by Stuart Woods
“Thank you, Harry,” Michael said. “What you say is, of course, true; some of these people have been here for a long time, and all of them are competent. All of them, however, are not happy about working for me, and unless that unhappiness can be modified in short order, I will regard such an attitude as disqualifying where these positions are concerned.”
“Another thing,” Johnson said. “Putting in Margot Gladstone as chief operating officer might be considered a rash act. Ms. Gladstone has been secretary to a number of high executives here, but that experience hardly qualifies her to administrate the business side of this studio.”
“I understand your concern, Harry,” Michael said, “but Margot knows more about how this studio works than anybody here, including me. She is highly intelligent, and I have always found her judgment to be faultless. She will, of course, report to me, and I can always overrule her actions if I disagree with them.”
“A salary of a million dollars a year, plus benefits, for a woman who was recently a secretary?” Johnson asked.
“If she is qualified to be COO,” Michael replied, “and I have already said I believe her to be, then her compensation package is a moderate one by industry standards.”
Johnson began to speak again, but Michael held up a hand.
“Harry, I don’t mean to squelch debate, but the decision before this board is a simple one: will I run this studio, or will I not? Let me be quite clear: I will accept this job only if I have the same authority that Leo had. My contract is before you; it gives me full authority. I have presented Margot Gladstone’s contract to you only as a courtesy. If this board approves my contract, then my first act as CEO will be to sign Margot’s contract. If this board chooses not to do so, then I can have my desk cleared out in half an hour. I think it best if I leave the meeting while you discuss this. Gentlemen, the decision is yours.” Michael turned to leave.
“Michael,” Johnson said.
Michael turned. “Yes?”
“I don’t think it will be necessary for you to leave. I move the question.”
Michael looked around the table. “All in favor?”
“Aye,” the men said as one.
“Opposed?”
Silence.
“The motion is carried unanimously,” Michael said. “Gentlemen, without further business, this meeting is adjourned until the next regular monthly meeting.”
Michael stepped back into his office, where Margot waited for him. He walked to his desk, signed four copies of her contract, and handed her one. “You are now the chief operating officer of Centurion Pictures,” he said.
Margot beamed and kissed him.
“Now,” Michael said, “go fire the chief financial officer.”
“Yessir,” Margot replied.
CHAPTER
58
Michael sat in the chauffeur-driven stretch Mercedes that he had inherited from Leo Goldman and watched the Gulfstream IV jet land at Santa Monica Airport. It seemed an impossibly short runway for such a big airplane, but shortly the jet was taxiing toward where Michael waited.
Michael greeted Tommy Pro with a hug and a kiss at the bottom of the airstairs, then hustled him into the Mercedes while the chauffeur dealt with the luggage.
“That’s a very nice mode of transportation,” Michael said. “You can’t be in too much trouble.”
“Trouble?” Tommy laughed. “I should always be in this much trouble.” He found the proper switch and raised the glass partition between them and the driver, who now pointed the car toward Malibu. “Can he hear us at all?” Tommy asked.
“Not at all. Leo bought a standard 600 sedan, the one with the twelve-cylinder engine, and had it stretched. He also had this compartment completely soundproofed.”
Tommy fiddled with the TV. “Does this thing get CNN?”
“No, Tommy. You need cable or a satellite for CNN.”
“Does it get any news at all?”
Michael leaned forward and changed the channel. “We get the network news at five o’clock out here.” Tom Brokaw’s image appeared on the screen.
“Good evening,” the newscaster said. “Tonight, there’s a new showdown with Saddam Hussein over inspections of his military installations, the president is in deep political trouble over the Iran-Contra scandal and—” the picture changed to one of a dead man lying on a New York street “—a generational change in a Mafia family.”
Tommy heaved a deep sigh.
“What’s going on?” Michael asked. “I’m not learning a hell of a lot from the newspapers.”
“With any luck at all,” Tommy said, “that guy lying in the street was Benny the Nose.”
“Benny? Who would have the guts to whack Benny Nose?”
“You’re looking at him.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Tommy, bring me up to date here.”
“Shhh,” Tommy said, pointing at the TV.
Brokaw was back. “Early this afternoon in New York City, two Mafia capos were gunned down in the street as they left a Manhattan restaurant. These murders laid to rest the FBI theory that after the death of Benito Carlucci, power had passed to a committee of his subordinates without a struggle. Police theorize that two of the committee members had the other two rubbed out in order to consolidate their power.”
“This is why I’m visiting you,” Tommy said. “It’s a good time to be away.”
“So who’s left?” Michael asked. “Who’s running things?”
“Eddie and Joe Funaro are left,” Tommy said, “and I’m running things.”
“Jesus, Tommy! How’d you pull that off?”
“The old man pulled it off—him and me together. He called the four of them in and told them there was a new setup, then he told Eddie and Joe to take orders from me. Now they’re running the street businesses, and I’m running everything else. They funnel the proceeds to me, and I invest legitimately.”
