Dishonorable Intentions Read online

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  Dinner was beef and plenty of it, washed down with a couple of bottles of the Caymus Special Selection Cabernet. It was nearly midnight when the party broke up, and Stone and Gala returned to her house.

  “Shall I inspect for bears?” Stone asked as they got out of the car.

  “Not without the gun,” Gala replied. “It’s back in the bedside drawer.”

  She let them into the house. Stone collected the gun and walked back onto the patio off the master suite. The outside lights automatically sensed his presence and came on. He moved carefully around the rear exterior of the house. Something rustled in the bushes, but nothing big enough for a bear; however, he managed to step in something that was too much for a dog or a coyote. He had to get paper towels from the kitchen to clean it off his shoe.

  Gala was looking out of sorts when he returned. He cleared the weapon and returned it to its drawer. “I’ll clean the gun for you tomorrow.” He looked at her closely. “Something the matter?”

  “A phone message from my ex-husband,” Gala said wearily. “He wants to see me when we’re in L.A.”

  “You don’t have to see him.”

  “If I don’t, he’ll just keep calling. I’ll have a drink with him and get it over with.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I just can’t imagine what he could want. He’s gotten everything the settlement entitled him to. The last thing he demanded was a case of old wine that he forgot to include.”

  “I hope you drank it.”

  “No, I shipped it to him.”

  “But he keeps asking for things?”

  “That’s his pattern.”

  “You’ll have to call an end to that. I’ll help, if I can. You can introduce me as your new attorney.”

  “That’s a thought. Let’s see how it goes in L.A.”

  They made love again and were soon asleep. Why did beautiful women always seem to have grumpy ex-husbands? he wondered as he drifted off.

  3

  Stone was served a sumptuous breakfast in bed, while watching his favorite Sunday-morning shows, which Gala had TiVo-ed for him. To his surprise, CBS News Sunday Morning had a feature on Boris Tirov, Gala’s ex-husband.

  “I heard about this a couple of weeks ago,” Gala said, “but I forgot about it. We may as well watch it.”

  In an interview conducted next to his large pool overlooking Malibu Beach, Tirov, a handsome, fit-looking fellow of around fifty, waxed eloquent about his success in the film business, commenting graciously on some of the people he’d worked with.

  “I understand you’re leaving Sony and taking your production company to Centurion,” the interviewer said.

  “I’m afraid I can’t comment about that,” Tirov replied.

  “Would such an announcement come as a surprise to Sony?” he was asked.

  Boris chuckled. “It might come as a surprise to Centurion.”

  “How long ago was this interview filmed?” Stone asked.

  “At least a couple of weeks ago, maybe longer. I’m a bit surprised—Boris would seem to be a better fit at one of the bigger studios than at Centurion, which is a more gentlemanly place.”

  “Would you like him not to be at Centurion?”

  “From the sound of it, it’s probably too late for that. At least he won’t be in management, so he won’t be able to interfere with my new deal at Centurion.”

  “How many pictures is your deal for?”

  “Three, but it’s a writing deal, not a production deal. I don’t have a company to move there and take up a lot of office space, the way Boris does. I’ll get a small bungalow, and that’s good enough for me, since I do most of my work at home or while traveling.”

  “If Boris’s deal isn’t signed and sealed, I may be able to have some effect on it after tomorrow, when I’m appointed to the board.”

  “Don’t do anything on my account,” Gala said. “It would just get back to Boris and make things more difficult for me.”

  “Whatever you say,” Stone replied, downing the rest of his orange juice and pouring himself some coffee. “I’ll stay out of it.”

  “That would probably be best.”

  Stone turned to the Sunday New York Times, and in the Arts section immediately found a story about Boris Tirov’s move from Sony to Centurion. He handed it to Gala. “Looks like he’s serious enough to give the story to the Times. Or is that just a PR move, to make Sony think twice about his deal there?”

  “Could be,” she said. “Boris has done that sort of thing before.”

  Stone picked up his iPhone, looked up the name of the CEO of Centurion, Leo Goldman Jr., and pressed the button.

  “Good morning, Stone,” Leo said. “Nice to hear from you on a Sunday.”

  “Sorry about that, Leo. I just wondered if you’d seen the story in the Times about Boris Tirov leaving Sony for Centurion.”

  “Yes, I did see that, and it was a surprise, since the board is not scheduled to consider that deal until tomorrow. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “I will be.”

  “Do you have a view on the Tirov move?”

  “I find it a little premature to announce a deal that is still awaiting board approval.”

  “Tell me, Stone, is it possible that you are calling from Santa Fe?”

  “Entirely possible.”

  “I thought perhaps you might be. There’ll be time for a full discussion of the Tirov deal at tomorrow’s meeting. See you there.”

  “Goodbye, Leo.” Stone hung up. “Boris’s deal is before the board tomorrow. I think Leo was annoyed that it was in today’s Times.”

  “Oh.”

  “And he figured out that I am here with you.”

  “How did he do that?”

  “The grapevine, I suppose.”

