by Stuart Woods
Michael looked directly at him. “From what I know of Centurion’s history, its reputation and its success have been built on reasonably priced but high-quality motion pictures, pictures that have earned more than their share of Academy Award nominations and an excellent profit for the studio.”
“That is correct,” Johnson said.
“I’m afraid that seems to be changing,” Michael said.
“How so?” Geldorf asked.
“The current production schedule contains two projects that are very high-budget, indeed, and not, I’m afraid, what I’d consider high-quality.”
“Which are those?” Geldorf asked.
“Two untitled projects—a science fiction film and one about the Vietnam War.”
“Have you read the scripts of these productions?” Johnson asked.
“I have.”
“And have you seen the budgets and production schedules?”
“I have.”
“And what is your opinion of the chances for success of these productions?”
“Well, of course, both pictures could conceivably make a lot of money…”
“In your considered opinion, will they?”
“I think that both these projects are highly risky at best—more than the risk that usually runs with making motion pictures.”
“Why?” Geldorf asked.
“The science fiction film has a derivative script, and the opportunities for budget overruns are prodigious. Mr. Goldman expects to make this film for, I think, around eighty million dollars…”
“Which is twice the budget of Centurion’s most expensive productions, is it not?” Johnson asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“And do you think the film has a chance of coming in on budget?”
“A chance, perhaps; no more.”
“If you were producing this film, Michael, what budget would you realistically expect to need?”
“I don’t believe I could shoot it for less than a hundred and twenty-five million,” Michael replied.
“And what sort of domestic gross would you anticipate?” Johnson asked.
“Well, of course, it could go through the roof, but I think it would be unwise to count on more than a hundred and fifty million.”
“And would that figure cover production, prints, and advertising?”
“Not much chance of that.”
“So Centurion might be facing a loss on the film?”
“It very well could.”
“Michael, what do you think the chances are of the film doing as much as a hundred and fifty million?”
“Not good,” Michael replied.
“So Centurion could be facing a very great loss indeed on the film?”
“Quite possibly.”
“What about the Vietnam film? What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s a very serious look at the political consequences of that war.”
“Is there a demand for such a serious film at this time?”
“Possibly; I’m not at all sure.”
“Are there any other risks associated with this film?”
“It is to be shot in the Philippines, and although there has been an election recently, the communist insurgents are still very active, and there are many other difficulties associated with shooting that far from the studio.”
“I see. Have any other major productions been filmed in the Philippines?”
“Francis Ford Coppola’s film Apocalypse Now was shot there.”
“And what happened to the budget on that film?”
“It went completely out of control. There was a hurricane, illness, every sort of disaster.”
“Has that film ever made money?”
“I don’t know; I doubt it.”
“Michael, have you recently attended a screening of a new production called Drive Time?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think of it?”
“I don’t think it will be a great success.”
“Why not?”
“I think they began shooting with less than a good script.”
“This was Leo Goldman’s personal production, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Vincent,” Geldorf asked, “what sorts of films do you believe Centurion should be making at this moment in time?”
“I’m personally making the kind of movies that I think we should concentrate on,” Michael said. “Very tight budgets, no highly paid stars, high-quality writing. Films with low risk and high profitability.”
Geldorf continued. “Do you have an opinion as to whether Centurion could continue to make such films if under new ownership?”
Michael looked at Yamamoto, who smiled slightly.
“If good management were allowed to make good films without hindrance, yes.”
Harry Johnson stood up. “Michael, we are all grateful to you for your candor. Please be assured that your remarks will be held in the strictest confidence.” He shook Michael’s hand. Everyone stood.
Michael understood that he was dismissed.
An hour later, Michael was parked on a side street off Sunset when a limousine pulled up next to his car and the rear window slid silently down. Tommy Pro beamed at him from the rear seat of the big car.
“Aces, paisan,” he said. “Now Norman Geldorf will go and see Amanda Goldman.”
“Good,” Michael said.
“When does Goldman get back from New York?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Schedule a meeting in his office, okay?”
“All right,” Michael said.
The window slid up and the limousine moved away.
Michael drove back to Centurion and parked in front of the Executive Building. He ran up the stairs to Leo’s office. Leo’s secretary was sitting at her desk.
“Hi,” he said. “What time should Leo be back in the office tomorrow afternoon?”
“He always comes straight from the airport,” the woman said. “He should be here by four.”
“Good. Would you schedule a meeting for me at that time? It’s important that I see him the moment he gets back. Tell him I won’t take no for an answer.”
She flipped open a diary. “Four it is.”
Michael put a hand on the doorknob of Leo’s office. “Oh, there’s something I left in here yesterday; it’s on Leo’s desk.”
“Sure, go ahead,” she said.
