Everyone was uncharacteristically quiet.
“Such a nice day,” Dino said.
“Ever the conversationalist, Dino,” Stone replied.
“I thought somebody ought to say something.”
Things got quiet again.
“Arrington,” Mike said, “would you mind if I come to the shareholders’ meeting with you?”
“I’d be delighted to have you, Mike. Why are you interested?” Mike looked a little sheepish. “Well, I’ve never seen the inside of a movie studio,” he said.
Everybody laughed, and the conversation improved after that.
53
Manolo got out the Bentley, and the four of them piled in, Stone driving.
“I have the terrible feeling that we are about to witness bad history,” Arrington said. “Like standing on an Oahu hilltop and watching Pearl Harbor get bombed.”
“I have exactly the same feeling,” Stone said. “Dino, are you still all up about this?”
“My bones tell me it’s going to be a good day,” Dino said.
“Well, if it turns out not to be, we’re going to stand you against a wall and shoot you.”
Everybody laughed a nervous laugh.
They drove down into Beverly Hills and on toward the Centurion lot. They passed an empty bus going the other way with a banner stretching from one end to the other, saying SAVE CENTURION STUDIOS
FROM THE PHILISTINES!!!
“It seems we have support from somebody,” Stone said. “I wonder who?”
“Movie lovers,” Dino replied.
As they approached the main gate to the studio, they saw police cars with lights flashing, and a couple of hundred people were gathered, many carrying homemade signs exhorting shareholders to vote with the studio. There were two television vans parked near the gate with satellite dishes pointed skyward, and reporters and cameras attached to them by long cables.
“I hadn’t expected this,” Arrington said from the front passenger seat.
“Neither had I,” Stone said.
“How the hell did they even know about this meeting?” Dino asked.
“I suppose it must have been in the papers,” Mike said, “but I swear, this looks like something put together by a publicist or a political campaign manager.”
A young woman with big hair rapped on Arrington’s window with a microphone, shouting her name.
Arrington pressed the button and the window slid down. The previous silence was replaced by disorderly chanting. “Yes?” she said to the reporter.
“Mrs. Calder,” the reporter said, “how would your husband feel about this meeting today, if he were here?”
“He would be totally opposed to voting for the sale, as am I, and I will be voting all the shares he accumulated over his lifetime against the sale.” She raised the window.
Stone finally got the car to the guard at the gate. “Mrs. Calder’s car,” he said, and was rewarded with a security pass placed on the dashboard. He drove on. “That was a very good statement to the press, Arrington,” he said. “Have you been rehearsing?”
“Rick asked me to have something ready to say,” she replied. “I’m glad you liked it.”