  “Does he know what we did in bed last night?”

  “He’d better not.”

  “Oh, good, then it’s not so bad, is it?”

  “I suppose not. How would you like to see the board’s decision go tomorrow?”

  “I don’t have an opinion,” Gala said primly.

  “An ex-wife without an opinion on her husband’s business? I’ve never heard of such a thing. I believe you told me that you’ve already received everything due to you under your settlement?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then the board’s decision won’t affect you.”

  “Not in that way.”

  “Is there some other way that it might affect you?”

  “I hope it won’t be uncomfortable for me, working on the same lot as Boris.”

  “I see.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Stone turned back to his Times.

  4

  Stone set down at Santa Monica Airport with Ed Eagle in the right seat, and they, along with Susannah and Gala, were met by chauffeur-driven Bentleys from the Arrington. Half an hour later they were deposited in front of Stone’s house on the hotel property, and their luggage was being taken to the master suite, while the Eagles were settled into a guest suite.

  “This is lovely,” Gala said, looking around the house. “And it looks as if it has always been here.”

  “That was my instruction to the builder and the interior designer.”

  They settled into the library and were brought refreshments by a butler.

  “Tell me how this Arrington group came into existence,” Gala said. “Ed told me something about it, but I’m hazy on the details.”

  “My late wife, Arrington, was previously married to Vance Calder.”

  “I knew that part. She’s Peter’s mother?”

  “Yes. When Vance died, Arrington and Peter’s trust inherited his property, which included eighteen acres of Bel-Air. I and a group of investors formed the group, and Arrington sold us the l
and, with the provision that we would build her a permanent residence on the property.”

  “What happened to Calder’s old house? I was there once, and it was beautiful.”

  “It was expanded and became what is now the reception center and the executive offices. When Arrington died, I inherited her house, still uncompleted, from her estate. Any further questions?”

  “So Peter is Vance’s son?”

  “No, Arrington and I were an item before she met Vance, and on our last night together she became pregnant, although she didn’t know it until a bit later. She met Calder, was infatuated with him, and they ran off and got married. Peter was the result of that pregnancy. He and I didn’t really become acquainted until after Vance’s death. Fortunately, the relationship took, and we’ve been close since that time.”

  “Thank you, I think I’ve got it all now.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was a bustling in the front hall, and Dino and Viv Bacchetti entered the room. “I heard booze was being served in here,” Dino said.

  Stone introduced the Bacchettis to Gala, and booze was served.

  “What are we doing for dinner?” Dino asked.

  “The chef is preparing some of his delicacies for us,” Stone replied.

  “That works for me,” Dino said.

  “Gala, would you like to see the rest of the house? Perhaps Viv would show you around.”

  “Love to,” Gala said, and the two women left, carrying their drinks.

  “How was your flight?” Stone asked.

  “Not as good as yours was,” Dino replied. “Even first class doesn’t cut it, compared to Stone Airlines.”

  “It warms the cockles of my heart to hear you say so. I’ll be happy to give you a lift home.”

  “Apart from the party for Ben, have you got business out here?”

  “I’m being seated on the board of Centurion Studios tomorrow morning at ten AM, followed by a luncheon in the studio canteen.”

  “What time is the party tomorrow night?”

  “People are invited for drinks at six, followed by dinner. L.A. is an early town.”

  “Suits me, I’ve got three hours of jet lag to deal with.” Dino peered closely at Stone. “You don’t seem to be thrilled by this board appointment.”

  “I am appropriately thrilled,” Stone said, “but on the agenda for my first board meeting is the approval of a production deal between Gala’s ex-husband, one Boris Tirov, and Centurion. She’s uneasy about having him on the same lot—she just signed to write three scripts for the studio. I’m uneasy about it, too, and I’ve been trying to figure out how I can torpedo Tirov’s deal without appearing to.”

  “Ah, I see you’re acquiring the habits of the denizens here, already plotting against somebody.”

  “I’m not plotting against him, this is just business.”

  “That’s what they always say just before they pull the trigger.”

  “I haven’t shared my concerns with any other board members, though I spoke briefly with Leo Goldman after I saw the announcement of the deal in the New York Times today.”

  “It’s already in the Times, and the board hasn’t approved it, yet?”

  “I think that may count against Mr. Tirov. He’s making television appearances, too.”

  “Maybe you won’t have to slip the knife in, then.”

  “Maybe not, though I’ll do it if I have to.”

  “Having had a look at Gala, I can see why. She’s a knockout, just as beautiful as her sister, and younger.”

  “All that you say is true,” Stone replied,

  The women returned, and they schmoozed until dinnertime.

  5

  On Monday morning, Stone had breakfast with his party, then hopped into an Arrington Bentley for the twenty-minute drive to Centurion Studios and his board meeting. Traffic was moving briskly at mid-morning as the car moved onto the freeway, and Stone settled in with the New York Times as the car motored smoothly along the route. Then it came to a full stop.

