L.A. TIMES [142-2.0]

By: Stuart Woods

Synopsis:

Woods--an off-again (Santa Fe Rules, etc.), on-again (New York Dead,
etc.) writer--is very much on here, turning his big weakness-stagnant
characters--into a strength.  In this enjoyably high- sleaze potboiler
about a mafioso who conquers Hollywood, there's no need for character
growth: Every member of the cast is a black hearted villain, and the
great fun is watching them claw each other as the author spins out one
unexpected twist, loop, and climax after another.  "You have the single
most important quality that a successful producer can possess ... you
are a complete sociopath."  When his sexy assistant says that to
Michael Vincent, she isn't kidding.  Born Vincente Michaele Callabrese
in N.Y.C."  Michael is a mob- connected hustler who parlays his passion
for movies into fame and fortune when he bankrolls a superior in die
feature that lands him a producing deal at a top studio--and never mind
that he has to kill two fellow mafiosi to get the funds for the film.
In L.A."  the comer wallows in the lavish life, investing his money
with a loan- shark.  When the rights-holder on the novel he plans to
film next refuses to sell, Michael calls on his old mob-pal Tommy Pro
for help, leading to the release of the rights--but only through a
murder that leaves Michael's fingerprints at the scene.  A nosy cop
realizes that Michael's guilt, so the producer simply buys him out-and
kills him after a second blackmail attempt.  And so Michael leaps up
the ladder--conning actors and writers, ruining lives, cuckolding and
then killing his boss--but always making good films (and winning a Best
Picture Oscar for one), until his greed gets him in trouble with Tommy
Pro, who's now a Mafia don--and who arranges the harsh yet poetically
just fate that closes the book on Michael.  With a villain as
charismatic ally coldblooded as this one, who needs a hero?  Not
Woods--and not readers of this devilishly entertaining thriller.


Harper Paperbacks

$8.50

[ EAN

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR

STUART WOODS AND

DEAD IN THE WATER

filled with enough humor, sex, and clever surprises to last all the way
to the last page to make it thoroughly entertaining amusement."

--Publishers Weekly to make this neat tale last more than one sitting
like staying up all night nursing a Godiva truffle."

--Kirkus Reviews, starred review

DIRT

"Blackmail, murder, suspense, love what else could you want in a book?"
--Cosmopolitan

"Dirty fun"

--People'

"This slickly entertaining suspense displays Woods at the top of his
game .... Subtly reminiscent of the waggish P. G. Wodehouse, Woods
delivers a marvelously sophisticated, thoroughly modern, old-fashioned
read."  --Publishers Weekly, starred review

"There is something delightfully nasty about the way Stuart Woods
settles every account in his crime capers.  Even more delightful is the
juggling act that lasts almost to the last page, when payoffs fall like
autumn leaves."  --New York Daily News

IMPERFECT STRANGERS

"[Woods] does show a reader a good time."

--The Washington Post Book World

"Engage[s] the reader's imagination in an unconventional way. Compel[s]
us, in our mind's eye, to place [the novel's] events on the silver
screen in the shadow of a latter-day Hitchcock, and somehow it
works."

--Chicago Sun Times

HEAT

"High melodrama and unexpected twists make this

Teflon-coated blockbuster business as usual in

Woods's practiced hands."

--Publishers Weekly

"A high-concept action thriller."

--Kirkus Reviews

"Keeps you reading."

--Cosmopolitan

L.A. TIMES

"A slick, often caustically funny tale."  --Los Angeles Times

"Stuart Woods is a wonderful storyteller who could teach Robert Ludlum
and Tom Clancy a thing or two."  --The State (Columbia, SC.)

NEW YORK DEAD

"Suspenseful and surising."  --Atlanta Journal & Constitution

"Hollywood slick and fast-mOving."  '" Los Angeles Daily News

"Will keep you riveted."  --USA Today

"At once chilling and pleasing.  And the climax makes New York Dead as
unnerving as a midnight stroll through Central Park."  '

--Chicago Tribune

BOOKS BY STUART WOODS

FICTION

Orchid Beach*

Swimming to Catalina*

Dead in the Water*

Dirt*

Choke*

Imperfect Strangers*

Heat*

Dad Eyes*

L.A. Times

Santa Fe Rules*

New York Dead*

Palindrome*

Grass Roots

White Cargo

Under the Lake

Deep Lie*

Run Before the Wind

Chiefs

TRAVEL

A Romantic's Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland (1978)

MEMOIR

Blue Water, Green Skipper

Published by Harper Paperbacks

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write: Special Markets Department, HarperCo!iins Publishers, Inc., 10
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Fax: (212) 2077222.

STUART WOODS

Harper Paperbacks

A Division of HarperCollins Publishers

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that
this hook is stolen property.  It was reported as 'unsold and
destroyed' to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this 'stripped book."

This is a work of fiction.  The characters, incidents, and dialogues
are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as
real.  Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

arperPaperbacks A Division of HarperCollinsPublisbers

10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

Copyright 1993 by Stuart Woods

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may he used or reproduced in
any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher,
ezcept in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles
and reviews.  For information address HarperCollinsPssblisbers,

10 East 53rd Street, New York, N.Y. 10022.

A hardcover edition of this book was published in 1993 by
HarperCollinsPublisen.

Cover illustration by Jim Warren

First Harper Paperbacks printing: January 1994

Printed in the United States of America

Harper Paperbacks and colophon are trademarks of HarperCollinsPublislen
q 20 19 18 17 16 15 14

This book is for Steven and Barbara Bochco.

PROLOGUE

cente Michaele Callabrese blinked in the midaffemoon sunlight as he
emerged from the darkness of the York Theater on the Upper West Side
after the noon performance of The range One, a revival starring Ben
Gazzara and George Peppard.  He sprinted for the subway, and as he rode
downtown toward his next movie he was still gripped by the performances
of the two young actors who had been among the most promising of their
generation.

Woody Allen's movie Bananas was next, at the Bleecker Street Cinema,
and he would make a seven o'dock double feature of Orson Welles'8 The. 
Magnificent Ambersons and Othello.  He was short of his record of seven
movies in sixteen hours, but that had been made possible by two
three-screen houses next door to each other on Third Avenue, so he'd
only had to take one subway.

It was after midnight when Vinnie left the Eighth Street Playhouse and
started home; each step he took toward Little Italy was taken with more
foreboding.  He had cut school again, and he was already a grade
behind; his mother would be waiting up for him, and his father, if he
were home ... well he didn't want to think about that.

Vinnie was fourteen and big for his age.  He was already shaving every
day, and girls three and four years older were taking him seriously. He
didn't have a lot of time for girls, though--when he wasn't in school
or at the movies, he was running errands for a loan shark in the
neighborhood, which paid for his movie tickets.  Since the age of six,
when he had belatedly seen his first' film, Vinnie Callabrese had been
to the movies nearly two thousand times.  His friend and benefactor,-an
older boy named Tommy Provensano, who was very smart, was always
telling Vinnie that he should keep his movie going a secret, because
nobody would take him seriously.

He had seen some favorite films four or five times, but Othello had
been a new experience for Vinnie.  He hadn't understood much of the
dialogue, but he had been able to follow the story, and the dark drama
had riveted him to his seat.  He knew guys like Iago on his own block.
He admired them; he learned from them.

Vinnie walked up the five flights, his heart pounding from more than
the exertion.  What if the old man were home?  He inserted his key into
the lock and turned it as silently as possible, then slipped into the
four-room railroad flat.  All was quiet; he sagged with relief as he
stood still in the kitchen, letting his breathing to normal.  It would
be easier if his mother see him until morning, when her anger would a
little.

"Bastard!"  a voice behind him said.

Vinnie spun around to find his father, Onofrio,

in a kitchen chair, leaning against the wall, a of cheap whiskey in his
hand.  Onofrio didn't glass anymore.

"Bastard from hell!"  his father said.  "You were your mother laid down
with the mailman,

"Don't you talk about my mother that way," said, his voice trembling.
Onofrio stood up and took a long swig from the , then set it on the
sink beside him.  "You talk back me?"  He unbuckled his wide belt and
slipped it from his trousers.  "You want this, huh?"

"Don't you talk about my mother that way," Vinnie repeated.  "Your
mother is a whore," Onofrio said, almost conversationally.  "That's why
you are the bastard."  He flicked the belt out to its full length.

This time the buckle was not in his hand, but at the swinging end of
the belt.  This time would be bad, Vinnie thought.

Onofrio swung the buckle at his son.  It made a Whirring sound as it
moved through the air.

Instinctively, Vinnie ducked, and the heavy buckle Passed over his
head.

"Stand still and take your beating, bastard!"  Onofrio shouted.

There was a hammering on a door down the hall, and Vinnie heard his
mother's voice faintly pleading with his father.  "You beat her again,
didn't you?"  Vinnie asked.

"She gave me a bastard, didn't she?  I beat her good this time."

Without thinking, Vinnie swung a fist at his father's head.  The blow
caught Onofrio solidly on the jaw, and he staggered back against the
wall, dropping the belt.

Vinnie's father stared at him, his eyes wide with anger.  "You would
raise a hand to your father?"

Vinnie swallowed hard.  "I would beat the shit out of my father," he
said.  Onofrio reached down for the belt, but Vinnie kicked it out of
his reach, then straightened him up with an uppercut that would have
laid out most men.  His father was tough, though; he had been the
neighborhood bully in his youth--Vinnie had heard this from his mother,
when she had warned him never to resist a beating from his father.

"No I kill you with my hands," Onofrio said, pushing off the wall and
rushing at his son.

Vinnie was as tall as his father, but fifty pounds lighter.  On his
side he had quickness and, tonight, the fact that his father was drunk.
He stepped aside and let Onofrio hit the opposite wall of the tiny
kitchen, then stepped in and threw a hard left to the bigger man's
right kidney.  Onofrio sagged to his knees, groaning, and then Vinnie
went to work, choosing his punches and his targets, feeling cartilage
and bone break under his fists, hammering his father until the man
could only lie on the floor defenseless while his son kicked him into
unconsciousness.

Vinnie stopped only because he was tired.  He wet a dishcloth and wiped
the sweat from his face and neck, and when his breathing had slowed, he
went down the hall to his parents' bedroom and unlocked the door.  His
mother fell into his arms, weeping.

X- x. x.

later, after he had helped his mother get his father onto the living
room couch, after she bathed Onofrio's battered face, after sleep had '
come to his parents, Vinnie lay awake and relived pleasure of what he
had done to his father.  It was and more complete than any pleasure he
would until he was much more experienced sexually.  felt not the
slightest, guilt, because Vinnie never felt about anything.  He had
learned in his short life people felt guilt; he understood the emotion,
but he did not know it.  Now he devoted himself to

:; fftinking about the Worst possible thing he could do to his father,
wo.r. se than the beating he had just given him.  It did not take long
for Vinnie's bright mind to alight on the brown bag.

Onofrio collected numbers money each evening from two dozen locations
in Little Italy, then remitted it to Benedetto, a rising soldier in the
Carlucci family, the following morning.  Onofrio's life was his bond.
If he did not take the money to Benedetto, he would die for his greed.
Benedetto had a foul temper and a reputation for swift vengeance at any
hint of disrespect.

Vinnie got slowly out of bed and tiptoed next door to his parents'
bedroom.  Silently, he opened the door and crossed the room to the bed,
then dropped to his knees beside his sleeping mother.  He felt under
the bed for the bag, and its handle-met his hand.  As quietly as he
could, he extracted the little satchel, then returned to his own room
and switched off the light.

There was nearly three thousand dollars in the bag.  Vinnie moved his
bed out from the wall and removed the floorboard that covered his
secret hiding place.  He moved aside the Playboy magazines and the
condoms and the hundred dollars he had saved and placed the money in
the hole; then he replaced the floorboard and the nail that made it
look permanently fixed.

He took the brown bag into the kitchen and dropped it out the window
into the air shaft, where he knew it would be found; then he returned
to his room and stretched out on the bed.

By this time tomorrow, he thought as he drifted off, Onofrio Callabrese
would be at the bottom of Sheepshead Bay.  Vinnie's sleep was not
disturbed by the prospect.

CHAPTER

e Callabrese stood on the southeast corner of Second Avenue and St.
Mark's Place in New York City and watched the candy sore across the
street.  The fat man was due any minute.  Vinnie felt neither guilt nor
anxiety about what he was going to do.  In fact, the only emotion he
felt at that moment was impatience, because he could see the marquee of
the St.  Mark's Theater 80 in the next block, and he knew that Touch of
Evil started in eight minutes.  /innie didn't like to be late for a
movie.  Vinnie's nose was Roman, his hair and beard thick 'nd black,
his eyes dark.  He knew how t concentrate those eyes on another man and
induce fear.  Vinnie isn't the heaviest muscle who worked for
Benedetto, but he stood six-two and weighed a tightly packed one nd red
and ninety pounds.

The fat man weighed more than three hundred pounds, but he was soft to
the bone.  Vinnie wasn't worried, except about the time.

With six minutes left before the movie, the fat man double-parked his
Cadillac Sedan De Ville at the opposite corner, struggled out of the
big car, and waddled into the candy store.  Vinnie gave him long enough
to reach his office, then crossed the street.  The place was empty,
except for the old man who made the egg creams and sold the cigarettes.
Vinnie closed the door, worked the latch, and flipped the OPEN sign
around.  He looked at the old man and gave him a little smile.  "You're
closed," he said, "for five minutes."

The old man nodded resignedly and picked up the Daily News.

Vinnie strode past the magazine racks, his leather heels echoing off
the cracked marble floor, and put his hand on the doorknob of the back
room.  He opened it very gently and peeked into the little office.  The
fat man sat, his gut resting on the battered desk.  With one hand he
was flipping quickly through a stack of small bills, and the fingers of
his other hand flew over a calculator in a blur.  Vinnie was
momentarily transfixed.  He had never seen anything quite like it; the
fat man was a virtuoso on the calculator.

The man looked up and stopped calculating.  "Who the fuck are you?"  he
asked.

Vinnie stepped into the office and closed the door behind him.  "I'm a
friend of the guy who loaned you five thousand dollars nine weeks ago,"
he said.  His accent was heavy--New York and Little Italy.

The fat man managed a sour grin.  "And you've just come to make a
polite call, huh?"  Vinnie shook his head slowly.  "No.  The polite guy
here last week, and the week before that, and the before that."  "So
you're the muscle, huh?"  the fat man said, more widely and leaning
back in his chair.  right hand remained on the edge of the desk.  It a
long reach over his gut, and it didn't look natural.  ever heard of the
law, guinea?  You ever heard what your friend does is against the law?
That he legal claim on me, not even a piece of paper?"  "You gave my
friend your word," Vinnie said "That was good enough for him.  Now
you've him."  The fat man's fingers curled over top of the desk drawer
and yanked it open, but moved faster.  He caught the fat man by the
then turned and drove an elbow into his face.  fat man grunted and made
a gurgling sound but let go of the desk drawer.  Without a pause,
lifted a foot and kicked the drawer shut.  A sound was heard in the
room.  The fat man screamed.  He snatched his hand from 'me s grasp and
held, it close to his bleeding face.  You broke my fingers!"  he
whimpered.  He.  wouldn't t[i;doing any calculating for a while.  ii;"'
Vinnie bent over, grabbed a leg of the chair in i'which the fat man
sat, and yanked.  The fat man fell i'-ckwards into a quivering heap. 
Vinnie opened the ??isk drawer and found a short-barrelled .32
'"i*Volver.  He lifted his shirttail and tucked it into his ibelt. 
"This is a dangerous weapon," he said.  "You Shouldn't have it; you'll
end up hurting your, self."  / innie reached for the stack of bills on
the desk and :'u'ted counting.  The fat man watched with an expresn of
pain that had nothing to do with his bleeding -'.ce or his broken
fingers. Vinnie stopped counting.  "Five hundred, he said, sticking the
wad into his pocket and returning a few ones to the desktop.  "My
friend will apply this to the interest on your loan.  On Friday, he'll
want all the back interest.  A week from Friday, he'll want the five
grand."

"I can't raise five thousand by then," the fat man whined.

"Sell the Cadillac," Vinnie suggested.

"I can't; it's got a loan on it."

"Maybe my friend will take the Cadillac in payment," Vinnie said. "I'll
ask him.  You could go on making the payments."

"Are you nuts?  That car is new--it cost me thirty-five thousand."

"Just a suggestion," Vinnie said.  "It would be cheaper just to come up
with the five grand."

"I can't," the fat man whimpered.  "I just can't do it."

"I'll tell my friend you promised," Vinnie said.  He left the office
and closed the door behind him.

Vinnie was in his seat, eating buttered popcorn, in time to raptly
watch Orson Welles's incredibly long, one-take opening shot of Charlton
Heston and Janet Leigh crossing the border into Mexico.  He'd seen it
at least a dozen times, and it never failed to amaze him.  So much
happening all at once, and yet the shot worked.  He loved Welles; he
loved the deep rmnbling voice.  Vinnie could do a very good impression
of the Welles voice.  He was a talented mimic.

CHAPTER

innie's beeper went off as he left the movie "Shit," he muttered under
his breath.  "The couldn't wait until tomorrQw."  He glanced he could
still make it if he hurried.  -c He grabbed a cab to Carmine Street in
Little Italy.  ait for me," he said to the cabbie as they pulled up ]
front of the La Boheme Coffee House.  "C'mon,.mister," the cabbie
moaned, "it's sixibu el--.  I ain't got time to wait."  ?  Vinnie fixed
him with the gaze he used on delinJient debtors.  "Stay here," he said,
then got out of the without waiting for a reply.  He hurried into the
"C'lffeehouse, past old men at tiny tables, and stopped 'table outside
the door of the back room.  An enormous man wearing a hat jammed on his
head sat the , his gross fingers grlppmg a tiny espresso cup.

"Hey, Cheech," Vinnie said.  "You din' ansa da beep," Cheech said.  "It
was quicker just to come."  Cheech made a motion with his head.  "He's
in dere."  Vinnie waited for Cheech to press the button, then opened
the door.  Benedetto sat at a small desk, a calculator before him. 
Vinnie was reminded of the fat man.  Both counted their money every
day. Vinnie's old friend Thomas Provensano, now Benedetto's bagman and
bookkeeper, sat at a table in a corner, working at a calculator.  Tommy
Pro winked at Vinnie.  "Vinnie," Benedetto said, not looking up from
the tally sheet on the desk.  Benedetto was in his late thirties,
prematurely graying, a dapper dresser.  "Mr.  B.," Vinnie said, "I
talked to the fat man."  "Was he nic?"  Vinnie produced the five
hundred in cash and placed it on the desk.  "He was nice for five
hundred after I broke his fingers."  Benedetto held up a hand. 
"Vinnie, you know it's not good for me to know those things."  Vinnie
knew, but he also knew Benedetto loved hearing them.  "Just between you
and me, Mr.  B."  I told the fat man all the vig by Friday and the
whole five grand in another week."  "Will he do it?"  "He's got a new
Cadillac.  I told him you'd take that, and he could keep making the
payments."  Benedetto laughed.  "I like that.  You're a smart boy,
Vinnie; you could go places, if you could ever stop going to the
movies."  This was high praise as well as scorn from Benedetto, and
Vinnie nodded gratefully. Benedetto was a capo in the Carlucci family,
and rumor was he'd be the new don when the present don's appeals on a
murder conviction were exhausted.  Keeping happy was Vinnie's constant
worry.  The had the disposition of an unhappy rattlesnake, corpses
planted far and wide, men who 'once displeased Mr.  B."  not the least
of them Onofrio Callabrese.  handed the money to Tommy Pro, who counted
it, entered the sum into the calculator, i Put the money into the safe.
Tommy extracted envelope from the safe and handed it to kid,"
Benedetto said, handing the enve) Vinnie.  pocketed the envelope
quickly.  "Thanks, he said.  sure the fat mar keeps his new schedule,"
said.  "Come see me after you collect the the rest of your list doing?"
knew that Benedetto knew the status of account; he just wanted to hear
it aloud.

"Everybody's on schedule this week," Vinnie "That's what I like to
hear," Befiedetto rplied.  up."  "Right, Mr.  B."  Vinnie turned to go.
r: "Ad Vinnie..."

' "Y

B.?"

:-': : es, Mr.  I:, "Next time, bring me the money right away; don't in
a movie first."  "Yes, Mr.  B."  ,: What is it with you and the movies,
huh?  I nevezt sen anything like it."  ;..  "It's kind of a hobby, you
know?"  ',.i.!  Benedetto nodded.  "You're getting too old for hobbies.
 How old are you now, Vinnie?

'qTwenty-eight, Mr.  B."

"Time you was making your bones."

Vinnie didn't speak.  Sweat broke out in the small of his back.

"Maybe the fat man don't come through, you can make your bones on
him."

"Whatever you Say, Mr.  B.," Vinnie Said.  "Getoutahere."

Vinnie got out.  The taxi was waiting, and he gave the cabbie an
address in Chelsea, then Sat back in the seat, drained.  He opened the
envelope and counted: three thousand bucks--his best week ever. Working
for Benedetto had its advantages, but this thing about making his bones
was beginning to weigh on Vinnie.  Once he did that, he'd be a "made
man," a full member of the family.  And once he did that, Benedetto
would own him foIever.  Vinnie didn't like the idea of being owned.

CHAPTER

Vinnie paid the cabbie, tipped him five, then ran steps of the Chelsea
brownstone.  As far as and the rest of the family knew, Vinnie lived
dead mother's place on Bleeker St reeL but he and fewer nights there;
his real home was in Chelsea.

unlocked the mailbox labeled "Michael Three years before, he had picked
a lawyer phone book, legally changed his name, got.  Ja Social Security
number, a driver's license, a voter ristrati n card and a passport, and
opened a bank "t.  After two years of filing tax returns, listing, his
i pounds J'Patron as freelance writer, he had obtained credit and
charge accounts in his new name, signed a I ,. on the Chelsea
apartment, and had even taken out

aid a bank loan.  He made his bank deposits in cash at a different
branch each time, he never bounced a check, and he had twelve thousand
dollars in a savings account, plus a stash of fifties and hundreds.
Michael Vincent was the most respectable of citizens.

"How do you do?"  Vinnie said aloud to himself as he climbed the stairs
to his second-floor apartment.  "I'm very pleased to meet you."  After
a lot of experimenting, he had settled on the Tyrone Power voice. "One,
two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."  Power was the
star whose vocal sounds most closely matched Vinnie's own, and the
actor's accentless California speech and silken delivery was what
Vinnie strived for.  He had seen The Razor's Edge only the day before,
and Vinnie tried to project the serenity of Larry as played by Power
into his speech.  "I'm extremely pleased to meet you," he said as he
unlocked the three locks on the front door of the itpartment.

The interior was classic New York Yuppie.  Vinnie had exposed the brick
on the wall with the fireplace; the furniture was soft and white, with
a sprinkling of glass and leather; the art was a few good prints and a
lot of original movie posters--Casablanca, For Whom the Bell Tolls, and
His Girl Friday among them.  Nearly everything in the place had fallen
off the back of a truck, including the posters, which Vinnie had
stripped from a broken-down revival movie house before a wise guy
acquaintance of his had torched the place for the strapped owner. There
were nearly a thousand videotapes of movies neatly catalogued by title
on bookshelves.

He checked his answering machine; there was one message.  "Michael,
darling," a woman's low voice said.  "Dinner's at nine.  Don't be late.
In fact, try and be early."

Vinnie got out of the black clothes he habitually

L on his collection rounds--his mob outfit, as he

' thought of it.  He took a shower, shampooed his hair, ,i]...arefully
blow-dried it.  He dumped the two gold s and the flashy wristwatch into
a basket on the r top and slipped on a steel-and-gold Rolex and a gold
signet ring engraved with a family Crest.  He selected a Vincent crest
from the files of the geneaie department of the New York Public Library
and n it to Tiffany's, where he had chosen a ring and[ it engraved. The
ring was very nearly the only thing paid retail for.  had a small
wardrobe of Ralph Lauren suits that a shoplifter of his acquaintance
had acquired for him on order from half a

Polo shops, and he selected a plaid tweed jacket pair of flannel
troflsers.  Vinnie slipped into a Sea cotton shirt and Italian loafers,
and he was 'for class.  He glanced at the Rolex; he had twenty

'jlie arrived at Broadway and Waverly Place.with five minutes to spare.
He was seated ih a classr..o0m of the York University Film School by
the time the professor-walked in.  The class was on production budgets.
t?Waring, the professor, held up a sheaf of papers.tr.?  Vincent?"  he
said.  ii-Vinnie raised his hand.  iL "Do you really think you can
shoot this film for two million six?  "The class of thirty turned as
one and looked at

"I believe I can, Vinnie replied in his silky Tyrone Power, voice.  "
fi-""Si.  "len us why, Mr.  Vincent, Waring said.

Vinnie sat up.  "Well, just because the piece is set in New York
doesn't mean it has to be shot in New York.  My budget is for an
Atlanta shoot with some stock street footage of New York.  That's in
the budget, by the way."  Across the room a young man with curly red
hair slapped his forehead.  "And in what areas did you achieve savings
by shooting in Atlanta?"  Waring asked.  "In almost every area," Vinnie
said.  "Cost of housing, transportation, sets.  And no Teamsters or
craft unions to worry about.  I knocked off half a million because of
that."  "Can you give me a single example of a film set in New York
that was successfully shot in Atlanta?"  Waring asked.  "I saw a movie,
The Mayflower Madam," last week.  That was a New York story shot in
Atlanta, and it looked good to me."  "Didn't my instructions specify a
New York shoot?"  Waring asked.  Vinnie pulled out a piece' of paper
and glanced at it.  "Where?"  he asked.  "You may have implied a New
York shoot, but you didn't specify it."  '"You're right, Mr.  Vincent,"
Waring said, "and you were the only one in the class who figured that
out.  That's why you came in eight hundred thousand dollars under
anybody else's budget.  Congratulations, it was a good, workable
budget, and you saved your investors a lot of money."  "Fhank you,"
Vinnie said, feeling very proud of himself.  After class the redheaded
young man approached Vinnie.  He was wearing jeans, an army field
jacket with an outline where sergeant's stripes had been, and glasses.
He needed a haircut.  'q'm Chuck he said, sticking out his hand.  "How
do you do?"  Vinnie replied.  "I'm very yOU."

"You're Michael ' '?"

Vincent, ngnt.  "That's right."  "Can I buy you a cup of coffee? 
There's something to talk to you about."Vinnie glanced at the Rolex. 
"I've got twenty "before I'm due somewhere."

waitress put the coffee on the table.  Chuck Parish her, and when she
had gone he pulled a script a canvas briefcase.  "I'd like you to read
this and for me.  I'm going t0shoot it in New York, and I production
manager."  flipped through, the pages, one hundred nineteen of them.
"It's a caper movie, about some Mafia guys who two million dollars of
their godfather's money I nearly get away with it."  "Who's financing?"
Vinnie asked: "I can raise three hundred thousand," Parih said.
connections."  "You think that's enough?"  ii;.  "That's what I want
you to tell me.  My girlfriend's 'ii.  g the female lead, and there are
enough people in fac ting classes to cast from.  There's one guy I
think jlO0ks good for the male lead."  "Do you have a distributor?"

i' i: Vinnie nodded.  "I'll read it and call you."  Vly number's on the
back of the script."  They shook hands and parted.

Fifteen minutes later a cab dropped Vinnie at a prewar apartment
building on Fifth Avenue near the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  Good
evening, Mr.  Vincent, the doorman said, opening the door for him.
"Good evening, John," Vinnie said smoothly.  He took the elevator to
the top floor, emerged into a marbled vestibule, and opened a door with
his key.  "In here, darling," she called.  Vinnie walked down the long
hall past twenty million dollars' worth of art and turned into the huge
master bedroom.  She was in bed; a rosy-tipped breast peeked out from
under the sheet.  She had wonderful breasts for a woman of forty-one,
Vinnie thought.  "We have Ealf an hour before our guests arrive," she
said, smiling.  "Don't muss my makeup."

