The Money Shot

by Stuart Woods

  An actor walked by. “Isn’t that Leonardo DiCaprio?” Sylvia said.

  “I have no idea,” Tessa said. “So many of these actors have beards these days I can’t tell anyone apart.”

  “If it is Leonardo DiCaprio,” Peter said, “I bet he’s over there saying, isn’t that Sylvia Kenmore?”

  “How’s the picture coming?” Stone said.

  “Good,” Peter said.

  “Better than good,” Ben said. “I’ve seen the dailies. I think it’s Peter’s best work yet.” He put his arm around Tessa. “I’m not just saying that because my wife is fantastic.”

  “Isn’t Brad Hunter kind of a stiff?” Stone said.

  “We need the name to get the wider distribution, and Peter has drawn an amazing performance out of him.”

  “It’s our stunt man who’s kind of a stiff,” Peter said, grinning.

  “Yeah, but he works for scale,” Teddy said, and everybody laughed.

  Sylvia looked around, puzzled. “Is that an inside joke?”

  “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Stone said. “He’s a friend of ours.”

  Peter turned to Sylvia. “I wanted to ask you to read for my next film.”

  “I’d be delighted,” she said.

  “As would we,” Ben said. “You’d be perfect for the part.”

  There was a break in the conversation while the entrées were served. As they dug in, Peter said, “Oh, I didn’t tell you. Tessa’s mother’s sick.”

  “Really?” Stone said. He felt a personal connection, having dated her.

  Tessa blushed furiously. “It’s nothing really. Just a scare. She thought it was something, but it wasn’t. The tests were all negative.”

  “What was it?” Stone said. He was genuinely concerned.

  “You never mentioned she was having tests,” Ben said, confused and alarmed. He put his hand over Tessa’s.

  “She’s been quite private about it, and I know she didn’t want it widely known. And in any case, it amounted to nothing. I never should have mentioned it in the first place.”

  “Oh, I know those scares,” Sylvia Kenmore said.

  The rest of the meal went smoothly.

  Teddy managed to sidle up to Tessa on the way out. “Remind me to teach you about lying,” he whispered.

  Tessa ignored him and kept walking.

  “It’s called Telling Stories That Don’t Come Back to Bite You 101.”

  39

  The stockholders’ meeting was held in the boardroom at Centurion Studios, and was scheduled during the lunch break so Peter could attend. Present were Stone Barrington, Peter Barrington, Ben Bacchetti, Tessa Tweed Bacchetti and her adviser, and a bespectacled young man in a business suit. Peter had given Mark Weldon a day off from filming so Teddy could come as Billy Barnett.

  “Very well,” Stone said, calling the meeting to order. “I regret we have only the lunch break, but Centurion is in the business of making motion pictures. I know everyone here but you, sir. And who might you be?”

  “Todd Reynolds. I’m here representing Glendale Management, Venn Holding, Everest Holding, and the USB Corporation.”

  “All four?” Stone said. “You don’t find that a conflict of interest?”

  “No, I do not. This is my first meeting, and I don’t really know anyone.”

  “I beg your pardon. I’m Stone Barrington. This is Ben Bacchetti, Peter Barrington, Tessa Tweed Bacchetti, and Billy Barnett.”

  Todd Reynolds had his briefcase open on the table and was consulting a file folder in his lap. “I see. I have a list of stockholders here. I do not find the name Barnett.”

  “Mr. Barnett is here with Mrs. Bacchetti as her adviser. This is her first meeting and she wanted support.”

  The young man made a tsk-tsk sound. “My clients would object to the presence of anyone not holding stock.”

  “And just who are your clients?”

  “The four holding companies I mentioned.”

  “And whom do they represent?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t divulge the identity of their clients without permission.”

  Stone nodded. “Get it.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I suggest you get their permission.”

  Todd Reynolds frowned. “The confidentiality of my clients is not the issue. We’re getting off the subject. If this gentleman is not a stockholder, he has no right to be here.”