“You’re running everything?”
“Everything.” Tommy looked very smug.
Michael leaned back in the seat. “So you’re the Don.”
Tommy grinned. “I’m the Don.”
At sunset, Michael and Tommy strolled along the beach at Malibu Colony, Michael in casual California clothes and Tommy in the rolled-up trousers of his sharkskin suit and silk shirt, his necktie hanging loose. They had had dinner, talking of Tommy’s new responsibilities, his new power.
“You’re a very lucky man, Vinnie,” Tommy said.
“Don’t I know it.”
“Luckier than you know.”
“How do you mean?”
“If the Don had lived another twenty-four hours you’d be dead.”
Michael stopped in his tracks. “What?”
“I held him off as long as I could, and he died.”
“The old man wanted me dead?”
“You double-crossed him, Vinnie.”
“Now, wait a minute, Tommy.”
“Some people would say that you double-crossed me.”
“Tommy…”
“You talked Geldorf and Johnson out of selling the studio to the Japs, which means us and the Japs.”
“It wasn’t the right thing to do, Tommy. Not then.”
“Why not then? I had it all set up: Geldorf and Johnson were in the bag, Goldman was dead, you were—you are—in charge.”
“Tommy, listen to me. I’ve got a movie studio in the palm of my hand; Centurion Pictures! Do you know what that means?”
“It means one hell of a lot of money to play with,” Tommy said.
“It’s more than that, Tommy; I can make any movie, and I mean any movie, I want. I can hire any star, any director, any writer; I’ve got the button to the green light in my hand. I own the button.”
“You don’t own shit. You’re working for a salary.”
“My contract gives me the right to buy two percent of the equity a year, as long as we’re profitable.”
“Two percent a year? You’re telling me that you stiffed the Don, t
he family, and me for two percent a year?”
“Tommy, I didn’t stiff anybody. You’re not out anything.”
“The old man didn’t see it that way, Vinnie, and if it hadn’t been for me, you’d be feeding the fishes in the Pacific Ocean right now.” For emphasis, Tommy pointed out at the water.
“Tommy, I appreciate…”
“You don’t appreciate nothing, Vinnie. Do you know that he actually gave me the order? He ordered me to whack you, and I didn’t do it. The first time in my whole life I ignored an order from my Don. You don’t appreciate, Vinnie; you suck at the tit, and you kick everybody else in the teeth.”
“Tommy, this was my chance, don’t you understand?”
“Your chance to stiff your friends?”
“My chance to run my own operation, my own life, and not be under anybody’s thumb.”
“That’s not how you were raised, Vinnie. Shit, we’re all under each other’s thumbs; that’s why what we have works—we all owe each other. And you thought that you could just step into Leo Goldman’s shoes and not owe anybody?”
“Tommy, I owe you, I know that. I’ll do anything I can to make it up to you. Just say the word; you can have whatever you want.”
“You think this movie studio is some kind of toy, don’t you? It’s like some giant Erector Set that you get to play with and nobody else can touch, you know that? You don’t recognize it for what it is, which is a machine for printing money.”
“Tommy, just tell me what you want.”
“I want sixty percent of the stock of Centurion Pictures. That’s Harry Johnson’s stock and Amanda Goldman’s—her trust that Norman Geldorf runs. I’ll get the rest myself.”
“Tommy, if I talk them into that, I cut my own throat. I won’t be in charge anymore; I’ll be working for somebody else again, don’t you see?”
“Vinnie, let me tell you a story. You remember Shorty?”
“Shorty? With the gimpy legs that ran errands for the Don?”
“That’s the one. His legs were useless, so he sat on that little plank with the rollerskate wheels, and he pushed himself around the neighborhood, doing for the Don.”
Vinnie laughed. “He could go like hell on that skateboard thing, couldn’t he?”
“Sure, he could, and you know what? The Don trusted him.”
“The Don trusted Shorty? I didn’t know he trusted anybody.”
“Very few people, but he trusted Shorty. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Did you know that once—this was before you and me were born—Shorty had the richest funeral parlor in Little Italy?”
“No, I didn’t know that. How’d he end up on the skateboard.”
“The Don gave it to him, practically; loaned him the money, no interest, sent him business—a lot of business, if you know what I mean, and all the Don ever asked of him was that, once in a while, he would bury somebody for the Don. The Don would send him a stiff, and he would bury it, two for one, with another, legit stiff that Shorty happened to be burying anyway.”
“So what happened?”
“Shorty got scared of the cops and the feds. They were sniffing around, and he got scared, and the Don sent him a stiff, and he wouldn’t bury it, said he couldn’t afford to take the chance, what with the cops sniffing around.” Tommy stopped walking and turned to Michael. “Then one night the funeral parlor burned down. And a few days after that, two men came and broke the undertaker’s legs. And that’s how Eduardo Minnelli, the wealthy and highly respected undertaker, got to be Shorty, the gofer.”
Michael looked into Tommy’s eyes, and he didn’t like what he saw.