CHAPTER

innie had met Barbara Mannering at a benefit for

School eight months before.  He had; been in in line for a drink when
she'appearedat his it," she said.

'e turned and looked at her.  A blonde of five 'or eight, expensively
coiffed and dressed, diamonds,

'ibut very real diamonds.  I beg your pardon?

"am unaccustomed to standing in lines," she i "Would you be a prince
and get me a double on the rocks?"

Of course," Vinnie had replied.

ii' you a budding movie director?"

" !::.!?A budding producer, he said.

"You look a little old for NYU."  Vinnie kndw he looked thirty-five.
"I'm not a full-time student."  "What do you do full-time?"  "I'm a
writer."  "Of what?"  "Books, magazine pieces, speeches sometimes."
"Anything I would have read?"  "Of course."  "Such as?"  '"i have a
rather peculiar specialty; I'm a ghostwriter."  "And whom do you ghost
for?" "If I told you, I'd no longer be a ghost.  Business people, the
odd politician."  "How do you find your clients?"  "They se, em to find
me--a sort of grapevine, I guess."  "You must do very well.  "Not all
that well.  I didn't write the Trump book of the Chuck Yeager book.  My
clients are more modest."  "So that's why you want to be a film
producer, to do better?"  "I want to produce because I love film.  I
think I love it enough to do very well at it."  "I'm inclined to
believe you will," she said.  "Do you know, you sound just like Tyrone
Power?" Vinnie smiled more broadly than he had intended.  "Do I?"  He
took her home, and they began making love while still in the elevator. 
They had been making low ever since, once or twice a week.  She gave a
dinnei party regularly, twice a month; Vinnie was invited about every
other time.  He had met a couple of ex-mayors, some writers, and a
great many other interesting people.

kissed a breast, unstuck his body from hers and for the shower.  When
he came out of the bath-she was leafing through Chuck Parish's
script.

this?"

guy in my budgeting class asked me to cost it

He's scraped up some money and wants to it."

i haven't had a chance to read it yet, but he has a at NYU as a kind of
genius.  I've seen a of short films he's done, and they were extremely
My impression is that he doesn't have much busi-He went to.  the closet
that held the

Barbara had chosen for him and selected a a silk shirt.  Both had been
made by a tailor who visited New York quarterly, and had picked up the
bill.  The clothes were the

thing he'd ever taken from her, although the first r?he had seen the
twelve-room Fifth Avenue apartment and its art and furnishings, his
first impulse had to tell Benedetto about it and get the place cleaned
me weekend when she was out of town.  He'd her, though, and he'd
thought she might be more

] o him as a friend.  He'd been right.  "Who's coming to dinner?"  he
asked.  mat or Harvey and his wife; Dick and Shirley Dick's retired
from Time and Life---he was i of correspondents--and he's got a
wonderful : book out about the Time-Warner merger'; tey's a producer at
ABC; Leo and Amanda iknkn.  We're just eight tonight."

ii-co Goldman of Centurion Pictures?"

I thought you'd like that.  Quite apart from running the studio of the
moment, he's an interesting man.  Very bright."  Vinnie pulled his bow
tie into a perfect knot the way Cary Grant had in Indiscreet. "I'll be
interested to meet him," he said.

Everybody arrived almost at once.  Vinnie shook*i Goldman's hand but
made a point of not talking to him before dinner.  Instead, he listened
quietly to conversation between the senator and Dick Clurman' that was
practically an interview.  Clurman was and asked very direct questions,
and he got very direct answers from the senator.  Vinnie learned a lot.
At dinner he was seated between Shirle and Amanda.  Goldman Leo Goldman
was one away, but still Vinnie did not press conversation him.  He was
charming to Mrs.  lot of attention to Amanda Goldman, a beautifuh
blonde in her early forties, but not so much as to irritate her
husband.  It was not until after dinner, when they were ing brandy in
the library, that Vinnie said more two words to Goldman, and luckily,
ed the exchange.  "I hear you're at NYU Film School," he said.  was a
balding, superbly built man in his mid-forties obviously the product of
a strenuous daily workout.  "Part-time," Vinnie replied.  "What's your
interest in film?"  "Production."  "Not the glamour stuff--writing or
directing?"  "No."  "What draws you to production?"  Vinnie took a deep
breath.  "It's where the,

laughed.  "Most people would say the control."

hire and fire directors."

nodded.  "You're a smart guy, Michael,"

"You think you have any sense of what makes movie?"

fished a card from his pocket.  "When got something you think is good,
call me.

number."

accepted the card.  He smiled.  "I'll call you an hour in bed with
Barbara, and when finally exhausted her, he slipped into the again, got
into a robe, and took the Parish the library.  He read It in an hour,
then got pad from the desk and started breaking it scenes and
locations.  By daylight he had a schedule and budget.  He didn't to add
up the figure.  Vinnie had a facility for numbers and an outstdtd an
hour' sleep before Barbara woke him you doing all night?"  she asked
over bacon.

Chuck Parish's script and working up a budget.

good?"

turned and looked at her.  "Barbara, it is very,,.  It's a caper film,
but it's funny.  It moves 'i height train, and if it's properly
produced it can

"What do you need to produce it?"  "I can bring it in for six hundred
and fifty sand," Vinnie replied.  "Parish has already got hundred
thousand."  "Sounds like a low budget to me," she said.  "It is.  Leo
Goldman wouldn't believe it."  "Are you going to take it to Goldman?"
"No.  If Parish is game, I'm going to make it anybody sees it."
"Risky."  "Not as risky as you think.  You haven't read script ."  "Why
don't I invest?"  "I don't want your money, Barbara."  He "Just your
body."  He knew that she was heir to a v:.: large consl/uction fortune.
"Whe project interests me," she said.  I'll put up hundred thousand;
you come up with the rest."  "I'll Think about it," Vinnie said.  He
had already thought about it.

As he was leaving she said, "You know what Goldman said about you last
night?"  Vinnie looked at.  her questioningly; he didn't w* ?  to ask.
"He said, "Your friend Michael is a hustler, but doesn't come on like a
hustler.  I like that."" 'o.  Vinnie smiled and kissed her good-bye. 
He vi going to have to be very careful with Leo Goldman.  tn

CHAPTER

worked on the production budget for two collecting debts for Benedetto.
He sat at Chelsea apartment and constructed and documents.  He was
impressed was ready, he went to see Tommy Pro.  Thomas O. Provensano
since child-was two years older, but they had a friendship early.
Vinnie thought Tommy ways, the smartest guy he had ever He had gotten
an accounting degree from the CPA exam, then gone to NYU Law knew as
much about Benedetto's busidid--maybe more.  was behind an unmarked
door upstairs Benedetto's headquarters.

Tommy had two rooms--one for an assistant, a Italian widow--and one for
himself and his Tommy had three computers, and it seemed to that all
three of them were going full blast all the The furniture was
spartan--a steel desk and filing nets that had come from a restaurant
Benedetto bankrupted some years back, and a very large Tommy had told
him once how all the real were kept on computer disks, and how the safe
wired to destroy them--from a remote location, essary.  Tommy left work
each evening with a set of disks in a substantial briefcase, and nobody
where he kept that.

Tommy wheeled his considerable bulk from computer to computer in a
large executive chair, his concession to comfort or luxury.  "What's
kid?"  he asked when Vinnie had been admitted to inner sanctum.

"I'm going' to make a movie, Tommy," Vinnie sai sitting down and
opening his briefcase.

Tommy Pro spread his hands and grinned.  "It only a matter of time," he
said.  "Can I help?"

"I want to show you what I got here, and see you think."  Vinnie spread
out his schedules and bt gets and explained the whole thing to Tommy,
was the only person Vinnie trusted even a little.  he had finished, he
sat back.  "So, how'm I doing?"

Tommy smiled broadly.  "It works for me," he "Except you gotta come up
with a hundred and fi grand, clean.  How you gonna do that?"

"Between you and me, I've got nearly se vent Vinnie replied.  He had
never told anybody about stash.

"If I know you, you'll find the other eighty."  "Believe it," Vinnie
said.

stuff amounts to a real good business plan,"

said, leafing through the budget.  "What do from us?"

you," Vinnie said; "Not Benedetto.  I've got trimmed to the bone to
make it work, and if gets wind of it he'll want a rake-off."  He
himself a small smile.  "You," he said, "I can

Lmy Pro laughed.  "Okay, so what are you owe me for?"  political help,
mostly.  I want to shoot in the' neigh i."  and I don't want any flak
from anybody.  do that."  , shooting this strictly nonunion, and I
don't pickets.";,

hone call, Tommy Said.  ' I want you to draw all the contracts,"
Vinnie

I haven't done a lot of entertainment work,

a lot of boilerplate in the computer.  You'll of course."  " Vinnie
said.  He hadn't thought of itwo young men spent three hours listing
con be drawn and looking for holes in Vinnie's There weren't many.  was
about to leave, Tommy Pro said, "I

I'll find something for her.  Who is she?"  limber Ca, roi Geraldi?" 
'"% Widows Walk, four or five years ago.  I ranything of her for a
while." "Neither has anybody else; she's on the skids---a

"I think she could still work, and she's still got fame."

"How do you know about this?"

"I've got a couple pushers on the street; one 'em's supplying her.  She
owes me eight grand.  If y01 want her, pick up her tab, and I'll make
you a gift her."

"I'll think about that, Tommy, and thanks."

Vinnie was as nervous as he ever got.  Chuck Parisl was on his way over
to the Chelsea apartment, an', Vinnie made sure everything was neat and
that papers were laid out.  He jumped when the door be rang.

Chuck was accompanied by one of the most bea tiful girls Vinnie had
ever seen.

"This is Vanessa Parks," Chuck said.  "She's girl and my leading
lady."

"Great," Vinnie said, shaking the girl's hand.  St'.  was tall and
willowy, with lovely light brown Her skin was without blemish, her
breasts were and' high, and her mouth was wide and lush, excellent
teeth.  Vinnie wanted her immediately.  He put them on the sofa, got
them a drink, then s Opposite them.

"Nice place," Vanessa said, looking around.  "Thank you, Vanessa,"
Vinnie said.  He had foul it effective to address women by their names
early in a relationship.

"So," Chuck said, "what've you got for me?"  Vinnie placed the
screenplay on the coffee "First of all," he said, "I want to tell you
that I your screenplay is extremely good.  You're a very fil writer."

glowed a little.  "Thanks," he said, 'qut let's get to it.  What's it
going to cost to produce?"  There are three ways you can make this
picture," said.  "Actually, there are dozens of ways, but make sense." 
leaned forward.  "What are they?"  held up a finger.  "One," he said,
"you can film as a project.  You can take your three him-dollars, hire
some students as cast and a nice little movie that will probably win i
NYU Film School award for best picture and best It will be un
releasable in that form, but you can the studios and use it to get a
shot at writing and a feature, or you might get a contract to do a TV

good to me" chuck said.  you should think seriously about Will be (he
most expensi,e master's thesis in and you'll no longer have your three
hundred live with that if it helped me launch a said.  your own money,
then."  "An inheritance."  view that a man ought to be paid for you do
this, you won't be paid, and you'll as well."  your point," Chuck
replied.  "What are the can t an agent--I've got some contacts--and to
a studio.  It's good enough that three hundred thousand for it."  sound
of that," Chuck said, nning.  never let you direct it."

"You'll have to rewrite it half a dozen times for the studio, then,
when they're happy, you'll have to1 rewrite it for the director, and
when he's ha have to rewrite it for the star.  That's the way it's done
and I don't think what you'd end up with would resemble what you
started out with."

"I see your point," Chuck said.  He was discouraged.  "What's the third
option?"

"The third option," Vinnie said, "is to make releasable film and then
take it to the studios.  HirE professionals for all but the menial
work; cast goo: people who will work for scale."

"Can I do it for three hundred grand?"

"No.  You'll need six hundred and fifty grand."  "I can't raise the
rest," Chuck said.  "I can," Vinnie replied.  "You'd invest in'my

"If I produce it," Vinnie replied.

Chuck sat back on the sofa and sipped his drink.  want to write,
produce and direct my own stuff."

Vinnie sat back, too.  "If that's what you want, the that's what you
should do."

Chuck looked at him cautiously.  "But you bring your investors in if I
do."

Vinnie shook his head.  "I couldn't do that, and I" tell you why.
You're an intelligent man, a good and, from what I've seen at the film
school, a director.  You ought to concentrate on what' at, and my guess
is you're not a very good

I am.  I can organize this project, run the business si&.  and leave
you free to do what you do best.  That's you need, Chuck, whether it's
me or somebody else.  Yv need a producer."

"What have you produced?"

"Nothing," Vinnie said.  "But let me take yo the business plan I've
worked out and show you do it."  He went to his desk, picked up copies,
them to Chuck and Vanessa.  "Page one," he broken down by category."

had finished, Vinnie got up and fixed himself his first.  Chuck and
Vanessa whispered back while he was gone.  When he returned, t smiled
at him, and he knew he was home free.  this," Chuck said.  s not going
to be a piece of cake," Vinnie"You and I are going to have to defer com
pen-It's a twenty-three-day schedule, and you're have to be very well
prepared to bring that going to have to shoot 'with Mitchell cam-of
Panavision; you'll have to edit on a not a Steenbeck--in fact, it would
be best if edit at school, use their stuff--even if you in the middle
of the night."  need much sleep," Chuck said.  He flipped the pages
quickly.  "I don't see a Steadicam in said.  "I specified a Steadicam
for three can't have a Steadicam," Vinnie said.  "You wheelchair, if we
can't steal one, and of plywood you can borrow, for track."  much time
for preproduction and casting?"

imonth.  That's ample, I think.  I've already

Chuck asked incredulously.  addresses by each scene."  about
interiors?" borrow them.  You can use this place for the

girl's apartment.  We won't be renting any "That's gotta mean a lot of
looping, then."  "It's in the budget," Vinnie replied.

"Holy shit," Chuck said, wiping his brow.  "This really possible, isn't
it?"

"It is."

"How do you know we can sell it to a studio whe it's finished?"

"I-have contacts.  I believe it's doable, or I wouldn' bring my
investors into it.  You're going to have t depend on my business
judgment, though, when wi do the deal."

Vanessa put a hand on Chuck's.  "I think yot should do it Michael's
way," she said,

Chuck looked at her, then turned back to Vinn:

and stuck out a hand.  "You've got a deal," he sai

"When do we stSrt?"

Vinnie took the hand in both of his.  "We start tomorrow at a'meeting
with our lawyer.  You can brin your own lawyer, of course.  You should
do that."

"I don't have a lawyer," Chuck said.

Vinnie smiled reassuringly.  "Don't worry abot it," he said.

CHAPTER

the work.  He tried to get his collec-done in the morninds, then
devoted his and evenings to mounting the production.  and dealed,
offered cash for discounts, equipment, hired crew, attended casting a
producer.., one thorn in his flesh: the fat man.  HQ up with the
vigorish on schedule and had payments.  Then, when Vinnie stopped by
store to collect the next payment, he walked a cop.  The man was
loitering near the office a magazine from the rack; he was in but
Vinnie made him in a second.  The old the counter raised an eyebrow and
at the cop.  Vinnie left before he was made.

'sonofabitch, he thought as he walked On to his ii.ltoIner.  Benedetto
would definitely lose patience fat man had called the cops!  Was he
insane?

Benedetto was pissed off.  "Why should this man treat me this way?"  he
asked Vinnie plaintively.

"You're right, Mr.  B.," Vinnie said.  "He needs a real shock to the
system."

"He needs getting dead," Benedetto said flatly... "Give me one more
shot at him," Vinnie said.  "After all, he won't pay you if he's dead.
I'll have him on schedule by next collection day."

"All right, Vinnie, I'll leave it in your hands."

"Right, Mr.  B. I'll take care of it right away."  He turned to go.

"And Vinnie?"

Vinnie stopped.  "Yeah, Mr.  B.?"

leI'm holding you responsm

Vinnie didn't line the sound of that.  He got out fast

Later in the day Vinnie sat in on a casting session in a basement room
at NYU and watched actors read for three principal male roles.  Vanessa
Parks was readin with them, and Vinnie didn't like what he heard.
thought she had the makings of an actress, but she too young for the
part, too inexperienced for week of rehearsals started in a few days.
Time was sho He got up and went to a pay phone.  "Yeah?"  Tommy Pro
said.

"Tommy, it's Vinnie.  I need some ]

Vinnie said.

"What kind?"

"Somebody with some medical training and knowledge of drugs.  A little
muscle wouldn't hurt."

"I think I know what's in your mind,

Tommy said.  Vinnie could hear him grinning.  "When!

:," Tommy said.  "She's an R.N. Them that her well calls her Roxy
Graziano."

A.M. Vinnie turned into an uppevaniddle-class in Queens and cruised
slowly down the block, each window in each house.  Not a light was the
Cadillac, parked in a driveway; the number was right.  Vinnie drove to
the end of made a U-turn, and came slowly back, his off.  He parked and
got out.

device was a quart bottle of gasoline and a with a two-minute fuse.
Looking carefully down the street, he' appro/iched the Cadillac, on the
ground under the gas tank, and it.  He walked quickly back to his car
and away, not hurrying.

the end of the block, he turned the corner, then He could still see the
Cadillac.  There was a sound as the detonator lit the gasoline, then,
short delay, a big fireball of an explosion ... L smiled to himself and
drove back toward

The sonofabitch would pay on time now.

afternoon Vinnie dressed in his blue suit and met Roxanne in a
delicatessen on

"It's a short walk," he said.

was a good six feet tall and weighed and sixty, Vinnie guessed.  She
listened as they walked, nodding occasionally.

"she said.

"Did you bring the stiff?"  She patted her large handbag.  They came to
a handsome brownstone on 10th Street, on the elegant block between
Fifth Sixth Avenues.  Michael rang the bell and waited.  She looked
like hell when she came to the She was dressed in clean jeans and a
work shirt, her hair was dirty, and she lool(ed older than her thirty
four years. "Yes?"  she said.  "Miss Geraldi' Vinnie said, "my name is
Micha Vincent.I'm a film producer.  There's a script I you'll read ma
wonderful part--and I wanted to deliver it myself."  He handed her a
brown envelope.  "Oh," she said, "surprised and pleased.  "Thanl you.
I'll read it over the weekend."  "This is one.  of my production
assistant, Roxanne," he said, gesturing toward the large "I wonder if
we could come in for just a moment?  I' like to tell you about the
project."  "Well, the place is a mess," she said.  "But..."  "Thank
you," Vinnie said, brushing past her.  S had been right; the place was
a mess.  Vinnie moved pizza box from a sofa and sat down.

Carol Geraldi sat opposite him, and Roxann, stood quietly in the
doorway.  Vinnie told Geraldi about the film, about her '"There are
only four scenes," he said, "but it's the female part of any
consequence, and the quality of writing, I think you'll agree when you
read it, is extra or nary.  I don't want to oversell it, but I think
tunity for an Academy Award nomination in this partI "Well," Geraldi
said, taking the script from t envelope.  "Downtown Nights.  It's an
interesting title."  "Why don't you read the scenes now?"  Vinn
suggested.  "The pages are flagged."

She glanced at her watch.  "I'm sorry, but I don't

Q time right now; I'm expecting someone"

"Fake the time," Vinnie said.  "You certa,uy won't

"Mr.  Vincent, is it?"  she said, an edge in her e. "I really am
expecting someone, and I'm in no

, to read this at the moment."

m afraid the man you're expecting isn't coming,

Geraldi."

he looked alarmed.  "I beg your pardon?"

e man with the drugs is not coming."

e was trembling now.  "I don't know wha talking about.  Who are you,
anywayS" --"'

'm a film producer, as I told you a moment ago I

[zreyou, this is a genuine offer."

Offer?  You haven t male an offer.  You'll have to ny agent, she said,
rising.  "?".m, afraid you don't have an agant anymore, Miss ma. You
haven't had one for some time."

He sat, down again.  "What is this, exactly?"

won t waste your time," he said.  "I'll be direct

Iou."

d apprecaate that.  She was twitching now..:: [ have bought Your debt
from your pusher.  Eight

hundred dollars--that's a lot of drugs, Miss Geraldi.

up to two grams of cocaine a week now, plus ver else you can get your
hands on."  ?  "I'm going in forehab next week," she said.

just yet, Vinnie replied.  "You have a part to ook, I don't know if
this film is real or not, but no shape to deliver any kind of
performance w. And I really am expecting someone."

e was about to cut you off anyway.  Look at me ting angel."

"You're going to supply me with drugs?"  s!  asked incredulously.

"That's right, Miss Geraldi, and Roxanne here going to administer them.
Roxanne is going to see you feel just fine right through a week's
rehearsals ten days of shooting.  I'm arranging to shoot scenes almost
back to back, so that we won't take more of your time than absolutely
necessary.  And soon as you've finished shooting, we'll get you rehab,
I promise."

Geraldi looked at Roxanne.  "Can you give something now?"  she asked.

"Of course she can," Vinnie said, rising.  "I'm about finished.  But I
want to be sure you understand clearly.  Roxanne is moving in with you
from the. moment.  She's.going to maintain you through the end, the
rehearsals, and the shoot, and I don't want to give her the slightest
difficulty. Is that dear?"  Geraldi nodded dumbly.

"You must understand that I'm giving you a great opportunity, and I
expect your full cooperation.  If don't cooperate with me, the
director, and Roxanne all times, I'm going to drop you right back into
ing pan; I'm going to sell your debt to nearly as nice as i am and who
deals in of movie than I do---then you'll have to Work debt off, and it
will take a long, long time.  Do understand me, Carol?"

"I understand," Geraldi said weakly.  She turned Roxanne.  "Now,
please?"  she whimpered.

"Help her, Roxanne," Vinnie said.  "Carol first reading will be at one
o'clock on Monday noon.  Be sure you know your lines."  He smile
"Roxanne will read with you."

CHAPTER

Lnnie sat in the rehearsal hall at Central Plaza and Avenue and watched
Chuck Parish Je his cast.  They spent the morning running ' the four
scenes between Vanessa Parks ade male leads.  Chuck moved quickly, only
occa' s. topping to make a suggestion.  Vinnie wasLcl with the way he
handled the actors, never tricking, always encouraging.  n, lunch was
delivered from a delicatessen, e took the opportunity to call Chuck
aside.  ey were alone in the stairwell Vinnie spoke Chuck, at the risk
of insulting you, I'm going something you already know."  t's that?"
Chuck asked warily.  ?  essa is wrong for the part.  Wrong for the "I'm
fact."

"What the hell are you talking about?"  Ch demanded defensively.  "I've
cast her, and that's it."  "Come here," Vinnie said, leading him over
to door to the rehearsal hall.  They looked in at the of actors eating
lunch.  "Look at that group and tell this: who's out of place?"  Chuck
looked at his cast--most of of them ethnic-looking in some way.  "Look
at them," Vinnie repeated.  "We've Italians, Jews, Puerto Ricans, a
couple of blacks.  gritty group."  He paused.  "And then there's Chuck
said nothing, but continued to stare at group.  "She's a promising
actress, I'll give you that, she's too WASPy, she's too delicate, she's
too she's too geen.  We need an older, more actress, someone who can
bring some personal to the party."  "If I tell her that she'll walk
right out on Chuck said.  "If she loves you she won't," Vinnie said
"She'll understand you're doing it for the' "I just can't do it," Chuck
said.  "Will you tell hell "If she hears it from me she'll never Chuck
turned away from the door.  "But we're too along now.  How can we
recast the part in the time w got?  You're always bitching at me about
schedule."  "I understand that Carol Geraldi is Vinnie said.  Chuck
looked at him.  "You think we could her?"  "I do."  "Can we afford
her?" "Yes."  "Where has she been the past couple of her in anything
since she won the Oscar Walk."

Jane off."

walked back to the door and looked at "She's so goddamned beautiful,"
he said.  "I

somebody as beautiful as that."

career is at stake here, Chuck.  She can't part, and nobody will blame
her; they'll her."

against the wall and wiped his brow sleeve.  "I guess I just have to be
ruthless, huh?"

be the last time, Chuck; it's a tough busi~

maybe Vanessa understands that better she's had time to think about it,
she'll doing it as' much for her career as who'd see the film would
know she depth."

right," Chuck said'"I can't let her do that a hand on Chuck's shoulder.
'"you're a to tell her now."

"Just give me a minute, okay?"  Vinnie said.  "I'Ll have Carol Geraldi
'there and looked at his feet.

walked downstairs and out onto the street, more easily.  He looked up
to see Carol

Roxanne getting out of a taxi.  He walked

"You look terrific," he said to Geraldi,

eekend, she said.

Now, you're a few minutes early, so across the street and get a cup of
go up to Studio A and introduce your Chuck Parish."

'q/Won't you be there?"  she asked nervously.

"I have to do something else .  , ,

Chuck is exvecting you, and he's very but

' '"- r" about working with an actress of your can ve

She smiled.  "That's nice."

"Now go get your coffee."  He watched the women cross the street, then
went and stood the door to the building, waiting.  Five minutes he
heard a door slam, then the ring of high heels the steel stairs, then
Vanessa Parks nearly fell into l arms.  She was weeping and nearly
hysterical.

"Vanessa, honey, take t easy."  he sea,

her at arm's length and looking at her close y.

"The bastard?  she said.  '"The bastard fired me!"

"Are you all right?"  he asked.

"Of course I'm not all right!  My boyfriend fired me off his lcture!
Don't you understand?"

"Come on," Vinnie said, putting an arm "

de he hailed a her.  Let's get out of here."  Outs' ,

and bundled her into it.  He gave the driver the of the Chelsea
apartment, then turned to was trembling with fury, tears streaming down
face.  "Take it easy now.  We'll talk this whole thing and see what we
can d about it."  He pulled her his shoulder and let her do her sobbing
there.

In the Chelsea apartment he mixed her a strong She wolfed down half of
it.  "The bastard," she Vinnie pulled her onto the sofa and stroked
hair.  "Listen, it's just a job," he said.  "You're goinl have better
parts than that, I promise you."  "You think so?"  she asked, wiping
her nose tissue.

ii:!.eSsa, look at me," e said, cupping her face in e looked up at him,
doe-eyed, snuffling.  u have something very special, something the 'can
see, something an audience can identify k[ l. o?"  she whimpered.  o re
than being very beautiful, you have a rare ',laat, properly developed,
is going to propel you place in the film business."  you really think
so?"  she asked.  She had utely.  Chuck is going to do okay, I'm going
'i&ay, but you are going to be a very great star.  I you that."  b,
Michael," she said, placing a hand on his You always believed in me
from the start, roll ?  I knew you did, I could tell.  Chuck just to
fuck me."  ten, Chuck thinks you're great, but let me tell good as you
would have been in that part, the Uldn't have been good for you."

cause the character isn't/anywhere near asmd beautiful as you are.  I'm
going to find you cate parts for you that will send you to the top
'asiness."  la'd do that for me?"  she asked.  :d it for you, I'll do
it for myself.  I want to see gop, and I want to be the one who puts
you

'dssed her back, but he held himself away.  Her 'as incredible and he
wanted more of it, but he her to be the aggressor.

She did not disappoint him.  She pushed on the sofa, got his zipper
undone, and in a she had him in her mouth.  If he thought her mouth had
been incredible on lips, then where it was now was right next to be
thought.  He looked at the top of her head, ran hand through her thick
hair, played his fingers at corner of her mouth, felt himself swelling,
then exploding.  She kept sucking until he pulled head away, got an arm
around her waist and her into the bedroom, both of them shedding along
the way.