  “Mrs. Bacchetti has given me her proxy so I can vote her stock,” Teddy said.

  The young man’s mask slipped momentarily. His smile became a scowl. “She can’t do that.”

  “Of course she can,” Stone said. “Anyone can. In fact, she has always given her proxy ever since she’s been a stockholder. She can give her proxy to anyone she chooses. Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve come all the way from New York for this meeting, and we only have the lunch hour to hold it. So if we could not get bogged down on parliamentary procedure, I’d like to get down to the business at hand. As I understand it, you have a matter you wish to address.”

  Todd Reynolds took a breath. “Yes, I do.” He reached in his briefcase and took out stapled packets of paper. He slid them around the table in front of the stockholders. “The people I represent have compiled a cost-benefit analysis of Centurion Pictures. While it shows a profit, it is a small profit, and dependent on a fluctuating economy. They therefore propose that they take the helm of Centurion Pictures and guide it to the profitable business they are sure it can be. I hereby move that Ben Bacchetti be ousted as the head of production of Centurion Pictures and Glendale Management be installed in his place.”

  “What!” Tessa cried.

  “That’s outrageous!” Peter cried. “How dare you!”

  “Are you serious?” Ben cried.

  Only Teddy sat silent.

  When the noise had died down, Todd Reynolds said, “I hereby make that motion. Do I hear a second?” He looked straight at Tessa Tweed.

  Tessa looked at Teddy.

  “You sure as hell do not!” Peter snapped.

  “How about it, Mrs. Bacchetti? Just because the man is your husband does not make you any less responsible to the stockholders. Do I hear a second?”

  “Well, now, you should be addressing me,” Teddy said, “since I hold her proxy. I must say this is a very interesting idea, and just because all the individuals involved know each other is no reason to reject it out of hand. It’s important not to rush to judgment. I therefore move we adjourn until we have had time to study your proposal.”

  “You can’t do that. I already have a motion on the floor.”

  “Actually,” Teddy said, “you attempted to get a motion on the floor, but it wasn’t seconded. The motion to adjourn is always in order. I so move.”

  “Second,” Peter said.

  “It’s been moved and seconded that we adjourn until we have time to study your proposal. I have to go back to New York, but I can be here in”—Stone consulted the calendar on his phone—“two weeks. Let’s adjourn until two weeks from today. It’s been moved and seconded that we adjourn. All in favor.”

  “Aye.”

  “All opposed.”

  “Nay,” Todd Reynolds said.

  “The ayes have it. The meeting is adjourned.”

  40

  Teddy, Tessa, and Ben made their way to the parking lot, Ben still fuming and incredulous.

  “What the hell is going on?” Ben Bacchetti wanted to know.

  “It’s a hostile takeover, just like I thought.”

  “I know that,” Ben said. “I mean, what were you doing in there?”

  “I bought us two weeks.”

  “We don’t need two weeks—we can take care of the problem now. The guy brought a motion, you could have just voted it down.”

  “Then we won�
��t know what’s going on, or who’s behind all of this. I want to find out who they are and deal with them so it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Yes, but as long as we can vote them down . . .”

  “They’re a pain in the ass,” Teddy said. “They don’t have a controlling interest, but they are the largest single stockholder.”

  “But they’re not a single stockholder,” Ben said. “This guy represents four separate holding companies.”

  “And we don’t know who their client is,” Teddy said. “I’m going to find out.”

  The young man with the briefcase came out and walked across the lot.

  “There’s Todd Reynolds now,” Teddy said. “Go back inside as if this was all a matter of course, and we were just talking business as usual.”

  Teddy turned his back on Tessa and Ben and walked across the lot to his car. He hopped in, pulled out of the space reserved for Billy Barnett, and drove past Todd Reynolds, who was walking toward the main gate. Either his car was parked outside the lot or he had come by cab.

