“All right, since Peter knows, anyway.”
“Good.” He took her upstairs and got out a couple of luggage racks for her bags.
“I’d like a nap,” she said. “Alone.”
“Of course. Get unpacked and relax; I have work to do anyway.” He kissed her and left her alone.
Joan was buzzing him as he got back to his office. “Leo Goldman on one.”
Stone picked up. “Hello, Leo. Are you back in L.A.?”
“I’m on the Centurion jet,” Leo replied. “Listen, how old is Arrington’s kid?”
Stone thought for a fraction of a second. “He just turned eighteen.”
“Good,” Leo said.
“Why?”
“If he’s eighteen, he can sign a contract.”
“A contract for what?”
“I want to buy his movie.”
Stone had forgotten about Peter’s submission. “Why?”
“Because it’s better than anything indie I saw at the Sundance Film Festival last year.”
“Leo, is Peter’s name written anywhere on the material he gave you?”
“Ah, no; there’s no title page.”
“Leo, this is what I want you to do: the moment you’re back in L.A. I want you to FedEx that script and the DVD back to me, and I want you never to mention it to anybody until I give you the okay.”
“But, Stone, it’s good! One might even say brilliant-at least one would if one knew it was written and directed by an eighteen-year-old.”
“It’s complicated, Leo, and believe me, you don’t want to piss off his mother. She is, after all, Centurion’s largest stockholder. I want your word.”
“As long as I have your word to see the finished product before anyone else in the business.”
“You have it,” Stone replied.
“Done. You’ll have it back tomorrow.”
“And you won’t keep a copy, Leo.”
“I give you my word on that, too.”
“Thanks, Leo. I’ll look forward to receiving it tomorrow.”
“Bye, Stone.” Leo sounded very disappointed.
Stone tried not to think what would happen if word got around L.A. that a sixteen-year-old boy, ostensibly the son of a huge movie star, had written and directed a feature film. The thought of the aftermath made sweat pop out on his brow.
9
S tone woke Arrington with a light kiss on the lips.