L.A. Times Page 6

  The film started again, and Vinnie made every effort not to look at Goldman. This was easy for him, for he had not seen the finished film himself, and he was entranced.

  Ten minutes into the film Goldman glanced at his watch, then picked up the telephone.

  Oh, shit, Vinnie thought, I blew this one.

  “Bernice,” Goldman said into the telephone, “hold my calls.”

  Vinnie sank back into the big chair and started to enjoy the film again.

  Goldman had gone through two more cigars during the film, but he had not shifted in his seat. He waited until the final credit had rolled before he spoke. “Who owns this movie?” he asked.

  “The Downtown Nights Company, Incorporated,” Vinnie replied.

  “And who owns the corporation?”

  “I do.”

  “A hundred percent of the stock?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “What about your investors?”

  “They invested in the film, not the corporation.”

  “So you’re free to deal, without encumbrance?”

  “I am.”

  “Who else has seen this film?”

  “Nobody but you; not even the director has seen this print, and it’s one of only two prints. The other is for the festival.”

  “What do you want for the negative?”

  “Make me an offer.”

  “I’ll give you two million dollars for it, lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “No.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Leo, tomorrow night the film is going to be shown at the New York Film Festival. The reviews will appear in the Times the following morning. It won’t be a secret anymore.”

  “All right, two and a quarter million.”

  Vinnie shook his head slowly. He was waiting to be asked again what he wanted.

  Leo stood up. “See you around, kid,” he said, and strode up the aisle of the little theater.

  Keep functioning, Vinnie said to himself. He pressed the button on the intercom. “Jerry, please rewind the reels.”

  Goldman walked through the swinging doors.

  Vinnie sat and waited for the projectionist to finish rewinding. He willed himself not to run after Goldman. Never mind, he was thinking, they’ll all see it tomorrow night.

  Goldman came back through the swinging doors, strode down the aisle, and sat down next to Vinnie. “All right, let’s see how smart you are,” he said. “Tell me what you want. Be reasonable, be realistic. If you do that, I’ll buy it.”

  “I want three million dollars cash,” Vinnie said. “I want ten gross points—that’s me, personally, not the corporation—a separate contract; I want a guarantee of a minimum of eight million dollars spent on advertising and promotion; I want a guarantee that it will open on not less than one thousand screens; I want a guarantee that nobody will touch one frame of it.”

  “I don’t do gross points,” Goldman said.

  “Leo, you’re going to have a terrific finished film in the theaters for a third of what it would cost you to produce it yourself.”

  “It may have to be edited for television.”

  “You can dub language, you can’t edit.”

  “I want you to come to work in development for me. I’ll give you six hundred grand a year and a good expense account, five-year contract.”

  “I don’t want to develop, Leo, I want to produce. I want a production deal.”

  “What kind of a deal?”

  “Three-quarters of a million a year, the expense account, and overhead of three hundred thousand; a million a year in development money; three-year contract.”

  “Three years and an option for two more; any budget over a negative cost of twenty million, you fund elsewhere.”

  “All right, but you get thirty days to green-light; after that, I can take it anywhere I want, but shoot at Centurion. If you pick up my option, I get a million and a half a year.”

  “Six weeks to green-light.”

  “Done,” Vinnie said.

  Goldman picked up a phone and punched in a number. “Murray, I want a negative buyout contract right now; the price is three million; the film is called Downtown Nights, we’re buying from Downtown Nights Company, Incorporated. I said now. Further, I want a separate contract giving ten gross points personally to one Michael Vincent. Further, I want a producer’s contract drawn.” He dictated the terms exactly as he and Vinnie had agreed. “One more thing,” he said. “Cut me a check for three million dollars to the corporation and another one for a hundred thousand to Vincent. I want everything in my office in half an hour.” He hung up.

  “You can generate those contracts in half an hour?” Vinnie asked incredulously.

  Goldman waved a hand. “It’s all boilerplate; he’ll insert the numbers and spew the whole thing out of a word processor. It’ll take him forty-five minutes.” He got up. “Where’s the negative?”

  “In your screening room,” Vinnie replied.

  “I like the way you do business, Michael. Come on.”

  Vinnie followed Goldman at a near-trot to his office. It was a square room, about thirty feet on a side, and the walls were hung with a mixture of abstract paintings and impressionists.

  “A beautiful collection,” Vinnie said.

  “You should see the stuff at my house,” Goldman replied. He riffled through his calendar. “Let’s see, I’m back from London on Saturday. You show up on the lot on Monday morning; come to dinner on Tuesday. Want me to arrange a girl?”

  “I’ve got one of those.”

  “Married?”

  “No.”

  “Smart.”

  The contracts arrived. Vinnie went through them carefully, taking his time, while Goldman caught up on his phone messages. He complained about some clauses, quibbled about others. Goldman was reasonable. By seven in the evening the contracts had been revised, and Goldman and Vinnie signed.

  Goldman handed him two checks. “There’s your buyout. Here’s another for a hundred grand, the first payment on your contract.”

  Vinnie stood up and shook Goldman’s hand. “Thank you, Leo.”

