’s exactly how I feel.”

“There’s something you’re not considering, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Arrington’s feelings on the matter. When I first met with her about her estate planning she told me that you would feel this way.”

“She knew me well.”

“She also told me that, if I could keep you from doing something foolish about the money, you would eventually come to your senses. It was her wish that you have the money; she wanted that very much, and you have to take her wishes into consideration.”

“If she’d asked me, I’d have told her how I feel about her money.”

“She already knew; that’s why she didn’t ask you.”

“If she knew that, why did she make this will?”

“Because she was smarter than you, Stone. She knew that, in time, you’d understand her wisdom and accept it.”

“That hasn’t happened yet,” Stone said.

“Give it time, Stone. Take a year or two, then think about it again. You’ll find satisfying uses for the money. Now I want you to promise me you won’t do anything rash, that you’ll consult me before you start disposing of the money, even to Peter. Just let it sit there and grow.”

Stone sighed. “Oh, all right. I’ll check with you before I give it all away.”

“By the way, you need to make a decision about developing the Bel-Air property as a hotel and let Mike Freeman know. He’s got investors and a management company on hold.”

“Good point,” Stone said.

“I think developing the property is a good idea,” Eggers said. “I can’t see you living in Bel-Air, and if you need to go out there, you’ll have a house on the hotel grounds.”

“I don’t really want that,” Stone said.

“Then the hotel can rent it in your absence.”

“All right, I’ll talk to Mike about it.”

“Stone, maybe you should take a vacation. How long has it been?”

“I don’t know, years, I guess, but Peter’s in school. When he’s out for the summer I’m going to take him up to Maine for a while and teach him to sail.”

“An excellent idea. Another idea: as I recall, you have the lifetime use of the house there, and then it reverts to the foundation, according to your cousin’s will.”

“That’s correct.”

“My bet is that the foundation would be very pleased if you bought the house from them now. Then they won’t have to wait for you to die to get their property. They’d only sell it then, anyway. That would be a good use of your inheritance, and Peter will always have the house.”

Stone brightened. “You’re right, Bill, that would be a good use of the money. I’ll get in touch with them and make an offer for the property.”

“Good man. Now I have to go back to work.”

“Thank you, Bill. I feel better now.”

“Just remember your promise.” Eggers hung up.

Stone didn’t wait. He looked up the name of the foundation president, called him and made him an offer for the house. The man said he’d discuss it with his board and get back to Stone.

Next, Stone called Mike Freeman.

“Good morning, Stone. My men are on the job.”

“Yes, I know, Mike, and thank you. I called about something else, though.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Arrington left me the Bel-Air property. I want to proceed with the hotel development.”

“I’m delighted to hear it,” Mike said. “I’ll let the investors and the management company know.”

“Mike, you obviously think this development is a good investment, or you wouldn’t be involved in it.”

“I think it’s an outstanding investment,” Mike said. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t be putting Strategic Services’ money into it.”

“How much, total, do we need to raise to complete the project?”

“Half a billion dollars,” Mike said, “plus the property purchase. You could lease it to the company to make it easier for them.”

“How much is Strategic Services investing?”

“A hundred million.”

“I’ll invest two hundred million, and that way, you and I will keep control of the project. I’ll keep title to the land and lease it to the company.”

“That’s wonderful, Stone. I’ll get in touch with the others and put it to them, and we’ll make you an offer on leasing the property.”

“Good, Mike,” Stone said. “Get back to me, and we’ll work it all out.” He hung up, and reflected on his day’s work. Making these decisions had actually made him feel better, and not just about the money. To his surprise, he felt something he hadn’t felt since Arrington’s death: enthusiasm.

P
eter got home from school a little early and came in through Stone’s office entrance, closely followed by his two security men. Hattie was with them.

“Thanks, fellas,” Stone said to the guards. “You’re done for the day. Same time tomorrow morning.”

The two men said good-bye to Peter and Hattie and left.

Peter flopped down on Stone’s office sofa, and Hattie sat beside him and held his hand.

Stone reflected that he was going to have to reintroduce the subject of sex to Peter. These two couldn’t stay out of bed with each other for much longer; that was obvious.

“So, Peter, now that you’ve finished your film, what’s your next project?”

“I want to write a play, so that I’ll arrive at Yale with something to show them.”

“Really good idea,” Stone said. He fished around among the papers on his desk and found the representation contract that Mort Janklow had sent over. “There’s something here for you to sign,” Stone said, handing it to Peter.

“What is it?”

“It’s a representation contract with the literary agency of Janklow & Nesbit. I’ve been over it with Mort and made a few small changes. The most important thing you have to know is that the agency’s commission is fifteen percent.”

“It used to be ten percent, didn’t it?”

“Times have changed. Sign both copies at the bottom and date them.”

Peter did so.

“Good. That means your first commission payment to Mort will be three million dollars.”

“That’s fifteen percent of twenty million dollars.”

“What are you talking about, Dad?”

“Twenty million dollars is what Centurion Studios are paying you for your film, if you approve.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open.

“Oh, and it’s not an outright sale; you’re licensing them the rights to the film for seven years, then you can either extend the license for a further payment, to be agreed upon, or the rights revert to you. Centurion will square everything with the unions before the release. By the way, Hattie, they’re offering you one hundred thousand dollars as a fee for writing the score.”

“Yes!” Hattie shouted, and she and Peter exchanged a high five.

“When are they going to release the film?” Peter asked.

“That’s still to be determined by the studio, but don’t expect it to be the Christmas movie at Radio City Music Hall.”

“Why did they pay so much?” Peter asked. “I was hoping for maybe half a million.”

“Three reasons: first, because they like it and they know it would have cost them twice that to produce it themselves; second, because they think they will make a lot of money on it; and third, because you have a very good agent.”

Peter and Hattie were hugging.

 

 

Tim Rutledge stood outside the house in Turtle Bay and watched the two large men hustle Peter Barrington and a young girl into the downstairs law office. A couple of minutes later, the men put the car into the garage, then left, walking toward Third Avenue. Rutledge took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled in a rush. Now was the time; it wouldn’t get any better. He would be in Mexico tomorrow.

He unbuttoned his coat to access the shotgun, which hung by a strap from his right shoulder. The weapon was loaded and racked; all he had to do was release the safety and fire, after he had had a few words with Mr. Barrington. He wouldn’t kill Barrington, just his son. Then the man could live the rest of his life with his grief. He started across the street toward the downstairs door of the house.

 

 

Inside, the doorbell chimed, and Joan reached for the button that released the door. She was expecting Herbie Fisher, who had requested a meeting with Stone. She pressed the button.

She heard the door open, and a man she had never seen walked in, pulled back his coat, and pointed a shotgun at her. “Be quiet,” he said. He walked to her desk, unplugged her telephone, and took it with him. “If you leave this office, I’ll kill you, too,” he said, then he disappeared down the hall toward Stone’s office. Now Joan knew exactly who he was, and there wasn’t time to dig out her cell phone and call the police.

Stone looked up and saw a man coming down the hall, carrying a shotgun in a firing position. He stood up as he recognized Tim Rutledge—bearded, but himself, nevertheless.

Peter and Hattie jumped to their feet, too.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Barrington,” Rutledge said.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rutledge,” Stone replied. “How much time would you like to do?”

Rutledge looked confused. “What?”

“One to five for assault, five to twenty for manslaughter, or life without parole for first-degree murder?” Stone was playing for time; he didn’t know what else to do. “Also, New York State has the death penalty.”

Rutledge took a moment to sort that out, and Stone saw Joan come out of her office and begin to creep silently down the hall.