  Todd Reynolds walked to a small sedan, got in, and drove off. Teddy followed cautiously. The young man didn’t appear to have a clue he was being tailed, but Teddy hadn’t survived this long by taking things for granted.

  Todd Reynolds drove downtown and pulled into a lot next to an office building. It was a small lot, and there was no way Teddy could pull in behind him without being spotted.

  There was a cop on the corner. Teddy stopped next to him, slapped a Centurion Pictures placard on the dashboard, hopped out, and said, “Watch my car.”

  Sometimes it worked. If it didn’t, he’d get a ticket, a towing charge, and a hefty fine, but that was a fair trade-off.

  Todd Reynolds had already gone into the building. Teddy hurried to the front door, and through the glass saw Todd Reynolds waiting for the elevator. Unfortunately, so were three other people, so Teddy wouldn’t be able to tell which floor he got off on by watching the indicator.

  Teddy whipped out his wallet and opened the door just as the elevator door closed on Todd Reynolds.

  Teddy ran up to the front desk. “The young man with the briefcase who just got on the elevator. Where is he going?”

  The man at the desk shook his head.

  “I know,” Teddy said, “you don’t give out that information. The guy just dropped his wallet.” He held it up. “I tried to catch him, but I’m not as fast as I used to be.”

  “You can give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.”

  “I think not,” Teddy said. “I want to give it to him personally, with the money in it so he can see that it’s all there. I’m sure he’ll be grateful.”

  “You think he’ll give you a tip,” the guard said.

  “And you think he’ll give you one. But you didn’t run two blocks with the damn thing. Come on. You have the register there. Look the guy up and tell me where he works.”

  “Let’s see the wallet.”

  Teddy smiled. “I’m holding on to it.” He flipped it open, pretending to read the ID. “His name is Todd Reynolds.”

  * * *

  —

  The receptionist at Glendale Management was holding a telephone to her ear. As Teddy approached the desk she said, “Hold, please, for Mr. Dirkson.” She pressed another line and said, “Mr. Dirkson? Mr. Williams on three.” She looked up and smiled at Teddy. “May I help you?”

  “Todd Reynolds, please.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not in his office.”

  “Oh? That’s odd. I’m supposed to have a meeting with him. If you could ring his cell phone.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t disturb him. He’s in with Mr. Dirkson.”

  “Perfect. I’m supposed to meet with him, too. It’s this way?” Teddy was already around the desk and making his way to the door marked DIRECTOR.

  The receptionist sprang up. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Actually, I can,” Teddy said, and pushed the door open.

  Todd Reynolds stood talking to a plump man with three chins who was sitting behind a large desk.

  “Ah, Mr. Dirkson, I presume. Just the man I wanted to see. Todd said you were the man I wanted to talk to.”

  The fat man looked at his subordinate. “Todd?”

  “I did no such thing,” Todd sputtered. “This is the man from the meeting. He must have followed me here.”

  “You let yourself be followed?” Dirkson said.

  Teddy flopped into a chair, pulled a humidor of cigars across the desk, and inspected one. “Don’t blame him. He’s an amateur.” He pointed the cigar at the fat man. “You’re the one to blame, promising your lowlife clients anonymity.”

  “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”

  “Good idea. They’ll get some answers. They’ll certainly want to know on whose behalf you’re having me arrested. Do you think you can stand up to a police investigation?”

  Dirkson snatched up the phone. “Margo, get me the police.”

  Teddy nodded approvingly. “Nicely played. Most men would fold in your position. It’s plain to see you’re a pro. Excellent. I was trying to ascertain how complicit you are in the situation. It’s clear you’re a main participant.”

  “Now, see here—”

  “No, no,” Teddy said, waggling his finger. “You can’t throw me out and give me a lecture. Pick one.”

  The phone rang. Dirkson scooped it up. His eyes never left Teddy. “Yes? . . . No, not now.” He slammed the phone down again. “Are you going to leave of your own accord?”