Michael stepped into Leo Goldman’s office and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER
53
Michael looked up into the glazed eyes of Margot Gladstone and gave a little thrust. Margot’s eyes closed, and she whimpered.
“Again,” she said.
Michael complied.
Margot dissolved into a series of whimpers, climaxing quietly, as she always did. She collapsed onto Michael.
He held her against him, rubbing her back and shoulders while she continued her orgasm. It occurred to Michael that perhaps his secret in bed was that he derived his greatest pleasure from making women come, then come again and again. He rolled onto his side but remained inside her.
“That was a wonderful bit of weekend recreation,” Margot said, sighing. “I lost count of how many times I came.”
“Six or seven,” Michael said.
“Stop bragging,” she laughed.
“I’m hungry.”
“All right, all right, I’ll finish dinner.”
He had interrupted her in the kitchen and had taken her on a double lounge at poolside. Margot rose, pushed back her hair, and dove into the pool. She swam gracefully to the end, picked up a terrycloth robe, and strode toward the kitchen, dripping as she went.
He watched through the glass wall between the kitchen and the pool as she went about preparing their dinner.
When they had finished dining, Michael leaned back in his poolside chair and gazed at the stars. “That was wonderful,” he said. “What was it?”
“It was a caesar
salad, chateaubriand with béarnaise sauce, pommes soufflé, haricots verts, and Stock Exchange Pudding.”
“It was the last one I meant. What was it again?”
“Stock Exchange Pudding. When I was but a slip of a girl I had a job conducting guided tours of the London Stock Exchange. There was a corps of us girls, and we cooked lunches for ourselves—quite elaborate ones, sometimes. That’s where I got the recipe for the pudding.”
“It was superb.”
“So were you.”
“What would I do without you?” he asked.
“Funny you should mention that.”
“What?”
“Michael, you must remember that when I came to you I said I was serving out my time until my pension matured. You do remember.”
“Vaguely,” he replied.
“Well, next month I’m off.”
Michael was alarmed. “You can’t do that,” he said. “I can’t do this without you.”
She shrugged. “I was thinking of Mexico. I might buy a little place somewhere around Puerto Vallarta.”
“I won’t let you go. I can’t.”
“Michael, it’s been fun, but I can’t go on doing that job the rest of my life. I’ll be sixty in fewer years than I care to think about.”
Michael was genuinely panicked at the thought of losing Margot. She made his life work; she was the closest thing to a confidant he had ever had. “Suppose you were doing a different job,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean something better.”
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t derive the pleasure from producing that you do. Really, I wouldn’t.”
“Something bigger.”
She looked at him closely. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on? I know something is; I can always tell.”
Michael sat back and sipped his wine. He was a little tipsy—rare for him—and he was enjoying her company greatly. He was not enjoying the idea of having to replace her. He made a decision.
“All right, I’ll tell you.”
She curled up in her chair and waited.
“In a day or two, Leo will be out.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I’ll be running the studio.”
“Michael, you shouldn’t underestimate Leo’s influence with the board.”
“The board came to me. They’re worried about Leo—especially that he won’t consider an offer from the Japanese.”
“That I had heard about,” she said, “but do you know that Amanda’s trust has the biggest chunk of stock?”
“I do. The head trustee, Norman Geldorf, is in town right now. I met with him and Harry Johnson and…some other people this afternoon.”
“The Japanese?”
Michael nodded. “And a friend of mine.”
“Tommy?”
“You do keep up, don’t you?”
“I read the papers, and I hear more than you think at the office.”
“What do you hear?” he asked, a little worried.
“Oh, come on, Michael; you don’t have any secrets from me. We’re too close for that.”
“I have some secrets from everybody,” he said.
“Not from me.”
“Just which of my secrets do you know?”
“All of them,” she said. “I know how much money you have, where it is, and how you made it.”
“Where is it?”
“Well, you’ve moved it out of the Kensington Trust, but I know how it was invested there. What was it, three percent a week?”
Michael was taken aback. “What else do you know?”
“Oh, I’ve put the pieces together. I know about Callabrese and Moriarty. I’m damned sure you got rid of Rick Rivera, but I’m not quite sure how.”
Michael was flabbergasted, but he kept his composure.
“Oh, come on, Michael; that poker face won’t work with me. You know I know.”
“Well, this is an unexpected turn of events,” he said.
She held up her hands. “Now, Michael, you have nothing to fear from me, so don’t start thinking about somehow getting rid of me. I’ve watched you operate with total admiration. I mean, I’ve seen some operators in this town, but you are truly something special. You have the single most important quality that a successful producer can possess in this town: you are a complete sociopath.”
Michael stared at her silently.
She held up a hand again. “Please don’t take that as a criticism. I simply mean that you have no conscience whatever and that you will do anything necessary to get what you want.” She smiled at him. “Am I wrong?”
