Son of Stone sb-21

by Stuart Woods

  “James,” Ripley said, “is there any way you can get your hands on that script, or the DVD?”

  “Nope. The boy asked for both to be returned to him, and they were. He didn’t want anyone to see it. Actually, that may not be a bad thing for you. And, if the headmaster gets wind of the flick, you might want to stick with only the facts you knew before this conversation, which I will keep to myself. After all, being dumb is better than being complicit.”

  “You have a point,” Ripley said. “Tell me how this film came to be in your dean’s office.”

  “The boy, this Peter Barrington, has applied for admission to the school, and the word is, he had a favorable interview. The dean did tell his secretary that the committee all thought his film was brilliant, the sort of thing that might do well at the indie festivals.”

  “You said Barrington?”

  “Peter Barrington.”

  What the hell? Ripley thought. “His name wasn’t Barrington when he was here. It was Calder.”

  “Like the sculptor?”

  “Like the actor. So, if he’s accepted, he would matriculate in the fall?”

  “It seems so.”

  “Well, thanks for the heads-up, James.”

  “Not at all, Alan.”

  “At least I’ll know what I’m up against if I have to face the headmaster monster.”

  “If you get up this way, let me know, and I’ll buy you a bad lunch in our cafeteria.”

  “Certainly will, James. Take care.” Ripley hung up and stared into the fire. So now Peter Calder is Peter Barrington? Let’s see, it’s January, he thought. If I start looking now, I might just be able to find a new job before the fall.

  He poured himself a second scotch, a larger one.

  38

  Arrington drove from her rental house to her new property and turned down the long, oak-lined drive. Even from that distance she could see Tim Rutledge waiting for her on the front porch, a roll of blueprints under his arm. He stood stone-still, staring at her as she approached.

  Arrington began to take deep breaths, trying to keep her blood pressure from rising. She parked her car out front, then gathered her purse and her briefcase and got out. She walked up the front steps purposefully, tucked her purse under one arm, and held out her hand. “Good morning, Tim,” she said.

  He looked at her hand contemptuously, then deigned to shake it briefly. “Good morning,” he said. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

  “I’m sure I will have a great deal to say to you, once we get to work, and it will be all business. I believe that has been made clear to you.”

  “Well, Barrington called and said he was your lawyer. That was news to me.”

  “He has been my attorney for just over a year, and I’m very pleased with him. I trust him to convey to others my exact intentions.”

  “Does that include your intentions toward me?”

  “It does. Now, shall we get to work?” Without waiting for a reply, she inserted her key in the front door and opened it. She walked into the broad hallway that ran the length of the house, stopped and looked around. “Take notes,” she said.

  Rutledge produced a yellow legal pad and pen.

  “The color of the wood stain on the floor of the library is not the one I selected; it’s not dark enough.”

  “I thought it should be the same as that in the hall,” Rutledge replied.

  Arrington walked into the library, set her briefcase on the top of a stepladder, opened it, and took out a stain chart. She dropped it on the floor. “See the X?” she asked. “That’s the color I want on this floor. Please see that it’s sanded and restained immediately. I can see that there’s only one coat of varnish applied, and when the stain is right, I want ten coats, as I specified earlier. Same for the hall.”

  “All right,” Rutledge said, making a note.

  “I do not want the move-in date changed by so much as an hour, because the ten coats have taken so long to dry. With the varnish I selected you can apply two coats a day, one at eight a.m., another at six p.m.”

  “All right,” Rutledge said.

  “Where is the shotgun cabinet?” she asked, pointing at a gap in the beautiful paneling, near the fireplace.

  “The cabinetmaker made a serious error, and I insisted he remake it. It will be installed tomorrow.”

  “When my furnishings arrive, you will find two very fine shotguns and two rifles that belonged to my father. Please be sure that they are securely locked in that cabinet. Where are the keys?”

  “The cabinetmaker has them. He had to install the locks.”

  “Fine. I don’t want those weapons stolen; they’re worth a fortune.”

  “I understand.”

  He was beginning to sound more cordial, she thought.

  “Listen to me, Arrington,” he said.

  She turned to face him. “Yes? Is this about the house?”

  “It’s about you and me. You can’t treat me as if I’m some servant who works here, not after what we’ve done in bed.”

  Arrington drew back her right hand and delivered a swinging slap that connected with his face, staggering him. He stood, wideeyed, staring at her.

  “Don’t you ever again speak to me in that manner, or about anything but this house. Is that perfectly clear?”

  Rutledge rubbed his face, which had turned red with anger.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  “And there’s something you should know: Stone Barrington and I were married on Christmas Day.”

  Rutledge turned pale and was blinking rapidly. “Congratulations,” he said weakly.

  “Good,” she replied. “Now, let’s have a look at the living room floors.” She led him through the remainder of her list of things to do in the house, then she curtly said good-bye, got into her car, and drove back to her rental house.

