by Stuart Woods
“Status is everything in this town,” she replied. “I can pick and choose among our invitations—and we’re invited everywhere. I can lunch with a Nobel laureate; I can give a boost to any charity I choose. Leo makes all that possible.”
“And I suppose his money doesn’t hurt.”
“Money has nothing to do with what Leo does for me. I’m richer than he is.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Leo is the perfect man for a rich woman to be married to, you know; he’s an excellent tender of my money. Since we’ve been married, he’s increased my fortune many times over. If we were divorced, I’d have to pay him alimony.”
“How did he do this?”
“With the studio.”
“Your money is invested in the studio?”
“My money practically controls it. The trust my father set up for me owns nearly half the stock, and Leo’s bit puts us over the fifty-percent mark. Not many people know that; Leo likes for the town to think that he’s in personal control.”
“I guess that must keep him in line.”
She laughed. “It certainly does. I can promise you, in all the years we’ve been married, Leo has never slept with another woman. He knows that if he did and I found out about it, I could cut his dick off, and the size of a man’s dick is everything in this town.” She laughed even louder. “A woman I knew, who before she died was a very important hostess in this town, was being wheeled into the operating room for surgery, and she said to her husband, who was walking along beside the gurney, ‘Whatever they do, don’t let them cut off my dick.’”
Michael laughed appreciatively. “And what is it you give Leo, besides money?”
“I’m the smartest and best hostess in this city, maybe the country. You should know; you’ve been to my house often enough. I make Leo look like the king he likes to think he is. I cater to his every vanity. I order his clothes, I choose his food and wines, and of course, there’s the sex.”
“How is that?”
“Well, we’ve been married a long time. Leo is happy with an occasional blow job, and I’m an ace at that, as you well know.”
“I know. Doesn’t he do anything for you?”
“Why do you think I’m fucking you?”
“I’m glad to be of service.”
She rolled over. “I didn’t mean to sound hard; it’s more than just sex. If I let myself, I could fall very much in love with you.” She shrugged. “Hell, maybe I already am.”
“That’s the nicest thing I’ve heard since I came to L.A.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“What do you think of me?” Michael asked. “I’d really like to have your blunt opinion.”
She looked up at him. “I think you’re more than just a young man on the make. I think that, in a few more years, you could become a legendary moviemaker, right up there with the best of them. I think, if you play your cards right, you could rule this industry.”
“Thank you, I have to agree.”
They both laughed.
“Amanda, apart from loving me, do you like me?”
She smiled. “I do.”
“That’s a relief,” he sighed. “I’d like to think I’m more to you than a good fuck.”
“You are.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Probably as much as I trust anybody.”
“Then there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What?”
“I wouldn’t have brought this up, but I had no idea about your financial involvement in the studio.”
“What is it, Michael?”
“I think there’s major trouble brewing at Centurion.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Has Leo told you about the Japanese offer?”
“Yes. He said it was inadequate.”
“Suppose they made it good enough? What do you think Leo would do?”
“I hope he would take it.”
Michael shook his head. “I don’t think he would take it under any circumstances.”
“Any circumstances?”
“I think Leo likes running the studio so much that he’s too emotionally involved to make a good business decision.”
“God knows, he loves running the studio,” she agreed.
“There’s more to this. Leo is getting into a couple of very expensive projects—the sort of thing that he’s always saying he doesn’t like.”
“You mean the science fiction film?”
“Yes. I’m alarmed at the amount of development money that’s gone into it without a finished script. Then there’s the Vietnam movie; it would have to be shot in the Philippines, and you know how shaky the political situation is there.”
“Well, he’s always felt strongly about Vietnam, but that does sound risky.”
“I think there’s some restiveness among the board members about those two films and about the Japanese offer.”
“How much restiveness?”
“It’s hard to say. I’m operating on instinct here.”
“And what do your instincts tell you?”
“That the potential exists for a major debacle. If Leo proceeds with both these projects, while at the same time refusing even to consider an offer for the company that interests the board, then…”
“Then, what?”
“Then there could be a boardroom rebellion.”
“So what? Leo and my trust together have an absolute majority.”
“That’s not the only consideration. Centurion borrows to finance its films, just like all studios. In fact, its debt is heavier than most. If several board members decided to sell their stock to the Japanese outfit, the banks are going to take it as an indication of a lack of faith in Leo’s management, and things could get very shaky indeed.”
“Are you seriously worried about this, Michael?” She looked very worried indeed.
“Look, I’m sorry; Leo’s no fool; he can handle the situation. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, no, I’m glad you did. I should know about these things, and Leo isn’t telling me.”
“For God’s sake, don’t bring this up with Leo. He might figure out where you got the information.”
“I’ve got to do something,” she said.
“Don’t say a word to Leo, whatever you do. I’ll keep you posted on developments. Then, if things get serious enough, you can say that you were approached by some of the board members, who gave you the information.”