Vinnie made it back to the rehearsal hall before reading broke for the
day.  "Low did it go?"  he Chuck.  "Geraldi is absolutely wonderful,"
Chuck "She walked in here, and in five minutes, she was part, and
everybody in the cast knew it.  She inspired casting, Michael."  "I'm
glad you're happy."  "I'm delirious.  Did you see Vanessa when si
left?" "No, I had to go uptown and fix a hassle with lighting.  It's
okay now."  "I dread seeing her when I get home," Chuck sa.  "I feel
just terrible about this."  "You'll get over it, and so will she,"
Vinnie repli "She'll probably throw herself into your arms l moment you
walk in."  An hour later, the phone rang in the Cheil apartment. 
"Hello," Vinnie said.  "Michael," Chuck Parish sobbed, "she's gone!" 
kc it easy now," Vinni,e replied soothingly.

I her stuff is gone; she s vanished.  None of her knows where she
is."

G y cad back into the film.  Don t think aything else."

tck heaved a deen sih "You' ":'-' r o xgnr, the salam is the important
thing.  I don't know why I

ant upset me so much."

"a good night' sleep  I'll.see you in the v, Michael.  Thanks He hung
up tie hung up and looked toward the kitchen,

'anessa, dressed only in a shirt, was making like a lot of garlic?" she
a ked, smiling at

CHAPTER

sat straight up in bed.  Something had ened him, some noise, but it was
gone.  Vanessa stretched out beside him, sleeping quietly.  He the
bedside clock: just after 3:00 A.M. The noise again, and this time he
knew what it was: his beel.  sending muffled signals from his trousers
pocket.

He got out of bed, switched off the beeper, went to the living room
phone.  He didn't like Benedetto had never once called him in the the
night.  The fat man's collection day was that must be what it was
about.  He dialed the "Yeah?"  the voice of Cheech, "It's me.  What the
fuck?"  "Now," Cheech said.

"Right now?"  He t,?d to keep his voice down s not to wake Vanessa.
Does he have any idea what fuck time it is?"

I dunno," Cheech said.  "You want I should ?  , be there in twenty
minutes," Vinnie said, Make it ten," Cheech said.  him I'm not at home,
and I have to find a cab."  , h," Cheech said, then hung up.  e got
into the clothes he had taken off at bed hated wearing cloths twice,
but he couldn't waste time.  He didn t like being on the streets ork at
this time of night, either; he opened a and found the fat man's gun,
then left theA miracle; it took him only five minutes to going south on
Seventh Avenue.  were two thirds through shooting the film, He had
already shaved a day Off the schedule.  ,roud of himself, but he Was
nervous, too.  He kept on budget, but most of C]uck's and investment
was gone, and soon he was going come up with his hundred and fifty
thoui, had seventy which he hated to think of

'he needed another eighty at least.,ab driver was on his way home to
Brooklyn ed to go any farther south than Houston i.inie jogged the rest
of the way.  of Little Italy were deserted, and his loafers made little
sound as he ran along.  back to his childhood, when running that
somebody was chasing him, usually he approached the La Boheme Coffee to
a walk, willing his heart to slow outside the door and panted for a the
glass behind him rattled.  around, his heart racing again, to find
there his bulk filling the doorway.

"Christ, Cheech, you scared the shit out of me," panted.

"You better get in there," Cheech said,

the back room with a thumb.  "He's pissed off."

Vinnie walked quickly through the dark house, aiming at the light under
the door of the room.  His shirt was sticking to him, and he didn't his
breathing under control yet.  He hated not perfectly in control of
himself, hated it that was going to see him this way.  He knocked,
opened the door.

Benedetto was sitting in his usual place, and were stacks of money on
the table.  The door to the safe was ajar.  Cheech went and sat at the
desk Tommy Pro often worked.

"Evening, Mr.  B.," Vinnie said, trying to calm breathing.  '

"Evening, my ass," Benedetto said, becoming in the face.

"What's up?  How can I help?"  Vinnie asked.

"This is your problem, not mine," Bened replied.  "You can fucking fix
it."

"What's the problem, Mr.  B.?"  He had a feeling that he knew what the
problem was.

"You see the late news tonight?"

"The fat man was the star of it.  Oh, they goddamned coat over his
head, but it was him into the car."

"I'he fat

"Not exactly," Benedetto replied snidely.  man is trying to get me
busted.  He's been to who has a hair up his ass about loan-sharking,
and now has a warrant out for me.  I couldn't even get my office until
an hour ago.  There's been cops to was stunned.  The fat man didn't
know his could certainly give the cops a good he'I don't believe it,"
he said.  "The man i that crazy."

is that crazy," Benedetto said, "and it was on his car that pushed him
over the edge."

never testify against you, Mr.  B.," Vinnie said.

that'd mean.  He's not that crazy."  him sequestered," Benedetto
said.

shit."

except I found out where.  Cost me ten where they got him?"

yeah.  Otherwise Cheech would right like a walnut."

at Cheech, who seemed 'dqsappointed not breaking Vinnie's head.  "Mr.
B.," he tell me what you want me to do."

a slip of paper from his locket and across the table.  "That's where he
is," the

"It's a place in Oyster Bay, on the North it."

Mr.  B.?"

him dead.  Cheech'll give you a gun."  He looked at his bodyguard.
"Give Vinnie heavy to make his bones with.  I don't want mind went into
a kind of crazy fast-would try to get to the fat man, and the kill him.
He would never see his film make love to Vanessa again, never go dinner
party at Barbara Mannering's to

Maybe he would pull it credit for saving Benedetto's ass.  He would
make his bones and be one of the boys.  Benedetto would have him by the
balls for the rest, his life, tell him what and what not to do, rule
his own him.

Benedetto was turning back toward him;

had a .45 automatic by the barrel, wiping it with oily cloth.

Decide] Decide!  He decided.  His hand went to waist of his trousers
and grasped the fat revolver.  He was moving too slowly, he knew; was
big, but he was quick as a cat.  Vinnie started with the gun, saw the
surprise in Benedetto's Vinnie shot him in his surprise.

The bullet went in under the left eye, al Benedetto spilled backward
from his chair.  knew he might not be dead, but Cheech was something
with his hands.  Vinnie turned, and fired twice.  The first one got
Cheech in the shoulder, the scond hit him in the neck.  He still the
.45 in his hand, clasped in the oily cloth.  He having trouble getting
a finger on the trigger thro the cloth.

Vinnie quickly walked toward him, stopped feet away.  He put one into
Cheech's head, saw skull come away and blood splash the desk.  He one
more into the forehead.

There was a noise behind him.  Benedetto his hands and knees struggling
toward him.  His was contorted with pain and rage.  He reached up got
hold of Vinnie's trouser leg.  Vinnie him with the pistol; he didn't
want blood all him.  Benedetto reeled, but recovered and stat toward
him again, blood pouring from his face ?  Vinnie shot him twice more in
the top of the and the pistol was empty.

me turned back to Cheech, terrified that the ight still be able to fire
the heavy pistol at him,

,"cch was on his back, bleeding into the floor He wheeled back to
Benedetto, but Mr.  B. was d, too.

He stood, frozen, in the middle of the room,

his hand, taking deep breaths, trying to stop from flying from his
chest.  Then a deep voice um shook him to his roots.

"Vinnie," Tommy Pro said, "you've really made a mess, haven't you?"

He whipped around, the pistol out in front of find Tommy standing in
the doorway, a shotgun in his hands.

r piece looks empty," Tommy i,

ry, mrue said, recovering.  "Yeah, it's empty."  yours?"  I got it from
a guy."  flean, then?"  a, I guess so.  my reached out and took the
pistol from nd and pocketed it.  "I was ursti," n all-nihter I'm ,4 ;
........ " V "' ,-, -"."  ,. was yuu tie lOOKe C " .  ioseiy.  Thank
Christ you were empty, I

ioVinnie -staid.  "I probably would have kept u scared me bad.  He was
feeling numb to the bone.  "You gonna give me to the Don,

he asked weakly.

you insane?"  Tommy Pro asked "Look re, don't you see what I see' '

Benedetto dead," Vinnie sad.  don't, see any money on the table,
Vinnie? see the safe open?"  Tommy chuckled.  "Even 'e the combination
to that safe."

Vinnie began to recover; the numbness was ing him.  "You and me, Tommy?
We take

"Not exactly, Vinnie," Tommy Pro said.  "You half the money.  I take
everything else."

"What else?"  Vinnie asked, looking around nearly empty room.  Then he
understood.

Tommy went to the safe and opened it wide.  took two bank bags from a
shelf and began to money into both of them.  When he had finished stood
up and began bagging the money on the Finally, he held out both bags to
Vinnie.  "No time counting.  I divided it up; You got dibs."

Vinnie took one of the bags.

"You remember how we used to run across roofs?"  Tommy asked.

"Yeal," Vinnie replied.

"You go out the back way, go up the fire across the roofs to your
mother's place.  Hide money somewhere good.  Stay at your mother's you
hear from me.  People are going to want to you.  I'll handle things
here."

"I've got another place, in Chelsea, "Can anybody put you there
tonight?"  "Yeah, there's a girl."

Wait' Il morning, when there's people on street.  Go back to Chelsea
and call me around ten.  surprised on the phone."

Vinnie nodded.  Without speaking again, through the back door.  A
moment later he was across the roofs, a child again with Tommy Pro,
running from somebody.

CHAPTER

lay on his dead mother's bed and tried to think up an airtight alibi,
he needed to get back to Fore Vanessa woke up.  Thank God, he sleeps
like a rock. But how' would h do ver get a cab at this time of night,
and he ye wanctng the streets in the middle of h a lot of money in a
bag.  Then he rememff the bed and went to the chest of drawers d
clothes were.  He got into some athletic at shirt and sneakers, then
picked up the eft the apartment.  As silently as he could, the stairs. 
There it was, at the bottom.  th a helmet dangling from the handlebars.
lived downstairs worked for a messenger service.  Vinnie stuffed the
money into a donned the helmet, and very quietly got the bike of the
building.  The gears were a little crazy, but soon got the hang of it. 
He pedaled through the streets, past the groceries and coffeehouses he
known since boyhood, and soon he was uptown.

At Sixth Avenue and Twelfth Street a police car gave him a bad moment
when it pulled up next He gave them a smile and a wave and

He left the bicycle leaning against a bus stop on Seventh Avenue and
jogged the rest of the home.

Back in the apartment, he got a knife and through the plastic bonding
material that held bricks in place, He stuffed the moneybag into the
and replaced the bricks, carefully filling the again.  A lit.  He soot
from the fireplace and the matched the cement holding was near dawn
when he gratefully crawled into next to the sleeping Vanessa.

She was up first; she had a modeling job morning.  "Where were you last
night?"  she got up and went to the bathroom, and you were

He knew what kind of sleeper "Sweetheart, you had a dream.  I never
budged last night."

"Oh," she said, then kissed him and went way.

When she had gone, he resisted the count the money.  Instead, he called
Tommy Pro.  checking in," he said.

"Bad news," Tommy said.  "Benedetto got night.  Cheech, too."

Vinnie always assumed the line was tapped.  '

said, sounding ;s astonished as he could.  id it?"  re working on it,
and so are the cops, but no i far.  They cleaned out the safe, too. 
Wasn't it, just the proceeds from the coffeehouse for a rthing I can
do?"  tyou know," Tommy replied, then hung up.  lone rang.  a?" 
arbara.  How about tonight?"  pray:" !.-o and me, babe" it t have to
think long.  I'll look forward to it"

away from the shoot that day, since they ),in Little Italy and he
didn't.want to be seen n though there was no reason for the cops to
aaext stage.  [?e was unable to resist the temptation; he ;: bricks and
had a look at the money.  It was 'it!  sizes, and it came to a little
over a him~ ' ninety thousand.  He could finish the picture i::iifhe
went over budget, but he was deter-io'do that.  He hid the money
again.

lannering ran a long fingernail down bt to his nubic hair "^ .........
r nSam, lover: she ll hadn't caught his breath from the first ra, you
are insatiable, you know that?"

She chuckled.  "I know that.  I'll give you

"How's your movie coming?"  "We wrap next week."  "When can I see it?" 
"I want it finished before you see titles and the opticals in."  "Oh,
all right, I'll be patient."  "You know anybody at the New York "Sure. 
A girl I knew at Bennington is director."  "Can you get her to look at
the picture?"  "I expect so.  The festival's next month, She'll need to
see it very soon if she's to schedule fact, it might be too late
already." "Tell her I'll have a rough cut in ten days.  I'll a
screening from at the film school."  "i'll see what I can do.  You all
rested now?"  He turnd back to her.  "I'm all rested."

Since there were no titles yet, the film just "I love it," the woman
said.  "I just love we've booked the whole festival."  "Surely you can
squeeze us in somewhere," said.  "Look, this is a homegrown New York
with a score by a student at Juilliard and a from the NYU Film School
who's going to be A couple of months from now you'll look very to have
had this in the festival."  "Can you finish it in time?"  she asked. 
"We can," Vinnie replied.  He hoped "Tell you what.  We've only got a
single scheduled for the second night--a new film England.  I'll run
yours first."

[ for the English fi,I'm,.  We'll be dessert" i. stuck out a hand.
"You're on" '

held his breath and dialed the number.  "Mr.  n's office," a
businesslike female voice said.  20, this is Michael Vincent.  May I
speak to ise?"  he know you, Mr.  Vincent?"  w else would I have this
number?"  Michael ghing.  i.a moment."  was a very long wait, but
finally the voice "Leo Goldman," he said briskly.  t is Michael
Vincent; how are yyou?"  God, is he Bmember?  -a s friend.  What can I
do for you -you be in New York for the film festival?"

there for the opening, then I have to go on to Ig t a film showing the
second night."  it to our screening room--the Centurion On Fifth
Avenue. Let's see..."  eculd hear pages turning.  o clock on opening
day." good."  You then."  Goldman hung up.  replaced the receiver and
held his breath for a minute Then he'e,exploded in laughter.  "A
screening --iiOldman! he shouted to the empty room.

CHAPTER

e sat in a taxicab and sweated.  He ha than ten minutes before his
appointment with Goldman and he was.  still forty blocks away.  The lab
had been late finishing the print, and- he was crazy.  He had meant to
have the film deli vere Centurion offices, but now he had to hump the
there himself.  He found a handkerchief and face; he breathed deeply,
settled himself into a ... mild trance.  There was nothing he could do
aboi he would go with the flow..  He was ten minutes late for his
appointment and when he reached Goldman's office, his secretary said he
was waiting in the screening room.  took the elevator down, handed all
the filn, to a waiting projectionist, straightened his tie and entered
the screening room.

sat hunched in a chair, cigar smoke him.  He nodded at Vinnie, then
pressed a said, "Let's go, Jerry."  took a seat as the film began to
run.  They seconds into the titles when a phone rang.

picked it up and started to talk rapidly,

on the cigar.

reached over and pressed the intercom please stop the film and back it
up to stopped talking and placed a hand over

"I was watching," he said.

'. Vinnie said calmly, "all I want is ten minutes attention.  If you'd
like to take calls at him oddly for a moment, then phone again.  "I'll
get back to you."  He pressed the intercom.  "Let's go, Jerry."

started again, and Vinnle made every look at Goldman.  This was easy
for him,

seen the finished film himself, and he into the film Goldman glanced at
his the telephone.

:, Vinnie thought, I blew this one.

Goldman said into the telephone, "hold into the big chair and started
to through two more cigars during not shifted in his seat.  He waited
rolled before he spoke.  "Who

Vinnie replied.

"And who owns the corporation.

"i do."

"A hundred percent of the stock?"

'hat's correct."

"What about your investors?"  ' n "

, ' vested in the il ling not the corl?ratio "

'"'ey m, t."  aeal without encuvrance:

DO yOU re ': '

"i am."

Who else has seen this film?"

"Nobody but you; not even the director has this print, and it's one of
only two prints.  The for the festival."  e?"

"What do you want for the negat tv

"Make me an offer."

"I'll gte you two million dollars for it, lock, and barrel."

fRo ,t

Are you crazy.  '

Leo, tomorrow night the film is appear in the Times ne you owm o'

secret anymore."

"All right, two and a quarter million."

Vinnie shook his head slowly.  He was waiting to  be asked again what
he wanted.

Leo stood up.  "See you around, kid," he saidl strode up the aisle of
the little theater.

Keep functioning, innie s'd to himself.  He the button on the intercom.
Jerry, please rew reels'G'old man walked through the swinging door,

Vinnie sat and waited for the projectionist?

rewinding.  He willed himself not to run

Never mind, he was thinking, they'll all see it came back through the
swinging doors,

the aisle, and sat down next to Vinnie.

let's see how smart you are," he said.  "Fell want.  Be reasonable, be
realistic.  If you it."

three million dollars cash," Vinnie said.  "I

points--that's me, personally, not the separate contract; I want a
guarantee of eight million dollars spent on advert is I want a
guarantee that it will open than one thousand screens; I want a guar
will touch one frame of it."

gross points," Goldman said.

going to have a 'terrific finished film for a third of what it would
cost you to edited for television."

dub language, you can't edit."

to come to work in development for you six hundred grand a year and a
account, five-year contract."

Leo, I want to produce.  I

of a deal?"

of a million a year, the expense of three hundred thousand; a in
development money; three-year an option for two more; any bud cost of
twenty million, you fund but you get thirty days to green-light;

can take it anywhere I want, but shoot at

Centurion.  If you pick up my option, I get a and a half a year."

"Six weeks to green-light."

"Done," Vinnie said.

Goldman picked up a phone and punched number.  "Murray, I want a
negative buy out right now; the price is three million; the film is
Downtown Nights, we're buying from Downt Nights Company, Incorporated.
I said now.  want a separate contract giving ten gross points son ally
to one Michael Vincent.  Further, I want a ducer's contract drawn."  He
dictated the terms as he and Vinnie had agreed.  "One more thin said.
"Cut me a check for three million dollars corporation and another one
for a hundred to Vincent.  I want everything in my office in hour."
Hghung up.

"You can generate those contracts in ha] hour?"  Vinnie asked
incredulously.

Goldman waved a hand.  "Igs all insert the numbers and spew the whole
thing word processor.  It'll take him forty-five minutes.: got up.
'vVhere's the negative?"

"In your screening room," Vinnie replied.

"I like the

Vinnie followed Goldman at a near-trot office.  It was a square room,
about thirty feet on and the walls were hung with a mixture of
paintings and impressionists.

"A beautiful collection," Vinnie said.  "You should see the stuff at my
house," replied.  He riffled through his calendar.  "Let's se back from
London on Saturday.  You show up lot on Monday morning; come to dinner
on Want me to arrange a girl?"

Vinnie went through them care his time, while Goldman caught up on
his

He complained about some clauses,

others.  Goldman was reasonable.  By i the evening the contracts had
been revised,

and Vinnie signed.

handed him two checks.  "There's your another for a hundred grand, the
first contract."

stood up and shook Goldman's hand.

me ask you something, biichael: what did it for the negative?"

and thirty thousand dollars," Vinnie roared with laughter.  "I love
it!"  he"I figured a million eight!  I paint you me'e wanted!  Of
course, you're screwing your ten points directly to you."

two investors, and they'll make out

, You got a good deal, too; you don't make like this, kid; two guys
make a deal,

the other doesn't.  It the end."

at Goldman sharply.  "Leo, what do don't know?"

permitted himself a small smile.  "Carol out this morning.  An
overdose.  That's going to guarantee ten million dollars worth of
publicity for this movie, and I'm going to get her posthumous Academy
Award.  You wait and see."

Vinnie sat back in the cab and looked at his checks.  If he had known
about Geraldi's death, could have gotten at least another million,

Never mind, he reasoned, he'd make out just fine his gross points.

CHAPTER

had three meetings on the morning of the of Downtown Nights at the New
York Film he met Chuck at the coffee shop where talked about making
Downtown Nigh.  have you been?"  Chuck asked.  "I ran the and it looks
great.  You haven't even yesterday afternoon with Leo Goldman of
Pictures."

you get to Goldman?"

some connections."

he think?"

paid me three million dollars for it."  mouth fell open; he seemed
unable to with you, Chuck?"  Vinnie asked.

"Well ... I don't know.  Is that a good deal?  never checked with
me."

"It's a very good deal, Chuck, and our stipulates that I conduct all
negotiations and have final say."

"Well, if that's what it says.  When do I see money?"

Vinnie produced an envelope.  "Here's your payment," he said.

Chuck ripped open the envelope.  "A hundred fifty grand, all at
once!"

"That's your fee for writing and directing."  produced another check.

Chuck's hands were trembling as he opened envelope.  "Five hundred
ninety-seven thousand, hundred and twenty-five dollars," he said
weakly.

"That's your investment of three hundred sand, plus the earnings."

"That's ... that's ..."  Chuck was looking at ceiling, concentrating.

"That's a total of seven hundred forty-seven sand dollars and change,"
Vinnie said.  "Let me tell how it breaks down.  We spent six hundred
and thousand shooting the film.  We got three million leaving two
million, three hundred

Out of that, your fee for directing and writing hundred and fifty
thousand; my fee for producing two hundred and fifty thousand... '

"How come you get more than me?"  demanded.  "It was my film."

"For two reasons," Vinnie said calmly.  "First, picking up the legal
work, which is going expensive.  Second, none of this would pened
without me; you wouldn't have three of a million dollars in your hand,
and wing at the New York Film Festival tonight."  OU're right,
Michael," Chuck said sheepishly.  "I mean to be ungrateful."

D continue: that leaves a million nine hundred y thousand dollars
profit.  Taxes are something t hundred and fifty thousand, leaving a
net of a gter a million three to distribute to investors.  are is
forty-six percent.  It's all right here," he handed Chuck a document.
"Believe me, if a ad done the film they'd have raked off most of ck was
looking at the checks and nodding.

e shouted.

second meeting t)ok place later that morning.

Tommy Pro sat in the little office at the back of the and drank
espresso.

s place clean?"  Vinnie asked, looking around

!eeThere was a constant fear of electronic bugs s swept this "morning,"
Tommy replied

--r from the cops?

' "..w'you didn't hear from our people; I kept

, Tommy."

w's your movie coming along?"

It's being shown at the New York maybe a studio will pick it up?"

it up yesterday."

'; how'd you do?"

Vinnie shoved a briefcase across the fees," he said.

Tommy Pro lifted the lid of the case and inside, then closed the case
and shoved it back

"I remember, but it's not enough."  , ..... is" "I cot a lot more than
you did out of all m "How do you mean.  Tommy shrugged.  "Look around
you.  Where we stti g. You're the new..  myself, the family am. And if
I say so have done better."  ' u're right, they couldn't do better."  i
- --- , Vinnie?  Another movie?"

"A

lot of movies," Vmme repnea, i g"

tion deal at Centurion Pictures.  I leave the tomorrow for

L.A."

"So I'm going to know somebody in get starlets when I come out?"  ,
"You get whatever you want, and it'll

"I'm looking forward," Tommy said.  "By the way, from now on I'm known
Vincent.  Think you can handle that?"  Tommy Pro stood up, grabbed
Vinnie, hugged him.  "Michaele," he said.

"I

still owe you," Vinnie replied.

Vinnie's third meeting took place at Le Cir lunch.  Barbara, who was a
regular, had bookec table.  When the champagne had arrived he han do
the check.

;o zst over a hundred percent profit in less than on ths she said,
tucking it into her purse.  fere's a statement of where all the money
went," j handing her a sheet of paper.  tore it up and put the pieces
in the ashtray.  y, I've made a profit, and that's all I want.  I re
how much you skin" ed off the top."  rbara, I assure you... put a hand
over his mouth.  "I know you never cheat me.  I'm happy as a clam." 
She her champagne.  "But," she said, "I have the I'm not going to be
seeing as much of you."  told her about his production deal with on. 
"And it was all because you introduced me old man  I won't forget that
ikissed a finger and placed it on his lips.  "As iou don't forget me,"
she said.  'noon, he picked up Vanessa from a modeling took her to the
Palm Court of the Plaza for tea.  ey had been served he handed her, a
slim book.  at is it?"  she asked, leafing through it.  :: '
little-known nineteen-twenties novel cad trnoons," he said.  "It's a
won,d, erful book, and to be your first starring vehicle.

"sa jumped up and down and made little noises.

e took a sheaf of papers from his briefcase , it to her with a pen.
"You'll be under con personally for five years, starting" at five
dollars a week, with raises each year.  ok the pen and signed the
contract.,."I think.  you should have your lawyer read it I, sign it,"
Vinnie said.

"I don't need a lawyer," she said.  "I've got yo Vinnie took a thick
envelope from his briefi "Here's your first month's salary," he said. "
don't you go shopping this afternoon?  Save some for Rodeo Drive,
though."  Her eyes widened.  "Are we going to Californi "The day after
tomorrow, first class," he replie{ Vanessa got up from her chair,
walked aroun table, sat in his lap and began kissing him.

That night, Downtown Nights got a standing ovati# the film festival,
and at a cocktail party afterv Vinnie and Chuck received the
congratulations by the hundreds.  The evening was marred only by
Chuck's sight of Vmnie with Vanessa.

The m6ming following the screening, Vinnie'

Vanessa boarded an MGM Grand flight to

Angeles.  They settled into the luxurious seatvZ

ordered champagne.  Vinnie had a cashier's chef

his pocket for six hundred and sixty thousand lars, representing his
profits thus far from Dow

Nights, and in a carry-on bag in the overhead partment was two hundred
and sixty thousand dollars in cash, representing his savings and
proceeds from the murder of Benedetto.  He w, quite a millionaire,

As the airplane left Kennedy Airport and t west, Vinnie looked down at
lower Manhatta raised his glass.  "Good-bye innie Callabres...
whispered, "and hello Michael Vincent?

CHAPTER

opened his eyes and listened hard.

a sound he was unaccustomed to.  dark, and he wasn't sure where he
was;

sound.

of bed and stumbled across 'the roomi:.

pull.  He swept open the drapes in the morning sunlight.  A limb of a
giant the length of the windows, and on it sat loudly.  Birds singing,
Michael California!

slept soundly, a mask over her eyes.  to his luggage and dug out a
small box,

the bathroom and regarded his image Vinnie Callabrese stared back at
him.  He and installed the batteries in the electric two minutes to
dispose of Vinnie.  He Some lather and shaved off the remaining
stubble.  There, he said to himself, finally.  Mic Vincent smiled back
at him.

"Jesus," Vanessa said from behind him.

He turned and looked at her.  "I thought sound asleep."

"The birds woke me up," she said.  gorgeous---you look so much better
without All you need now is a haircut."

"It's Sunday; the barbershops are closed."  She dragged a stool over to
the mirror and into her makeup kit, coming up with a shiny scissors.
"How do you think I got a modeling job?"

"Are you any good?"

"Trust me," she smiled.  "Now sit down and up.  I know exactly how you
should look."

Michael sat down nervously.  "Not too much he said.

"I told you to shut up," she said, runnin fingers through his thick
hair, snipping away.

When she had finished, he stood up and looked c at his reflection while
she held a mirror head.  "It's a lot shorter," he said.

"It's a lot better," she replied.  "Now you look businessman instead of
a film student."

She ordered breakfast sent to the suite, and he through the real estate
section of the Los Angeles occasionally marking something.

"What are you doing?"  she asked.