  39

  Stone had slept late on Saturday morning when the phone rang. “Hello?” He coughed.

  “Poor baby,” Arrington said, “I woke you. I thought you woke at dawn, regardless of the day.”

  “So did I,” Stone replied, pressing the button to raise the head and foot of his bed to a sitting position. “How’s it going down there?”

  “Better,” she said. “It was a mess when I got here, but I got it sorted out. The floors in the library and living room had been stained improperly, but that is being redone, and there were a dozen other things that needed attention. Moving-in day is next Friday.”

  “Do you want me to come down there and help?”

  “You’d just be in the way. You don’t know where anything goes, and I have a carefully worked out plan for where every piece of furniture and box should land. Anyway, I don’t want you to see it until it’s perfect.”

  “I can handle perfect,” Stone said.

  “What are you doing with yourself today?”

  “Chaperoning Peter and a girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend? What’s this?”

  “She’s a music student at Knickerbocker, and he says she’s going to score his movie. He’s pretty excited about it. They’re going to lunch at the Brasserie, then coming here to watch the film.”

  “And you’re going to sit between them, right?”

  “Maybe I’ll watch it with them, or maybe just bundle them up in blankets and seal them in with duct tape. By the way, I read his script while he was having his interview at Yale, and I thought it was great.”

  “Be sure and look in on them several times,” she said. “After all, he is your son, so he got half his genes from you.”

  “And the other half from you.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Peter and I had the conversation about sex, you know. I told you about it.”

  “Well, I hope you didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know.”

  “I don’t think I did. In fact, about the only thing I could have told him was the only thing I’ve ever really learned about women.”

 
; “Which is?”

  “That they like sex just as much as men.”

  “Good God! I hope you didn’t tell him that!”

  “He’ll find out for himself in due course.”

  “Due course is why he needs watching.”

  “What would you do, if you were here?”

  “I told you: sit between them.”

  “I don’t think that’s a possibility,” Stone said. “Anything else?”

  “Who is this girl?”

  “Hattie something. She lives at Park and Sixty-third.”

  “At least she’s from a good address. That makes me sound like a snob, doesn’t it?”

  “ Everybody at Knickerbocker is from a good address.”

  “You know, I think this is Peter’s first real date,” she said.

  “Unless something happened at Herald that you don’t know about.”

  “Perish the thought! Anyway, they were watched like hawks by the faculty anytime there were girls on campus.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you: the woman from the Post called again.”

  “Prunie?”

  “No, the younger one. Joan told her you were doing a book and that you would have nothing further to say until it’s published. Joan thinks that put her off.”

  “I’m so glad. That sort of thing was a constant threat when Vance was alive. We had to book at Beverly Hills restaurants under false names to avoid the paparazzi.”

  “New York is better about that, I think.”

  “Then why are they so interested in us?”

  “Maybe we should hire a publicist,” Stone suggested.

  “But we don’t want any publicity.”

  “I mean hire a publicist to keep our names out of the columns.”

  “How does that work? It sounds unnatural.”

  “The publicist puts out a press release saying that he’s representing us, so all the calls go to him, if there’s a question, and he gives them something innocuous, or just brushes them off.”

  “Vance never had a publicist.”

  “He had the studio, and they have a whole publicity department.”

  “You’re right.”

  “If we were in L.A. they could handle it for us, but they’re probably too far away. But things have been quiet, since Joan brushed the woman off, so we probably don’t need to do anything about publicity, until Peter is a famous director.”

  “Then he can get his own publicist. Oh, a delivery truck has just pulled up outside; I have to go. I love you!”

  “Wait a minute!”

  “Yes?”

  “How did it go with Timothy Rutledge?”

  “I managed very well, thank you. Bye-bye!”

  “I love you, too,” Stone said, but she had hung up.

  Peter arrived at the Brasserie ten minutes early, was given a booth with a view of the front door, and sat down and waited nervously. Hattie was ten minutes late, and Peter had already had a glass of iced tea and needed to go to the bathroom.

  He went to meet her as she descended the stairs from the door and escorted her to their booth.

  “I really liked your film,” she said, as she slid into her side of the table, “and I already have some ideas about what the score could sound like.”

  “Wonderful!” he said.

  “Do you have a piano at your house?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure it’s in tune. That’s all right, though, I have an electronic keyboard.”

  “Do you play?”

  “Sort of. I amuse myself with it sometimes.”

  They were brought menus and studied them carefully.

  “What would you like?” he asked.

  “I’ll have the eggs Benedict,” she replied.

  “Good idea. So will I.”

  They ordered, and Peter sat back in his seat and looked at her. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you when you weren’t in profile,” he said.

  “And what is your opinion?” she asked, archly.

  “Very high,” he said. “I have a high opinion.”

  “That was just the right thing to say,” she said, blushing a little.

  They seemed stuck for words for a moment, so Peter said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the men’s room.”

  And he did.

