by Stuart Woods
“I don’t know.”
“If I were you, I’d wait for her to bring it up. No point in getting her upset now.”
“You have a point.” Keener hung up.
Peter and Arrington appeared in his office, Peter dressed in a sweater and an open shirt.
“Where’s your necktie?” Stone asked.
“The headmaster told me not to wear one.”
Stone shrugged. “Okay. Peter, for purposes of this interview, your mother and I have decided to style ourselves as Mr. and Mrs.”
“Whew,” Peter said. “That’s a relief.”
“In fact,” Arrington said, “Stone and I have decided to make that styling permanent, and quite soon.”
Peter smiled broadly. “Then I won’t be a bastard?”
“Peter!” his mother said.
Stone laughed. “I don’t think you’d better bring that up again, and especially not at the school.”
They got out of a cab at Knickerbocker Hall, which occupied a large building in the East Nineties.
“It looks very well kept up,” Arrington said.
“They must have a big endowment,” Stone replied. “I imagine we’ll be hearing a lot about that.”
“You mean, we’ll have to make a contribution to get Peter in?”
“Oh, I think they’ll be more subtle than that,” Stone said.
They climbed the front steps and made their way to the administrative offices. Someone took their coats, then Arthur Golden, the headmaster, met them in the reception area and introduced himself. “Peter and I have already met, of course. This is a good time for our tour, since everyone is in class. In forty-five minutes, the bell will ring, and all hell will break loose.”
He led them down the main hallway, and they peeked into two or three classrooms. “The classes are quite small,” Arrington said.
“We’re proud of that,” Golden said. “Never more than twenty, and more often, fifteen or so.” He showed them the science labs, which were impressive, then he opened a large door that led to the next building.
They saw a life art class, featuring a not-quite-nude model, and a sculpture gallery. Then they went through a door and emerged into the balcony of an auditorium from which all the seats had been removed. A set had been constructed, and a student director was speaking with a small group of actors.
Golden pressed a finger to his lips.
Peter hung over the rail of the balcony to get a better view, and they all watched the scene performed. Golden led them out into the hall. “That will be filmed later; they have to move the camera from another set.”
“You have only one camera?” Peter asked.
“Two are being repaired,” Golden replied. “It seems they’re always in the shop. And they’re not digital.” He led them through another door that led to a corridor containing a number of rooms that were used as editing studios.
“You’re still using Moviolas?” Peter asked, referring to the editing machines.
“We have a Steenbeck,” Golden replied, “but we need new equipment.”
After their tour they returned to Golden’s office, where they were offered tea.
“We’d like very much to have Peter as a student here,” the man said. “I’ve talked about his situation with some of the faculty, and we think that his time should be divided equally between film classes and courses from the university curriculum for the freshman year.”
“I’ve already taken most of those courses,” Peter said.
“I saw that from your transcripts, but we think you need more history, a philosophy course, and a language.”
“I’ve been tutored in French,” Peter said, “but I never had a course at school.”
“We’ll evaluate you to get a sense of your level, and go from there,” Golden said. He handed Stone an envelope. “Here is a schedule of our fees.”
“Peter,” Stone said, putting the envelope into a pocket, “is Knickerbocker your choice?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” Peter said. “It certainly is.”
“Then you may join us at the beginning of the next semester, in January,” Golden said, “and we look forward to having you as a student, Peter.”
Everyone shook hands, and on the way out Golden said to Stone and Arrington, “Frankly, considering what I’ve seen of Peter and his record, I’m not sure how long we can hold on to him before he’ll be going to Yale.”
S tone and Arrington left Peter at the house, then took a cab down to City Hall, where they stood in line for a marriage license. Stone saw a man with a camera in a corner of the room and stepped between him and Arrington. “Just act natural,” he said to her. “This will be over soon.”
They left the building with their license in hand, and the man with the camera followed them, but Stone made sure he shielded Arrington and that his back was to the camera.
“Who was that man?” Arrington asked when they were in a cab.
“I don’t know. He’s probably a stringer for one of the columns, looking for celebrities.”
“Do you think he recognized us?”
“You haven’t been in the papers much since Vance’s death,” Stone said. “It’s more likely that he might have seen me at Elaine’s. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
They joined Dino at Elaine’s, and Stone told him they had a marriage license. “That’s good news,” Dino said. “Eduardo will want to know that. Do you mind if I tell him?”
“No, go ahead,” Stone said, and Arrington nodded. “I’m looking forward to meeting Eduardo,” she said.
20
T he following day Stone was working at his desk when Joan buzzed him. “Eduardo Bianchi, on line one,” she said.
Stone picked up the phone. “Hello, Eduardo,” he said.
“Good day, Stone,” Eduardo replied in a voice still youthful, given his great age. “I’m so happy you are joining my family and me for Christmas dinner.”
“Arrington and I are looking forward to it,” Stone replied, “and she’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“I wonder if I may tender an invitation of another kind?”
“Of course.”
“Dino has told me of your plans to marry soon.”