"Looking for a place for us to live," he marking another apartment.

rent a car," she said, "if we're going won't be necessary," he said.
"I've arranged left the suite "Meet me out front in uat,es,- --he said
to Vanessa, picking up his  newspaper.  How shah I dress:" ia
Californian out for a Sunday drive."  He i'de and steered out onto a
shaded walkway.  ?!  Bel-Air Hotel, he thought as he walked i:?e
densely planted gardens.  He walked he lobby and out the front
entrance, then ge.  Below him, swans paddled up and stream.  came to
the parking lot an attendant ,"G--o,- morning, Mr.  Vincent," the young
';,"I ere s a gentleman waiting for you just i' He indicated the other
side of the lot, an waited in the shade of a tree, leanin - "walked
over to him, looking the car oVer in cent  the man said, sticking out
his hand.  , Too..W- at do you think of the car?"  waucecl slowly
around the machine, a new rio let painted metallic black, with a r '
black "Have you got the title?"  he asked.  mn opened a briefcase and
handed , , him ai.  It s the real thing," he said "All regis

II' name.  you do this?"  Michael asked, looking at his looks
genuine."

"It is genuine," the man replied, sounding hurt.  "You think I'd palm
off bad paper on a friend of Tommy Pro's?"  "I suppose not," Michael
said.  "We got our own man at motor vehicle registrations," the man
said, looking around him to make sure no one was listening.  "When we
yank a car we already got the numbers from a vehicle that's already
trashed.  This car has got less than a hundred miles real miles on it,
but it's registered as last year's model We turned up the speedometer
to show three thousand miles.  Our guy registers the car, and your
title is absolutely clean, I guarantee it.  You want to drive the car?
It's perfect, I promise."  "That won't be necessary; I'll take your
word for it."  Michael opened his briefcase, took out a thick envelope,
and handed it to the man.  "Twenty-five thousand cash, as agreed."  He
accepted the envelope.  "I won't need to count it," he said, sticking
out his hand again.  "Give Tommy my best when you see him."  "I'll do
that," Michael replied, shaking the man's hand.  "Oh," the man said,
producing a business card.  "If it ever comes up, you bought the car
from this dealership out in the Valley, okay?"  "Okay," Michael replied
and watched the man climb into a waiting car and be driven away.  He
got into the Porsche, started the engine, and drove up to the portico
just as Vanessa appeared.  "Wow!"  she said, running a hand over the
car.  "Hop in, Ms.  Parks," Michael replied, grinning.  "Let's go find
a place to live."  Late in the afternoon, after looking at half a dozen
houses and apartments, Michael and Vanessa stood in h, ,?  room of a
large penthouse in Century City.

It s available for a year, the agent was saying.  owner is making two
films in Europe and will be.

in London."

"We'll take it," Michael said.

"Well," the woman said, "I'm afraid there are more people to see the
place, then we'll pick the

There will be some formalities to

"I don't think we need worry about formalities,"

said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'll la the year's rent in advance," he said, open-his briefcase, "in
cash.  Right now."  "In cash?"

"Fhaffs what I said.  N w I'm sure you have a stan lease form in your
briefcase, and if we can wrap this 'now there's a two-thousand-dollar
bonus in it for cash.  And I don't think we'll find it necessary to
your broker."

The woman licked her lips.  "You.  say you're at

"Starting tomorrow.  Leo Goldman's off.i.e will

"Well," she said, "I don't see why we can't forget formalities."

she had gone and the keys were in Michael he and Vanessa stood on the
terrace and out over the city.  "Right out there," he saint,

"Where?"  -. v"

"Follow my finger; see the gate and the flashing sign.

"Centurton Pictures, she said.

"I like being able to see it from here," he said.

"Michael, whatql we do when the year's lease is up?"

"Don't you worry, babe," he said, giving her a hug.  'Ve'll find
something a lot nicer."

When they had moved their things into the new apartment, Michael drove
them out to Malibu, and they found a restaurant and a table overlooking
the Pacific.  As the sun went down, they raised their glasses.  "Fo
Hollywood," Michael said.  "It's going to be ours."

CHAPTER

ichael approached the gates of Centurion slowly.  He had seen
photographs and film of famous entrance all his life, and he wanted to
moment.  : He stopped at the little guardhouse, and for a felt as
though he were an intruder.  A uniformed guard stepped out.  "May I
help you?  "My name is Michael Vincent," he said.  "I..."  "Oh, yes,
Mr. Vincent," the guard said, smiling.  "Just a moment."  He
disappeared into the guardhouse and came back with a plastic sticker,
which he affixed to the Porsche's windshield.  "That'll get you in any
time and without delay," he said.  "I'he Executive Building is at the
other end of the grounds.  Take your first right and follow your nose. 
My name is Bill, if I can ever be of any

"Thank you, Bill," Michael said, smiling at the man.  "I'll remember
that."  He drove slowly past a row of neatly painted bungalows; each
had a sign out front with the occupant's name painted on it.  He
recognized the names of directors and writers.  Then he turned right
and found himself on a New York City street.

Downtown, he thought.  Not Little Italy--the Village, maybe.  Rows of
neat brownstones ran down the block, with small shops interspersed.  On
an impulse he stopped the car and ran up the front steps of a house,
peering through the glass of the front door.  As he had expected, there
was nothing beyond but a weeded lot and the back of another row of
faqades.  The whole street was propped up with timbers.

He continued to the Executive Building and drove slowly around the
parking lot, looking for a place.  To his surprise, he found, one
marked by a freshly painted sign reading MR.  VINCENT.  He paused.
Could there be another Vincent at.  Centurion  Then he decided the
paint was so fresh, it must be his.  He parked the Porsche, noting the
distance-from his parking place to the front entrance of the building.
Not too far, he noted--at least, not as far as some.

The Executive Building was a substantial structure with a stone facade
and a row of columns.  There was an air of permanence about it. Michael
trotted up the front steps and entered the building.  A large desk
straddled the broad hallway, occupied by two very busy telephone
operators and a receptionist.  She smiled coolly at him.  "Good
morning," she said.  "May I help you?"

"My name is Michael Vincent," he said.  "I'm..."  "Oh, yes, Mr.
Vincent," she interrupted.  "Just a moment, I'll ring Mr.  Goldman's
secretary for you.  Won't you have a seat?"

;o

Instead of sitting, Michael wandered up and down entrance hall,
inspecting the original posters that there--posters for movies that
were like a history life, movies he'd seen at dozens of New York houses
from his earliest years.  There were many ca demy Award-winners among
them..  Shortly, a small, plump woman in a business suit red.  "Mr.
Vincent?  I'm Helen Gordon, Mr.  odman's secretary.  Mr.  Goldman isn't
in yet--still overing from jet lag, I believe.  He's asked me to kc,
are of you."  .  ?"  B'.  How do you cio.  Michael said, taking the
woman's hand and turning on a businesslike charm.  "I'm sure I'll be in
good hands."  .......... " .  ldman thouKht one of two omces rmgm o

Mr.  Go i/to your liking, she said.  Please follow me, and III

i*.show them to you."

it!."  Michael followed he up the broad staircase hind the reception
desk, past a set of heavily varnished mahogany doors, then down a
hallway that ran

, the length of the building.  At the very end, she showed t [him a
large office with a r, ece, ptio.  n, to, m-o--f i-ts..mvaHe

I I:

mo" ."  Michael said noncormmt..  II wanted to know what the second one
was like be for the chose.  - "little buildin of its ,

"The other office s reaxy gi,l" e said leading him back down the
hallway own she , " i and out of the building.  "It's only a short
walk.  She led him down a broad sidewalk that ran between two

!J.  rows of huge, hangarlike sound stages  At the end, she turned a
corner, and they approached a small adobe building, one end of which
was half a story higher ; than the other.  Producing a key, she led him
inside.  ' '

"This is very interesting," Michael said, looking ' : around the empty
reception area.

She opened the doors of two good-sized offices, then led him toward a
large pair of double doors.  "In the old days they used to shoot screen
tests in this room," she said, opening the doors and stepping back for
him to enter.

The room was large, with a very high ceiling.  This was the extra
half-story he had noticed from outside.  Sunlight poured in through
high windows at one end.

"By shooting tests here, they didn't take up time on the big stages,"
she said.  "I think it's rather nice, don't you?"

"I do," he replied, turning to her.  "May I ask your advice?  Which
should I take?"

Helen Gordon nearly blushed.  "Well," she said haltingly, "there is a
body of opinion which holds that it is not wise to work too close to
Mr. Goldman's office.  He does rather have a tendency to look over
one's shoulder."

"I see."  Michael laughed.  Well I think I'll be very happy in this
building.  I'm going to need some space for one or two other people
anyway."

"Good," she said.  "Now, let's see about getting you some furnishings.
Follow me."  She led him out of the building and down the street.  At a
small door in what he assumed was a soundstage, she pressed a bell and
waited.  "I'll introduce you to George Hathaway," she said.

"The art director?"  Michael asked.  "I'd assumed he was dead."

"He's very much alive, I assure you, though he's sort of retired.  He
manages props and costumes now.  Mr.  Goldman has kept a number of the
old-timers on retainer.  They seem to prefer it to a pension."

The door opened and a tall, slender, elderly man with a clipboard in
his hand waved them in.  "GoOd morning, Helen," he said.

"Good morning, Mr.  Hathaway.  I'd like you to

Michael Vincent, who's going to be producing on lot."

"I'm an admirer of your work," Michael said to the shaking his hand.
"I've always been particularly ressed with your designs for Fair
Weather and

HathaWay beamed.  "How very nice of you to say He seemed to have a
slight English accent.  "George," Helen Gordon said, "Mr.  Vincent has
to use the old screen test building.  Do you you could put together
some furnishings for ?  Mr.  Goldman says he's to have whatever he

'qNhy, of course, Helen,".  Hathaway replied.  "I'd delighted. 
I'malays happy to have a new producer i client."

ii "Mr.  Vincent," Helen paid, "I'll leave you in George's capable
hands.  When you've finished here, come on back to the Executive
Building; Mr.  Goldman should be in by that time, and he'll want to
greet you himself."

"l'hankyou, Helen," Michael re p lied .  ,:

She left the building, and George Hathaway beckoned for Michael to
follow.  He led the way to another door and opened it.

Michael stepped through the door and stared.  -What he had thought was
a soundstage was a vast warehouse of furniture and other objects,
stacked high on steel shelving.  The central aisle seemed nearly to
vanish into the distance.  "It's like something out of Citizen Kane,
Mr. Hathaway," he said wonderingly.

George Hathaway laughed.  "Yes, I suppose it is.  And please, you must
call me George."

"And I'm Michael."

"Let's have a wander around, and if you see a desk or a sofa or
anything else that catches your eye, you just let me know."  Michael
followed the old man slowly through the building, gazing at the
collection of seventy years of movie making--furniture, paintings,
objets dart, hat racks, spittoons, bars from English pubs and Western
saloons.  At the end of a row, Michael spotted something familiar.
Leaning against the outside wall was an eight-foot-wide stretch of oak
panelling surrounding a stone fireplace.  "George, isn't that the
fireplace from Randolph's study in The Great Randolph?"  "It is,"
George beamed, "and how nice it is to find someone with the eye to
recognize it."  "I always loved that room," Michael said.  "When I was
about twelve, I had this fantasy of living in it."  "Tell me," George
said, scratching his chin, "were you thinking of using the tall room
for your office?"  "Yes, I was."  "Well, you know, that whole study is
here in this warehouse--the desk, furniture, books---everything, and I
think it might fit the tall rooTM, with an adjustment or two.  How
would you like it if I reassembled it for you?"  "You could do that?" 
"Of course. Mr.  Goldman says you're to have whatever you want."  "That
would be absolutely wonderful, George.  I'll feel like Randolph
himself." "Consider it done.  Will you want the other rooms furnished?"
"Yes, I'll be hiring a few people soon."  "Well, if you'll leave it to
me, I'll choose some things for them."  "I'hank you very much."

George picked up a phone against the wall and in a number.  "I'll get a
crew on it right he said.  "We re not too busy at the moment, so for
you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?  As soon as that?"

"Well, Michael," George Hathaway said, "this is after all."

left the warehouse and started back toward the walking on air, headed
for his first with Leo Goldman.  He passed a small bun ga and through
the open windows came the sounds of quartet, playing something Michael
didn't

He thouglxt it must be recorded, but when he and looked inside, he saw
three elderly men a woman playing their instruments, lost in the

He continued on toward the Executive Building.  was indeed Hollywood,
he thought.

CHAPTER

ichael entered the Executive Building again and found Helen Gordon
waiting for him.

"Oh, good," she said.  "Mr.  Goldman has just come in.  Let's go up to
his office."

At the top of the stairs she opened one of the large, gleaming mahogany
doors he had noticed before and led him through an elegant waiting room
where two young women were typing furiously on word processors.  Helen
rapped on an inner door, then opened it and showed Michael into Leo
Goldman's office.  The room was large enough to contain a huge desk, a
pair of leather sofas in front of a fireplace, a grand piano, and a
conference table with seating for twelve.  One wall was a
floor-to-ceiling bookcase with a ladder on rails.  Leo Goldman sat in a
large leather chair, his feet on his desk, talking into a telephone
headset that was into one ear.  He waved Michael to one of the and
continued talking rapidly.

Michael sat down and regarded the room's fur-Every object seemed to be
the best of its kind, chosen to make the enormous room comfort-and
beautiful.

Leo tossed the headset onto his desk, walked the feet to where Michael
sat, shook his hand, and on the opposite sofa.  "Well, did you have a
flight?"

' "Yes, just fine, Leo."

"Your rooms at the Bel-Air all right?"

"Perfect.  We enjoyed it, but we've already found apartment in Century
City."

"Good; fast work.  Who's we?

"My lady friend, Vanessa Parks."

Goldman nodded.  "Have you moved in yet?"  "Vanessa is moving us
today."

"Will we meet her tomorrow night at dinner?"  "You will."

"Good; Amanda will be delighted.  By the way, is like to meet?

"At dinner?"  Michael asked, a lithe nonplu-!.  "Sure.  Anybody in town
you'd like me to ask?"  "i don't know a soul here."

Leo shook his head.  "I mean, is there anybody you'd like to meet?"

Jesus, Michael thought, can he just summon anybody he wants?  "Well,
there are lots of people I'd like to meet."

"Name somebody."  ' Michael thought.  "Yes.  I'd like to meet Mark
Adair."  He had read in the Times that the novelist was in town.

"I'll see what I can do," Leo said.

"And I'd like to meet Robert Hart."

"Well at least you want to meet movie stars, just like everybody else,"
Leo said, laughing.  "Bob Hart is just back from a month at Betty
Ford's," he said.

"Booze, not drugs.  He hasn't worked in over a year."  "If you don't
think it's a good idea..."

"No, it's fine; I like Bob, and I've always loved his work.  His wife
can be a little hard to take."  He picked up a phone on the coffee
table between the sofas, pressed a button, and spoke.  "Helen, invite
Bob and Sue Hart to dinner tomorrow night; you've got the number.  And
call the Beverly Hills and see if Mark Adair is there; ask him, too.
Let me know."  He hung up.  "If they're not in town, think of somebody
else."

"This is very kind of you, Leo," Michael said, meaning it.

"Not at all."  Leo leaned back on the sofa and threw a leg onto the
cushions.  "Now.  Let me tell you about Centurion.  You' may already
have heard some of it, but I'll tell you again."

"Fine."

"Centurion was founded in 1937 by Sol Weinman, who had run an important
unit at MGM for Irving Thalberg.  When Thalberg died, Sol couldn't
stomach being directly under L. B. Mayer, so he got out.  Sol was a
rich man--inherited--and he got some other rich men together and
started Centurion.  They bought a broken-down Poverty Row studio that
had some good real estate, built four sound stages and started to make
pictures.  It was tough at first, because they had to borrow talent
from the majors and that was expensive, but they had a string of hit
pictures, and by the time the war was over Sol had bought out his
partners and had a profitable studio.  He ran his own show, the way Sam
Goldwyn did, and his pictures were at least good.  When TV came along,
he didn't get hurt quite badly as MGM and the other big studios; his
over was lower, and he kept on making good pictures died twenty years
ago.

"The studio floundered around for a while, had hits and some flops, but
it was going downhill fast.  Fifteen years ago, I borrowed a lot of and
put together a deal with some investors to the studio from Sol's widow.
I kept control.  I

in here, sold the back lot to some developers, off most of the debt
with the proceeds, and was back in business.  I expect you know pretty
well since then."  "Yes, I do, and I admire it."

'qThanks, you ought to;.we do good work here.  the overhead low; we
rent a lot of space to people work I like--you've seen the signs
outside the

"Yes."

:i "I hung onto props and costumes, mostly out of I guess, and we rent
to everybody; just breaks even.  We've still got the four sound stages
plus two more, and we keep 'em bus) "We a dozen or so pictures a year,
and a lot more get on the lot by independents."  Leo leaned forward
rested his elbows on his knees.

"What I want from you is a new picture next year, getting your feet on
the ground, and then pictures a year after that.  I want good work on
budgets, commercial enough to make money.  He've had a blockbuster or
two around here, but that's 'not-what pays the rent.  We do it with
good material, Iently made, year in and year out.  Once in a I like a
beautiful little picture, something a little arty that doesn't lose too
much money.  It's good for the studio, and you can get expensive talent
to work cheap in a project like that.  You cop an occasional Oscar that
way, too.  "I have broad tastes; I like cop movies, comedies, heavy
drama, classy horror, medical stories, westerns, biographies,
musicalswGod, I love musicals, but you can't make 'em any more without
losing your ass.  I'm very leery of blockbuster-type material, unless
there's an absolutely superb script before another dime is spent.  I
tell you the truth, if Arnold Schwarzenegger came to me today with just
an idea for something like that, I'd say, "Thank you very much, Arnold,
but fuck off until you've got a script that puts my blood pressure
dangerously up."  I swear to God.  What makes a blockbuster a
blockbuster changes so quickly that it scares me to death.  My idea of
a nightmare is a movie---any kind of movie--that goes into production
without a perfected script.  I know, I know, Casablanca started without
a finished script, but that's a we wild exception.  Don't ever come to
me, Michael, with a script you know is half-baked and ask me to make
it.  Don't ever commit me to a star without a finished script.  You'll
end up making a hash of it, trying to get it written while the star is
still available, and you'll hurt us both.  If you've got a good script,
there's always a star available, believe me.  "We've got a television
production company on the lot that does very nicely.  If you come
across something you don't want to make, but that you think would make
a good TV movie, mini-series," or series, send it to me.  You'll make
friends on the lot that way.  Speaking of making friends, you're going
to have a hard time doing that.  Studio executives are envious of guys
with production deals, and my people are no exception.  They make a lot
of money for what they do, but they know that you have the potential of
making a of a lot more, and that drives 'em crazy, so if you to get
along with the people in this building, at it.  Do them favors,
compliment their work, asses when you can gtomach it, and if some-gets
in your way, go around him, not through

'i.  "I know you're smart, Michael, and I don't have to il you this,
but I'm going to anyway.  You re a young good-looking, in a glamorous
business with money to throw around.  Be careful.  Don't get into mtJin
fact, pay cash for ever, yth.  in.g. you possably ]m.  Don't use drugs.
Ive seen fifty bright young guy go right down the tubes on that stuff.
Don t let your ck et in the way of your business.  I'm glad to hear
you've got a girl, because-there are ten thousand women in this town
who will suck your cock for a Jwalk-on as a hat check girl in a. bad
movie, and you id who can do it so well they'll make you torger your
business and do the wrong thing."

iYn Leo sat back and took a deep breath.  "That's all I

think of at the moment."

"Thank you, Leo," Michael said.  "It's all good advice, and I'll try to
follow it."

: "Now," Leo said.  "About Downtown Nights.  I'm to open it on a total
of nine screens in New York l L.A. the week before Thanksgiving."

Michael's face fell, and he started to speak.

Leo held up a hand.  "Wait a minute," he said, "let me finish.  I'm
going to run it for two weeks, then pull it until after the New Year.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I'm going to screen the shit out of
it on the lot, and we're going to get some good word-of-mouth going.
Then, in mid-January, when a lot of big Christmas releases are starting
to drop out of sight, I'm going to open it on twelve hundred screens
and spend eight million dollars on advertising and promotion.  It's
good timing for the Academy Awards, and believe me, Carol Geraldi is
going to be nominated.  We'll do thirty, forty million, and with what
we've got invested, that'll be a solid hit for us."  "Sounds
wonderful," Michael said.  "Damn right," Leo said, looking at his
watch.  "I've got a lunch," he said.  "I wanted to take you somewhere,
but this can't be postponed.  You take the rest of the day off; your
office won't be ready until tomorrow anyway, and you need to get moved
into your new place.  Come over to the house early tomorrow night--say,
six o'clock--that'll give us an hour to talk before the others get
there. I want to hear about what you want to do next."  "Fine, I'll
look forward to it."  Leo walked to his desk,etrieved a sheet of paper,
then walked Michael to the door.  "Here," he said, handing him the
paper. "I had Helen put this together for you, stuff you'll need. 
Doctor, dentist, bank, barber, maid service, florist, caterer, whatever
I could think of.  There's a list of good restaurants.  I've had Helen
call them and tell them who you are, so don't worry about getting in. 
My address and home phone are there, too.  See you tomorrow at six."

Five minutes later, Michael stood in the parking lot and watched Leo
Goldman being driven off in an enormous Mercedes.  Through the back
window, he could see the phone at Leo's ear.  He got into the Porsche
and just sat for a moment, remembering everything Leo had said. Michael
had a superb memory.  He could have recited it all Verbatim.

CHAPTER

i' ichael had a prearranged appointment own to at 2:30, and there was
time to stop along i the way and shop for a car phone.  He bought a
handheld portable, too, and left the car for the phone inst al- .. He
took a shopping bag from the trunk and i to his meeting a few blocks
away.  He cheCked the directory in the lobby of a gleaming skyscraper
and took the elevator to the top floor, to the offices of a discreet
private bank.  The Kensington Trust, the lettering on the glass door
told him, .w b,a-s:le' London and had branches in rew xorc, LOS ra,8l ,
Bermuda, Hong Kong, and the Cayman Islands.  At the reCeption desk he
gave his name as Vincente Callabrese and asked for Derek Winfield.  He
was shown immediately to a panelled office with a spectacular view of
the L.A. smog.

Winfield, a tall, thin man in his fifties wearing a Savile Row suit,
rose to meet him.  "Good afternoon, Mr.  Callabrese," he said,
extending a soft and beautifully manicured hand, "I've been expecting
you."  He offered Michael a chair.

"How do you do, Mr.  Winfield?"  Michael replied.  "I expect you've
been told of my banking needs."

"Yes, yes, our mutual friend in New York called a week ago.  We're
always happy to do business with friends of his.  Have you known each
other long?"

"Mr.  Winfield," Michael said, ignoring the question, "I would like to
open an investment account with you."

"Of course," Winfield replied.  "I understood from Mr.  Provensano that
you also had something in mind."

"That's correct," Michael said, taking an envelope from his pocket.
"Here is a-cashier's check on my New York bank for six hundred and
sixty thousand dollars."  He placed the shopping bag on Winfield's
desk. "There is a further one hundred thousand dollars cash in this
bag."  He endorsed the cashier's check.  "I want to invest the entire
amount on the street.".

"I see," Winfield said.  'qNhat sort of a return were you anticipating
on your investment?"

"Our friend said I could expect three percent a week; that's good
enough for me."

"I think we can manage that," Winfield replied.  "How would you like to
collect the interest?"

"I'd like to roll it into the principal each week.  From time to time I
may withdraw some capital, but I expect this to be an investment of at
least a year, perhaps much longer."  Michael knew that if he took the
interest each week, the annual income on his investment would be in
excess of a million dollars, but if he let the interest ride,
compounding weekly, his income be much, much more, and it would be
tax-free.

loan sharks would be lending his money at ten a week, so everybody
would make money.

"Will you require facilities for, ah, movement of

Winfield asked.  '

"Perhaps; I'm not certain at the moment.  .

"There would, of course, be a charge for that service."

"Of course.  In such a case, how would the money to me?"

"We could arrange for you to collect fees as a con to one of a number
of corporations," Winfield

"You would have to pay taxes on the proof course, since the relevant
corporation would filing Form 1099 with the Internal Revenue Service.

could also move the funds through our Cayman but in order to have safe
access to them in this

COuntry you would have to travel there and return with cash.  One must
be careful with large sums of cash these days."

"I understand."

"If you will wait a moment, I'll get you a receipt.

Oh, how shall I list the name and address of the account?"

"My name, but no address; just keep my statements on file here, and
I'll pick them up when it's necessary."

Winfield smiled.  "Of course," he, said then left the

Michael wandered around the office, inspecting paintings and looking
out at the view.  A few minutes later, Winfield returned.  ?  "Here is
your receipt," the banker said.  Winfield saw him to the elevator. 
"You may call me at any time for a confirmation of your current
balance," he said.

"Thank you," Michael replied.  He boarded the elevator, pressed the
button for the lobby, and rode down feeling very rich.

That night, Michael and Vanessa dined at Granita, Wolfgang Puck's new
restauraxit in Malibu.  The headwaiter had been solicitous when Michael
had called at the last minute.  Leo Goldman's name worked wonders.

They sipped champagne while Michael touched on the highlights of his
day.  "What did you do?"  Michael asked.

"Oh, I moved our luggage into the apartment and got the phone working,
then I did a little shopping on Rodeo Drive."

"How much did you spend?"

"Does it matter?"  she asked kittenishly.

"Not at all," he laughed.  "It comes out of your pay.  But then, you're
very well paid, aren't you?"

"I'd like a car, Michael.  Do you think that would be all right?"

"Of course; what would you like?"

"One of those new Mercedes convertibles, I think.  Silver."

"I think you can afford that," he said.

"When do I start to earn my keep?"  she asked.  '"you mean, when do you
become a movie star?"  "That's exactly what I mean' she said.

"You begin tomorrow night," Michael said, touching his glass to hers.
"All you have to do is relax and be your charming self."

CHAPTER

ichael arrived at his offices the following and was not surprised to
find workmen in

A pair of men were hammering in one of he

; off the reception room.  Floll3rwood or.of,

ht, nobody could put all this together in a gYhe doors to his office
had been replaced- by a. 
"vy, dark-stained oaken set; he passed
through and i[lipped, staring.  He was standing in the study from The

"Grdt Randolph, complete in every detail.  One entire wall, floor to
ce'fling,.was covered with .boo.kcas."  and.

they were filled with leather bound books an matcneo .

i?;' sets.  The opposite wall was panelled and covered in

-,-: hat looked Enelishportraits of men in uni'?--1.-.-a en in ball
eowns, landscapes and still lifes, and one or two that appeared tote
from masre.

that wall was a huge fireplace, and over the mantel hung a full-length
portrait of Randolph himself, replete in white tie and tails, looking
sternly toward Michael.  "A very impressive fellow, isn't he?"  a voice
behind him said.  Michael turned to find George Hathaway standing
there. "Sir Henry Algood as Randolph," Hathaway said.  "I knew him
well, before the war.  Mind you, the portrait adds about a head in
height to the old boy, that's why he loved it so much.  He tried a
dozen times to buy it, but he and Sol Weinman had some sort of falling
out, and it gave Mr. Weinman the greatest pleasure to deny him the
picture."  "George, I'm overwhelmed by the room," Michael said.  "Let
me show you a fe modifications," Hathaway said.  "The width was
perfect, but the room was about eight inches too long for the set.  We
made a false wall, then made good around the windows."  He opened a
cupboard to reveal a gas bottle.  "This runs the fireplace.  Don't ask
how we did the flue, and don't for Christ's sake, ever try to burn
anything but gas in it." He walked across the room and behind the
massive desk facing the fireplace, then pulled out a couple of large
drawers.  "We managed to conceal a couple of filing cabinets in here,
but if you run out of space we'll have to add some cabinets to the
reception room. Incidentally, we've found some panelling for that area
that matches this pretty well, and there's a good desk for out there,
too.  Not a single one of the books is anything but a spine," he said,
hooking a fingernail over one and pulling away a whole row of them to
reveal a small wet bar.  He opened another spine-concealed door and
showed Michael a small refrigerator with an ice maker

"It's astonishing," Michael said, meaning it.  "This is Hollywood,
isn't it?"  "As real as it gets," Hathaway said..  - .  i!  Michael set
his briefcase on the desk and tooc out a co of Pacific Afternoons.
"George," he said, handing Lpy book "have you ever read this?"  the ,.
, , u. ^ about it"

"No," Hathaway replied, 'rut l now u, :' "I'd appreciate it if you'd
read it.  I'd like to get your ' vi" on how it might be d,es?t.  -e.
for a film."