“That’s very sweet of you, Michael,” she said, stroking his cheek. “I know how loyal you are to Leo. I know you would never do anything to hurt him.”
“Of course not. I’d like to keep him out of trouble, but he’s just not willing to take anybody’s advice about the situation. I hesitate to say it, but I think there’s a touch of megalomania in Leo these days.”
“There always has been,” she said.
“Let’s change the subject.”
“What subject did you have in mind?”
He leaned over and bit a nipple lightly.
“Ooooh,” she moaned. “That subject.”
CHAPTER
51
Michael sat in Leo’s private screening room, adjacent to his office, and watched the studio head’s latest personal production, Drive Time, a comedy.
“What do you think?” Leo asked when the lights came up.
“I think it’s going to do business,” Michael said.
“Is that it?”
“Leo, I won’t bullshit you; it’s like Inside Straight in that it’s not going to pull any nominations, but it’s going to do business. It’s a good movie; I liked it.”
“Good,” Leo said, sounding relieved. “I’m getting some flak from Harry Johnson about my personal stuff. He and I have never agreed on movies; now he’s hoping I’ll fall on my face with the sci-fi movie.” He beckoned to Michael. “Come on in my office for a minute.”
Michael followed Leo into his huge private office. The
storyboards for the science fiction movie were stacked against a sofa. The movie still had no name.
“Have you seen these, Michael?” Leo asked, waving his cigar at the storyboards.
“Of course, Leo; I was at the presentation yesterday, remember?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. I want your honest opinion. If I can make the movie that’s on these storyboards for, say, eighty million—and that figure is strictly between you and me—what do you think it’ll do in the U.S.?”
“Leo, have you ever known me to be overoptimistic about grosses?” Michael asked.
“No, never.”
“Good. So believe me when I say I think it’ll do a hundred and seventy-five million domestic. God only knows what it’ll do worldwide, maybe two hundred fifty million?”
Leo’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I think,” he said. “You know damned well I’m down on blockbusters, but this one I’m willing to bet the farm on.”
“You may have to, Leo.”
“You mean the board? They’ll bitch and moan until they see the grosses, then I’ll be their hero again.”
“I think you’re right, Leo. If I were in your shoes, I’d go the whole hog.”
“Well, that’s something coming from you, kiddo, stingy as you are with a budget.”
“You can’t do low-budget sci-fi,” Michael said.
“I’m thinking of putting the Vietnam film into turnaround,” Leo said.
“Why?”
“Well, you know how nuts the Philippines have been, politically.”
“They’ve had a successful election,” Michael said. “The right man won; the communists seem to be in retreat. It might be a good time.”
“You think so?”
“Do you know anybody in the State Department?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact.”
“Call him; ask him to talk to somebody on the Philippines desk; see what’s happening.”
“Good idea. I’d really hate to stop work on the film; I think it could be great.”
“So do I. It would be worth a little hassle in the Philippines to get a great movie made.”
“Johnson, that cold-eyed Scandinavian son of a bitch, was on the phone this morning about these two films. I don’t know what’s got into the old bastard; he always used to back me on everything. It’s not like we’re losing money.”
“Fuck him,” Michael said. “Make the movies you want to. Why else be the head of a studio?”
“You’re right about that, kid,” Leo said with vehemence. “That’s why I could never sell this place. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be able to make any movie you want, and without anybody’s permission?” He walked over and sat down at his desk.
“Almost,” Michael said. “You’ve been that good to me.”
Leo reached into his top desk drawer and removed a small revolver, gold-plated. He flipped the cylinder open and showed Michael that it was loaded. “You know what I’d do if I had to let somebody like Johnson tell me what movies I could or couldn’t make?” He held the pistol to his temple.
“Leo…” Michael said.
Leo pulled the trigger.
Michael was halfway out of his chair before he realized that the gun had not gone off.
“Heh, heh,” Leo chortled. “Had you going, didn’t I?” He tossed the revolver across the desk to Michael.
Michael opened the cylinder and extracted a cartridge. It looked real enough, though it felt a little light.
“Special effects made them for me years ago,” Leo said. “The pistol is one of only two made special by Smith and Wesson. Eisenhower owned the other one.”
Michael took the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and carefully wiped the pistol. “It’s beautiful, Leo.” He placed the weapon on Leo’s desk.
“Oh, I’ve got the real ammo, too,” Leo said, holding up a handful of loose cartridges, then dropping them back into the drawer with a clatter. “If ever some nutcase gets through security and into this building, I’d like to have a piece nearby, you know?” He put the weapon back into the drawer.
“I hope you have a permit, Leo.”
“Sure I do; I can even carry it as a concealed weapon, but I’m not as paranoid as all that.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Guns are dangerous.”
“You’re right, of course. I mean, I’m no NRA enthusiast like Chuck Heston, for instance, but I think a man ought to be able to own a piece for his own protection.”