“That’s right, we got a license yesterday.”
“There will be an official present at our Christmas dinner who would be pleased to marry you, I’m sure, if you can come half an hour early.”
“What a lovely thought,” Stone said. “I’d be delighted, and I’m sure I can accept on Arrington’s behalf. You’re acquainted with Bill Eggers, managing partner at Woodman amp; Weld, I know.”
“Of course.”
“I’d like very much to invite Bill to the ceremony,” Stone said.
“Of course you may. I’d be very pleased to have Bill and his wife to dinner, as well, if he doesn’t already have plans.”
“I’ll ask him and let you know.”
“Very well, then, please be here promptly at twelve-thirty on Christmas Day.”
The two men said good-bye, and Stone hung up. Stone called Eggers, told him of their plan, and invited him.
“Marian and I would love to be with you,” Eggers said, speaking of his second wife. “It’s Betty’s year to have the kids for Christmas, so we don’t really have any plans. I’ll call Eduardo myself and accept, and we’ll see you Christmas Day.”
Stone, Arrington, and Peter lunched in the kitchen, and he told Arrington of Eduardo’s invitation.
“How very nice of him,” Arrington said. “I hope you accepted.”
“I did, and I’m glad you’re happy about it.”
“Please tell me more about Eduardo,” she said.
Stone took a deep breath. “He’s a remarkable man. There are rumors that, in his youth, he became an important figure in the old Mafia, and that he may even still be involved in some way, but no one has ever been able to substantiate that, and I’ve never had the courage to ask him for fear of offending. If the rumors are true, then he’s always
been able to keep that association buried deep in his background.
“In any case, Eduardo has succeeded brilliantly in a number of fields. He founded an investment bank and became a major shareholder in a couple of big brokerage houses and serves on a number of big corporate boards. He’s also on the boards of the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Metropolitan Opera, among other nonprofits, and he wields more personal influence in more areas than any man I know or have ever heard of.”
“That’s impressive,” Arrington said.
“Peter, Eduardo is also Ben’s grandfather. His daughter Mary Ann was married to Dino.”
“Didn’t Mary Ann have a sister?” Arrington asked.
“Yes, Dolce, but she’s mentally ill and is in some sort of facility in Sicily.” Stone didn’t mention that he and Dolce had once been married in a civil ceremony in Venice, and that, when Dolce went mad, Eduardo had seen that the marriage document was removed from the city’s records and sent to Stone. He had burned it.
“Where does Eduardo live?” Peter asked.
“Way out in Brooklyn, on the water, in a very impressive house, and you should remember to call him Mr. Bianchi, unless he asks you to do otherwise.”
“Of course,” Peter said. He produced his leather envelope and took out a document. “I want to send in this application to Yale,” he said, “and I’ll need your signature.”
“Good idea to apply now,” Stone said, and Arrington agreed. “Do you think two semesters at Knickerbocker will be enough for you?”
“I think so. There’s always summer school, too.”
“Oh, I’d like you to spend at least some of the summer in Virginia,” Arrington said.
“If that’s what you want, Mother.”
“So nice to have a dutiful son,” she said. “What are your plans for the afternoon, Peter? Will you be working on your film?”
“No, there’s an Orson Welles series at the Film Forum, and Ben and I are going to go. He’s never seen a Welles film.”
“He has a treat in store,” Stone said.
“Yes, he does,” Peter agreed. “He’s gotten very excited about film. I don’t think he’d given it much thought until we met, but now he wants to see everything. ”
“You’re a good influence,” Stone said. “If Ben weren’t seeing so many movies with you, he’d be getting into some sort of mischief. That’s what his father says, anyway. Dino is very happy about your friendship.”
“So am I,” Peter said.
21
T he lights came up at Film Forum after Citizen Kane, and Peter and Ben rose and shuffled out of the theater with the crowd.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter said.
“That’s because I’m stunned,” Ben replied. “I want to see it again.”
“I have it on DVD,” Peter said. “Come on back to the house, and I’ll rack it up for you.”
They took a bus back to Turtle Bay, and Peter let them into the house with his key. Stone was standing just inside the door taking off his overcoat and hanging it in the hall closet.
“Hey, fellas,” Stone said. “How was the movie?”
“Movies,” Peter replied. “Ben liked them.”
“Especially Citizen Kane,” Ben said.
“We’re going to go upstairs and watch it again on DVD,” Peter said, “so please excuse us.”
“Of course, go on up.”
The boys ran up the stairs to Peter’s room, and he found the disc for Citizen Kane.
“Did you say Welles was twenty-four years old when he directed this movie?” Ben asked.
“That’s right, and he was already a big actor and director on Broadway and on the radio.”
“That’s unbelievable,” Ben said.
“We can beat that. Sit down.” He pointed Ben at a chair, then sat down himself. “Ben, I think you’re a smart guy.”
“That’s true, but I’m not as smart as you.”
“If that’s true, it’s an accident of nature, so don’t worry about it. What’s more important is, you’re a good guy, too.”
