Dishonorable Intentions Page 3
“I heard from him about it. He takes the view that you screwed him because of me.”
“I wasn’t even at the meeting,” Stone said. He related his freeway experience. “I got there in time for lunch.”
“I don’t think Boris will ever buy that,” Gala said. “Not for a minute. He’s always liked having a bête noire in his life, somebody to blame for his failures, and now, it looks like you’re it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Stone said. “Anyway, what could he do to me?”
6
Stone’s son, Peter, arrived for pre-party drinks with Ben Bacchetti, and Stone sat them down in the library with his houseguests.
“Congratulations, Ben,” Stone said. “I missed the board meeting today, but I heard about it from Leo Goldman.”
“Thank you, Stone,” Ben said. “I signed my first production order today.” He raised his glass to Gala. “It’s a wonderful script,” he said. “I’m not going to mess with it, and I’ll see that nobody else does, either.”
“That’s the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me, Ben,” Gala replied.
“From now on, you have your agent send your ideas directly to me, and we’ll cut some red tape.”
“I like having the ear of God,” she said.
“Peter,” Stone said, “Leo told me today that if you keep going like you have, you’re going to be one of the greats.”
Peter laughed. “Hyperbole is Leo Goldman’s native tongue,” he said. Peter took a sip of his drink. “Dad, there’s something you should know.”
Ben broke in. “This one is my fault—let me tell him.”
“Okay, tell me,” Stone said.
“I invited Boris Tirov to the party tonight, at a time when I thought he would be the new guy on the lot.”
“Uh-oh,” Gala said quietly.
“I’ve tried to reach him, but he’s not at home, and he’s not answering his cell.”
“He must be smart enough not to show up tonight,” Dino said.
“Don’t count on it,” Gala threw in.
“Well,” Dino said, “if he does show, Stone, as host, can just explain to him that he’s no longer welcome.”
“Gee, thanks, Dino,” Stone said.
“I don’t want to be anywhere nearby when that happens,” Gala said.
“Is he likely to make a fuss?” Stone asked.
Gala just rolled her eyes.
Stone excused himself for a moment and went into the living room, where he picked up a phone and called the head of hotel security.
“Yes, Mr. Barrington?”
“I’m having a party tonight at the house, and I’ve had word that there may be an unruly guest.”
“We can take care of that. I’ll send a couple of men over.”
“Plainclothes, please, and ask them to handle it as discreetly as possible.”
“Of course. Our people are good at that. May I have the gentleman’s name?”
“Boris Tirov.”
“Ah, yes, we had to remove that gentleman from the bar a couple of weeks ago. He took a swing at the film critic of the L.A. Times. Apparently, the man didn’t like his movies enough. I’ll have the main gate warn me when he arrives.”
Stone thanked the man and returned to his guests.
—
By seven o’clock most of the guest list had arrived, and servers were bringing platters from the kitchen to the buffet tables set up by the pool. Stone was in a conversation with Billy Barnett, who had become an important part of Peter and Ben’s production company, when he glanced toward the hedge separating the pool from a guesthouse beyond and saw Boris Tirov step past the hedge, a drink already in his hand. “Oh, shit,” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Billy asked.
“A disinvited guest has just snuck into the party.” He looked around for the security men and saw them on the opposite side of the group, where one would expect guests to arrive.
“Would you like me to speak to the gentleman?” Billy asked.
“No, I’ll handle it myself.” Stone set his drink on a table and walked around the pool, meeting Tirov before he could reach the crowd. “Good evening, Mr. Tirov,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Stone Barrington.”
Tirov brushed the hand aside. “Ah,” he said, “the guy who torpedoed my deal at Centurion today.”
“You’ve been misinformed,” Stone replied. “I wasn’t at the board meeting this morning.”
“You lying piece of shit,” Tirov said, swaying slightly. “I know who you are and why you killed my deal.”
Stone realized that the man was already drunk. “You never had a deal at Centurion,” he said, “but if I had been at the meeting, I would have done what I could to see that it didn’t happen.”
Tirov threw his drink in Stone’s face, momentarily blinding him, and swung with a wide left at his head.
Stone barely had time to see it coming, but he took a step backward toward the pool, coming close to stepping into the water. Tirov’s momentum took him straight into the pool, making a huge splash.
Stone looked up to see Billy Barnett moving toward him, followed closely by the two hotel security guards. He looked back toward Tirov, who was flailing in the water. Stone wondered if the man could swim. He saw a life ring with a length of rope hanging on a post a few feet away, and he retrieved it and tossed it to Tirov. He certainly wasn’t going in after him.
“Let security take care of it,” he said to Billy, taking his arm and steering him back toward the party.
“We’ve got this, Mr. Barrington,” one of the guards said.