Of course, Michael, glad to.  f'.  There was a knock at the door, and
Helen Gordon followed by a tall, handsome woman who to be in her early
forties, wearing a well business suit.  better get going," Hathaway
said. "I'll read tonight."  He left the' room a nd Michael was alone
the two women.

"Mr.  Vincent," Helen said, "I'd like you to meet

Margot Gladstone."

"How do you do?"  the woman said.

Michael shook the womkn's hand, admiring her poise and the low,
mellifluous voice that accompanied

"I'm very glad to meet you, Ms.  Gladstone."

Helen soke again.  "Mr.  Goldman has suggest'd

P "S

i that Margot serve as your secretary.  She been with the studio for
quite some time, and he 'thought she you find your feet."  hat was very
kind of him," Michael said.

"Perhaps Ms.  Gladstone and I could have a talk?"

"Of course," Helen said.  "Call me if there's anything you need."  She
took her leave.

"Will you have a seat, Ms.  GladstOne?"  Michael asked, showing her to
one of the leather Chesterfield sofas before the fireplace.

"Thank you," she replied, sitting down and crossing her long legs. "And
please do call me Margot."

"Fhank you, Margot."  Michael caught her accent.  "I didn't realize at
first that you were British."

"I was, a very long time ago," she replied.  "I've been in this country
since I was nineteen."

"It hasn't harmed your accent a bit," he said.

She smiled broadly, revealing beautiful teeth.  "Thank you.  I learned
early on that Hollywood loves an English accent, so I made a point of
hanging on to it."

Michael sat down opposite her and regarded her quizzically.  "Certainly
I can use someone who is at home in the studio," he said, "but I'm
puzzled about something."

"Perhaps I can clear it up for you?"

"Perhaps you can, and I hope you'll be frank with me."

"Of course."

"Why am I, the new boy on the lot, being rewarded with such an elegant
and, no doubt, accomplished assistant?  Surely there are top studio
executives ahead of me in line who would be very pleased to have you
working for them."

She regarded him coolly.  "You're very direct, Mr.  Vincent."

"It saves time."

"Very well," she said.  "I don't see why you shouldn't know what
everybody else on the lot already knows."

"And what is that?"

"Let me begin at the beginning.  I was born in a village called Cowes,
on the Isle of Wight, daughter of a butcher.  I exhibited some talent
for drama at school, and afterwards I sought a career on the London
stage.  I got a small part in a Noel Coward play almost immedi and
almost immediately after that, Sol Weinman play and came backstage to
see me.  He offered a studio contract, and within a month I was on the
the perfect little English starlet.

"I played small parts and an occasional second for a few years, and
then the studio system came down around me.  Being of a practical bent,
to Mr.  Weinman and asked him for a secretarial He put me to work as
one of half a dozen girls his office, and then, a couple of years
later, he

"When Leo Goldman took over the studio I he office and, eventually,
became his sec-We had an affair; it ended when he married.  It awkward
having me around, so Leo passed the studio's head of production, Martin
Bell, his secretary.  We had an affair.

"Fnis continued until quite recently, when, in short his marriage
ended, and he married a girl in her She spread her hands.  "So, you
see, I'm awkward again, and nobody else in the Executive Building me in
his office.  Everyone is afraid I'll report back Martin or Leo.  I'm
regarded as something of a

,. "I

said.  "APart from your personal with Leo and Bell, are you very good
at your work?"

"I am very good indeed," she replied evenly.  "Didn't it occur to you
to seek work at another studio?  Surely with your background you would
be a good candidate for secretary to some top executive."  '

"I am fifty-one years old," she replied.  "I have twenty-three years
vested in the studio pension plan, not to mention profit sharing and my
Screen Actors Guild pension.  All that matures in two years; then I

ll can take my pensions and my profits and my savings and do as I
please."

"Well, Margot," Michael said, "I think I would be very lucky to have
you spend those two years with me."

"Thank you," she replied, "I think I would like that, as well."

"I must tell you: I'm new at this, and I'm going to need all the help I
can get.  You might make it your most important duty to keep me from
making an ass of myself."

Margot laughed.  "I am so glad you are intelligent enough to know that.
I think we'll get along."

"I think we will, too," he replied.  And, he thought to himself, you
are not only going to keep me out of trouble, you are going to tell me,
in very short order, where the bodies are buied in this studio and who
buried them.  "Let's get to work."

She stood up.  "Fine.  Why don't we start with these?"  She walked over
to a table against the wall and picked up a stack of half a dozen
packages.  "What are those?"  "Fhese are scripts."  "From where?"

"From all over the place.  Your deal with Centurion was reported in the
trade press on Friday.  You'll get more scripts tomorrow; it's best if
we deal with them directly.  You'll get a reputation around town as
somebody who doesn't waste time."

"When am I going to have time to read them?"  "You won't have time;
I'll screen them first."  She began looking at the return addresses on
the packages.  "This one's been around for years," she said, tossing it
back onto the table.  "This writer's an unreliable drunk; this one's
from an agent who doesn't represent anybody reading; this one's from a
New York playwright hasn't had anything produced since the
mid-eighties--still, it might be worth reading; I'll look it for you." 
"What's next?"  he asked.  "I'll order you some studio stationery and
some "Siness cards and get you subscriptions to the trades; we
restaurant bookings and screening invitations to I'll handle your
expense reports; if you need, ai use a haircut, or a whore, let me
know, and I 11 i-range it.  I'll tell you "what I know about the
Peopleou'll be working with.  That, h-e, thought, is what I want to
know.  "There s Something you could do for me right away," he said.

"I want you to call every used bookstore in the Pages and buy every
ropy you can find of a called Pacific Afternoons.  Please send a
messenger them up; I'd like them by four o'clock."  She smiled.  "Not
taking any chances, are you?"  Michael smiled back.  "I never do."

CHAPTER

12'

ichael and Vanessa found the Bel-Air house of Leo and Amanda Goldman on
Stone Canyon, up the street from the Bel-Air Hotel.  Michael pulled the
Porsche into the driveway at precisely 6:00, and he thought he had
never seen anything so beautiful.

There was no imposing edifice, just a comfortable-looking exterior that
only hinted at what must be a large place.  Michael had not yet become
accustomed to the profusion of plant life that could exist in a desert
when it was well watered; the landscaping looked as if it had always
been there.

Leo answered the door himself, clad in a plaid sport jacket over an
open-neck shirt.  "Come in, come in," he said, giving Vanessa a huge
smile.

"Leo," Michael said, "this is Vanessa Parks."

"She certainly is," Leo said, clasping her hand in of his.  "Welcome to
Los Angeles and welcome to

Amanda Goldman appeared, wearing a floral silk dress and a knockout
hairdo.  "Michael," pecking his cheek rather close to the corner of
"how nice to see you again."  She turned to younger woman.  "And you
must be Vanessa."  "Hello," Vanessa said shyly.  "You come with me,"
Amanda said to her.  "I Michael and Leo have some talking to do, so
I'll the garden."  The two women departed together, and Leo led into a
small study lined with books and pictures.  "Let me get you adn , Leo
said.  "Just some mineral water.  3[ have some wine with

Leo went to a butler's tray that held drinks and Michael a Perrier and
himself a large Scotch.  sat down in comfortable chairs before the
fire-and raised their glasses to each other.  "So," Leo said.  "How are
you settling in?"  "Very well, thanks.  We're comfortaile in the new i
apartment, and amazingly, George Hathaway;has managed to put my office
together in little more than a Single day."  "I heard about the
Randolph set," Leo chuckled.  "It's over the lot already.  Expect
people to drop in to see you just to see that room."  "I hope I haven't
overdone it," Michael said.

I,

"Don't worry about it.  A little flamboyance is good for business m
this business.  What do you think of Margot?  I'm very unpressed with
her; thank you for ending her to me."  "She's a smart girl," Leo said,
nodding in agreement with himself.  "We were an item a few years
back.

She's a few years older than I am, but it never seemed to matter."  He
raised a warning finger.  "Never mention her name in Amanda's
presence."  Michael nodded.  "Treat her well, and she'll help you more
than you can believe."  "I'll remember that; she's easy to treat well."
"What's this about you cornering the market on some book?"  "You heard
about that?"  Michael asked, surprised.  "Of course.  My girl, Helen,
doesn't miss anything on the lot."  He raised a hand.  "I swear, I'm
not getting stuff on you from Margot."  "The book is the next project I
want to do," Michael said.  "What is it?  Helen didn't picl up on the
title."  "Pacific Afternoons.  It was written in the twenties by a
woman named Mildred Parsons; the only thing she ever wrote."  ' "I read
it at Stanford," Leo said.  He got up and walked along a bookcase for a
moment, then plucked out a slim, leather bound volume and handed it to
Michael.  "You had it bound?"  ' liked it that much," Leo said.  "How
the hell did you ever come across it?"  "A girl I knew in New York
passed it on to me.  I was enchanted."  "You think a movie could make
money?"  "I do," Michael replied.  "If it's a quality production, using
the right people."  Leo sat up straight.  "Wait a minute," he said. 
"Now I know why you wanted Mark Adair and Bob Hart here tonight." 
Michael nodded.

Leo pondered this for a moment.  "They're both he said, "but Hart will
never do it."

"Why not?  He's not in all that much demand these is he?"

: "Nope.  He made two expensive flopswI mean with the best people--and
then he hit the bottle

"Does he look like staying sober?"

"SO I hear."

"So what's the problem?"

'q-Ils wife.  Susan will never let him do it."  "Does he listen to her
about these things?"

"He relies on her completely.  She's the one you'd have and she'll
never buy it.  Bob is fifty-four or -five, but sees him the way he was.
 ten years ago, still making thrillers, playing cops and cowboys."

"He was at the Actors Studio, wasn't he?"

"He was, and he was outstanding' there  Then he out here and went for
the big bucks, and although sfipport the Studio for years with the
money

, Lee Strasberg would barely speak to him."  "Maybe he's ready for a
change of pace, then'

Leo gave a short laugh.  "Sure he is, but Susan isn't.

his money well and he's a rich man, so he have to make movies."  "He's
an actor, isn't he?  How many actors have known who'd turn down a
really good part like this one?"  "Not many.  Brando; that's about it.
Sure, Bob's an but never underestimate an actor's vanity.  If Susan
tells him it's wrong for his image, that's it, he won't do it."

"I would really like him for the part."  "You brought some books?" 
"Yes, they're in the car."

"We're going to screen Downtown Nights after dinner.  My advice is,
give both Bob and Susan the book, then get her alone and try to sell
her before they leave.  For Christ's sake, don't tell her what the book
is about during dinner; she'll have already made up her mind before you
can talk to her."  "All right, I'll do that."  "Adair's a different
sell. I think you must know that he's mainly a novelist; everything
he's done as a screenplay is a small, beautiful, and vaguely important
film."  "Yes, that describes it well."  "Try and challenge him in some
way; don't just offer him a job."  "All right."  "Who do you want for
the girl?  You'll need somebody hot to make the picture nticed."  "You
met her a few minutes ago."  Leo's eyebrows went up.  "Your girl? 
Vanessa?" Michael nodded.  "Vanessa Parks."  Leo gazed into his drink. 
'q4Jchael, didn't you hear anything I said to you yesterday?  She's
gorgeous, I'll grant you that, but you're following your cock around." 
"No," Michael said, "I'm not.  She's going to be startlingly good in
this picture, Leo.  In some ways, Vanessa is the girl in the boole It
will come naturally to her, and she has it in her to be a very good
actress.  All she needs is some confidence, and this picture will give
it to her." Leo shook his head.  "I don't know."  "Leo," Michael said,
leaning forWard, "I've got a budget together on this.  I can shoot it
in northern California for eight million dollars, if I can keep
salaries in line.  If I cast an established star, her money is going to
put everybody else's money up.  Which would you rather have, a
twenty-five-million-dollar movie with a star in that role, or an
eight-million-dollar movie a girl Who will be a star as soon as it's
released?"  "I like your economics," Leo said.  "You feel that about
Vanessa in the role?"  "Yes, I do."  "Well, I'm paying you for your
judgment," he "Just be sure you give me my money's worth."  Michael
stood up.  "I promise you, I will."  "By the way," Leo said, "I suppose
you've the book."  Michael shook his head and smiled.  "The
copy-expires in three weeks."  Absolutely not," Leo said.  "What?" 
"Option the book tomorrow.  You should be able to heirs, but I'm not
going to have articles in tades saying how Centurion waited for
expiration, pounced." "All right, I'll option it tomorrow' "Who were
you thinking about for a director?":.  "George Cukor, if I could raise
him from the dead.  I want someone like him, who's good with women." 
"How about the guy who directed Downtown !iblights for you?  He did a
good job."  "He's wrong for this; believe me, I know him.  I'll him
again, but not for this." Michael knew he was a position to reap good
publicity for his first film, that if Chuck Parish directed his second
film, the would think of them as partners, and he would be sharing the
glory.  He wanted somebody else.  "Let me know who you want."  The
doorbell rang.  "Let's go meet the others," Leo said.  The two men rose
and started for the door. "By the way," Leo said, "Bob Hart is shorter
than you think; don't look surprised."

CHAPTER

obert Hart was indeed shorter than Michael had thought.  Even in the
cowboy boots he was wearing, he came only up to Michael's chin.  He-had
lost weight and become grayer than in his last film, too, and Michael
immediately saw him as Doctor Madden in Pacific Afternoons.

His wife, Susan, was very small and pretty, with graying blonde hair
pulled back in a bun, but in the firmness of her handshake and the
directness of her gaze, Michael saw the kind of strength that her
husband lacked.

Hart was cordial, but reserved; he was obviously accustomed to homage
from others, and he accepted it in a charming, almost princely way.
Susan was talkative and down-to-earth.  They seemed a compatible
pair.

"What are you doing next?"  Leo asked Hart when had settled in the
living room for drinks.

Hart spoke before her husband could.  're looking at a couple of
offers," she said.

The doorbell rang again, and a moment later brought Mark Adair into.
the room.  Adair was and witty from the moment he arrived, thought.  He
was sixtyish, white-haired, and a, sort of rumpled elegance--just the
right for an eminent novelist.

When they were seated, Leo again asked the question: "What are you up
to, Mark?  Coast?"

"Turning down awful ideas, mostly," he said "Paramount got me out Iiere
on the pretext something significant, but it was junk.  Half a hacks
could do it better than I. Why you think they would even consider me
for

"They want the weight of your name to give some to their project," Leo
said smoothly.

"You're so full of horse shit, Leo," Adair said, but i basked in the
compliment nevertheless.

A man in a white jacket entered the room and dinner.

dined in a glassed-in room with tile floors and plants.  Since Adair
had come alone, the usual man-woman alternation had not worked at
Amanda Goldman's table, and Michael was seated between Amanda and Mark
Adair.  "I've greatly enjoyed your work over the years," -Michael said
to Adair when he had a chance.  "I particularly enjoyed Halls of Ice."
It was the only book of Adair's he had read.

"Thank you," Adair said, beaming as if he had never received a
compliment.  "Leo tells me you've produced an outstanding film, and
that we're seeing it after dinner."

"I just learned that myself," Michael said, "and when you see it, I
hope you won't think that my interests are confined to that genre."

"I'll try to keep an open mind," Adair replied.

"In fact, I'm putting something together right now, and it occurs to me
that you might be the only writer I know who could do it justice."

"Michael," Adair said, "you may be new out here, but you've certainly
copped on to the Hollywood horse shit in a hurry."

Michael laughed.  "Wffen you know more about the project you may think
I was only speaking the truth."

"Tell me about it," Adair said.

Michael looked around to be sure everyone else was absorbed in their
own conversations.  "Do you remember a novel called Pacific
Afternoons?"

Adair nodded.  "I read it as a teenager, did a high school book report
on it, in fact, but for the life of me the only thing I can remember
about it is a scene where the middle-aged doctor sings to the young
girl."

'it was Mildred Parsons's only novel; she committed suicide a year or
so' later before the book had achieved a wide readership."

"I remember something about that."

"I think she would have had a brilliant career," Michael said, "and I
think it's a great pity that the book isn't better known than it is."

"Well, that's a nice ambition for a dead author.  I

when I'm gone somebody will think as kindly of Now, why do you think
I'm so uniquely qualified this book?"

"Because you're the sort of novelist that Mildred lrsons was; your
sensibilities are not those of a hack, as you put it earlier, but those
of a writer.  The novel is highly adaptable for film, I want it
preserved as Parsons wrote it, both in and intent.  The dialogue in the
book is brilliant--may not have considered it so as a teenager, but it
again, you'll see what I mean."

Michael took a deep breath.  "Look, this is the main like you to do it:
Writers have egos like every-else, of course, but a Hollywood
screenwriter take this book and, in adgpting it, rewrite it to himself
look good.  What I want is for Mildred to look good, for her book to be
seen almost as and it will take a very fine novelist to do that,
success of the book rests entirely on the feeling that into it--it was
almost certainly autobiographical--I want someone to get inside her
head and put that ' real emotion and sentiment on the screen."

Adair looked thoughtful.  "Sentimert is a good for that book," he said.
 "I recall it as conveying without sentimentality."

"Then you already know what I want," Michael "All that remains is for
you to read the book

"I'll be glad to."

"You'll have a copy before the evening is over,"

!?;i'When the screening was over and Michael had accepted the praise of
those present, Leo leaned close to him and said, "I'll tackle Bob Hart;
you take on Susan."  Michael found her in the hallway on her way back
from the ladies' room.  "Susan," he said, taking her arm, "Leo is in
there offering Bob a part.  I'd like to talk with you about it for a
moment, if I may."  "All right," she said.  He steered her through some
French doors into the garden and found a bench for them to occupy. The
California night air was heavy with the scent of tropical blossoms. 
Michael looked her in the eye.  "I wanted to talk with you because I
think I can say some things to you that I can't say to Bob." "That
happens all the time," she said.  "Shoot."  He handed her a copy of the
book.  "Leo is giving Bob a copy; I wanted you both to have one, Bob
has had a wonderful career; he's done some very fine work here and
there, but I think that the sort of roles that have been available to
him in the past have shown only a small part of what he is capable of."
Susan Hart looked thoughtful.  "I think I can agree with that," she
said.  "There is a role in this book that will give him an opportunity
to make his audience aware of a whole new dimension of his talent,
which I consider to be a very large talent."  He took a deep breath.
"This part will take courage.  Bob will have to bare himself in a way
that has never been asked of him.  There are no bad guys to conquer in
this story; there are no drug busts or shootouts on Main Street; there
is no action that takes place outside of a summer house overlooking the
Pacific Ocean.  But this book is full of meaning and real emotion, and
the part I'd like Bob to play--Doctor Madden--is the best role in the
book.  He'll be playing opposite a new actress---a very talented girl,
but he'll have to carry her at times.  He'll speak in the of a
cultivated set of people in the nineteen-It is a courtly language, and
there is very fine for him to speak.  I've asked Mark Adair to do
screenplay.

"I wanted to talk to you about this because it will be for Bob, and he
may need your help to make departure.  But this role is something else:
Pacific will open up his career and make it possible anything he wants;
it will release from the confinement of genre films and show what
hidden reserves have lurked in this so long.  And I'll tell you this--I
would never say to Bob---it would make Lee Strasberg proud of him if
alive to see Bob in the role."  Susan Hart regarded him with a look of
surprise.  Michael, I don't know whether I'll like this book not, or
whether Bob will want the part, but I'll tell one thing: That's the
greatest line I've ever heard a producer."

Michael laughed out loud.  "You have a great surprise-Susan," he said. 
"It's been a long time since I've been surprised,

"The surprise is, when you've read the book,

know that everything I've said to you is under and Vanessa were the
last to leave.  Amanda i them both on the cheek, and Leo walked them

"Well, how did it go?"  he asked.

"I had a chance to make my pitch to both Mark and Susan.  I think
tttey'll read the book; let's hope they it."

"If.  these two guys come on board," Leo said, "I won't hold you to
your eight-million-dollar budget; I'll go to twenty million.  I want
this to be a first-class production, and Susan's not going to let Bob
do it on the cheap."

"Thanks, Leo," Michael said, "but I don't think the extra budget will
be necessary.  I think Bob will be on board before the end of the week,
and I'll be willing to bet that Mark Adair will be on the phone before
lunch tomorrow."

"What on earth did you say to Mark that makes you believe that?"  Leo
asked incredulously.  "He's a tough sale, you know; tougher than Bob
Hart."

"Well, for a start," Michael said, "I gave him your beautiful leather
bound copy of the book."

Leo looked at Michael blankly for a moment, then burst out laughing.
"You son of a bitch!"  he crowed.

"See you tomorrow, Leo," Michael said.  He put the Porsche in gear and
drove, away down Stone Canyon.

"Well," Vanessa said, resting her head on Michael's shoulder, "am I
going to be a movie star?"

"It's in the bag, sweetheart," Michael replied.  "Don't worry about a
thing."

CHAPTER

ichael arrived in his office to find his sectary at her desk, holding
her hand over the phone "I'here's somebody on the phone who will 9my '
himself as "Tommy,"" Margot said, exasperated.  "It's okay," Michael
replied, hurrying into his "You can always put him through if I'm
alone."  the phone.  "Tommy?"  "So, how's it in Hollywood, kid?  How's
the big "You wouldn't believe how good," Michael said, laughing. "When
you coming to see me?"  "How about Saturday?"  "You serious?"  "I'm
serious, kid; where should I stay?"  "The Bel-Air, and I'll take care
of it.  How long you be here?"

"Just until Monday.  I got a little business to do over the weekend.
We'll have dinner Saturday, though, okay?"  "Sure, okay."  "Get me a
girl?"  "Sure, no problem."  "I get in about four."

"We'll meet you in the bar at the Bel-Air at seven."

"Look forward to it," Tommy said.  "See ya."  He hung up.

Michael stood holding the phone and staring at the ceiling.  Where the
hell was he going to get a girl?  He didn't know anybody in L.A.

"That was very strange."

Michael looked and saw Margot standing in the doorway.  "What?"

"You were speaking in a thick New York accent.  I've never heard you
speak that wy before."

Michael managed a laugh.  "It was an old friend from New York.  We talk
that Way to each other as a kind of joke."

"Oh."

Michael remembered something.  "Margot, he's Coming in on Saturday.  Do
you think you could find him a girl for the evening?"

"Of course.  Anything in particular?"

"Somebody beautiful.  And it wouldn't hurt if she's in the business in
some way; he'll like that.  And make it somebody disc; he's a married
man."

"Consider it done.  Anything else?"

"Yes, get him a suite at the Bel-Air for Saturday and Sunday nights
something nice; tell them to send the bill to me."

"Would you like some flowers and a bottle of champagne in the room?"

"Yes, please."

"By the way, you had a call from Mark Adair ten ago.  He's at the
Beverly Hills; want me to get

"Please."  Michael sat down at his desk and waited the call to go
through.  Please, God, he muttered

Adair was the key to everything.  The buzzed; he picked it up.  "Mark?"
"Yes, Michael."

"Good morning; did you sleep well?"

"Hardly at all.  I stayed up most of the night read your goddamned book
and making notes."

Making notes; that sounded good.  "What do you

"I think it'll make a brilliant film--if you can get Hart to play the
doctor Get.him, and I'm yours."

"That sounds wonderful, Mark."  He sensed he had advantage at this
moment.  "Mark, I have to tell got me on a very tight budget for this
film."  There was a brief silence.  "How tight?"  "Have your agent call
me."

"Come on, Michael, what're you offering?"

"Mark, I know you're used to more money, but the can do is a hundred
thousand."

"Jesus Christ, Michael!  Do you really expect me to

"Mark, I'm being honest with you.  This picture under eight million, or
Centurion won't fund.

I'm afraid."

"I want a quarter of a million.  I usually get four

'hundred thousand."

"Mark, I'll make it a hundred and fifty, but fifty is to have to come
out of my producer's fee.  That's much I want you to do this picture."
"Oh, shit, all right.  Two drafts and a polish, and a word more."

"Done.  If you can't write this in two drafts and a polish, it can't be
written."

"You're the worst kind of flatterer.  I'll have a first draft in six
weeks; send me fifty grand and a contract-after you get a commitment
from Bob Hart."  He slammed the phone down.

Michael did a little dance around the room, while Margot watched from
the door.  He saw her and froze; that was twice she'd caught him out
this morning.

"George Hathaway called.  He'd like a meeting at three."

"A meeting?  George?"

She looked secretive.  "I told him you were free for half an hour."

"Oh, all right.  I guess I owe him some time for putting together these
offices so fast."

"Susan Hart called, too; I wouldn't keep her waiting, if I were you,"

Michael's heart nearly stopped.  "Get her."  He sat down and took some
deep breaths; he didn't want to sound anxious.  The phone buzzed.  He
took one more breath and picked it up.  "Susan?  I'm sorry to be so
long; I was on the phone with Mark Adair."

"Is he going to do it?"

"He certainly is; he was up all night reading it."

"So were Bob and I. It was smart of you to give us each a copy."

"What did you think?"

"I think it's interesting.  Bob's doing a thriller for Fox; he'll
consider it for next fall."

"Susan, we start shooting April first.  We have to get the spring
season on film."

"Out of the question," she said.  "The Fox project is a
fifty-million-dollar production with a major female star, not an art
film with a nobody.  You need Bob for one, Michael; postpone until
October and set the in autumn."

"It can't be done without screwing up the story,

it's a spring stoW, and that can't change."  '"Michael, if you want
Bob, schedule for October.

two million."

Michael thought fast.  Leo had said he'd up the for Hart.  "Susan, can
you hold for a minute?

Paul Newman incoming on the other line."  He he'd the hold button
before she could speak.

thought, staring at the flashing light.  Have I her too far?  He
glanced at his watch; he'd have her on hold for at least a minute, or
she'd he was lying.  After a minute and fifteen seconds the phone..

"Susan, I'm so sorry, but I had to take that call."  "How dare you put
me on hold?  she sputtered.

m truly sorry, I really am, but I want you to

I understand Bob's position on the Fox pro and if that's what he wants
to do, I'll just have live with it.  It wouldn't have worked, anyway;

stuck with an eight-million-dollar budget, and I

only have offered Bob half a million for the "You expected Bob to work
for half a million?"  she

"Sweetheart, Centurion won't let me do this unless it in for eight
million, and anyway, the picture to shoot in forty-one days, and Bob
would've had to work twenty-two."

"How could the lead work only twenty-two days r shoot?  That's crazy."
,"I juggled the schedule for Bob, but to tell you the I'm relieved I
don't have.  to do that now.  I'd shoot in sequence, to tell you the
truth.

Anyway, the girl has more scenes; Bob just has the best scenes."

"When do you plan to start shooting?"

"April one, in Carmel, if we can nail down the locations."

"How much time in Carmel?"

"Three weeks; the rest is interiors we can do on the lot."

"God, I haven't been to Carmel in years."