  “Absolutely,” Teddy said. He rose from the chair. “I’m sorry you don’t feel inclined to discuss this amicably. Mr. Reynolds made quite an interesting motion at today’s meeting. I was hoping to learn more about it.”

  Dirkson didn’t bite. He just sat there and waited until Teddy left.

  Teddy stopped on his way out and smiled at the receptionist. “Did you get through to the police?”

  She frowned. “I thought the call was canceled.”

  “It’s all right, I’ll call them myself.”

  Teddy whipped out his cell phone and began punching in numbers.

  The telephone buzzed. The receptionist picked it up and said, “Yes, sir.” She clicked on a line and punched in a number. “Mr. Dirkson for Mr. Kimble. One moment, please.” She picked up the first line. “Mr. Kimble on two.”

  Teddy looked up from his cell phone. “Busy,” he said. He shook his head, shrugged, and rang for the elevator.

  41

  Teddy stopped by the Centurion office.

  Ben jumped up when he came in. “What happened? Did you find out who he represents?”

  “Not yet, but I’m working on it. Do know anyone in the industry named Kimble?”

  “Why? Is that him?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you know him?”

  “I don’t know him, but there’s a B-movie producer named Mason Kimble. I’d hardly flatter him by saying he’s in the industry. He has his own company, Star Pictures, and he makes the kind of movies you wouldn’t let your kids go to. Low-budget shoot-’em-ups with a lot of gratuitous violence and nudity, and not much plot.”

  “Does he have any reason not to like you?”

  “Why?”

  “These guys are trying to oust you as the head of production. Either it’s business or it’s personal. If this Mason Kimble is behind it, would he have any reason to hate you?”

  Ben shrugged. “He pitched a project to me and I shot it down, but that’s hardly grounds. He couldn’t possibly have thought I would seriously consider his film. I figured he pitched it to me so he could tell people he did.”

  “Some people have an unrealistic assessment of their own worth. Okay, he’s one possibility. Is there anyone else you’ve shot down who might have reason to take it personally? Anyone who might
regard it as a slight?”

  “I’ve rejected a number of projects. Most producers take it as a matter of course. I suppose there are screenwriters who might feel their work had been unfairly assessed.”

  “Any screenwriter who might be successful enough to buy up nearly half the Centurion stock?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  Teddy considered. “Do you have a slush pile of rejected scripts?”

  “Are you looking for one of Mason Kimble’s?”

  “No, but I’m glad you mentioned it. Can I see them?”

  “In the outer office. Janet can show you. You don’t have to read them, we keep the coverage.”

  Centurion, like many movie studios, hired interns to write two-page summaries and assessments of screenplays for producers to use as shorthand.

  “Thanks,” Teddy said. “That will help.”

  Janet set Teddy at a table with a pile of scripts to look at. He sorted through them, careful to choose one that was not associated with Mason Kimble. The coverage was most helpful in narrowing down the type of script he had in mind. He chose one entitled Night Noises. The reader’s report described it as “an erotic thriller” with “more nudity than scares.”

  Teddy turned back to the title page:

  NIGHT NOISES by Rick Grogan.

  Teddy crossed out Rick Grogan and penciled in Cy Henderson. He handed the screenplay to Janet.

  “Type me a new title page, will you?”

  42

  I want to make a movie,” Teddy said. He said it with the exaggerated emphasis of an old man who expects to get his way. For his meeting with Mason Kimble, Teddy had made himself up as a wealthy eccentric, with wild hair and tie carelessly askew.

  Teddy slapped a screenplay down on Mason’s desk. “Night Noises. Great title. A lot of meanings, all of them good.”

  Mason glanced at Gerard Cardigan, who sat off to the side. “Did you write this, Mr. Jackson?”

  “Hell, no. I bought it. I read it, I said I want to make this movie. My question is whether you want to make it, too.”