“Take him out past the guesthouse and around to wherever he parked his car,” Stone said, handing the man the end of the rope. “If you think he’s too drunk, drive him home.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll take care of it.”
Stone took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face and clothes. It wasn’t bad enough to require a change.
“Oh,” he said, turning to the guards. “Tell the front gate not to admit him to the grounds again, on my authority, and tell the restaurant manager not to take any further reservations from him.”
“Yes, sir.”
Stone and Billy returned to the party. Ben approached. “I saw that,” he said. “I’m going to bar the guy from the studio.”
“Leo’s already taken care of that,” Stone replied, “and he won’t be welcome at the Arrington, either. Did you include any press for the party?”
“A couple of film critics.”
“Then they will already have phoned their papers. You’d better get studio publicity to make some calls, and if they can’t kill the story, at least be sure they have the facts straight.”
“Good idea.” Ben reached for his cell.
Stone grabbed a new drink from a passing waiter.
“I’ve heard some nasty things about that guy,” Billy Barnett said. “You’d better watch yourself for a while.”
“I don’t think he’ll be a problem. He’s going to come off badly in the press over his lost Centurion deal, and I think he’ll want to lie low for a while.”
“The rumor is, he’s connected to the Russian mob,” Billy said.
“Oh, God, not those people again,” Stone said, groaning.
“Don’t go anywhere alone while you’re out here,” Billy said. “I can arrange for studio security to hang with you, until you’re ready to go back to New York.”
“Thanks, Billy, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
Stone went to find Gala.
—
Ben put away his phone and approached Billy. “I heard that, Billy,” he said. “Good idea—put a couple of people on Stone, but not too closely. Keep them in the background.”
“Got it,” Billy said.
7
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Last night’s incident made the papers, both the Times and the Hollywood Reporter.”
“Are the pieces accurate?”
“Entirely.”
“We can thank the Centurion press office for that.”
“The problem is, any factual account of last night’s events will humiliate Boris.”
“Fine with me.”
“Not that he doesn’t deserve the humiliation, it’s just that he will react badly.”
“He seems to react badly to everything,” Stone observed.
“Everything but unqualified praise,” she admitted.
“Well, I don’t see what I can do about that, except ignore him.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Do you have a suggestion for handling this?”
“That’s the problem—there’s no way to handle it. I mean, I don’t think that Centurion is going to reverse its decision, do you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then we’ll just have to sit it out and hope he doesn’t show his face around the hotel again.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“The L. A. Times piece refers to his being escorted out of the bar last week, after he insulted their film critic.”
“The head of security mentioned that. Did I tell you that I ordered him banned from the hotel grounds?”
“No, but what a good idea!”
“And Leo Goldman has banned him from Centurion, canceled his gate pass.”
The phone at bedside rang.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Barrington, there’s a lady on the phone from an entertainment television show, Hollywood Tonight, who wishes to speak with you.”
“All right, put her through.” There was a click. “Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes?”
“This is Helen Carr at Hollywood Tonight.”
“Good morning, Ms. Carr.”
“I wonder if I could ask you a few questions about last night’s incident at your home at the Arrington?”
“I’d rather not discuss it,” Stone said, “but the piece in the Times this morning was substantially accurate.”
“Mr. Tirov is saying that you pushed him into the swimming pool when he wasn’t looking. Is that correct?”
“It is not. Mr. Tirov found his way into the pool without my assistance or that of anyone else, and there were numerous witnesses.”
“May I quote you on that?”
“Please do, and now I’d like to finish my breakfast.”
“Of course. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.” He hung up the phone. “Now Tirov is saying I pushed him into the pool.”
“He would say that.”
Stone pushed away his tray. “I’ve got to get into the shower. Dino and I are playing golf at the Bel-Air Country Club, and we’ve got a ten o’clock tee time. What are your plans for the day?”
“I believe I’ll stick close to home today. I’m sure Boris has found a way to blame me for last night, and I don’t want to run into him.”
“I don’t blame you a bit.”
—
Shortly before ten o’clock that morning, Stone and Dino stood, waiting for a foursome to tee off ahead of them at the Bel-Air Country Club, when they were approached by a man wearing a suit.
“Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Martin Glock. I’m the chairman of the membership committee at the club.”
This didn’t sound good, but Stone extended his hand. “How do you do, Mr. Glock?”
“Very well, thank you. We’re aware that you’ve been playing here for a year or so as a guest of Leo Goldman at Centurion Studios.”
“That’s correct.” I’m about to be kicked out of here, he thought. I smell Boris Tirov.
“Well, the membership committee met earlier this morning and elected three new members—yourself, your son, Peter, and his business partner, Ben Bacchetti. You’ll be notified by mail, of course, but I wanted to take the opportunity to meet you and give you the news personally.”