"It's gorgeous up there, isn't it?"  Michael had never been to Carmel,
but that was where the book was set.  "I'm so looking forward to it."

"What kind of accommodations?"  Susan asked.

"The best available, of course.  I can do that on my budget."

"We'd want a suite at the Inn."

"you mean you're considering this Susan?"

"I'd better not find out you're lying about Mark

Adair writing it."

"Susan."

"And Bob will want a million."

"Susan, there isn't a million in the budget.  At half a million, Bob
would be the highest-paid cast member.  I'm only taking a hundred
thousand for a fee."

"I want a copy of the budget," she said, "by noon today."  She hung
up.

"Margot!"  he shouted.

She appeared in the doorway.  "Yes?"

"Print out a copy of the budget for Pacific Afternoons!  I've got three
quarters of a million in for the male lead and three hundred thousand
for script; change those figures to half a million and a hundred and
fifty thousand, then spread the money over the other categories.  Can
you d that in an hour?"

"Sure."

"Get me legal."

When the phone buzzed Michael picked it up.

?"

"This is Mervyn White, head of the legal depart a voice said, sounding
annoyed.

this is Michael Vincent.  I need a contract picture called Pac/fie
Afternoons."  "Nothing like that on the schedule," White said.  Michael
could hear him shuffling papers.  "I don't know if it's on the
schedule," he said firmly.  "Draw the for Robert Hart at half a million
dollars, work-from April first of next year to May first, deluxe travel
on the Centurion jet, deluxe for dressing.  He can have one assistant
for thousand bucks."

"I'll have to clear this with Mr.  GOldman' White stiffly. "Especially
the part about the airplane."  "Mervyn," Michael said slowly, "when Leo
sees getting Bob Hart for half a million, he'll fly airplane himself. 
I want that contract drawn and r desk in... he glanced at his watch,
"... ninety and if it's not here, I'll come over there and do you hear
me?"

"Oh, all right," White said petulantly.

"Good."  Michael hung up the phone.  He had Mark and Robert Hart on
board for four hundred less than he'd budgeted for.  He was in

Then a niggling doubt pricked at his brain.  There something else.  Oh,
yes, he didn't own the film to the book.

"Margot," he called, "when that contract arrives,

it with the budget to Susan Hart.  And by the way, out who owns the
copyright to Pacific Afternoons."

CHAPTER

ichael sat in the lawyer's office and stared at the man.  He was in his
mid-seventies, Michael reckoned, and a little worse for the wear.  A
bottle of single-malt Scotch whiskey stood on his desk, a crystal glass
beside it.  Michael had already refused a drink.

What was it with this guy?  The whole city of L.A. existed on the
telephone, people walked around with the phone plugged into their
heads, and this guy had insisted on a face-to-face meeting.

"You're sure you won't have a taste?"  Daniel J. Moriarty asked.

"Quite sure," Michael replied.  "Now, can we get down to business, Mr.
Moriarty?"

"Of course, of course," the lawyer replied.  "What can I do for you?"

"You do remember our brief phone conversation of an hour ago?"  Michael
asked.  He was steamed.

I do.  It was film rights you wanted to meet did not want to meet, Mr.
Moriarty; I am here at your insistence.  I am interested in acquiring
the rights to the novel Pacific Afternoons by Mildred

I understand that in some way you control

I do, Mr.  Vincent, indeed I do.  You see,

younger brother, Montague--Monty, we all himmwas my closest friend.
Monty and I went t school together.  Very close, we were."

Parsons controls the rights?"

on last year.  I am his executor.  "re there no other relatives
surviving?"

qone.  The rights to all of Mildred Parsons's passed to Monty on hr
death those rights rest estate.  The income from those rights passes as
a

Junior College.  And, as I mentioned I am the executor."

"As executor, are you empowered to act for the

Michael hoped the hell he was; he didn't want to deal with the trustees
of some college.

am so empowered."  '

don't have to have the permission of anyone chuckled.  "I do not.
Carlyle gets the but as long as I'm executor, I make all the

"Good.  I would like to purchase the film rights to

Afternoons.  I am in a position to offer you five dollars for a
one-year option, renewable for additional Year at the same rate.  On
exercising the

I will pay a further twenty thousand dollars."

"And just who are you, Mr.  Vincent?  I mean, do represent a major
studio?"

'q am an independent producer," Michael said.  "Ah, an independent,"
Moriarty said, sipping his Scotch.  "This town is full of them.  Tell
me, Mr.  Vincent, do you actually have five thousand dollars?"

Michael checked his temper.  "Mr.  Moriarty, I am an independent
producer with a production deal at Centurion Pictures, and as such, I
have the full backing of that studio.  If you like, I will have Mr. Leo
Goldman call you and confirm my position there."

Moriarty held up a hand.  "Please don't take offense, Mr.  Vincent;
it's just that this town is full of people who style themselves
independent producers.  Centurion is a reputable studio, and I accept
that you represent them."

"Thank yoU.  Do you accept my offer?"

"What offer was that?"

Michael tried not to grind-his teeth.  He repeated his offer.

"Alas, no," Moriarty said.  "I cannot accept such an offer."

"What sort of price did you have in mind?"  Michael asked.

"Oh, I didn't have anything in particular in mind," Moriarty said,
replenishing his drink.

"All right, Mr.  Moriarty, I will offer you ten thousand against
twenty-five, but that is the best I can do."

"Is it, Mr.  Vincent; is it, indeed?"  Moriarty swivelled slightly in
his chair and gazed out the window.

Michael stared at the man, fuming.  What was his game?  What kind of
negotiation is this?

"Mr.  Morlarty, you are wasting my time.  What do you want for the
rights?"

Moriarty jumped, as if startled from a reverie.  "Mmm?  Oh, the rights,
the rights, yes."

"Yes," Michael said.

chael wanted to strangle the man.  "Mr.  you must be aware that the
copyright on expires in three weeks, and, if I wish, wait and have the
rights for nothing.  So if to earn anything for your college, put and
start doing business."

Moriarty cried.  "So you were operating of the life plus fifty years
copyright my fine fellow, that doesn't apply here!  The to Miss
Parsons's novel runs on the old law--the one that was in effect when
she So if you wish to threaten me with expiration of you' Ii have to
wait another twenty-four

This is some sort of nightmare, Michael thought.

ibad dream, and I'll wake up in a moment and it all right.

Is there anything else you wish to say, Mr.

i'Frankly, Mr.  Moriarty, I'm speechless.  Do you sell these rights?"
"As a matter of fact, I would love to sell the fights,

I can't."

"I promised Monty Parsons when I became his hat I would never, ever
sell the film rights to little novel.  He hated the films, you see;
they were common and vulgar.  He would allow his sister's only work to
be corrupted in a fashion."  Moriarty tossed down the remaining in his
glass and emitted a low chuckle.  "Did think you were the first, Mr.
Vincent?  I've had a of 'independent producers' in here over years
wanting to film that book.  I've always thought it would make a fine
little film myself, but I had to say no to all of them."

Michael was stunned.  "Then why, may I ask, did you drag me down here
for this ridiculous meeting?"

Moriarty spread his hands.  "Well, it gets lonesome in this office, you
know, the Parsons estate being my last client.  It passes the time to
bandy a bit with a producer.  I'm afraid, Mr.  Vincent, that you'll
have to wait until I've passed on.  Then you can go to the trustees of
Carlyle Junior College and make a deal with them.  Th didn't make any
promises to Monty Parsons."

Michael stood up.  "Good day, Mr.  Moriarty."  Moriarty waved his
glass. "Good day to you, Mr.  Vincent.  And thank you for your visit. 
Come back any time!"

CHAPTER

ichael drove back to the studio in a fury, whipping around corners,
passing other cars, twice nearly running down pedestrians.  There were
two cars ahead of him at the gate, and he waited, taking deep breaths
and trying to regain control of his anger.  By the time he was let
through he was able to smile and wave back at the guard.

He parked in his reserved spot and walked the few yards to his
building, his mind still racing.  He didn't have the rights to Pacific
Afternoons.  How could he make the picture?  He had a top star and a
top writer ready to work, and he didn't have the rights to the
property!

He walked through the waiting room and Margot thrust a handful of pink
message slips at him.  "We've got a request from the PR department for
an interview and photographs with one of the trades," she said,
following him into his office.  "It's a real coup,

getting that kind of space.  When do you want to do it?"  "Set it up
for next week," he said.  "A morning."

"Fine."  She wrinkled her brow.  "Michael?  Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said, sitting down at Randolph's huge desk.  "I'm just
thinking about something."

The phone rang and she picked it up at his desk.  "Mr.  Vincent's
office.  Oh, yes, Leo, he's right here."

She punched the hold button.  "It's Leo on one."

"Fell him I'll get back to him."

"I can't do that," she said, alarmed.  "I've already told him you're
here.  Leo hates being put off; you'll have to answer."

Michael picked up the phone and forced a smile into his voice.  "Leo,
how are you?"

"Great, kid.  I just had Sue Hart on the phone; she told me the news.
Congratulations!"

"Thanks, Leo."

"And you got Mark for the screenplay, too!  That's a tour de force
performance, Michael.  I'm proud of you."

"It's going to be a good production," Michael said lamely.

"How you coming on the rights to the book?"

Michael gulped.  "It's in the works; I don't anticipate any
problems."

"Good, good.  I'm glad everything is going so smoothly.  Catch you
later, kid."  Leo hung up.

Michael hung up and found that he was sweating heavily.

Margot stuck her head into the office.  "George Hathaway is here; he
seems pretty exdted."

"Sure, sure," Michael said, struggling to put the out of his mind and
concentrate on the business at hand.

George Hathaway came into the room, a thick roll of heavy paper under
his arm.  "Michael," he beamed, placing the roll on the desk, "I read
the book, and I loved it!  I was up all night thinking about it and
making sketches:" He unrolled the papers to reveal a cottage.

Michael stared at the sketch, It was as if George had reached into his
mind and extracted his image of the northern California house of the
protagonist of

Afternoons.

"What do you think?"

: "It's perfect, George; it is the cottage.  How did you do it?"

"Well, I used to be an art director, my boy, not just in charge of the
props department."  He flipped through his sketches: it was all
there--the cottage, the music room, her bedroom, the doctor's
study--every important scene in the book had been rendered.

"I'm overwhelmed," Michael said.  "How did you do all this so
quickly?"

"I've always been a fast study," George said... you believe I drew this
set--" he waved a hand" The Great Randolph's study "--in half an
hour?"

Michael sat back in his chair.  "George, will you do this film with
me?"  he asked.

George turned pink and beamed.  "My boy, I'd be honored."  He blinked
rapidly, and his voice became husky.  "It's been a long time since
somebody offered me something important."

"And it is important," Michael said, standing and clapping the designer
on a frail shoulder.  "Mark Adair is doing the screenplay, and Robert
Hart has agreed to play the doctor."

"Why, that's fabulous," George said.  "Who for costumes?"

"Who would you recommend?"

"Edith Head, but she's dead, like just about everyone else I know."

'rhink about it."

"There is somebody," George said.  "She lives in the group of
apartments where I live, and she's been trying to get work.  Young, but
she's very talented, I think."

"Ask her to do some sketches for me, and to call Margot for an
appointment.  Whats her name?"

"Jennifer Fox--Jenny.  I'll tell her, and I'll work with her myself on
the sketches."  George smiled.  "You know which scene I loved best in
the book?"

"Which one?"

"The one where the doctor sirgs to the young woman.  "Dein ist mein
ganzes Herz'--"My Whole Heart is Yours.""

"Yes, that is a wonderful scene.  We'll have to cut it from the film,
though.  I doubt if Bob Hart could carry it off."

"Why not?  He doesn't have to sing--you could dub it--he's actor enough
to bring it off."

"I think the scene might be too much in conflict with his previous
image in films."  "Too bad, I love Lehr."  "Who?"

"Lehr, Franz Lehr."

Michael searched his mind for the reference.  "Opera?"  he hazarded.

"Operetta," George said.  "He wrote "Dein ist mein ganzes Herz."

"Ah," Michael said.  He didn't have a clue.

"Have you never heard it?"

-. "Not for a long time," Michael lied.

"Will you give me just ten minutes more of your

"Of course, George."  What the hell was the old running on about?

George ran from the room, picked up Margot's and made a call.  Five
minutes later, two rkmen appeared pushing a grand piano on a and set it
up at one end of Randolph's study, two elderly men walked in.  One of
them was a sheaf of music.

i: "Please," George said, waving Michael to a sofa,

"sit."

Michael sat down.

"Mr.  Vincent," George said formally, "may I present Anton Gruber and
Hermann Hecht?"

How do you do," Michael said.  Then the Gruber name struck home.  The
man had written scores for dozens of films in the thirties and.
forties.  Michael had heard of Hecht.

Anton Gruber sat at the piano and played a soft introduction, then
Hermann Hecht, assuming a concert position, his hands folded before
him, began to sihg.

Michael had never heard the music before.  It was old-fashioned,
certainly, but the melody was wonderful.  The old man sang it in a
slightly cracked baritone, but with such feeling that when he had
finished and

he piano was quiet, Michael had a lump in his throat.

stood up and clapped loudly.  "Gentlemen, that was wonderful.  I've
never heard it done better!"

"I thought you'd like it," George said.  "Now you can see why it's so
important in the story, the doctor finally expressing himself to the
young w, oman in a song, in German yet, when before he couldn t tell
her of his feelings."

"You're right, George," Michael said.  "It could be the emotional high
point of the film.  It could be perfectly wonderful, if I can get Bob
Hart to do it."

"He's an actor, isn't he?"  George asked.  "All actors are hams.  He'd
never pass up a scene like that, even if he can't sing.  Hermann here
could dub it for him."

"It might work," Michael said.  It damned well would work, he thought;
it could bring the audience close to tears as it had him.

It was a wonderful scene that could be played by a huge star in a film
that he could not make unless he owned the rights to the novel.  He
could hear Daniel J. Moriarty laughing at him.

CHAPTER

ichael drove the Porsche slowly up sunset Boulevard toward the Bel-Air
Hotel.  Vanessa sat beside him, checking her makeup in the mirror on
the back of the sun Visor.

"Tell me who this guy is again," she said.

"His name is Tommy Provensano," Michael said.

"I knew him as a kid in New York, growing up."  "Oh, right."

"Don't be surprised if he calls me Vinnie sometimes.  It's kind of a
nickname."

"Okay.  Is he bringing anybody?"

"Her name is Mimi; that's all I know about her.  It may be their first
date."

"How old a guy is Tommy?"

"A couple of years older than I am."

"If he's boring, do I still have to be nice to him?"

"Vanessa, in Hollywood, you have to be nice to everybody.  You never
know who you're talking to."  "That's a good policy, I guess." 
"Believe me, it is."

Tommy opened the door and grabbed Michael in a bear hug.  "Hey, pais an
he roared.  "It's the big-time Hollywood producer!"  He had slimmed
down some and was wearing an expensive Italian-cut suit.

"Hello, Tommy," Michael said.  "I'd like you to meet Vanessa Parks."

Tommy suddenly became the gentleman.  "How do you do, Vanessa," he
said.  "I'd like you both to meet Mimi."

A small, dark-haired girl stood up from the sofa and shook both their
hands.  She was demurely dressed and very beautiful.  Michael thought
Mrgot had done her job well.

Tommy popped a bottle of champagne for them.  Dom Perignon, Michael
noted, remembering that he was paying for it Tommy poured, and when
their glasses were full he addressed the little group.

"This guy," he said, taking Michael's shoulder and shaking him like a
rag doll, "and I were greasy kids on the street together.  We stole
fruit from the pushcarts, we rolled drunks, we did all the terrible
things young kids on the street do, and we went home every night to our
mothers."

"Tommy," Michael said reprovingly, "you know very well that we never
stole any fruit."  He turned to the others.  "Tommy has a romantic view
of our youth."

"And listen to him talk," Tommy said, pinching Michael's cheek.  "He
used to talk like me!"

Michael bore his gaze into Tommy, and he seemed to take the hint.

"That was a long time ago, of course," he said, apologetically at
Michael.  "Now, where are we eating?""I thought you might enjoy Spago,"
Michael said dryly.  The pizza's great."  "I get it, I get it," Tommy
said.  "I'll behave."  "No," said Michael, "you'll really like the
pizzas.  different from what you're used to."

table overlooked Sunset and the big movie bill-Tommy couldn't get
enough of the place.  "I can't believe I'm sitting in the same
restaurant Burt Reynolds," he whispered hoarsely to Michael.  "I'm
sorry there aren't more stars here," Michael replied.  "There usually
are." It was the first time he had been to the restaurant, but the
headwaiter had been ready for him..  Vanessa stood up.  "I'm for the
little girls' room," she said.  "Join me, Mimi?"  The women left
Michael and Tommy alone.  : Tommy was suddenly quiet and serious.  "So,
tell me how it's really going, Vinnie.  No bullshit, now."  "Tommy, it
is difficult for me to explain coherently to you just how well it is
going.  Downtown Nights opens later in the fall, and I've already got
Robert Hart starring in my next picture."  i' "Robert Hart the movie
star?"  Tommy asked, amazed.  "Movie stars are who star in pictures,
Tommy.  And a great novelist named Mark Adair is writing the
screenplay."  "I heard of him.  My wife read one of his books one

"How is Maria?"

"She's okay.  She likes being a capo's wife, I can tell you.  She's
getting a lot of new respect from her friends."

"And how do you like being a capo?"

"My first taste of real power," Tommy said.  "It's like fine wine; you
can't get enough."

"Come on, you've had a lot of juice for a long time."  Tommy shook his
head.  "It's not the same as manipulating Benedetto to get what I want.
Now, I want something, I say so, and I get it."  He looked around the
restaurant.  "I really like this place.  You don't think it's bugged,
do you?"

Michael laughed.  "Certainly not.  You have nothing to worry about."

"Listen, you always have to worry about taps these days--that and guys
wearing wires.  Seems like the FBI is everywhere."  He leaned closer
cross the table.  "Just.  between you and me, looks like the Don is
going to take a fall."

Michael became Vinnie for a moment.  "No shit?"  "A big fall.  He's
going to be inside by Christmas, the way things are going.  Frankie
Bigboy's blabbing his head off on the stand; he's all lined up for the
witness protection program, and nobody's been able to get a shot at
him."

"I never thought Frankie was the type to testify--especially against
the Don.  He's a dead man."

"I doubt it.  A minute after the jury says 'guilty," he'll be running a
bowling alley in Peoria or someplace.  We won't see him again."

Michael looked at Tommy closely.  "You don't seem all broken up about
the Don going away."

Tommy smiled slyly.  "It's an ill wind that don't blow somebody some
good."

"Is there going to be trouble about who succeeds?"

Tommy glanced around She room.  "I'm out here to out of it," he said.
"I got word that somebody's to get whacked this weekend.  I don't want
to be i "Am I an alibi?"  Michael asked anxiously.

"Don't worry, it won't come to that.  A couple could make me on the
plane, and there's the hotel."

"If you need it, say the word," Michael said,

that he wouldn't be involved.  "Say, Tommy,

for the car and the help with the banker.  You believe what a sweet
deal that bank is.  My the street already."

"Tommy put his hand on Michael's.  "Anytime, you anything, kid, anytime
I'm c.o, nnected pretty out here."

"That you are," Michael said.  "By the way," he deep breath, "I got a
little legal problem, maybe could help me with."

"Speak to me," Tommy said.

,- "I'm having a little trouble getting the rights to this that I want
to make into a film."

"Who's giving you a hard time?"

Michael took a cocktail napkin and wrote down of Daniel J. Moriarty and
the address of his then he told Tommy about his conversation lawyer.
:'

I'll look into it," Tommy said, pocketing the nap "Call you when I know
something."  He looked up to see the women returning.  "Say," he said,
"that's SOme broad you got me.  Is she gonna get mad if I want to fuck
her?"  "She's yours for whatever you want," Michael said.  Tommy
slapped him on the shoulder.  "That's it, take care of me, I take care
of you."

CHAPTER

ichael jerked awake to' the sound of the telephone.  He glanced at the
bedside clock; just past

6:00 A.M. on Monday morning He ricked it u

"H ?"

' ' '

P'

e!lo."  he croaked.  Some goddamned wrong num ver, ne new it.

"Rise and shine, kid," Tommy's voice said.

"Jesus Tommy, you know what time it is?  You never got up this early in
your life.  Where are you?"

"In New York; where else?  I just want you to know I'm taking care of
that little problem of yours."  "Thanks, Tommy.  I owe you."

"Forget it.  You know where the corner of Sunset and Camden is?"

"Sure, in Beverly Hills."

"Park Your car there at eight o'clock sharp this morning, southeast
corner; a guy will pick you up.  He's kind of a consultant on these
things."

"What's his name?"

"You don't need to know; he won't know yours,

"Listen, I left kind of a mess at the hotel; I'm sorry that."

"Don't worry about it; they're used to it."  'eah?  Well you got class,
kid, and I thank you for the night on the town."

"Thanks for your help, too, Tommy.  Keep in touch."  i Don't worry
about that.  C/ao."  Tommy hung up.

Michael rolled out of bed and put his face in his

Jesus, what did they drink last night?  He at Vanessa.  Sawing away,
just like always; could wake the girl until she was ready.

He got out of bed, showered, and fixe' ct himself feeling relieved.  He
didn't know how was going to fix the rights thing, but he had faith in
him.  If Tommy said it was Deed, it

He got dressed, took the elevator down to the and drove to Sunset and
Camden, arriving ten early.  He sat idly just off Sunset, listening to
a disc jockey, drumming his fingers on the in time with the music.

A large Cadillac pulled up next to him and the on his side rolled down.
A man in his twenties, unshaven, with greasy hair, looked at

"You and me got a mutual friend?"  "Yeah," Michael replied.  "Get
in."

Michael got out of his car and into the Cadillac.

on Sunset was full-bore rush hour now.  "Where

The driver had turned down Camden and was now making a left turn.

"this guy Moriarty," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I gotta know what he looks like, right?"

"Okay, but where we going?"

The driver held up a page torn from a phone book; the lawyer's name was
circled.  "To have a look at

"Oh."

The Cadillac swung into Bedford Drive and stopped.

"Now what?"  Michael asked.

'q.ook," said the driver, exasperated, "let me han-'die this, okay?"

"Okay, sorry."

"That's his house right there?  the driver said.  "We'll wait."

Michael switched on the radio and found some music.  They sat there for
better than half an hour, then he looked up and saw Daniel J. Moriarty
leaving his home, a briefcase in his hand.  "That's him," Michael said.
"Get a good look."  The way Moriarty was swinging the case, Michael
could tell it was empty, except maybe for a bottle of Scotch.  Why did
the old guy bother going to the office, anyway?

The driver started the Cadillac and moved slowly away from the curb,
checking his rearview mirrors.  Momentarily there was no traffic.
Moriarty stepped off the curb and walked around an elderly Volvo
station wagon, digging for his keys.  As he put the key into the door
lock, the driver gunned the Cadillac.

"What the hell ..."  Michael yelled, bracing a hand against the
dashboard.  "What are you--"

The Cadillac scraped the side of the Volvo, then sending him up into
the air.  Michael him hit the top of the Cadillac, then saw the

the Volvo spinning off in another direction.

llac screeched to a stop, throwing Michael dashboard.

you out of your fucking mind?"  Michael driver was looking back over
his shoulder.  ?  he said through his teeth.  "Wait here."  He got the
Cadillac and started walking back toward who was not only alive but
was, un account-to pull his battered body across the street ih is
elbows.

started to hip his way across the seat to the and drive away; then he
saw there were no keys ignition--indeed, there was no ignition.  He
across the street to where a man in a Mercedes pulling out of his
driveway.  He had slopped g, first at Moriarty, then at Michael. 
looked to his right and saw a middle-aged in a bathrobe and curlers
holding a newspaper, straight at him.  He turned and looked out the he
car.

The driver was walking the hundred yards that the Cadillac from
Moriarty; purposefully, not fast.  A knife was in his hand.  He covered
the few yards to the struggling Moriarty, kicked him onto his back,
plunged the knife into his chest, twisted it once, then walked back
toward the leaving the knife in the now-dead body of Moriarty.

Michael looked again at the man in the Mercedes the woman with the
newspaper.  They were the driver walk back to the car and following
progress to the Cadillac, where Michael still sat.

The driver had turned down Camden and was now making a left turn.

"This guy Moriarty," he said.

"eah?"

"I gotta know what he looks like, right?"

"Okay, but where we going?"

The driver held up a page torn from a phone book; the lawyer's name was
circled.  "To have a look at

"Oh."

The Cadillac swung into Bedford Drive and stopped.

"Now what?"  Michael asked.

"Look," said the driver, exasperated, "let me handle this, okay?"

"Okay, sorry."

"That's his house right there," the driver said.  "We'll wait."

Michael switched on the radio and found some music.  They sat there for
better than half an hour, then he looked up and saw Daniel J. Moriarty
leaving his home, a briefcase in his hand.  "That's him," Michael said.
"Get a good look."  The way Moriarty was swinging the case, Michael
could tell it was empty, except maybe for a bottle of Scotch.  Why did
the old guy bother going to the office, anyway?

The driver started the Cadillac and moved slowly away from the curb,
checking his rearview mirrors.

Momentarily there was no traffic.  Moriarty stepped off the curb and
walked around an elderly Volvo station wagon, digging for his keys.  As
he put the key into the door lock, the driver gunned the Cadillac.

"What the hell ..."  Michael yelled, bracing a hand against the
dashboard: "What are you--"

The Cadillac scraped the side of the Volvo, then sending him up into
the air.  Michael him hit the top of the Cadillac, then saw the of the
Volvo spinning off in another direction.  Cadillac screeched to a stop,
throwing Michael the dashboard.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"  Michael

The driver was looking back over his shoulder.  he said through his
teeth.  "Wait here."  He got of the Cadillac and' started walking back
toward who was not only alive but was, un account-to pull his battered
body across the street elbows.

started to hip his way across the seat to the and drive away; then he
saw there were no keys ignition--indeed, there was no ignition.  He the
street to where a man in a Mercedes pulling out of his driveway.  He
hac[ stopped was looking, first at Moriarty, then at Michael.  looked
to his right and saw a middle-aged in a bathrobe and curlers holding a
newspaper, straight at him.  He turned and looked out the r window of
the car.

The driver was walking the hundred yards that the Cadillac from
Moriarty; purposefully, t not fast.  A knife was in his hand.  He
covered the few yards to the struggling Moriarty, kicked him onto his
back, plunged the knife into his chest, ted it once, then walked back
toward the leaving the knife in the now-dead body of Moriarty.

Michael looked again at the man in the Mercedes the woman with the
newspaper.  They were the driver walk back to the car and following
progress to the Cadillac, where Michael still sat.

The young man got into the car, reached under the dash, did something
with some wires, and' the engine came to life.  He put the car in gear
and drove away, turning right at the next corner.  "You'd think the car
would do it to an old guy like that, right?  I mean, Christ, a
Cadillac!"

Michael was speechless with rage and fear.  He scrunched down in the
seat; why hadn't he done that before?  A couple of minutes later, he
was left standing at his car.  He got in, started the engine, drove to
the corner, then turned onto Sunset, blending in with the traffic,
terrified of everybody around him.  He could hear police cars in the
distance.

They had seen him, those two people.  The man in the Mercedes, he could
be in the business, somebody he might have to deal with someday.  The
woman could be married to somebody' at Centurion; how did he know? 
They had bored their curious eyes into him, memorized his features; he
was sure of it.  He put on his dark glasses and turned toward
Sacramento on the freeway.  He would turn back toward the studio in a
few minutes; right now, he had to swallow his heart, get his pulse back
under two hundred.  Driving would do it.

