by Stuart Woods
“Then I’d find something else he wanted.”
Stone smiled. “That’s a nice thought.”
“Do you have something in mind?”
“Maybe it’s time to let him know what you know about this property.”
“All I know is that there’s some acreage.”
“There are eighteen acres,” Stone replied. “Arrington recently took up her option on two adjoining plots.”
“Eighteen of the most expensive residential acres in the United States? That might interest Terry,” she said, “but I don’t think he would enjoy subdividing it and selling the lots.”
“How about living in this house? Or building his own?”
“He’s well-stocked with houses,” Carolyn said. “He has five, scattered here and there, and two of them are in Beverly Hills and Malibu.”
“How about creating his own Bel-Air hotel on the property of America’s all-time biggest movie star?”
She put down her fork. “Now that would turn his head.”
“Would it turn his head away from the Centurion deal?”
“He can afford to do both.”
“But he can’t do both,” Stone said. “If he wants this property, he’d have to end his attempted takeover of Centurion and agree never to try again.”
Carolyn took a sip of her wine and looked thoughtful. “I think you’ve got it,” she said. “The one thing in Los Angeles, maybe in the world, that he would most like to have. He was very, very upset when his offer for the Bel-Air Hotel was rejected.”
“I suppose I could call and offer him the property,” Stone said, “but it might work better if you somehow learned of its availability—not through me—and let him know. I’m sure you could collect a very nice commission on that sale, especially since it wouldn’t involve a broker.”
Carolyn had stopped eating and drinking; she was just staring into the middle distance. “My God!” she said finally. “How would I have learned about it, except through you?”
“Arrington took up the option on the adjoining acreage just a few days ago,” Stone said. “Transactions of that sort are part of the public record, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are,” Carolyn said. “And I have a contact in that city office who could very well have let me know about this one.”
“Well,” Stone said. “There you are.”
Carolyn stood up, dropping her napkin on the patio. “I have to go,” she said, then practically ran from the house.
“I think that worked,” Stone said aloud to himself.
33
Dino returned to the house late in the afternoon. “I’ve got news,” he said.
“Tell me,” Stone replied.
“Terry Prince’s guy at Parker Center? The one who probably set up Jim Long’s shanking?”
“I remember.”
“He’s disappeared.”
“What a shock!” Stone replied, laughing. “What’s your best guess: was he paid off and sent away or does he now reside in the La Brea Tar Pits?”
“My friend Rivera would like to know,” Dino said.
“My money’s on La Brea, or some other equally suitable resting place.”
Manolo paged Stone on the house phone, and he picked it up. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Calder is on line one for you,” Manolo said.
Stone punched the button. “Hello, there; safe and sound in Charlottesville, I hope.”
“Safe and sound at home,” she replied.
“How was your flight?”
“Absolutely wonderful! And Mike Freeman was very good company. His company airplane met him in Charlottesville and flew him to New York, but not before he showed me my new hangar. It’s wonderful! I could almost live there myself.”
“I’ll get New York to wire the funds, then,” Stone said.
“The crew are living there, until we can find something more permanent for them in town.”
“When’s your auction?”
“Tomorrow morning. The auctioneers have been working here the whole time I’ve been away. It’s very odd to have a tag on every object in your house.”
“When do you move out?”
“Tomorrow morning, early. They’re packing my things now. I’ve taken a very nice furnished house down the road for eighteen months. Phone numbers will be the same.”
“How much do you hope to raise in the auction?”
“As much as I spent, I fervently hope!”
“Good luck with that.”
“Any news from James Long?”
“No, and frankly, that worries me.”
“What will you do if he doesn’t recover?”
“Regroup.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I have an idea for how to redirect Mr. Prince’s attention.”
“And how would you do that?”
“Get him interested in buying your Bel-Air property for a hotel.”
“But that’s my plan!”
“I didn’t say sell it to him, just get him interested. That should buy us some time to get the Centurion shares nailed down.”
“Well, I’m certainly not selling to him; you remember that.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I have to go now and finish packing.”
“Bye-bye.” He hung up. “Arrington is very happy now; she likes her new airplane.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Dino asked.
Stone’s cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe, it’s Charlene.”
Stone felt the usual stirring in his loins at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Charlene.”
“Would you and Dino like to go to a Malibu dinner party with Hetty and me this evening?”
“I and Dino would be delighted.”
“Then come get us at six-thirty.”
“Will do.”
“Bye.”
“You and I would be delighted to do what?” Dino asked.
“We’re taking Charlene and Hetty to a dinner party in Malibu tonight, picking them up at six-thirty.”
“I’ll pack my toothbrush,” Dino said.
They drove out to Malibu in Vance Calder’s Bentley Arnage, which Stone thought might get them a better parking spot from the valets at the party. He was right.