“But after that,” Tommy continued, “the Don always trusted Shorty. He trusted him with important stuff, stuff that could have sent the Don himself up. Because he knew Shorty would never betray him again.” Tommy looked at Michael. “That’s a story you ought to remember, Vinnie.”
Then Tommy turned and walked back toward the house, wading in the surf. Michael followed behind, like a puppy.
CHAPTER
59
Michael and Amanda Goldman both reeked of cocoa butter as they stood under a hot shower, soaping each other. Amanda knelt and took him into her mouth, but he pulled her to her feet.
“Not again, no, no; I’m raw as it is.”
“I can’t get enough of you,” she said, reaching around him and rubbing the soap into his back. They stood, kissing, until the soap had washed away, then Michael turned the shower off. He stepped out and held a terrycloth robe for her, then found one for himself.
“I feel like some eggs,” he said. “Can I make you some?”
“Love some. You do that while I dry my hair.”
Michael went down to the kitchen and began to work. He put some bacon on, slipped a pair of English muffins into the toaster, and whipped half a dozen eggs with a little cream while waiting for half a stick of butter to dissolve in a saucepan. He added some salt, then scrambled the eggs slowly, on the lowest possible heat, until they were fluffy and still moist, and, as Amanda came into the kitchen, he served the bacon, eggs, and muffins on large white plates.
“It smells wonderful,” she said. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Almost my only dish,” he said, opening a bottle of Schramsberg blanc de noirs.
“My favorite champagne,” she said, sipping it. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve had it at your table often enough; that’s where I discovered it.”
She shook her hair and it fell, golden, around her shoulders. “You know something?” she asked, eating her eggs.
“What?”
“I thought I would be in some kind of shock for a while, but it’s only been two weeks since Leo died, and I feel…liberated.”
“I think a lot of people must feel that way when their other half dies. It’s just that nobody wants to admit it.”
“I mean, I loved Leo in my way, but I’m also glad to be free.”
“Not completely free,” he warned. “Remember how small a town this is. You’ve got to be a widow for a while.”
“I don’t mind that, as long as I can see you,” she said.
“You can see me whenever you want,” he promised. “But we have to wait a year or so before we turn up at dinner parties together.”
“I can stand it if you make love to me often enough.”
“How often is enough?”
She laughed. “You don’t want to know.”
“Let’s wait until I recover before we do it again.”
She placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to wear you out.”
Michael took a deep breath. “Listen, we’ve got some business to talk.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I want you to tell Geldorf that you want him to sell all the Centurion stock in the trust account.”
She gaped at him. “Are you mad? I thought you wanted my backing so you could run the studio.”
“Believe me, it’s just the right time to sell. The Japanese are knocking on our door again, and we’re in good enough shape to demand a big price.”
“What about Leo’s stock?”
“Tell Geldorf to sell that for you, too.”
“What about the other directors?”
“When they see a majority get sold they’ll get on the bandwagon fast.”
She looked down at her plate for a moment. “Michael, do you remember once I told you what Leo did for me in our marriage?”
“I think so.”
“I said that I could have anybody I wanted at my dinner table, remember?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, the reason I could do that was because my husband ran a major movie studio.”
“Yes, I remember, but Leo is dead.”
“But when you and I are married I want you still to run the studio.”
This was the first time marriage had been mentioned, and Michael tried not to look flustered. “Don’t worry, I
’ll still be running the studio, just under different ownership.”
“But the only way I can be sure of that is by hanging on to my stock.”
“But…at one time, before Leo died, you said you’d sell.” He reached over and took her face in his hands. “Amanda, I want you to trust me on this. It’s the right thing to do, believe me. The Japanese have offered me an ironclad contract.”
“But they can always buy out your contract; it happens all the time in this town. They get tired of you, they want a change, they just write you a nice check and ship you out. Leo always told me that.”
He was becoming irritable now. “Goddamnit, Amanda, just do as I say.”
She stood up. “I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” she said, then stalked out of the house.
Michael, wearing only a robe, couldn’t chase her.
Later in the afternoon, Margot came into his office.
“Michael,” she said, sitting down, “I’ve been rereading my contract, and I find that I can be fired at any time for any reason on ninety days’ notice.”
Michael looked up from the script he was reading. “Margot, I’ve made you chief operating officer of this studio. Why would I want to fire you?”
“I know you wouldn’t,” she said, “because I know too much about you, but suppose something happened to you? The board could throw me right out on my arse, and I’d only have ninety days’ pay to keep me.”
“Margot,” he said, irritated, “you’ve already got your pension nailed down; in such an unlikely event, you’d have what you would have had if I hadn’t promoted you. That should be enough.”
“It isn’t enough,” she said. “I’m in a whole new financial ball game, and I like it. I don’t want to be in a position where I can get thrown out on my ear; can’t you understand that?”
“You mean you don’t want to have to rely on my word.”
“If you want to put it that way, yes,” Margot said.