  40

  Kelli Keane sat at the bar at the Brasserie and toyed with her lunch. She had spotted Peter Barrington the moment he entered the restaurant, and he had made it obvious that he was waiting for someone. Kelli was delighted with the coincidence that she and Peter had chosen the same restaurant. She had been working too hard at this, she thought, and she deserved a break.

  When the girl arrived Kelli saw how Peter hurried to meet her. This was obviously a first date, and he had probably met the girl at school. She was a pretty thing and fashionably dressed for a high school girl. This was the first time Kelli had had an opportunity to stare unblinkingly at Peter and take his measure. He seemed exceptionally mature for an eighteen-year-old, and she knew a lot about the subspecies, having started to date eighteen-year-olds when she was thirteen, and having lost her virginity to the second one, at thirteen and a half. She had had an abortion at sixteen, as the result of carelessness with yet another eighteen-year-old, and she had turned her attention then to twenty-one-year-olds, who seemed to have a greater appreciation of the pitfalls of the menstrual cycle.

  Peter did not have the native slovenliness of the current crop of eighteen-year-olds, nor did he seem to need the appearance of stubble or a patchy beard to build his confidence. She was willing to bet that his room was very neatly kept.

  The headwaiter drifted by and Kelli snagged him. “Hey, Geoffrey,” she said.

  “Kelli, how you doing? You want a table?”

  “No, I’m fine at the bar. Tell you what I do want, though: see those two kids over there in the booth?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s a hundred in it if you can find out the girl’s name and where she lives.”

  “Would you like to pay now or later?” he asked.

  “Payment is on delivery,” she said.

  Bruce ambled over to where the young couple sat. “Good day, folks,” he said. “Is this your first visit to the Brasserie?”

  Both shook their heads.

  “Well, we’re very happy to have you as regulars. I’m Bruce, your maitre d’.” He offered his hand to the boy, who shook it and replied, “Peter Barrington.”

  He turned to the girl. “And you?”

  “Hattie Patrick,” she replied, shaking his hand.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you both. Do you live in the neighborhood?”

  “I’m at Sixty-third and Park,” the girl said, “and Peter lives in Turtle Bay.”

  “Great. I hope we’ll see both of you often.” He strolled away, spoke to a couple of other diners for cover, then went back to the bar.

  “Hattie Patrick,” he said, “Sixty-third and Park.”

  Kelli slipped him the hundred. “Bruce, you’re a dear, and very clever, too.”

  He was nice,” Hattie said to Peter.

  “Yes, he was. Maybe we’ll become regulars, like he said.”

  “Are you a regular anywhere else?” she asked.

  “Only at the Knickerbocker cafeteria,” Peter replied. “My dad hangs out at Elaine’s.”

  “I’ve never been. Will you take me sometime?”

  “Sure, I’d love to take you. We could ask my friend Ben along, but he’s headed back to Choate Monday.”

  “Who are your friends at school?” Hattie asked.

  “Just you. I haven’t been there long enough to make other friends.”

  “I’m confused about something,” she said.

  “What?”

  “You did say you graduated from your last school in December.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Well, I took a lot of courses and got ahead of the curriculum.”

  “While shooting a movie at the
same time?”

  “Yeah, we only worked a couple of hours a day on the movie.”

  “Are you just taking film courses at Knickerbocker?”

  “I’m taking college-level French and American history, too.”

  “Are you going to college in the fall?”

  “Ben and I have both applied to the Yale School of Drama.”

  “You want to be an actor?”

  “I want to learn about acting. They have a directing program, too, and Ben wants to produce, and they have a program for that, even an MBA. When we get out of school we want to be partners in the making of films.”

  “That sounds very ambitious,” she said. “I wish I had that kind of inner direction. I seem to just wander along, doing whatever seems like a good idea at the time.”

  “Studying musical composition seems to be a very directed choice,” Peter said.

  “I suppose so. That was a delicious lunch.”

  “Mine, too. Shall we go to my house?”

  “Sure.”

  Peter paid the check, and they walked over to Turtle Bay. He let them into the house and hung up their coats, then they went into the living room where the old Steinway grand was.

  Hattie sat down and riffed through a few chords. “Have you decided what the titles are going to be like yet?” she asked.

  “I have a lot of shots of the school campus and the James River. I thought I might string together some of them under the titles.”

  “Good, that’s what I was thinking,” she said. She began to play. “I thought I would begin with a slow passage, sort of pastoral in nature, like this.” She played a few measures. “Then I’ll establish a simple theme that will return at various points in the film.” She played the theme, then another minute or two of music, then stopped. “This is where it says, ‘Directed by Peter Barrington,’” she said. “Then the music stops for a while. I think the score should be kind of spare. I hated it in a lot of old movies when the music was there all the time. I don’t think a film needs music all the way through; it should be saved for when it’s needed to augment the film, maybe heighten the drama. Listen to this: it’s when the two boys are actually mixing the poison that they’re going to give to the master.” She played a spikier, more staccato passage.