  “Let me ask you something, Michael: what did it cost you for the negative?”

  “Six hundred and thirty thousand dollars,” Vinnie replied.

  Goldman roared with laughter. “I love it!” he shouted. “I figured a million eight! I paid you more than you wanted! Of course, you’re screwing your investors, taking the ten points directly to you.”

  “I only have two investors, and they’ll make out like bandits. You got a good deal, too; you don’t make bad deals.”

  “It’s always like this, kid; two guys make a deal, they both always know something the other doesn’t. It works out in the end.”

  Vinnie looked at Goldman sharply. “Leo, what do you know that I don’t know?”

  Goldman permitted himself a small smile. “Carol Geraldi checked out this morning. An overdose. That’s going to guarantee ten million dollars worth of free publicity for this movie, and I’m going to get her a posthumous Academy Award. You wait and see.”

  Vinnie sat back in the cab and looked at his two checks. If he had known about Geraldi’s death, he could have gotten at least another million, he thought. Never mind, he reasoned, he’d make out just fine with his gross points.

  CHAPTER

  11

  Vinnie had three meetings on the morning of the showing of Downtown Nights at the New York Film Festival. First, he met Chuck at the coffeeshop where they had first talked about making Downtown Nights.

  “Where have you been?” Chuck asked. “I ran the film last night, and it looks great. You haven’t even seen it.”

  “I saw it yesterday afternoon with Leo Goldman of Centurion Pictures.”

  “How did you get to Goldman?”

  “I told you I had some connections.”

  “What did he think?”

  “He loved it. He paid me three million dollars for it.”

  Chuck�
��s mouth fell open; he seemed unable to speak.

  “Is that all right with you, Chuck?” Vinnie asked.

  “Well…I don’t know. Is that a good deal? You never checked with me.”

  “It’s a very good deal, Chuck, and our contract stipulates that I conduct all negotiations and have the final say.”

  “Well, if that’s what it says. When do I see some money?”

  Vinnie produced an envelope. “Here’s your first payment,” he said.

  Chuck ripped open the envelope. “A hundred and fifty grand, all at once!”

  “That’s your fee for writing and directing.” Vinnie produced another check.

  Chuck’s hands were trembling as he opened the envelope. “Five hundred ninety-seven thousand, four hundred and twenty-five dollars,” he said weakly.

  “That’s your investment of three hundred thousand, plus the earnings.”

  “That’s…that’s…” Chuck was looking at the ceiling, concentrating.

  “That’s a total of seven hundred forty-seven thousand dollars and change,” Vinnie said. “Let me tell you how it breaks down. We spent six hundred and fifty thousand shooting the film. We got three million for it, leaving two million, three hundred and fifty thousand. Out of that, your fee for directing and writing was a hundred and fifty thousand; my fee for producing was two hundred and fifty thousand…”

  “How come you get more than me?” Chuck demanded. “It was my film.”

  “For two reasons,” Vinnie said calmly. “First, I’m picking up the legal work, which is going to be expensive. Second, none of this would have happened without me; you wouldn’t have three quarters of a million dollars in your hand, and your film wouldn’t be showing at the New York Film Festival tonight.”

  “You’re right, Michael,” Chuck said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful.”

  “To continue: that leaves a million nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars profit. Taxes are something over six hundred and fifty thousand, leaving a net of a little under a million three to distribute to investors. Your share is forty-six percent. It’s all right here,” he said handing Chuck a document. “Believe me, if a studio had done the film they’d have raked off most of the profits.”

  Chuck was looking at the checks and nodding. “Yes!” he shouted.

  Vinnie’s second meeting took place later that morning. He and Tommy Pro sat in the little office at the back of La Boheme and drank espresso.

  “Is this place clean?” Vinnie asked, looking around the room. There was a constant fear of electronic bugs in the place.

  “It was swept this morning,” Tommy replied. “You hear from the cops?”

  “Not a word.”

  “I know you didn’t hear from our people; I kept you out of it.”

  “Thanks, Tommy.”

  “So, how’s your movie coming along?”

  “It’s finished. It’s being shown at the New York Film Festival tonight.”

  “Fantastic! So maybe a studio will pick it up?”

  “A studio picked it up yesterday.”

  “Wonderful, Vinnie; how’d you do?”

  “I did okay.” Vinnie shoved a briefcase across the table. “Your legal fees,” he said.

  Tommy Pro lifted the lid of the case and peeked inside, then closed the case and shoved it back across the table. “Completely unnecessary,” he said.

  “Tommy, you did the legal work, and you…made it possible for me to make the movie.”

  “I did all right, too, remember?”

  “I remember, but it’s not enough.”

  “I got a lot more than you did out of all this.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Look around you. Where are we sitting?”

  “You’re the new…?”

  “I am. And if I say so myself, the family couldn’t have done better.”

  “You’re right, they couldn’t do better.”

  “So what’s next for you, Vinnie? Another movie?”

  “A lot of movies,” Vinnie replied. “I got a production deal at Centurion Pictures. I leave the day after tomorrow for L.A.”

