Sex, Lies & Serious Money

34

An Arrington hotel car drove Stone to Centurion Studios the following morning, and his board of directors’ pass got him through the gate. Peter’s offices were housed in what had been Vance Calder’s cottage on the lot, and he had expanded into another building next door.

Billy Barnett was waiting for him in a rocking chair on the front porch. Billy had begun life as Teddy Fay and had been a career CIA officer, working in and eventually directing their office of special services, which equipped agents with all sorts of things, from weapons to communications equipment and even more exotic items. Upon his retirement Teddy had started a personal war against certain politicians, and for some years he had been an elusive fugitive from justice, until Stone had used his friendship with the former president, Will Lee, to get him pardoned and his identity wiped clean from the government’s computers. “Billy Barnett” was now an upstanding citizen.

They shook hands warmly. “Peter has another half an hour’s work to do in the editing suite,” Billy said. “He asked me to take you down to the studio commissary and get a table, and he’ll join us for lunch.”

Billy escorted Stone to a golf cart, and they drove down the New York Street — the largest and most used standing set at the studio — and thence to the commissary, where a table awaited them.

“I hear you had a brush with terrorism at the Arrington yesterday,” Billy said.

Stone was astonished. “How the hell did you hear about that?”

“Hollywood is a small town within Los Angeles. Word gets around quickly.”

“I’ve seen just two people since the board meeting, where the bombing attempt was discussed in the strictest confidence, and both of them knew about it.”

Billy smiled and spread his hands. “What can I tell you?”

They ordered a cold soup and had finished that before Peter showed up. He and Stone embraced. “I’m glad you were safe from the bomb,” he said.

“There, that’s three for three.”

“What?” Peter asked.

“No one is supposed to know about that, but everyone, including you, seems to.”

“It’s a small town,” Peter said, and sat down.

Stone regaled him with questions about his work and got fulsome answers. He was proud of his son, and he enjoyed hearing about his career. “And how’s our Ben Bacchetti doing in his new job?” Ben was Dino Bacchetti’s son and Peter’s production partner, but he had recently been elevated to the studio’s head of production, the youngest in Hollywood since Irving Thalberg in the twenties.

“Ben is thriving. I think he actually enjoys being overworked.”

“But he’s still producing your work?”

“He is, and his new job means we have one less level to get approvals from. Only Leo Goldman stands between us and a production order, and he usually is thrilled to sign them.”

“Funny how profits turn a CEO’s head. How is Leo?” Goldman was fighting cancer but still at work.

“He’s undergoing a new treatment that seems to be working wonders. He looks great.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“By the way, Stone,” Billy said, “I don’t know if you’ve heard this, but the man who was arrested trying to detonate your bomb yesterday was a Centurion employee.”

“Good God!”

“I’m afraid so — young fellow in his twenties who was a technician in our armory.” The Centurion armory supplied weapons and blank ammunition for the studio’s movies. “There’s some speculation that he might have built the bomb here.”

“Are you aware that there were three other bombs?”

Billy and Peter shook their heads. “I guess it’s not as small a town as I had thought,” Billy said.

“No, the other bombs were at our hotels in Rome, Paris, and next door to my house in England. The plan was for all three to go off simultaneously. Fortunately, our security people here got the word out and all the plots were foiled. They captured one man in England, the Rome and Paris bombers got away.”

“Have you heard anything about who the London guy was?”

“No, perhaps I should ask you two.”

“I guess we’re not as plugged in with England,” Peter said. “None of the bombs went off?”

“No. We’ve got a new piece of equipment called a security blanket. If a bomb is discovered the blanket is thrown over it, and it blocks radio and cell phone transmissions that might detonate it.”

“What a great idea!” Peter said. “I can use that in a movie. It sounds like your security people are really on the ball.”

“That’s true. With each of our hotels, we’ve had opposition from either terrorists or criminals — either the Italian Mafia or, even worse, the Russians.”

“Have they been quiet lately?”

“I think they’ve found us too costly to deal with. The Italian godfather is in prison, and most of the Russian opposition is dead.” He didn’t mention that Billy had been instrumental in their demise; Peter still didn’t know that Billy had saved their lives when he and Ben had been driving across the country to start their production company at Centurion.

“So, Dad, who are you seeing these days? I heard that the affair with the screenwriter cooled down.”

“I guess you could put it that way. I’ve met someone interesting since I’ve been here, though — a theatrical set designer named Jinx Jameson.”

“I know the name,” Peter said. “They’re doing one of her productions at the Ahmanson Theatre.”

“That’s why she’s in town. I’m giving her a lift home to New York tomorrow.”

“Well, if that doesn’t impress her, nothing will. On the other hand, does she know you’re the pilot?”

“I don’t believe I mentioned that,” Stone said.

“She’s probably expecting something like the Centurion Gulfstream 650.”

“I certainly hope not.”

“You say ‘private jet’ and people think you’re flying something that will carry thirty passengers, instead of six.”

“You could have a point. Well, it will teach her not to anticipate too much.”

“The world would be a simpler place if people didn’t over-anticipate,” Billy said.

“Perhaps I’d better drop a hint at dinner tonight.”

“I wouldn’t,” Peter said. “She might back out, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“No,” Stone replied, “I wouldn’t. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”