Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

She offered him a tray of pastries. “Something to eat?”

“No, thank you, ma’am.”

“Well, now,” she said, “I’m told you are interested in attending Knickerbocker Hall.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“Tell me why?”

“My goal is to be a film director,” he replied, “but my last school had only a limited program.”

“I see. I’m told you just graduated. How did you come to graduate in December?”

“I was an advanced student, and at the end of the last term I had an oral examination on the high school curriculum with six faculty members, and they decided to graduate me. They said they had nothing further to offer me, and I agreed with them.”

“You must be very bright.”

“They tell me so.”

“Peter, have you ever had an IQ test?”

Peter felt his cheeks color. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And what was your score?”

Peter gulped. “I… believe it was one hundred sixty-one,” he said.

She laughed. “You mustn’t be embarrassed about that,” she said. “That’s a very high score. You might avoid telling people about it, though, unless they corner you, as I did.”

Peter smiled. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And why do you wish to be a film director?”

“Well, my stepfather was an actor, and I grew up around a lot of film people when we lived in Los Angeles, and I liked them. Then I started seeing a lot of old films and reading about them, and pretty soon, it was about all I could think about. I guess I was around eight then.”

“And what was your stepfather’s name?”

“Vance Calder,” Peter replied.

Her face brightened. “Ah, I met him a few times,” she said. “He was charming, and, of course, he was one of our best film actors.”

“Miss Covington, I would appreciate it if we could keep his name between us.”

She looked surprised. “Why?”

“Because, ever since we left Los Angeles, people have treated me differently because of his name, and I’ve never liked it. If I go to Knickerbocker, I want to be just Peter Barrington.”

“I understand perfectly,” she said, “and I admire you for not using his name shamelessly to advance yourself, the way that many children of famous people have done.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Have you brought any of your work?” she asked.

Peter opened his leather envelope. “Here is a screenplay I’ve written,” he said.

“Give me a moment,” she said, then opened the folder and began to read quickly, turning the pages. She stopped and looked up. “That is an excellent first scene,” she said. “I particularly like the dialogue. I’ll read it all later.”

He handed her his DVD. “I’ve edited the first seventy minutes,” he said. “I expect I’ll finish it soon.”