Stuart Woods: Son of Stone

“And don’t call me sir, either. Let’s just be friends. How tall are you?”

“Five feet eleven and a half inches, si-Stone.”

“That’s tall for fifteen-er, sixteen-isn’t it?”

“I think so. The doctor told me I’ll be well over six feet.”

“I expect you will. And your voice has already changed; you’re a baritone.”

“It happens, I guess. I sounded pretty funny for a while there.”

“I expect you did. Did your mother tell you I have a friend who’s a policeman, Dino Bacchetti?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Dino has a son who’s… about your age, and we’re having dinner with them tonight.”

“At Elaine’s?”

“Your mother told you about Elaine’s?”

“She told me a lot about it. She said it was her favorite place in New York.”

“Is this your first visit to New York?”

“Yes, it is. My folks always left me at home when they came here.”

“I think you’re going to like it,” Stone said. “Come on, let’s go find your room.”

They got onto the elevator, rode up two floors, and entered the smallest guest room, adjacent to Stone’s master suite. He hadn’t wanted the boy to feel lost in one of the bigger rooms.

“Have you had lunch?”

“Yes, they fed me on the airplane,” he replied.

“What do you think of your mother’s new Gulfstream?”

“Wow!” Peter said.

“Exactly. Now, I have to go to a meeting with the new head of Centurion Studios in a few minutes. Why don’t you get unpacked and watch some TV?”

“You’re seeing Mr. Goldman? Stone, I’d like very much to meet him. May I come with you? I’m a film student.”

Stone was taken aback, but what the hell? Goldman couldn’t object to meeting the son of Vance Calder, his studio’s greatest star. “Of course, Peter. I’ll be glad to have you come along. Go ahead and get settled, then come down to my office, on the bottom floor. We’re due at Centurion’s New York office in forty-five minutes.”

“I’ll be down in fifteen,” Peter said, unsnapping a suitcase and starting to hang up jackets and suits.

Stone went back to his office, shaking his head. What a shock! The kid was nearly a man in both appearance and manner!

Stone and Peter arrived at Centurion’s Fifth Avenue offices on time. Peter was carrying a slim leather envelope-style briefcase, and Stone wondered what was in it. They were asked to wait for a moment while Leo Goldman finished a conference call to the coast.

“You’re a film student?” Stone asked Peter. “In high school?”

“We have only one film class at school, so perhaps I should have said, ‘student of film.’ ”

“I see. What part of film most interests you?”

“I want to direct,” Peter replied.

Of course, Stone thought. Everybody wants to direct. “Good,” he said.

“Mr. Goldman will see you now,” the secretary said, just as Mike Freeman walked in.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, shaking hands with Stone.

“We had a short wait anyway,” Stone replied. “Mike, this is Peter, Arrington’s son.”

“Of course,” Mike said, shaking the boy’s hand. “I heard a lot about you from your mother on a flight across the country in her new airplane.”

“Yes, she told me you helped her find and buy it,” Peter said.

They walked into a large square room, which was decorated with abstract paintings. Leo Goldman, Jr., rose from his chair and pumped everybody’s hand. He was short, stocky, and balding, and he waved an unlit cigar when he talked.

“And this is my friend Peter,” Stone said. For some reason, he didn’t mention Peter’s last name. He wasn’t sure why.

“Good to see you, Stone, Mike. And Peter, I’m very glad to know you.”

Peter nodded and managed a shy smile.

“Peter is a student of film,” Stone said, “and he wanted to meet you.”

“Yes, Mr. Goldman,” Peter said, “I’m an admirer of your work as a producer, particularly Chain Letter.”

Goldman looked surprised. “Well, Peter, you have an eye for quality, but perhaps not for commercial success. That one was my worst turkey.”

“Oh, I liked Blast, too,” Peter said. “And I liked your father’s work when he was running Centurion.”

Goldman roared. “That’s more like it. Let’s sit.” He waved them to a round conference table in a corner, and after a few pleasantries, Goldman launched into a description of his first year at the helm, covering grosses and expenses along the way. He talked nonstop for forty minutes, also covering his production plans for the coming year and a number of TV pilots that were currently in production. “Any questions?” he asked when he was done.

“Not from me,” Stone said. “I think you’ve covered everything I could have asked.”

“That goes for me, too,” Mike Freeman replied.

“May I ask a question?” Peter said, half raising his hand.

The three men stared at him.

“Of course, Peter,” Goldman said.

“I noticed that three of the new productions that you’ve mentioned are budgeted at between seventy and eighty million dollars, whereas in the past Centurion has always kept its budgets in the fifty-million-dollar range. Why the increase?”

Goldman blinked. “You’ve been reading the annual reports, haven’t you?”

“I read everything about Centurion,” Peter said. “It interests me.”

“Well, there are three things that have increased these budgets: creeping rises in general costs, which are inevitable; increased salaries for the stars of those films, who are all hot young actors; and the fact that all three of those pictures are action-based and shot on location, instead of just ordinary in-studio productions.”

“Do you think the grosses will justify the increases in budgets?” Peter asked.

“I think the grosses will more than justify the increases,” Goldman said, “and if I’m wrong, I’ll be answering to Stone, Mike, and the other directors this time next year.”

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“Anything else, gentlemen? Peter?”

All three shook their heads. “We’ll let you get back to work, Leo,” Stone said, rising.

As they took their leave, pausing at the office door to shake hands, Peter spoke up again. “Mr. Goldman, I hope this isn’t an imposition, but I wonder if I could ask your opinion about something I’m working on.”

“Sure, Peter. What are you working on?”

Peter opened his leather envelope and handed Goldman a bound sheaf of papers and a DVD. “I’m making a film at school, and this is the script and a recording of the seventy minutes I’ve already shot. I’d appreciate it very much if you could find time to take a look at it and let me know what you think. I could use some expert advice.”

Goldman received the script and the disc. “Where can I get in touch with you?”

“At Stone’s, for the next two weeks,” Peter replied.

“I’ll be in touch,” Goldman said.

The three left the building, and Peter did some window-shopping while Stone and Mike talked.

“How old is that kid?” Mike asked.

“Fifteen, going on sixteen.”

“Going on forty,” Mike said. “He certainly knows how to take advantage of an opportunity, and he has charm, too. Have you looked at his script or the recording?”

Stone shook his head. “I knew nothing about it. He asked if he could come to our meeting, said he was a student of film, but no more than that.”

Mike shook his head and laughed. “He’s got enough chutzpah for the film business.”

“He certainly does,” Stone said. “And I’m still getting over the fact that he’s not the twelve-year-old I was expecting.”