The dinner party was a mile up the beach toward L.A. from Charlene’s house in the Colony. “Whose party is this?” Stone asked her.
“His name is Jack Schmeltzer; he’s an independent producer, and he has a production deal at Centurion. He’s produced a couple of my pictures, and I still like him. That’s saying a lot.”
The house was a Bauhaus wonderland, glass and very little apparent steel. Once inside, they had a spectacular view of the Pacific with the sun low in the sky, and the dinner crowd, at least forty people by Stone’s estimate, was pretty spectacular, too. The women were all gorgeous, and the men all looked very rich. Stone was glad he’d brought the Bentley.
They had just placed an order with a waiter for drinks when Stone peered through the glass living room wall out onto the deck. There he saw Terry Prince leaning on the rail, holding court with half a dozen people close around him.
“Shall we go out and say hello?” Dino asked.
“Let’s let him come to us,” Stone said.
“Why do you think he will?”
“I sent him a message, sort of. Believe me, he is overwhelmingly curious.”
“What sort of message?”
“It’s complicated; I’ll tell you about it later. I wouldn’t want to be overheard in this crowd.”
Their host, Jack Schmeltzer, appeared, kissed Charlene and Hetty on their cheeks, and introduced himself to Stone and Dino.
“Thanks for letting us come to your home, Jack,” Stone said.
“I’m very glad to have you,” Schmeltzer said. “I’ve heard a lot about you the past couple of days. How’s Jim Long doing?”
“In and out of it, last I heard,” Stone said. “I’m hoping for the best.”
“I hear he’s willing to sell you his shares,” Schmeltzer said.
“The rumor is true.”
“And I hear that would give you control of Centurion.”
“It would give my client control,” Stone said.
Schmeltzer looked toward the front door. “I have more guests arriving,” he said. “Perhaps we could find a moment to talk privately after dinner?”
“Of course,” Stone said.
Schmeltzer wandered off to greet his guests, and Stone looked out at the deck. Terry Prince had disappeared.
“Good evening,” someone said from behind him.
Stone turned to find Prince standing there. He wondered how he had managed to sneak up on him.
“Can we talk?” Prince asked.
34
Prince took Stone’s arm and propelled him to a corner of the room behind the grand piano, the player of which was apparently on break. Stone noticed that four other men wearing studiedly casual outfits moved with them. Prince had security, from all appearances, and Stone wondered why.
Stone extricated his arm from Prince’s grip. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“First of all,” Prince said, “I want to apologize for the tenor of our conversation when we last met. It was not my purpose to establish an adversarial relationship with you or your client, and things, somehow, went awry. I hope we can establish a more cordial atmosphere for discussions from here on in.”
“I hope so, too,” Stone replied. “Now, what discussions?”
Prince looked around as if he were worried that someone might overhear them. “I understand that Arrington Calder has bought two pieces of property adjoining her Bel-Air estate. This is a matter of public record.”
“Then I have no problem confirming it,” Stone said.
“May I ask, then, what do those acquisitions bring her total acreage to?”
“I believe it’s eighteen acres,” Stone said.
“And this is quite near the Bel-Air Country Club?”
“Some of the property is directly across the street.”
“May I ask,” Prince said again, “how she and her late husband came to own such a large chunk of Bel-Air?”
“In much the same way that Vance Calder came to own such a large chunk of Centurion: a little at a time, as he was able to afford it. Vance enjoyed his privacy, and he liked having his neighbors, whoever they might be, at some remove.”
“It astonishes me,” Prince said, “that this piece of property could exist in Bel-Air without my having known about it until now.”
“Neither I nor my client has concealed this from you.”
“I would like you to know, and I would be grateful if you would communicate this to Mrs. Calder, that I would be very interested in buying the whole property from her.”
“For what purpose?” Stone asked.
“You may recall that I am in the hotel business,” Prince replied.
“You want to build a new hotel in the heart of Bel-Air?”
“That is correct.”
“In spite of the nearby competition from the well-established Bel-Air Hotel, which has just undergone a major refurbishment?”
“I am competitive by nature,” Prince said, “and I am perfectly capable of creating a hotel experience that would outshine that of the present hotel.”
“Would this have anything to do with your inability to buy the Bel-Air Hotel?” Stone asked.
“As I said, I am competitive by nature.”
“Well,” Stone said, “that is a very interesting idea. What makes you think you could get planning permission to build a hotel on that site?”
“I have already explored that possibility with the relevant authorities, and I am assured that they would regard a low-rise, discretely designed and landscaped hotel a welcome addition to the community. They were particularly pleased that I offered to put all parking underground.”
“Well, that’s all very optimistic of you, Mr. Prince.”
“Call me Terry, please.”
“Terry, what sort of offer did you have in mind for the property?”
“Something on the order of a hundred and fifty million dollars,” Prince replied.