He smiled back. “You know me better than I thought.”
“It has been thrilling to watch,” she said. “If I had met you when I was twenty-five, you and I could have ruled this town together.”
“We still might,” Michael said. “How would you like to be chief operating officer of Centurion?”
Her eyebrows went up. “That’s a big leap from executive assistant,” she said.
“Honestly, Margot, do you think there is anyone in administration at the studio whose job you couldn’t do better?”
She laughed. “Michael, you know me better than I thought.”
“I do.”
“But there’s a problem here.”
“Nothing we can’t overcome.”
“So you get your way; you get Leo’s job, and you’re running the studio. Then Geldorf and Johnson sell out to the Japanese, and suddenly you’re not in charge anymore. You’d be working for them, just as you’re working for Leo now. And I don’t think you’d like that.”
“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I understand what Leo loves so much about running the studio. As he put it himself, he has the ability to make any movie he wants, without asking anybody.”
“The Japanese wouldn’t let you do that; not for long.”
“You’re right.”
“So what are you going to do?”
Michael smiled. It was wonderful telling somebody this. “I’m going to take Leo’s job, and then I’m going to fuck the Japanese.”
“And Tommy?”
“Tommy is my closest friend. He and I can work something out.”
“If you can do that, I’m with you,” Margot said.
“Then you’re with me.”
CHAPTER
54
Michael waited impatiently for the call from Leo’s secretary, and when it came, he made his own call. “Leo’s ready,” he said.
“We’re right behind you,” Johnson replied from his car phone. “We’re already inside the gates.”
Michael left his office and walked toward the Executive Building, taking his time, waiting for Johnson. As he mounted the steps to the building, the limousine hove into view. He continued through the lobby and up the stairs to Leo’s office.
“Hi,” he said to Leo’s secretary.
“He’s expecting you,” she said.
Michael knocked, then opened the door. Leo was sitting at his desk shuffling through some papers. He looked up. “Hiya, kiddo.”
“How was your trip?”
“Pretty damn good. I got some new distribution—sixty screens for first releases.”
“Congratulations.”
“What did you want to see me about?”
Before Michael could speak, Leo’s phone buzzed and at the same time, the door to his office opened. Harry Johnson entered, followed closely by Norman Geldorf.
Leo looked at them, puzzled. “I didn’t know you guys were in town,” he said. “Why didn’t you call?”
“There was no time, Leo,” Johnson said. “We have to talk.”
“Sure.” Leo waved them to chairs in front of his desk, and Michael sat down near Leo’s right hand.
“I’ll come right to the point,” Johnson said.
“Good,” Leo replied. He seemed unconcerned.
“Leo, the board is unhappy. We’ve met in your absence, and we’ve decided that it’s t
ime for you to step down.”
Leo stared at Johnson. “What?” he demanded.
“Board members with a large majority of shares concurred in this decision.”
Leo looked at Geldorf. “Did you buy into this?”
“I did,” Geldorf said.
“What about Amanda? What did she have to say about it?”
Geldorf looked away. “It is not her decision. As head trustee, it is mine alone.”
“You’re out of your fucking minds, all of you.” He turned to Michael. “You hear this? I’ve made these bastards richer and richer by the way I’ve run this studio, and now they’re stabbing me in the goddamned back.”
Michael looked down.
“Not a moviemaker among them,” Leo said, and his face was becoming very red. “How do they expect to run this place without me?” He looked at Johnson. “Or do you just expect to sell the joint to the Japs?”
“Maybe,” Johnson said. “They’ve made us another offer.”
“So why didn’t you consult me about it?”
“Because you’ve made it plain that you wouldn’t accept under any circumstances.”
Leo stared at him for a moment, then reached into his top right desk drawer and took out his gold-plated revolver. He put the gun to his head. “You know something? If I thought I couldn’t run this place better than the bunch of you and the Japanese put together, I’d blow my brains out right here and now.”
“Oh, come on, Leo,” Johnson said, exasperated, “don’t start with that old routine; I’ve seen it half a dozen times.”
Leo took the gun away from his head and pointed it at Johnson. “Okay, instead of me, I’ll do you.”
Johnson shook his head. “Leo, stop behaving like a child.”
Leo pulled the trigger. The gun went off, and Johnson spun sideways out of his chair.
“Jesus Christ!” Geldorf shouted. He pushed his chair aside and knelt beside Johnson.
Leo was standing, looking first at Johnson, then at the gun, a look of amazement on his face.
Michael saw his chance. He stood up, grabbed Leo by the wrist with one hand, then closed his other hand over Leo’s, running his finger inside the trigger guard. “Don’t do it, Leo!” Michael shouted. Then he jerked Leo’s hand around toward his head and pressed Leo’s trigger finger.