  “What’s going on?” Stone asked the driver.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Barrington. The GPS has a lot of red symbols ahead. Let me see what I can find out on the radio.” He fiddled with the tuning knob, and the two men listened to reports of a multivehicle pileup on the 405.

  “This sounds bad,” the driver said.

  Stone checked his watch. “My board meeting starts in fifteen minutes.”

  “I think all we can do is just wait it out,” the driver said.

  “How about if I hoof it?”

  “It’s probably an hour’s walk, and if traffic starts moving again, you’ll be in danger of being run down.”

  Stone got out his cell phone to call Leo Goldman and explain his absence. “I can’t get a connection,” he said. “Zero bars.”

  “Sounds like we’re in a dead zone,” the driver said.

  Stone got out of the car and stood on the door sill for a little elevation. “I can’t see a damned thing but parked cars.”

  “This is L.A.,” the driver said.

  Stone got back in and started on the crossword. Since it was a Monday, the easiest day, that took eleven minutes by his watch. He put his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes for a moment.

  —

  We’re moving,” the driver said suddenly. “That’s the longest tie-up I’ve ever had on the freeway.”

  “How long have we been stopped?”

  The driver checked his watch. “An hour and thirty-five minutes. The radio said eleven vehicles had to be cleared away.”

  They arrived at the executive building at Centurion in time to see Leo Goldman Jr. and the remainder of the board getting into golf carts for the short trip to the studio canteen for lunch.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Leo asked.

  “Stuck on the freeway for an hour and thirty-five minutes—an eleven-car pileup.”

  “That’s not even near a record,” Leo said. “Hop in. I’ll bring you up to date.”

  Stone got in beside him. “I hope you didn’t need my vote for anything important.”

  “Nah, it was pretty routine, except for the Boris Tirov thing.”

  “What happened?”

  “We had a hell of a fight among ourselves. He had a couple of advocates on the board, but the rest of us were pissed off about the ass he made of himself on TV and in the Times.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Stone said.

  “Boris is sure going to be. His buddies on the board will have already hit him with the news.”

  “He actually left Sony for the deal at Centurion?”

  “There never was a deal here. He was assisted out of Sony with a pat on the back and a kick in the ass, and he was trying to save face and pressure us to let him move onto the lot. I don’t think we’d even rent him office space at this point. The guy’s a moneymaker, but he’s an asshole. Everybody who’s worked with him says so. I expect Gala has told you about that.”

  “Gala doesn’t like to talk about him, so I’ve heard only the bare minimum, and I couldn’t find anything to like in that.”

  They pulled up at the canteen, and everybody got out of the carts and went into the dining room, where a large table had been reserved for the board. Two of them hung back at the door, their cell phones glued to their heads.

  “I’m glad I’m not a part of those conversations,” Leo said.

  They took their seats, Stone next to Leo.

  “Oh, and Ben Bacchetti was confirmed as senior VP in charge of production.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” Stone said.

  “The kid is going to be great. There hasn’t been anybody that smart at the studio since me. Not that your kid isn’t smart—he just doesn’t have the ambition to run things, the way Ben does. All he wants to do i
s write and direct movies, and that’s just fine with me—he keeps going like he is, and he’ll be one of the greats.”

  “Thank you, Leo. I’m glad to hear that.”

  Leo’s cell phone went off. “Goldman. He’s where? I don’t care what he says, I don’t want to see him. And revoke his gate pass right now. I don’t want him on the lot again.” Leo hung up. “That was our head of security. Boris Tirov showed up at the main gate, demanding to see me. The guard didn’t like the way he sounded and called his boss, who called me. You heard my response.”

  “Everybody at the table heard it, Leo,” Stone said.

  “I wanted his buddies to hear it. Now no one will so much as mention his name to me again. Nothing like a little yelling to make a point.”

  Stone laughed. “That works, does it?”

  “You bet your sweet ass it works. I’m not going to spend my last couple of years here dealing with assholes. Life is too short, especially mine.”

  “Are you unwell, Leo?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been better. My doctor says I’ll have a good year or two, then one day I’ll clutch my chest and turn blue.”

  “How about a transplant?”

  “I’m not a candidate for that, and anyway, who wants to spend months in bed getting over it? I mean, Bob Altman got himself a new ticker on the quiet, and nobody was the wiser, not even the insurance companies, and he worked like a dervish for another ten, eleven years after his transplant. Tell you the truth, I’m not anxious to live all that long. I’ve had a great ride, I’ll leave the studio in great shape, and if he’s as good as I think he’ll be, Ben will have a shot at succeeding me. Anyway, my wife would put me in the Motion Picture Home the minute I got to be a pain in the ass, and I don’t want to sit around there in a wheelchair listening to old actors tell me how they were screwed out of the Oscar that time.”

  “I don’t blame you, Leo,” Stone said.

  —

  Stone got back to the house at the Arrington in time for a swim and a drink by the pool with the Bacchettis, the Eagles, and Gala. And Bob, who was soaking wet.

  “Boris didn’t get his deal at Centurion,” Stone said to her in a quiet moment.