Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

“That’s wonderful. What are you going to do with it?”

“Nothing, just yet. Dad thinks I should wait a couple of years before submitting it to anyone.”

“Why?”

“He thinks the publicity it might produce wouldn’t be a good thing for me right now.”

“I’m not sure he’s right,” Hattie said. “The Sundance festival is soon, and I think your film ought to be in it. If you wait a couple of years, someone else might do a similar film, and that would take away from yours.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Peter said.

“Anyway, you’ll be at Yale by the time the film gets released, and that’s a kind of insulation.”

“You could be right,” Peter said. “I’ll talk to Dad about it.”

“Miss Springer?” a woman’s voice said.

Hattie didn’t react until Peter squeezed her hand.

“Oh, yes,” she said, standing up.

“Please follow me.”

Hattie kissed Peter on the forehead and followed the woman from the room.

Peter sat and thought about what Hattie had said, and he realized that sending the completed film to Centurion would be an enormous relief to him. It was the natural thing to do after completing the work. He began to think about the details of doing that.

Kelli Keane arrived at the Conde Nast building and found the floor for Vanity Fair. Karen Kohler appeared in reception, shook her hand, gave her a broad smile, and took her to her office in the editorial department.

“Now,” Karen said, sitting behind her desk and waving Kelli to a seat, “here are my notes.” She handed Kelli a neatly typed sheet of paper.

Kelli read them. “I’ve no problem with any of these,” she said. “I can fix them in ten minutes.”

“Good. Now, there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“There seems to be a discrepancy in the age of Arrington’s son, Peter. She and Vance Calder were married about seventeen years ago. How could they have an eighteen-year-old son? They hadn’t even met until she did the New Yorker profile on Vance.”

“I believe the boy is Stone Barrington’s son. They were seeing each other before she met Vance. I have a copy of the boy’s birth certificate from L.A., showing him to be eighteen, and Barrington is listed as the father.”

“Both Arrington and Stone were New Yorkers,” Karen said. “Why would she have her child in L.A.?”

“I haven’t been able to nail that down,” Kelli replied, “and believe me, I pulled out all the stops. I’d like that part of the piece to remain the same, because it reflects the information I have confirmed, not what I’m guessing. Also, I don’t want to embarrass an eighteen-year-old boy by discussing his parentage in a national magazine. To be clear, I’ll put it this way: I won’t give you the piece, if that’s what you want to do.”

Karen held up a calming hand. “Take it easy. If you feel strongly about it, we’ll leave it as it is. Knowing our readership, we may get some letters to the editor about the matter, but we can deal with that when it happens.”

“Thank you,” Kelli said, opening her laptop. “If I can use the edge of your desk, I’ll make your corrections now.”

“Great. We’re going to press tonight.”

Kelli opened her laptop and went to work.

Peter was staring blankly at a magazine when Hattie came through a door and sat beside him.

“All done?” he asked.

“No, I’m afraid not. They’ve examined me and told me I can have the procedure in ten minutes. Apparently, another girl had second thoughts and canceled her appointment. If I don’t do it now, I’ll have to wait another two weeks before they have an opening, and I don’t want to do that.”