“A responsible man, yes,” Michael replied. He looked at his watch. “I’d better get back to my office; I’m due to look at the first advertising ideas for Inside Straight.”
“Let me know when they’re ready for me to see,” Leo said.
“Sure,” Michael replied. He left Leo’s office wondering what it would be like not to have to go to anyone for approval of anything, ever.
Margot gave him his messages. “I put the ad people in your office,” she said.
“Right,” Michael replied, flipping through the messages.
“How did the screening go?” Margot asked.
“I thought it was okay. Leo put a gun to his head when it was over.”
Margot laughed. “The gold-plated one?”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s been doing that for years, every time he wants to make a point.”
Michael looked at her. “Why don’t you come over this weekend and cook you and me dinner?”
“Why not?” Margot said, smiling.
Michael was spending a lot of afternoons with Amanda, but he still enjoyed Margot on a Saturday night.
CHAPTER
52
Michael walked into the Beverly Hills Hotel, through the main lobby, and out into the rear gardens. A housemaid directed him to Bungalow Four. A Japanese man answered the door.
“I am Michael Vincent.”
The man bowed, then ushered Michael into a living room. At one end of the room a large dining table was surrounded by several men, all but three Japanese. Harry Johnson stood up and approached Michael, his hand out.
“Hello, Michael,” he said, beaming. “Thank you so much for coming.”
Michael nodded noncommittally.
“Please let me introduce you to these gentlemen.”
Everyone at the table stood.
“This,” said Johnson, indicating a white-haired Japanese man, “is Mr. Matsuo Yamamoto, head of the company that bears his name.”
The Japanese bowed. “How do you do, Mr. Vincent,” he said, and his English was vaguely British.
“How do you do?” Michael replied, bowing slightly as he had been told to do.
“This,” Johnson continued, “is Mr. Yamamoto’s consultant, Mr. Yasumura.”
A stocky, low-browed man standing next to Yamamoto bowed, but said nothing.
There were three other Japanese, two of whom seemed to be management types; the third seemed somehow less business-oriented. Johnson then introduced the two Caucasians standing at the table.
“This is Norman Geldorf, chairman of Geldorf and Winter, investment bankers.”
Geldorf shook Michael’s hand but seemed very reserved.
“And this is Mr. Thomas Provensano, an associate of Mr. Geldorf.”
Tommy Pro stuck out his hand. “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Vincent; I’ve heard a great deal about you.”
Johnson indicated a chair. “Please sit down.”
When Michael had done so, he waited for Johnson to speak again.
“I’ve asked you to come here, Michael, to help resolve some concerns expressed by some of the board.”
Michael finally spoke. “Harry, you are the only board member I see here.”
“I am, Michael, but Mr. Geldorf is the chief trustee of a private trust which owns forty-five percent of Centurion stock.”
Michael looked surprised. “I was not aware that anyone but board members owned any Centurion stock.”
“That is probably what Leo Goldman wished you to think,” Joh
nson said.
“I was under the impression that Leo owned a controlling interest.”
“Not exactly. Leo votes a controlling interest, but, you see, he currently votes the trust-owned shares, in addition to his own.”
“I see,” Michael said, taking care to look surprised.
“This meeting was called so that I could present Mr. Geldorf and Mr. Provensano with an up-to-date account of the present condition of Centurion.”
“I see. Is Mr. Yamamoto to be given this information, as well?”
“Now, Michael, Mr. Geldorf and I represent between us voting control of Centurion, and we felt it altogether proper for Mr. Yamamoto and his associates to share this information.”
“Does Leo know about this?” Michael asked.
“He does not; Leo is in New York today. Mr. Geldorf and I thought it best to consult with Mr. Yamamoto in Leo’s absence.”
“Well, I suppose you have that right,” Michael said.
Geldorf spoke for the first time. “Mr. Vincent, on behalf of the trust I administer, I would like to know your opinion of the current production schedule of Centurion. Excepting your own productions, of course. I have been very glad to hear of their contribution to the studio’s profits.”
“My opinion?” Michael asked.
“Please. You are the only active production executive on the board besides Mr. Goldman, and we would like to have your views.”
Michael hesitated artfully.
“Michael,” Harry Johnson said, “I know very well the loyalty you must feel to Leo, but surely you feel a loyalty to the studio as a whole.”
“Of course,” Michael said. “Centurion has made it possible for me to do successful work.”
“Then please believe me when I tell you that it is entirely in the studio’s best interest that you be as frank as possible in your opinions of the production schedule.”
Michael looked at Johnson and Geldorf. “Do I have your absolute assurance that what I say will be held in the strictest confidence?”
“You do,” Geldorf and Johnson said together.
Michael looked at his reflection in the polished table. “I…have some concerns about the direction the studio is taking,” he said.
“What concerns?” Geldorf asked.