Stone shook his head. “I don’t think I could recommend such a price to my client.”
“What did you have in mind?” Prince asked.
“Well, I haven’t had the opportunity to research the land values, but I should think something north of two hundred million dollars would be a good starting point for negotiations.”
Prince blinked. “And you haven’t researched the land values?”
“No, but I know what Mrs. Calder paid for her two recent acquisitions, which were based on the property values of four years ago, when her late husband took the options.”
“Would she sell at the right price?”
“I don’t know, really, but I do know that she enjoys visiting her property in Bel-Air, and since she has no need of the money, I’m uncertain what her reaction would be.”
“All right, then,” Prince said, “let’s see if we can move this along. Please convey to your client that I will pay her two hundred million dollars for her property, and I will build her a house of her own design on the property that she may occupy for her lifetime, with full hotel services provided.”
“Provided at no cost to her?” Stone asked.
Prince bit his lip. “All right, all services provided at no cost to her.”
“Well,” Stone said, shrugging, “next time I speak to her, I’ll mention your interest and see what she has to say.”
Prince looked irritated. “I would appreciate it if you would make it your business to convey my offer to her at the earliest possible moment, certainly no later than close of business on Monday. And please tell her that I wish my offer kept in the strictest confidence until such time as I wish to announce the acquisition permanently.”
“I don’t think you want to press her,” Stone said. “Mrs. Calder is a woman who does not respond well to pressure.”
“Of course not,” Prince said.
“I should also tell you that I believe strongly that your pursuit of Centurion Studios would be a serious impediment to her consideration of your offer.”
“What?”
“Both Mrs. Calder and her late husband have had a great affection for their association with Centurion, and she would be extremely reluctant to do business with someone who threatened the existence of the studio as it now is presently constituted.”
“My offer does not involve Centurion in any way. These are two separate transactions.”
“Mrs. Calder won’t see it that way,” Stone said. “Shall we just forget this conversation?”
“Please convey my offer to her as it now stands,” Prince said. “And call me when you’ve spoken to her.”
Stone shrugged. “If you wish,” he said, “but I’m not optimistic about this.”
“Perhaps she can learn to be optimistic about two hundred million dollars and a free house.”
“Speaking of houses,” Stone said, “when are you planning to move into your new Virginia residence?”
“I was planning to move in immediately,” Prince said, “but I now understand that there is a problem in the house with raccoons and bats.”
“I believe she stated that on the disclosure form,” Stone said, “and she told me she also mentioned it to you personally.”
“I did not think she was serious,” Prince said frostily. “Good day.”
And he marched out of the house, followed by his armed retinue.
35
The pianist returned to his work, and Stone moved out of the corner and back into the thick of the party.
Jack Schmeltzer, his host, reappeared. “Why don’t we step out onto the deck for a moment?” he said to Stone.
“Of course,” Stone replied. They moved through the French doors and onto the now-empty expanse of teak overlooking the Pacific.
“I know, of course,” Schm
eltzer said, “of the controversy over the sale of part of the Centurion property.”
“I suppose word has gotten around,” Stone said.
“I invited Terrence Prince here this evening to get a close look at him. We don’t move in the same circles.”
“I’m not sure what circles Mr. Prince moves in,” Stone said, “though I did notice that he brought more than himself to your dinner party.”
“Yes, he told me they are all ex-Secret Service agents.”
“Did he mention why he felt he needed that sort of security?”
“I asked him that,” Schmeltzer replied, “but he was evasive. Quite frankly, from what I’ve been hearing, there are people around who need protection from Prince. Are the rumors true?”
“I’m not entirely certain which rumors you’re referring to,” Stone said. “Can you be more specific?”
“The rumors about Jennifer Harris and Jim Long.”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard those particular rumors, too,” Stone said. “I’m inclined to give them a certain degree of credibility.”
“You know,” Schmeltzer said, “I knew Vance Calder pretty well; I produced three pictures with him, and I liked him a lot. If Vance were still alive, I would be on his side of this deal.”
“How do you feel about his widow?” Stone asked.
“I’ve met her once, and she was charming, but I don’t really know her.”
“I see”.
“I’ll tell you this, though: having now seen Mr. Prince up close, I like Arrington Calder more than him.”
“Are you a shareholder, Jack?”
“I own fifteen thousand shares.”
“Are you interested in selling them?”
Schmeltzer gazed out to sea. “What do you hear from Jim Long?” he asked.
“I hear he’s in and out of consciousness but not well enough to make a business decision.”
“And you need his shares for a majority?”
“That’s correct.”
“Do you know the reason for this dinner party, Stone?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“I opened a picture last weekend, Window Shade.”
“I hope it’s doing well.”
“It brought in sixty-five million dollars domestic for the weekend. It’s the biggest hit of my career, and I think it’s going to have legs both in this country and around the world.”