“Thanks, Peter. I feel the same way about you.”
“For the next four years or so, I’ve got to keep you out of trouble.”
Ben laughed. “You’ve been talking to my dad.”
“No, I’ve been talking to my dad, but he feels the same way about it as your dad. The thing is, they’re both right.”
Ben looked sheepish. “Yeah, I have been in a few scrapes, but I had some fun, too.”
“We’ve got to find some new ways for you to have fun,” Peter said, “because I’m not going to get involved in any scrapes. There’s too much at stake.”
“What’s at stake?”
“Have you ever noticed when some young celebrity gets into drugs or gets arrested for drunk driving, how long it takes him to get over those things? I mean, they end up in jail, then in court, then in rehab, then in community service, and most of them have to go through that two or three times before they finally get it. The ones who don’t get it end up in prison or dead.”
“Well, yeah, I’ve noticed that.”
“All that stuff they have to do to get straight takes up years of their lives. You and I don’t need to waste that kind of time getting out of trouble we should never have gotten into in the first place.”
“You have a point,” Ben conceded.
“Ben, I think you would make a terrific movie producer.”
“Really?”
“You’re smart, you’re good with money, you’re well organized. But you’re not motivated-not yet, anyway.”
“What should motivate me?”
“Would you like to be a movie producer?”
“Yeah, sure I would. Who wouldn’t?”
“Okay, everybody, but only a few are suited to the work. First of all, you love the movies.”
“Well, I love everything you’ve shown me.”
“A good motivation to have would be to want to make movies as good as or better than those.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“If you’re motivated, then making that happen becomes the most-well, one of the most important things in your life, and you do the things you have to do to achieve that ambition.”
“What are the things I have to do, if I want to be a movie producer?”
“First of all, you have to do the things that everybody ought to do anyway, like getting an education and behaving yourself. Then you have to pick out a few things to do that lead you toward your goal.”
“Such as?”
“Such as coming to Yale Drama School with me, instead of going to Columbia.”
“Drama school? Me? ”
“Why not? In drama school you’ll learn how to produce a play and a movie, and you’ll meet the kind of people you’ll later be working with when you’re a producer: directors, actors, writers,
technicians. And while you’re at it, you should take some business courses, too, particularly accounting and marketing. Then, maybe, you should get an MBA.”
“Drama school, business school,” Ben mused, half to himself. “You know, that makes a lot of sense- if I decided I wanted to be a movie producer.”
“Do you have some other career in mind?”
“My dad wants me to go to law school. I think he wants me to be like Stone.”
“He’ll get over it. What does your grandfather want you to do?”
“He says I should do something I love, and he’ll help me get to the top of it.”
“Can he help you switch from Columbia to Yale?”
“Just between you and me, Peter, I think my grandfather can make anything happen.”
“Then he’s a valuable ally. From what I’ve heard about him, he’s very rich, too.”
“Yeah, I guess he is.”
“And you’re his only grandchild, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“That means you’re going to have a lot of options other kids don’t have.”
“I ne
ver thought of it that way,” Ben said, “but you’re right.”
“How does this sound, Ben.” Peter raised a hand as if framing a big sign. “A BEN BACCHETTI PRODUCTION OF A FILM BY PETER BARRINGTON.”
Ben laughed. “Hey, that sounds pretty great!”
“It can be great, if it’s what we both want. What do you want, Ben?”
Ben took a deep breath. “I want that.”
“Are you willing to do the things you have to to get it? Now, I don’t mean stabbing people in the back, the way they seem to do in Hollywood. I mean, are you willing to do the things you have to do to learn how to do it and be great at it?”
“Yes,” Ben said firmly. “I’m willing to do those things.”
“And are you willing not to do the things you shouldn’t do?”
“Yeah, I’m willing not to do those things.”
“Great! We’ll have a lot more fun if I’m not bailing you out all the time.”
Ben laughed. “You know, my dad is always saying stuff like this to me, but coming from you, it makes a lot more sense.”
“I’m glad, Ben. Now, because you’re my friend and I trust you, I want to tell you a couple of things that nobody else knows and that I don’t want anyone else to know until the right time.”
“You’re right, Peter, you can trust me.”
“First of all, you’ve probably already figured out that Stone is my biological father.”
“Well, yeah.”
“And he and my mother are getting married.”
“Great!”
“It’s better if all that doesn’t get around.”
“I understand.”
“Second, it should help motivate you to know that my mother owns about forty percent of Centurion Studios.”
Ben stared at him blankly. “The actual Hollywood studio?”
“That’s right. My stepfather, Vance Calder, was Centurion’s most important star for fifty years, and during that time he bought the studio’s stock every chance he got. A couple of times, he even took payment for acting roles in studio stock.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Yes, it is, but it’s going to be even more amazing for you and me. Get your mind around this: one day I’m going to own all that stock, and it’s going to allow me to make any film I want to make at Centurion, and it’s going to allow you to produce it. And it’s going to allow the two of us to run Centurion Studios.”