  “So I’m going to know somebody in Hollywood? I get starlets when I come out?”

  “You get whatever you want, and it’ll always be on me.”

  “I’m looking forward,” Tommy said.

  “By the way, from now on I’m known as Michael Vincent. Think you can handle that?”

  Tommy Pro stood up, grabbed Vinnie, and hugged him. “Michaele,” he said.

  “I still owe you,” Vinnie replied.

  Vinnie’s third meeting took place at Le Cirque, at lunch. Barbara, who was a regular, had booked the table. When the champagne had arrived he handed her the check.

  “Just over a hundred percent profit in less than three months,” she said, tucking it into her purse.

  “Here’s a statement of where all the money went,” he said, handing her a sheet of paper.

  She tore it up and put the pieces in the ashtray. “Honey, I’ve made a profit, and that’s all I want. I don’t care how much you skimmed off the top.”

  “Barbara, I assure you…”

  She put a hand over his mouth. “I know you would never cheat me. I’m happy as a clam.” She sipped her champagne. “But,” she said, “I have the feeling I’m not going to be seeing as much of you.”

  He told her about his production deal with Centurion. “And it was all because you introduced me to Leo Goldman. I won’t forget that.”

  She kissed a finger and placed it on his lips. “As long as you don’t forget me,” she said.

  That afternoon, he picked up Vanessa from a modeling job and took her to the Palm Court of the Plaza for tea. When they had been served he handed her a slim book.

  “What is it?” she asked, leafing through it.

  “It’s a little-known nineteen-twenties novel called Pacific Afternoons,” he said. “It’s a wonderful book, and it’s going to be your first starring vehicle.”

  Vanessa jumped up and down and made little squealing noises.

  Vinnie took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and handed it to her with a pen. “You’ll be under contract to me, personally, for five years, starting at five thousand dollars a week, with raises each year.”

  She took the pen and signed the contract.

  “I think you should have your lawyer read it before you sign it,” Vinnie said.

  “I don’t need a lawyer,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

  Vinnie took a thick envelope from his briefcase. “Here’s your first month’s salary,” he said. “Why don’t you go shopping this afternoon? Save something for Rodeo Drive, though.”

  Her eyes widened. “Are we going to California?”

  “The day after tomorrow, first class,” he replied.

  Vanessa got up from her chair, walked around the table, sat in his lap and began kissing him.

  That night, Downtown Nights got a standing ovation at the film festival, and at a cocktail party afterward, Vinnie and Chuck received the congratulations of hundreds. The evening was marred only by Chuck’s first sight of Vinnie with Vanessa.

  The morning following the screening, Vinnie and Vanessa boarded an MGM Grand flight to Los Angeles. They settled into the luxurious seats and ordered champagne. Vinnie had a cashier’s check in his pocket for six hundred and sixty thousand dollars, representing his profits thus far from Downtown Nights, and in a carry-on bag in the overhead compartment was two hundred and sixty thousand dollars in cash, representing his savings and the proceeds from the murder of Benedetto. He was not quite a millionaire.

  As the airplane left Kennedy Airport and turned west, Vinnie looked down at lower Manhattan and raised his glass. “Good-bye Vinnie Callabrese,” he whispered, “and hello Michael Vincent!”

  CHAPTER

  12

  Michael opened his eyes and listened hard. There was a noise, a sound he was unaccustomed to. The room was dark, and he wasn’t sure where he
was; then he recognized the sound.

  He got out of bed and stumbled across the room, groping for the curtain pull. He swept open the drapes and blinked in the morning sunlight. A limb of a giant tree spanned the length of the windows, and on it sat two fat birds, singing loudly. Birds singing, Michael thought to himself. California!

  Vanessa slept soundly, a mask over her eyes. Michael went to his luggage and dug out a small box, then went into the bathroom and regarded his image in the mirror. Vinnie Callabrese stared back at him. He opened the box and installed the batteries in the electric clippers. It took two minutes to dispose of Vinnie. He whipped up some lather and shaved off the remaining stubble. There, he said to himself, finally. Michael Vincent smiled back at him.

  “Jesus,” Vanessa said from behind him.

  He turned and looked at her. “I thought you were sound asleep.”

  “The birds woke me up,” she said. “You are gorgeous—you look so much better without the beard. All you need now is a haircut.”

  “It’s Sunday; the barbershops are closed.”

  She dragged a stool over to the mirror and dug into her makeup kit, coming up with a shiny pair of scissors. “How do you think I made my living before I got a modeling job?”

  “Are you any good?”

  “Trust me,” she smiled. “Now sit down and shut up. I know exactly how you should look.”

  Michael sat down nervously. “Not too much off,” he said.

  “I told you to shut up,” she said, running her fingers through his thick hair, snipping away.

  When she had finished, he stood up and looked closely at his reflection while she held a mirror behind his head. “It’s a lot shorter,” he said.

  “It’s a lot better,” she replied. “Now you look like a businessman instead of a film student.”

  She ordered breakfast sent to the suite, and he went through the real estate section of the Los Angeles Times, occasionally marking something.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.