CHAPTER

didn't do it.  When he got to the studio an hour later, Michael's heart
was still pounding.  He slammed the car door and walked into his
office.

"Morning," Margot said, handing him his ms sages

Michael said nothing, but went into his office and sat down heavily at
his desk.

Margot followed him in.  '"There's a problem."  "Huh?"  He hadn't been
listening.  "At the Bel-Air."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your friend, he beat up the girl I arranged."  "What?"

"Put her in the hospital.  I'm afraid that I am in trouble with her
madam, and you are in trouble with the Bel-Air."

"Tommy beat her up?"

"Michael, try and listen to me.  Your friend made such a mess of that
girl that she may never look the same again.  Her madam is up in arms,
the hotel is up in arms-I persuaded them not to call the police--and
you are going to find this very expensive."

"What do you mean?"

"The girl wants twenty-five thousand dollars before noon today, or she
says she'll go to the police."

"Tell her okay."

'"The madam is probably raking some of that off.  I can try to get it
down some."

"Tell her it's okay, I'll pay the money."  He flipped through his
address book, found the number, and dialed.  The banker came on the
line.  He waved Margot out of the office.  "This is Callabrese."

"Yes, Mr.  Callabrese; what can I do for you?"

"I want twenty-five thousatld in cash left at your reception desk
immediately.  A woman will ask for it;

don't ask for I.D."  just give it to-her."

"As you wish."

Michael hung up the phone and went to the door.  "Margot, please go to
this address and pick up an envelope; there'll be money inside; pay the
madam and do what you can to see that she keeps her mouth shut."  He
handed her a slip of paper.

Margot grabbed her handbag and headed for the door.  "You'll have to
cover your own phones."

Michael picked up the phone and called home.  "What?"  a sleepy Vanessa
said.

"Vanessa, wake up and listen to me carefully."

"Huh?"

"Goddamnit, wake up and listen?

"All right, Michael I'm listening?

'qlxis is what you and I did this morning: we woke up early, made love,
then took a shower together.  I left house about nine-thirty--later
than usual--for the

You got that?"

"If you say so."

"It's important, if anybody should ask."

"All right.  Can I go back to sleep now?"

Michael slammed down the phone.  Where were fingerprints on the
Cadillac--on the door handle?

and on the dashboard, where he'd braced him-Christ, if they ever found
that car ... The phone

"Hello?"

"Mr.  Vincent?  Is that you?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"My name is Larry Keating; I sent you a screen I'd like to set up a
meeting."  .

"Call my secretary this afternoon."  He hung up.

phone rang again, and he let it ring.  He sat and let the phone ring
until Margot got back..

"Is it all right?"  he asked.

"It's all right.  The madam can control the situation.  She's extremely
annoyed that this has happened, but she'll keep her mouth shut, and
she'll keep the girl quiet, too."

"Good."

"i didn't get a chance to tell you earlier, but your appointment with
the trade paper is tomorrow, for an interview and photographs."

"Fine," he said, then sat bolt upright.  "No!"  "Fomorrow's bad?  Your
book was clear."  "I'll do it on the phone."

"Michael, they can't take pictures on the phone."  "No pictures.  I
haven't got time to mess with these people; tell the guy if he wants to
talk to call me tomorrow morning."

"All right."

"And hold all my calls until I tell you.  I've got some thinking to
do."

"All right."

He tried to think but couldn't."  Finally, he buzzed Margot.  "Find out
who's the chairman of the board of trustees of Carlyle Junior College,
then make me an appointment as soon as possible."  This was dangerous,
but he had to do it now, or he would go completely crazy.

The chairman's name was Wallace-Merton, and his office was in a
downtown law firm.  Michael was made to wait a few minutes, increasing
his nervousness.  When he was finally announced, he drew a deep breath
and tried to relax.

"Good morning, Mr.  Vincent, what can I do for you?"  Merton asked,
waving Michael to a chair.  He dearly was not accustomed to spending
time with strangers.

Michael sat down and set his briefcase on the floor.  "Good morning,
Mr. Merton; I won't take much of your time."

"Good."

"I am a producer at Centurion Pictures, and I am interested in the film
rights to a property which I understand has been left as a bequest to
the college."

Merton looked at him blankly.  "I don't have the slightest idea what
you're talking about."  "The estate of Mildred Parsons?"  "Oh, yes;
that man Moriarty."

Best to tell as much of the truth as possible.  "I saw him last week,
but frankly, he was a little worse for the wear, and I couldn't make
much sense of what he had to say.  I did understand that the board of
trustees had it in its power to sell the rights."

:

"Well, we didn't last week--only Moriarty did, some hit-and-run driver
ran him down in front of house this morning."

"I'm very sorry to hear it."

"It seems most of my day has been taken up with t and his problems."

"If I'd known about this I certainly would have decent interval, but as
long as I'm here, may I

"Go ahead."

"I read the book recently and thought it might nice little art film, if
I can fit it into our schedule.  normally have a couple of dozen
projects like that around the studio at any given time."  Merton looked
at Michael sharply..  "I've done you movie people in my time, and
sounds to me like you're trying to buy a valuable cheap."

Michael stood up and put his card on the man's

"I'm sorry to have taken up your time, Mr.

you're obviously very busy today.  If you have t interest in selling
the fights, call me."  He turned to

"Oh, sit down, Vincent," Merton said.  "At least tell what you've got
in mind."

sat down.  "What I have in mind, sir, is you ten thousand dollars for a
year's option a twenty-five-thousand-dollar purchase price."  "Let's
get this done, Mr.  Vincent: twenty-five thou against fifty.  I have a
fiduciary responsibility to the college to get a decent price."

"Twenty against forty.  That's as far as I can go without the board's
permission."

Merton stood up and stuck" out his hand.  "Done.  Send me a contract
and a check.

Michael shook the man's hand.  ;"I'm sorry about Mr.  Moriarty."

"Drunken oaf," Merton said.  "He had a liver the size of a watermelon.
He told me his doctor gave him six months, and that was nearly a year
ago; I shouldn't think he'd have lived another month."

When Michael got back to his office there were two men in his waiting
room.

"Mr.  Vincent, these two gentlemen are police officers," Margot said.
"They'd like a word with you."

Ii0

CHAPTER

,25

ichael sat and looked at the two police officers.  This was a new
experience for him.  In the past had always avoided talking with
policemen.  "I'm Sergeant Rivera," said the larger of the two "This is
Detective Hall."  "What can I do for you, gentlemen?"  Michael more
calmly than he felt.  "Are you acquainted with a lawyer named Daniel
Moriarty?"  Rivera asked.  "Yes, I am, if you can call it acquainted."
"What do you mean?"  "I mean that I met the man once, at his office,
and he was roaring drunk.  There was a bottle of Scotch on his desk as
we spoke."  "When was this?"  "Late last week--Thursday or Friday."

"You were in his diary for Friday 'morning."  "That was it, I guess.  I
suppose this visit must be about his death."  The cop regarded him for
a moment before speaking.  "And how is it you come to know of his
death, Mr.  Vincent?  He only died this morning."  "I spoke with Mr. 
Moriarty about acquiring the film rights to a novel called Pacific
Afternoons. He controlled the rights, but as I said, he was drunk.  He
did manage to explain that all the rights to the work had been
bequeathed to Carlyle Junior College, so earlier today I met with the
chairman of their board of trustees, a lawyer named Wallace Merton.  He
told me that Mr.  Moriarty had been run down by a hit-and-run driver." 
"I see," the cop said, sounding disappointed.  "So, gentlemen, you now
have my entire knowledge of Mr.  Moriarty."  "just one other thing, Mr.
Vincent," the policeman said.  "Did Mr.  Moriarty refuse to sell you
these rights?"  "He may have; it was hard to ascertain his meaning,
given his condition.  In any event, it seemed to me that if I was going
to get anywhere, I'd have to talk with Mr.  Merton/' "Were these rights
very valuable to you, Mr.  Vincent?"  "Not in a major way.  The book
was published in the nineteen-twenties and is little known today.  A
friend gave it to me to read last year sometime, and it occurred to me
that it might make a film.  I finally got around to looking into the
rights.  I didn't even know who controlled them until last week.  If
you don't mind my saying so, it seems that interviewing me is quite a
long way from a hit-and-run incident."

"It was more than that," the policeman said.  "Mr.

wasn't actually killed by the car.  The driver just to be sure."

"Good God!"  Michael said.  "I'hat's pretty brutal."

i' "Yes, it is."

"So I suppose you're interviewing anybody who to do with him."

"That's right, and there are surprisingly few had anything to do with
him."

"It's really ironic that he should be murdered,"

said.  "Wallace Merton told me that Moriarty a dying man--a bad
liver."

what we learned from his part-time secret.  Vlr.  Vincent, can you tell
me where you were eight and nine o'dock this.  morning

Michael didn't miss a beat.  "Of course.  I got up than Usual this
morning.  I didn't leave the house around nine- thirty, and I was in
the office before

"Is there anyone who can corroborate that?"

"Yes, my secretary can tell you what time I arrived this morning, and
the woman I live with can tell

I left the house."

"And her name?"  His notebook was poised.

"Vanessa Parks."  He gave them the phone number.

"What kind of car do you drive, Mr.  Vincent?"

"A Porsche Cabriolet."

"Color?"

"Black."

"Do you know anyone who drives a red Cadillac?"

"No.  in this business seems to drive a take a look in the lot
outside."

The policeman smiled.  "I noticed."  He looked the room.  "This looks
like a room I saw in a movie once."

"This was the study in a nineteen-thirties movie called The Great
Randolph."

"That's it!  I knew I'd seen it somewhere."  "You're a movie fan,
then?" "Absolutely."

"Would you like a little tour of the lot?"

"I'd love it some other time, Mr.  Vincent, but we've got a lot on our
hands this afternoon."

"Call my secretary anytime, and she'll arrange it for you."

"And when can I expect to see Pacific Afternoons on the screen?"

"Oh, that's hard to say.  I only bought the rights today, and a
screenplay has to be written.  I'd say a year, at the earliest."

"So you did get the rights after all?"

"Mr.  Merton and I reached agreement very quickly.

I don't think he'd ever had another offer.  By the way, would you like
his number?"

"Thanks, we already have it."

Michael stood up.  "Gentlemen, if there's nothing further..."

The policemen rose, then stopped at the office door.

"There were two men in the Cadillac," Rivera said.

"Oh?  Any leads?"

"One or two.  It was a professional job; we know that much."

"Sounds interesting.  Tell you what, Sergeant, when you've made an
arrest give me a call, and let's talk about it.  Might be a movie in
it."

"Maybe I'll do that, Mr.  Vincent," Rivera said.  "Don't wait until
you're ready to go to trial, though.  Call me the minute you've made an
arrest, before there's a lot of publicity."  He smiled.  "I wouldn't
want to get into a bidding war."

L.A. TIES

The cop laughed and shook his hand.  "A bidding sounds good to me."  He
gave Michael his card.

if you think of anything else I should know."  Michael gave him his
card.  "Same here.  True crime is always good for the movies."  He
waved and his office.

He waited until he was sure they'd left the build-then called Vanessa.
"Hello?"

At least she was awake.  "Hi, babe.  You remember of this morning?"

"Yes," she said exasperatedly, "we made love and a shower together, and
you didn't leave until

"You'll be getting a call from a policeman who'll that."

"Whht's this about, Michael?"

Stick close to the truth.  "Last week I tried, to buy screen rights to
Pacific Afternoons from a lawyer

Moriarty.  He wouldn't sell them to me, so I went to the lawyer who
represents the college that rights, and he sold them to me.  Then
Moriarty run down by a car--murdered apparently--and the to see me,
since I was in Moriarty's diary."  "So where were you this morning?"

Michael stopped breathing.  "Didn't you wake up

I got up?"

He relaxed.  "Well, I was right there, babe.  I fixed some breakfast as
usual, and I decided to read a script before leaving for the studio.
That's why I was late."

"So why didn't you just tell the police that?"

"Because you couldn't back me up if you were asleep."

"See you later, babe.  We'll drive out to Malibu for dinner, okay?"

She brightened.  "Okay."

"I gave the cops the number; they'll call."

"Okay, I know what to say."

He hung up.  "Margot," he called out, "get me Leo."  Leo took the call.
"Yeah, kid?"

"Just wanted to let you know I've sewed up the rights to Pacific
Afternoons."

"How much?"

"Twenty grand against forty."

"You're my kind of guy.  See you."  Leo hung up.

Michael hung up, too.  He was thinking of growing his beard again.

On the way home, Michael stopped his car at a phone booth and called a
number Tommy PrO had given him.

A recorded voice answered.  "Please enter the number of a touch-tone
phone where you can be reached at this, hour."  There was a series of
beeps.

Michael tapped in the number of the phone booth, then hung up and
waited nervously.  Ten minutes passed, then the phone rang.  He
snatched up the receiver.  "Tommy?"

"Where are you calling from?"  "A phone booth on Pico."  "How are you,
kid?  What's up?"

"Tommy, you very nearly got me hung up on a murder rap.  What the hell
were you thinking of?.,"

Tommy was immediately apologetic.  "Listen, I'm sorry about that, kid.
The guy was recommended to me highly; who knew he was going to be a
cowboy?  Don't worry, he's already out of the picture."

"Tommy, People saw me in that car with him.  The have already been to
my office."

"That's natural; after all, you had a meeting with guy, right?  Just be
cool and everything will be

"Tommy, I don't know how you could put me in this position."  Tommy's
voice hardened.  "Your problem is right?"

"Yes, but..."

"I gotta go."  Tommy hung up.

Michael was left with the dead phone in his hand.

CHAPTER

ichael sat at a table at a McDonald's on Santa Monica Boulevard and
watched the door for Barry Wimmer.  He recognized the short, bearded
man from his own description and waved him toward the table.  Wimmer
stopped at the counter and picked up a Big Mac and fries first.

Michael shook the man's hand as he sat down.

"First meeting I ever took at McDonald's," Wimmer said.

"Morton's didn't seem appropriate."

Wimmer emitted a short, rueful laugh.  "No, I don't guess you'd want to
be seen with me at Morton's."

"Or any other industry hangout," Michael said.

Wimmer looked ill for a moment.  "Thanks for reminding me," he said
bitterly.

"When did you get out?"  Michael asked.

"Four months ago."

"How are you making a living?"

:: "I've worked up a couple of budgets for friends,"

the Big Mac.

Michael reached into the briefcase beside him and out a budget for
Pacific Afternoons.  "Tell me you think of this," he said, handing
Wimmer the across the table.

Wimmer put down his burger and began leafing pages, chewing absently.
He took his time.  is as tight as anything I've ever seen," he said

"but it'll work if you can shoot outside L.A."  "I want to shoot in
Carmel."

Wimmer nodded.  "If you've already got a budget,

i want to see me?"

"I've heard some good things about you."

"Not recently, I guess.  My name's mud in.  this

"Very recently.  I heard that you may have taken for as much as five
million dollars over years."

"I got sent away for two hundred grand,"

said.  "That's all I'll cop to."

"What did you do with all the money?"  Michael

"I'm curious."

"I lived well," Wimmer said.

"You lived high, too, from what I've heard."

Wimmer smiled ruefully.  "You could say that."

"Are you still using?"

: "Prison didn't do much for me, but it got me off cocaine.  There was
a pretty good therapy program."

"Out of all the money you took did you save anything?"

Wimmer snorted.  "If I had, do you think I'd have gone to jail for two
hundred grand?  I'd have made restitution."

"What are your plans for the future?"

"I was thinking of starting a private course for production
management."

"That should buy groceries."

"And not much else."

"Are you interested in getting back into the business?"  "Doing what?
Props?"

"As a production manager."

Wimmer stopped chewing and looked at Michael for a long time.  "Don't
fuck around with my head, mister."

"I'm quite serious."

"On this project?"  He tapped the budget.

"On this project."

"You think you could trust me not to stea'[?"  Michael wiped his mouth
and threw his napkin onto the table.  "Barry, if you come to wbrk for
me, stealing will be your principal duty."

Wimmer stared at Michael, apparently stunned into silence.

"Let me ask you something," Michael said.  "How did you get caught on
the two hundred thousand?"

Wimmer swallowed hard and fiddled with his french fries.  "I had a
producer who was as smart as I was."

"I'm smarter than you are, Barry," Michael said.  "And if you were
stealing from my production, I would catch you at it."

Wimmer nodded.  "I see," he said."  "You won't catch me, is that it?"

"That's it," Michael said.  "We split what I can take?"  "Not quite. 
Not fifty-fifty."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'll give you twenty percent of anything you can off the budget."

"What happens if we get caught?"  "Who's going to catch you, if not
me?" "Doesn't Centurion have.  any controls at all?"

"Of course they do, and very good controls, too.  from what I've heard,
you're something of a at fooling the studios."

"You could say that," Wimmer agreed.

"What's the number at the bottom of that budget?"

asked, nodding toward the document.

"Eight million, give or take."

"What sort of budget would that be in this town?"  "Tight, under any
circumstances; but who's your

"Robert Hart."

Wimmer's eyes widened.  "And your writer?"  . "Mark Adair."
"Director?"

"A very bright kid from UCLA Film School."  "Then eight million is an
impossible budget, even

I director."

"Would ten million be more in line?"

"Fifteen million would be more in line, if every were cut to the bone
and Hart took points of alary

"Suppose we settle at nine and a half million.  We the picture for
eight million, and you, employing special geniuS, flesh it out to nine
million five.  think you could do that?"

"For twenty percent?  In the blink of an eye."  Michael smiled. 
"That's what I thought."  "What do I get paid for the picture?"

"You'll work cheap.  Nobody will be surprised; at this point you'd take
just about any job, wouldn't you?"

"I would."

"You've never, ah, collaborated with anybody on something like this,
have you?"

"No."

"Well, we had better get a couple of things straight.  First of all,
there will never be any transaction of cash between you and me.  Every
week, you'll go to the local Federal Express office and send eighty
percent of the rake-off to an address I'll give you.  I want you to
remember at all times that I'm smarter than you, Barry; that's very
important to our working relationship."

"Okay, you're smarter than me.  I can live with that."

"My share of the money is going to be untraceable; I'll help you see
that your share is, too.  It is Not in my interests for you to get
caught."

"What happens if I do get caught?  I me,m, if you're underestimating
Centurion's controls?"

"I assure you that I'm not, but I'll give you a straight answer to your
question: If you get caught, you'll take the fall.  I'll testify
against you myself; there won't be any way you can implicate me, and if
you try, I'll make things even worse for you."

"You're a sweet guy," Wimmer said.

"Is anybody else in town going to hire you?"  "Nope."

"Then you're right; I'm a sweet guy--as long as things go smoothly. You
fuck up, and you're back in jail; you fuck me, and--I want you to take
this seriously, Barry--I'll see you dead.  That's not a euphemism; it's
a serious promise."

Wimmer stared at Michael.

"On the brighter side, you'll make some very nice money, and you'll be
seen to rehabilitate yourself.  I'm going to make a lot of pictures,
and as long as our relationship works out, you'll have a job."

"That sounds good," Wimmer said.

"So we understand each other?  I wouldn't want there to be any
misunderstanding."

"We understand each other completely," Wimmer said firmly.

"Good."  Michael extended his hand and Wimmer shook it.  "Be at my
office on the Centurion lot first thing tomorrow morning.  I'll have a
desk ready for and I'll leave a pass at the gate."

"Yes, sir," Wimmer said, smiling.

CHAPTER

Monday night at Morton's.  The crt, me de la erne of the motion picture
industry sat in the dimly lit restaurant on Melrose Avenue and
displayed their standing to each other.  Michael and Vanessa sat with
Leo and Amanda Goldman at a table between that of Michael Ovitz, head
of the talent agency Creative Artists Agency, and that of Peter Guber,
head-of Sorry Pictures.  Michael had been introduced to and had
exchanged desultory chat with both men.  Being in their presence, on
equal terms, gave him a satisfaction he had not felt since he had made
his deal with Centurion.  After dinner, when the women had adjourned to
the ladies' room, Leo put his elbows on the table and leaned forward.
"There's a guy I'd like you to consider to direct Pacific Afternoons,"
Leo said.  "His name is t White."

"I appreciate the suggestion, Leo," Michael said, "but I think I've
already found a director."

Leo's eyebrows went up.  "Who?  How could you do that without my
knowing about it?"

"Leo,

I shouldn't have to remind you that I don't approval to hire a
director."

"Jesus fucking Christ, I know that; what I don't is why I didn't know
about it.  I know everything my studio."

"So I've heard," Michael said.

'"You couldn't take a meeting with somebody about that job that I
wouldn't know about.  Not with any director in town."

"This guy has never directed anything.  That's Why you don't know about
him."

Leo leaned forward and made an effort to lower voice.  "You've hired
some schmuck who never directed a picture?"

"Well, he's directed things at school."

"At school!"

"He's at UCLA Film School."

"You hired a student to direct this movie?"

"Leo, I was a student at film school when I pro Downtown Nights."

"That's different."

"No, it's not different; it's exactly the same."  "I think you've gone
crazy, Michael."  "Did you screen the reel?"  "What reel?"

"Leo, I sent you the kid's reel last Wednesday.".

"I didn't get to it yet."

"Well, if you had gotten tot, your blood pressure would be a lot lower
right now.

"So, what's on the reel?"

"A scene from a Henry James novel that was so good I couldn't believe
it."

"Just one scene?"

"A scene of eight pages with a long tracking shot,

an orchestra, and seven speaking parts."

"Who's this kid?"

"His name is Eliot Rosen."  "Well, at least he's Jewish."  Michael
laughed.

"Are you Jewish, Michael?  I could never figure it out."

"HalL" Michael lied.  "My mother."

"What was your father?"  "Italian."

"What did they do about your religious upbringing?"  "I was a lapsed
Catholic by the time I was six."  "If you were Jewish, you'd be
perfect."

"You're going to love Eliot' Rosen.  He'll probably drive you crazy,
but you'll love him, He may be the new Orson Welles."

Leo groaned.  "You got any idea how much money was lost backing
Orson?"

"Eliot is going to make you a lot of money; I'll see to it."

"Well, you're as tight with a buck as anybody I ever saw; if he works
for you, he'll make money for me."  Leo flicked the ash off his cigar.
"I hear you hired a production manager from outside the studio."

"That's right, Leo; I wanted somebody who'd report to me instead of
you."

"You hired Barry Wimmer."

"That's right."

"Michael, you gotta know he did time for stealing from a production."

L.A. TIMES

"He was a cokehead.  He's clean now."  "I'm worried."  "Leo, he's so
grateful for the chance that he'll work times as hard as anybody else
would."  Michael "Cheap, too."  "I like that part.  If he steals from
me, I'll take it out Of your end."  "Fair enough."  "What're you paying
the kid Jewish director?"  "Two hundred thousand."  Leo smiled broadly.
"Don't you let him fuck up."  "Leo, even if he fucks up he won't cost
you nearly Marty White would."  The women returned to the table, and as
they sat Amanda Goldman's foot ran down the back of Michael's calf.  He
gave her a brief smile and filed that move away for later
consideration.

CHAPTER

ichael put down Mark Adair's first-draft screenplay of Pacific
Afternoons and picked up the telephone.

"Hello?"  a deep voice answered.  "Mark, it's Michael Vincent."  "What
did you think?"  Adair asked.

"I think it's wonderful.  You've captured the book, both in structure
and in intent, and you've made the book's dialogue work beautifully."

"But... ?"

"But nothing.  I think it's shoo table as is."

"No producer has ever said that to me," Adair said warily.  "There has
to be something else."

"There is something else, but it in no way detracts from what you've
done."

"What is it?"

"Near the end, you've left out a crucial scene and something that
doesn't work nearly as

"Are you talking about the scene where the doctor girl and wins her
heart?"

"I am."

"There are two reasons that could never work 'in film, Michael."  "What
are they?"

"Yes, it would come off as mawkish, sentimental, unbelievable to a
modern audience; second, you'll get Bob Hart to do the scene."

"Mark, the scene is sentimental, I'll grant you that, it is by no means
mawkish--at least not the way shoot it."

"Name me a picture where that Sort of thing has

"All right, A Room with a View."

Adair was quiet for a moment.  "There was no in that."

"No, but the period was one that accepted sentiment as normal; the
period of Pacific Afternoons is much same, and the characters are not
very different."  "What about Bob Hart?  How will you get him to

"You leave that to me.  When the time comes, I'll support to help
persuade him, though."

"I don't know."

"Tell you what, Mark; I'll make a private deal with

Put the scene back in--just as it is in the book nd if, when you've
seen it on film, you don't think it works, then I'll shoot your
substitute scene."

"You've made me an offer I can't refuse.  Now tell me 'what other
criticisms you have of my script."

"I can't think of a thing.  I'm sure Bob Hart--and especially Susan
Hart--will have some comments, and the director may as well, but it
won't be anything that damages what you've done.  I won't let that
happen."  "Who's going to direct?"

"A young director named Eliot Rosen.  He's very smart and sensitive,
and you're going to love him."

"I'll get right on a second draft."

"Don't write a second draft; just insert the scene, and leave
everything else as it is."

"Bless you, my son."  Adair hung up.

Michael replaced the receiver and reflected on how well everything was
going.  His intercom buzzed.  "Yes?

"Michael," Margot said, "Sergeant Rivera is here; I've told him you've
got a tough morning, but he'd like to see you if you can manage it."

A trickle of fear ran down Michael's bowels.  "Send him in," he said,
keeping his voice calm.

Rivera was alone this time.  "Thanks for seeing me," he said, extending
his hand.  "I won't take much of your time."

"Glad to see you, Sergeant," Michael said, shaking his hand and waving
him to a seat.  He held up Mark Adair's screenplay.  "The first draft
of the screenplay of Pacific Afternoons is in, and it's great.  Looks
like we'll be shooting in the spring."

"Good," the sergeant said, easing into a chair.  "I thought I'd bring
you up to date on where we are on the Moriarty homicide."

"Great, I'm all ears.  I haven't seen anything in the papers about it
for a few weeks."

"I haven't released anything to the papers."  "Have you made an
arrest?" "No, and I'm not sure we will."

Michael guarded against feeling relief.  "Why not?"

"Looks like a mob hit, pure and simple; a contract

"Moriarty had mob connections?"

?

"Maybe, maybe not, but somebody who's con wanted Moriarty dead, I
guarantee you."

"Tell me about it."

"The car was driven by a low-grade hood from named Dominic
Ippolito---real scum."

"How'd you find that out?"

"Some hikers found Dominic dumped in the near Twenty-Nine Palms; his
fingerprints were

"Did you find the car?"

"Dominic was in the car.  It was a mess--down a feet."

"Is that it?"

"Not quite; we found some other prints in the car were interesting."

Michael's heart nearly stopped, but he didn't

"Yeah?"

"The car was stolen; there were the car owner's of course, and his
wife's, but the other set was

"Tell me."

"They belonged to somebody named... "He took i folded sheet of paper
from his pocket and glanced at then handed it to Michael.  "Vincente
Michaele

Michael found himself staring at his own birth cer "Who is he?"  he
managed to say.  He put the >er on his desk so that Rivera wouldn't see
his shaking.

He's the son of Onofrio and Martina Callabrese, d he's twenty-eight
years old.  That's all I know; that much was on the birth
certificate."