Stone heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Mr. Glock, I’m delighted to hear it. May I introduce my guest? This is Dino Bacchetti, New York’s police commissioner.”
The two men shook hands. “Welcome, Commissioner. We’d be delighted to have you at the club anytime.”
“Thank you, Mr. Glock.”
“Please call me Martin. I’m afraid I have other news that isn’t so good,” Glock said.
“Oh?” Now what?
“The committee also considered the application of Mr. Boris Tirov, and he was declined, not least because of what we all read in the papers this morning. That, of course, is entirely confidential.”
“Of course,” Stone said. “I hope Mr. Tirov won’t be given the impression that I had anything to do with his being declined.”
“Certainly not. In cases like this we never give a reason for declining. You gentlemen appear to be up for teeing off. I hope you have a pleasant round.”
“Thank you,” Stone said. He teed his shot, took a couple of practice swings, and sliced his drive a good ten yards into the rough.
“Ah, your maiden drive as a new member,” Dino said, teeing his ball. He took a practice swing and drove his shot even with Stone’s but right down the center of the fairway.
They played the first nine and were making the turn when two large men made an appearance, apparently leaving their car in Stone Canyon Drive and coming through the high hedge.
“More members of the committee, come to congratulate you?” Dino asked.
“I doubt it,” Stone said, picking a club from his bag and leaning on it. “I expect them to have Russian accents. Are you armed?”
Dino took his driver from his bag. “I am now.”
“You Barrington?” the larger of the two asked. His accent was, indeed, Russian.
“Yes, I am, and this is my dear friend, the police commissioner.”
The man looked at Dino and blinked. “That don’t look like him.”
“I get that all the time,” Dino said.
“We got a message for you, Barrington,” the man said, unbuttoning his jacket, “from Boris Tirov.” He put his hand under his jacket.
“If that hand comes out with anything in it,” Stone said, “you’re going to get a message from the edge of a steel sand wedge, in your teeth.” He displayed the implement for emphasis.
“And a driver, too,” Dino said, waggling his club.
The man’s hand stopped, then came out empty. “Dis is de message from Boris—he gonna kick your ass.”
“Tell him,” Stone said, “that I wish him a continued lack of success in that effort. Oh, and you might tell him there’s news from the membership committee of this golf club—he has been rejected as a member.” Stone smiled. “We just heard.”
“He ain’t gonna like that message,” the man said.
“I hope not,” Stone replied. “Now get your ass back through that hedge and out of here.” He took a step toward the man, sand wedge at the ready.
The two men fumbled their way through the hedge and, a moment later, were heard to drive away.
“I think,” Dino said, “you’d better start arming yourself with something more threatening than a sand wedge.”
8
Stone and Dino finished their round and adjourned to the clubhouse bar for a sandwich.
Martin Glock was there and introduced them to a few other members, then he placed a key on the table. “Here’s yo
ur locker key, Stone. I think you’ll find it commodious enough for the commissioner’s clubs, as well.”
“Thank you, Martin.”
“Oddly enough, I had a visit from Mr. Tirov while you were playing. Apparently, he had got wind of his rejection by the committee. I can’t imagine how.”
“Bad news travels fast, I suppose.”
“Ah, yes. Mr. Tirov had to be assisted from the grounds—for the last time, I hope.”
“I hope so, too.”
“We’ve since heard that he’s been barred from Centurion Studios and from the Arrington, as well.”
“I can confirm that,” Stone said.
“It seems the committee made the right decision. Good day, gentlemen.” He strolled away.
“Well,” Dino said, “if Boris was angry last night, imagine how he must be feeling right about now.”
“I’ve given enough thought to Mr. Tirov,” Stone said. “He is now officially barred from my mind.”
—
They returned to the Arrington after lunch, and Stone excused himself for a swim. He got into his suit, grabbed a towel, and walked out to the pool, where he encountered the President of the United States happily swimming laps. He sat on the edge of the pool and waited for her to finish, while two Secret Service agents, a man and a woman, kept an eye on him.
Kate Lee pulled herself out of the pool and sat next to him. “I hope you don’t mind my borrowing your pool. Mine was occupied. How are you, Stone?”
“I’m very well, thank you,” he replied, putting a towel around her shoulders. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Only a whim. Once in a while, I like to forget I’m a fairly new mother.”
“And how is the heir?”
“Having his afternoon nap,” she replied, “under the watchful eyes of a nanny and two Secret Service agents.”
“Can I get you anything? Lunch? Other refreshment?”
“No, I’m perfectly fine. Though, from what I read in this morning’s papers, you are not. Who is this fellow Tirov?”
“A nuisance who used to be married to a friend of mine.”
“Those are the worst kind of nuisances, aren’t they?”