Michael, who had been imagining handcuffs, saw a glimmer of hope.  "You
weren't able to find out anything else?"  "Nothing, and that's very
unusual.  There is apparently no other piece of paper in the world on
this guy--no Social Security number, no driver's license, no
insurance--the guy has never had a credit card or a charge account. The
only reason we know about him at all is that he had an arrest when he
was eighteen, for car theft--the charges were dropped for lack
of-evidence-and he got himself printed.  That put him in the FBI
fingerprint files.  There was no photograph on file; I don't know why."
Michael remembered it well.  "You mean there's no way to track him
down?"  "Nope.  But he's almost certainly mobbed up."  "Why do you say
that?  Because he's It/llian?"  "No, it's just that it's nearly
impossible for anybody to live to be twenty-eight years old in this
country and not have a lot of paper on him.  The only people who have
no paper on them are people who've been using forged or stolen paper
all their lives, and that adds up to mob."  "So what does all this
mean?"  "It probably means something like this: Moriarty has some
dealings at some time with somebody who's connected, and something goes
wrong; he makes an enemy.  The enemy talks to somebody, money changes
hands, and a contract is put out on the guy.  Callabrese, or whatever
name he goes by, is probably the mob contact.  He was the second man in
the car.  He, or somebody he knows, hires Ippolito to make the hit, and
Callabrese goes along to make sure it's right.  Then, when it's all
over, Callabrese puts a bullet into Ippolito and dumps him and the car
in the desert, thus it impossible for Ippolito to ever tell anybody
hired him.  Only Callabrese wasn't smart enough wipe his prints off the
car.  That tells me something

him."

"What?"

"That he's not the brains behind all.  this  Otherwise,

taken more care to cover his tracks."

"I see."  Rivera was right; he'd been stupid.  But been so frightened
at the scene that he hadn't about prints until later.  "So what's your
next

"I don't have a next move," Rivera replied.  "But of these days this
guy Callabrese will make a mistake and get picked up.  I've flagged his
prints, so if he gets arrested again and is printed, I'll get a call
from the FBI inside of a week."

"Sergeant, I'll be frank with you; it doesn't look like got a movie
here.  This is all too incomplete."."

"I figured."

"But if you ever come across another case that looks good, I want to
hear from you."  Michael had meant this to dismiss the policeman, but
Rivera didn't move.

"There's something I'd like to satisfy myself on," he said.

"What's that?"

"Well, it's interesting that this Callabrese guy has names that are
similar to yours--Vincente and Michaele."

"An interesting coincidence," Michael said.  He was frightened again
now.

"How old are you, Mr.  Vincent?"

"Do you have some paper that would document

"Sure."  Michael was ready for this; he opened the file drawer in his
desk and rummaged through the personal file.  "Here," he said, handing
the policeman a birth certificate.

Rivera read it carefully.  "You're thirty, all right, and Callabrese
was born at Bellevue Hospital, whereas you were born at St. Vincent's."
 He looked up.  "Are you Italian?"

Michael shook his head.  "Jewish."

"I see you're growing a beard."

"I've had a beard off and on for years."

"I wonder if you'd be willing to do a lineup for me."

"Are you kidding?"  Michael said.  "I saw a movie when I was a kid
where a guy agreed to do that, and he got picked out, even though he
was innocent."

"Well, you're within your right," Rivera said, standing up.

"It isn't that I'm standing on my rights," Michael said, walking him to
the door.  "I just don't have the time for something like that.  I'd
waste half a day, and that's a lot of money in this business."

"Sure, I understand."  He held out his hand.  "I'll let you know if I
come up with another case that might make a movie."

"You do that," Michael said.  "And Sergeant?"  "Yes?"

"Could I have my birth certificate back?"

"Oh, sorry," Rivera said, handing back the paper.

"I'll be happy to make a copy for you, if you need it," Michael said.

"Oh, no, no; just an oversight."

Some oversight, Michael thought, as he watched the homicide detective
go.  The certificate was real, on file--Tommy Pro had seen to that
years ago.  But now fingerprints were on it.  He sat down at his and
took a few deep breaths.  He hoped to God Rivera was satisfied.

came in with the mail.  "This is everything unk," she said, placing the
pile on his desk.  "Thanks."  He rummaged around his desktop and
drawers.

"What are you looking for?"  she asked.

"My letter opener."

"You're always losing things; I'll find it while at lunch."

When Michael came back from lunch, the letter was on his desk.

CHAPTER

ichael looked across his desk at his director.  Eliot Rosen was tall,
skinny, and ill-shaven.  At this moment he was exploring a nostril for
something.

"Eliot," Michael said, "promise me that when Bob and Susan Hart get
here you won't pick your nose."

"Sorry," the young man said, blushing.  Eliot blushed a lot.

"I've shown them your reel, and they're impressed, but they still want
to meet you.  There's a lot riding on this meeting, Eliot."

"I know that," Rosen said.

"Remember, you're not just talking to the.  actor but to his wife as
well.  Susan Hart is the hardest to handle of the two, and I don't want
you to mess this up by kowtowing too much to Hart.  Include her in
everything you say, and if you can muster some charm, that would help,
too."

"I'll do my best," Rosen said.

"If there's an argument about anything, follow my do you understand?"

"Listen, I have opinions, too."

"Not at this point you don't.  If you have an opin might spark some
controversy with the Harts,

it to me first, and privately.  If it's a point I

then I'll carry the ball, okay?"

Rosen nodded.  "Okay," he said sullenly.

"Eliot," Michael said Placatingly, "you're at the of what I think is
going to be a big career.

up by alienating a powerful star and his wife.  If they want something
that's bad for the movie, I'll protect the movie, don't worry.  And we
get to the part about the singing scene, d?n't r anything; just nod
agreement."

"I've got a lot of problems with that scene," Rosen

"Eliot, we've already been over this; the scene stays and I don't want
to hear another word about it."  "All right, all right, you're the
boss."

"Don't resent it, Eliot; everybody has a boss here, except Leo Goldman,
who is, effectively, Leo has given me a lot of freedom, and I'm not to
let anybody compromise that, especially a director."

"All right, all right."

"Don't worry, this picture is going to establish

He smiled.  "After Pacific Afternoons I won't be afford you."

Rosen smiled.  "I like that idea."

There was a brief knock on the door, and Margot in Robert and Susan
Hart.

Michael went to Susan first, giving her an affec hug and kiss, then he
shook Bob's hand warmly.

"I'm so glad to see you both," he said, "and I can't wait to hear your
reactions to the screenplay.  And may I introduce Eliot Rosen?"

The young director shook both their hands.  "Your work has given me a
great deal of pleasure," he said to Bob Hart.  "I'm thrilled to be on
this picture."

Hart accepted this praise graciously, and everybody took a seat on the
facing sofas before the huge fireplace.

"I remember this set," Hart said.  "I loved the movie, and I loved
Randolph.  I always wanted to play the part."

Michael smiled.  "That's a very good idea," he said.  "When we've
finished Pacific Afternoons, we ought to explore the possibilities." He
leaned forward on the sofa.  "Now," he said, "tell me what you thought
of the screenplay."

"I just loved it," Hart said.

"There are problems," Susan interjected.

Michael picked up a copy of the script from a stack on the coffee
table.  "I want to hear about every one of them, starting from the
beginning."

Susan Hart, speaking without notes, went through the screenplay, scene
by scene, noting criticisms large and small.  Michael noted that nearly
every one of them was aimed at increasing the size of her husband's
part and augmenting his dialogue.  He agreed with Susan immediately on
more than half her points and promised to consult with Mark Adair on
the rest, then get back to her.

"Finally," she said, "the singing scene has to go."

Michael did not react immediately, but turned to her husband.  "Bob,
how do you feel about that scene?"  "I can do it," Hart said quietly.

"But he won't," Susan said firmly.  "Bob has devoted past twenty-five
years to building an image that become solid gold.  I won't allow him
to do some: that would shatter that image in the minds of his we'll
back out of the film first."

"Let me tell you how I feel about that, Susan," id to her, then himself
almost entirely Bob Hart.  "Bob is at a turning point in his career; he
mined the vein of police, western, and action brilliantly, and he has
reached a point where to

:xclusively in that vein would simply be rep-Ifhe does that, even the
fans and critics who loved all of it are going to begin to fade away.

thing: it has been a long time since a script has drawn on all of Bob's
talent as an actor."  "That's very true," Hart said.  His wife glanced
at him.

"Bob has resources that his public has not seen yet, this film is going
to stun them, I promise you.  we have a somewhat retiring but
thoroughly culine character with many, many facets.  He his manhood
when he stands up to the trainer has been abusing horses, and he shows
remark-sensitivity in the scenes with his child patients.  he is unable
to express himself to this woman he may be too young for him.  But, in
this one moving scene, he wins her heart forever.  Now with that?"

Susan Hart spoke up.  "Certainly, what you say the scene with the
trainer and those with the is true, and certainly, the doctor has to
win but why the hell does he have to sing?"

"Because he is an incurable romantic, Sue, and this an incurably
romantic film.  That is its great strength, that is what is going to
create enormous word of for this film.  What's wrong with singing?"

Susan drew herself up and began to reply, but she was,
uncharacteristically, interrupted by her husband.

"It wouldn't be the first time I've sung," Bob Hart said.

Susan turned and stared at him.  "What?"

"Long before we even met, darling, I was trained for the musical stage;
in fact, that was where I thought my career would lead."

"You never told me that," she said, astonished.

"It never came up.  Before I joined the Actors Studio I.was
concentrating mainly on finding a part in a musical.  It was Lee
Strasberg who saw the dramatic talent in me and who changed my
direction."

"For which we can all thank him," Michael said.  "Let me ask you,
Susan, have you heard this piece of music?"

"No, and that's not the point," she rellied.

"I want you to hear it right now," Michael said.  He picked up the
phone.  "Margot, please' send in Anton and Hermann."

Anton Gruber and Hermann Hecht entered the room and everyone settled in
to listen.

Anton played an introduction, then Hermann began to sing.  Michael
glanced surreptitiously at Susan Hart from time to time, but her face
was a blank mask.  When Hermann had finished, everyone applauded, then
the musicians left.

Michael turned to Bob and Susan.  "Well?"

"I can sing it," Hart said.  "It's within my range.  I'll have to do a
lot of vocalizing; get back in shape."  "Susan?"  Michael asked.

"I grant you it's beautiful," she said, "but why does it have to be in
German?"

"Tell you what, Susan, let's shoot it, then decide," Michael said.  "I
promise you I'm not going to make a of Bob.  If you don't like it when
it's done, we'll an alternative scene."  She turned to her husband. 
"Do you really feel with this?"  Hart shrugged.  "Let's see how it
goes." "All right," Susan said, "we'll look at it on film, then But
nobody, and I mean nobody, in the industry the scene until we've
approved its inclusion."  "That's fine with me," Michael said. 
"Eliot?"  "Fine with me, too," Rosen said.  It was the first had
spoken.  "I'll get back to you on the screenplay after I've" Michael
said.  The meeting adjourned. When-the Harts had gone, Eliot Rosen
spoke am .  "Do you really think she'll sit still for thatq' he asked. 
"She looks like a pretty tough ookie me.  ' "Trust me," Michael said. 
"Anyway, the scene is from getting around to questions about

"I'm beginning to like the scene," Rosen said.

CHAPTER

ichael stood in the 'center of Leo Goldman's enormous office and basked
in the glow of adulation.  A hundred of-the film industry's movers and
shakers--producers, studio heads, actors, directors, and
journalists--filled the room.  They had all just seen the first
screening of Downtown Nights, and there was nothing but praise in the
air.

Michael's beard had grown fuller now, and he felt reasonably safe in
this crowd, although he had spent the first ten minutes of the
after-screening party checking out every face in the crowd.  None of
them was the man in the Mercedes who had witnessed the murder of Daniel
J. Moriarty, and none of them was the woman in curlers across the
street.

He was receiving the congratulations of one of the town's hottest
directors when Leo's secretary tugged at his elbow.

"What is it?"  Michael asked, trying not to sound

"The security guard at the main gate is on the phone wants to talk with
you.  Apparently there's someone he knows you trying to get onto the
lot."  Michael excused himself from the conversation the outer office
to take the call.

"Mr.  Vincent, this is Jim at the front gate.  There's a here named
Parish who says he's the director of

he wants to come to the screening."  "Chuck Parish?"  Michael asked.
This was inconvenient.  "That's the one."

Michael thought for a moment.  "Jim, give him to my office; I'll meet
him there."

"Yes sir."

Michael hung up the phone and left the building.

walked quickly toward, his office and arrived just time to see Chuck
Parish climbing out of a battered

car.  As Michael approached, Parish tripped get-out of the car and fell
on his face.  A briefcase that been in his hand bounced and came to
rest a few away.

Michael picked up the briefcase, then helped the man to his feet.
"Careful there, Chuck; you took a bad spill."  He looked terrible,
Michael thought.

"Goddamned car," Chuck said.  "Can't get used to

to a friend."

"Come inside."  Michael unlocked the door, turned some lights, then led
Chuck into his office.  "That's a bad scrape on your forehead," Michael
said.  me get something for it."  He went to the liquor poured some
vodka on a tissue, then returned dabbed at Chuck's forehead until the
scrape was

The smell of the alcohol blended in with what been drinking.

"Do you think I could have some of that stuff in a glass?"  he asked.

"Sure."  Michael filled a glass with ice and poured vodka over it.
"Tonic?"

"Just ice will do."

Michael gave him the drink and showed him to one of the facing sofas.
"I didn't know you Were in L.A. Why didn't you call me?"

"I've been here a couple weekS," Chuck said, taking a big gulp of his
vodka.  "Heard there was a screening of my movie tonight."

"There was, earlier," Michael replied.  "It was over an hour ago.  I
wish I'd known you were in town; I'd hae invited you."

"Bad timing, as usual," Chuck said.  "How'd they like it?"

"The reaction was mixed," Michael lid.  ""Mixed," huh?  So it's going
nowhere?"  "Too early to tell

"How's the lovely Vanessa?"  he asked bitterly.  "All right, I guess,"
Michael replied, then changed the subject quickly.  "How are things
going?  What are you working on?"

"I've written another screenplay," Chuck said, staring into the cold
fireplace.

"Good; I'd like to read it."

Chuck opened his briefcase and tossed Michael some bound pages.

Michael looked at the cover.  "Inside Straight.  Nice title; what's it
about?"

"I'd rather you'd read the whole thing without my telling you too
much."

"All right; I'll try to get it read over the weekend."  "I can't wait
that long."  "Beg pardon?"

"I want to sell it to you now."

"But I haven't read it yet."

"It's better than Downtown Nights," Chuck said.

can trust me on that."

"I don't doubt it, Chuck, but I can't' buy it without it."

"Why not?  Don't you have any authority around

I can't imagine you making a deal Michael, that ut you in the driver's
seat."

"I have the authority, Chuck, but don't you think a little unfair to
ask me to buy it sight unseen?"  "I need the money, Michael."

Michael was stunned.  "Chuck, the last time I saw had something like
three quarters of a million ll lars in cash.  What do you mean, you
need the

"I just need it."

"Why?"  :

"There are a couple people pressing me."

"What sort of people?"

"Very insistent people."

"what happened to all the money, Chuck?"

"Well, there were a couple of bad investments and slow ponies.  And
there was this very expensive

Chuck said.  "She and I picked up this little habit."

"Coke."

Chuck nodded.  "God, I just don't know how the r could have gone so
fast."

"I would have thought that after seeing what hap to Carol Geraldi you'd
have stayed away from coke."

"Look, it's nothing I can't handle.  I'm going into rehab next
week--got a spot nailed down at a clinic up the coast.  I just need to
pay a few debts and get myself tided over until I can start the
program, you know?"

Michael flipped quickly through the screenplay.  There was no way to
judge it so quickly, but it looked well organized, at least.  And Chuck
Parish was a very talented writer.

"How much do you want for it?"

"Jesus, I don't know.  I'm into a shark for over fifty grand, and
there's a connection or two who's looking for another thirty or so."

Christ, Michael thought; he really was in deep.  "How about a quarter
of a million?"  "Chuck..."

"I know, I know, you haven't even read it.  Believe me, Michael, it's
my best work.  It's terrific."  "How soon do you need the money?"
"Now."

"Now?  Chuck, it's nine o'clock in the evening; I can't get a check cut
at this hour."

"First thing tomorrow morning, then?"

"I can't pay you a quarter of a million dollars for this sight
unseen."

"How much?"

"You really owe eighty grand to these people?"  "At least."

"All right, Chuck, I'll give you a hundred thousand for it, sight
unseen."

"I'll take it," ChUCk said without hesitation.  Michael went to his
desk and found a standard boilerplate rights contract, then came back
to the sofa.  He placed the contract on the table and handed Chuck a
pen. "Sign right here," he said, pointing.

"There are a lot of empty blanks," Chuck said.  "I'll fill them in
later.". "When do I get the money?"

"I'll get a check cut first thing tomorrow morning."  "I need cash, not
a check."

"All right, meet me at the studio's bank at the corner of Wilshire and
Beverly Glen at, say, eleven.  No,

it noon."

"Noon.  You promise?"

"Of course."

Chuck signed the contract.

Michael took the contract back to his desk and put i drawer.  "Chuck,
I'd like to tall longer, but I've : to be somewhere."

Chuck stood up.  "I want to direct it," he said.

"I'd like you to direct," Michael said, "but I can't that right now."

"Where's my copy of the contract?"

"I'll complete it and bring your copy to the bank.

to excuse me, Chuckd'

They shook hands and Michael walked 'him to his "Noon tomorrow," he
said.  "Noon tomorrow."

Like hell, Michael thought.  Not unless this is a real

He waved good-bye, went back to Leo's office good night to everybody,
then went back to his found a legal pad and a pen, adjusted a reading
and stretched out on a sofa.  Now let's see if this zs any good, he
thought, opening the screenplay.  If

Chuck will have a long wait at the bank.

later, Michael put down the screenplay and through his notes.  Chuck
had been right; it some work, work that he could do himself, but was
terrific.  Inside Straight was going to be his next right after Pacific
Afternoons.  He drove home great.

CHAPTER

$1

,ichael got to the office early the next day and began working up
Chuck's contract.  As soon as Margot came in he gave her the signed
copy and asked her to fill in the blanks, then he called Leo Goldman.
"Great screening, huh?"  Leo chortled.  "It seemed to go well."

"Well?  It went terrific, kid; I'm smelling Academy Award
nominations?

"I'm glad to hear it."

"How's Pacific Afternoons going?"

"Extremely well.  We'll have a finished script very soon."

"By finished, do you mean approved by Susan Hart?"

"I do."

"Good going.  She's not easy to handle, but YOu're a great job.  Let
The give you a tip about the Bob is a lot weaker than h seems.  He's
been a couple of drying-out programs, and he does for a while, but as
soon as he's faced with a role scares him, he's back on the bottle. His
particular is fine French wines.  Susan made him sell cellar at auction
earlier this year, and the sale brought in over a million dollars. The
man had the collection of 1961 red Bordeaux in the United he'd been
collecting them for years.  I bought of them myself, before the
auction, but I can't them when the Harts come over.  The man is the
presence of a Mouton Rothschild."  "He seemed quite confident at our
first script very much in control, not yielding to her."  "The an's ah
actor, and a good one; remember' :. Susan is not a monster, she just
wants to avoid situation that roight get Bob drinking again.  She a lot
of effort into that.  When you start shooting, you do, keep Bob away
from wine."  "I'll keep it in mind."  He certainly would.  "Any idea
what you'll do after you wrap Pacific

"That's why I'm calling, Leo; I've lbught a script-last night, in
fact."  "What is it?"  "It's called Inside Straight, and it's about a
friendly poker game where three of the players con take one of the
others for everything."  "Who wrote it?"  "Chuck Parish, the guy who
wrote Downtown Nights."  "Sounds good; what did you pay?"  "Two hundred
thousand, and it would be worth i million if some agent were shopping
it around."

"Great!"  "One thing, Leo, Chuck is in some sort of a bind, and he
wants his money in cash.  I told him I'd meet him at the bank this
morning with a check that he can cash right away."  "Have you got a
signed contract?"  "Yep."  "Have you got the screenplay in a safe
place?"  "I do."  "I'll call Accounting and get your check cut; I'll
call the bank, too, and tell them you'll want to cash it."  "Tell them
we'd like a private room for the transaction."  "You got it.  Listen,
kid, do you want me to read the screenplay before you do this?"  "I'd
love you to read it when I fix a few things, but believe me, it's not
necessary now.  I don't want to option it, either."  "I trust your
judgment, kid. Your check will be ready in an hour."

Michael was at the bank at 11:30 with his own briefcase and a cheap
plastic one.  He sought out the branch manager and introduced himself.
"I'm glad you called ahead," the manager said.  "We needed some time to
put that ruch cash together."  Michael handed the man both briefcases.
"Ask your people to put a hundred thousand in each one," he said.  "I'm
expecting a Mr.  Parish, and I'll give you the endorsed check as soon
as he arrives.  "I'm glad you brought two," the manager replied, taking
the cases.  "We didn't have a lot of hundreds, so most of it is in
twenties and fifties."  He showed Michael to a conference room and left
with the brief

He was back in five minutes.  "I'll have to have check, of course,
before I turn the money over to

"Of course," Michhel replied.  "Why don't you the money at your desk
until I get the check by Mr.  Parish?"

"Glad to."  The manager left' with the two briefcases.  Chuck arrived
at five minutes before the hour and shown to the conference room;' he.
didn't bother

"Did you bring the money?".  Michael took an envelope from an inside
pocket.

got the check right here; you'll have to endorse He took the check from
the envelope, turned it face on the conference table, and gave Chuck a
pen.  right here."

hurriedly signed 'the check; his hands were and he looked even worse
than he had the before.  "I'll be right back," Michael said.  He left
the room took 'the check to the manager's desk.  "Here's endorsed
check," he said.

The manager examined it.  "Do I have your assur you know this man to be
who he says he is?"  "You have it."

The manager handed over the two briefcases.  Michael returned to the
conference room with both 'cases.  He entered, placed his own case on
the floor beside the' table then put the plastic one on the table top.
"I want you to count it," he said to Chuck.

Chuck opened the case, shuffled briefly through the money, then closed
it.  "Looks okay to me; I'll trus[ yOU."

"It's all there," Michael said.  He took more papers from his jacket
pocket.  "Here's your copy of the contract with my signature."  He
handed the folded papers to Chuck, who put them in his own pocket.
Michael produced another sheet of paper and placed it on the table.
"I'll need you to sign a receipt, and then the money's yours."

Chuck signed the receipt without looking at it, then stood up. "Thanks,
I'm out of here."

"Chuck, before you go, there's something you had better understand."

"Yeah?"

"The contract and the receipt state the amount as two hundred thousand
dollars."

"What?"

"I've put that figure in for my own reasons, and for all practical
purposes I have just given you and you have just received two hundred
thousand dollars."

"I don't understand."

"Don't worry, it'll hell, you get your price up in this town.  You can
always show people a contract that says two hundred thousand 'instead
of a hundred.  And it would be in your own best interests, if anyone
should ever ask, to say that you got two hundred thousand."  "Michael,
are you stealing money from me?"  "Chuck, if you ever say anything like
that to me again--or to anybody else--you and I will have done business
for the last time.  Now, if you're unhappy in any way, you can put that
briefcase back on the table, I'll give you back your contract, and
we'll call it a day."  He waited for an answer.

"I'm happy, Michael," Chuck said.  "After alii who else would give me a
hundred grand for a screenplay he hadn't even read?"

"That's right, Chuck," Michael said.  He smiled.  "Just remember, you
and I are both going to be around for a long time; we've already made
some money together, and we'll make a lot more."

hook his hand and left.  Michael waited five then picked up his own
briefcase and left, good-bye to the banker.  Michael got into the
Porsche and drove do ... w, town his own bank, the Kensington Trust. 
Derek Winfield him in his office.  "I'd like to make a deposit,"
Michael said.  "Of course," Winfield replied.  I'll just have this
through a counting machine to confirm the total."  left the room with
the briefcase for a few minutes, came back and handed Michael the empty
case receipt.  "Is there anything else I can do for you?"  "I'd like to
know my current balance," Michael

"Of course."  Winfield took a key from his pocket inserted it into a
computer terminal on his desk.

a few keystrokes, looked at the screen, then a few more strokes.  A
pr/nter on a side table and produced a sheet of paper.  Winfield it to
Michael.  "Interest will be paid tomorrow the past week's earnings," he
said.  "This amount include that."

Michael looked at the sheet of paper and smiltd.  "he said.  "I'm very
pleased."  "I'm glad," Winfield replied.  "And today's deposit earning
from tomorrow."  Michael left Winfield's office whistling.  It was to
know how things could be any better.

CHAPTER

pecial Agent Thomas Carson of the Los Angeles office of the Federal
Bureau of Investigation leaned over the counter and pressed his ear to
a headset.  Lined up along the twelve-foot counter were half a dozen
Ampex reel-to-reel tape recorders, moving spasmodically.

"It's his second trip to the bank," the technician said, twitching the
volume slightly so Carson could hear better.

"What happened the first time?"  Carson asked.  "Remind me."

"My memory is that he deposited a large sum of money, but you'll have
to check the transcripts to be sure.  Callabrese's name is in the log
for that date, and the log should be cross-referenced by now."

"Thanks, Ken," Carson said.  "I'll lookup Mr.

He went to the files, found the name, and the date; then he went to
another filing cabinet and extracted the transcript.  He sat down and
ad it thoroughly, then reread the file on the Trust.  There was a
weekly meeting with bureau' chief in a few minutes, and Carson was on
input; this would give him something to talk He went to the computer
room and requested a on Vincente Callabrese, waiting for the print-He
was not the first, he noted in the logbook.  An detective named Rivera
had gotten in ahead of called Rivera.  "This is Torn Carson over at the
FBI," he said.

An unenthusiastic response.  Why did cops hate FBI so much?  He had
never understood it.  "I just guy named Vincente Callabrese through the
sys-and I saw you did, too.  What have, you got?"  "His fingerprints
were on a car used in a crime.  A hood from Vegas named Ippolito stole
a car and a guy down with it.  Contract job.  Callabrese's were on the
dashboard."  "And what do you surmise from that?"  "I surmise he was in
the car.  A witness said there a second man."  "Where do you go from
here?"  "Nowhere," Rivera replied.  "The guy's a complete zero in the
system; no paper of any kind.  All I can do is put a flag on his record
and wait for him to get arrested.  It'll happen sooner or later; it
always doest "Right, DeteCtive Rivera," Carson said.  "Thanks for your
help."  "Hey, wait a minute," Rivera said.  "I showed you mine; now you
show me yours."  "Oh, we've got even less than you have," Carson said. 
He could hear Rivera swearing as he hung up the phone.  Carson stopped
by his desk to check his messages, then tucked the file under his arm
and walked down the hall toward the large corner office that housed his
chief.  There were two other department heads pre-sent--personnel and
investigation; Carson was head of surveillance. Carson endured the
personnel report in silence and the investigation report with interest,
then it was his turn .  "What have you got for me, Torn?"  the chief
asked.  "You'll recall, chief, that we've had a tap on the offices of
the Kensington Trust since last May."  "No, I don't," the chief replied
curtly.  "What the hell is the Kensington Trust?"  Carson was going to
la ave to make this good.  "They're an investment bank based in London,
with offices around the world; what the Brits call a merchant bank." 
"So?"  The chief looked at his watch.  The man had come out of the
major crime side of the Bureau, and financial stuff bored him.  He
liked mob stuff, though; Carson knew that.  "We've suspected them for a
long time of a major laundering operation, but they're very slick, and
it's been hard to nail down anything.  However," he said quickly,
before the chief could interrupt, "now we think there's a significant
connection with La Cosa Nostra."  Suddenly the chief was all ears. 
"Oh?  Tell me about it."  "A few months ago, a new face turned up at
Kensington's offices, name of Callabrese."  "And he's mob?"

"We believe him to be."  Carson had precious little to support this
conclusion, but he had the f's interest for the first time in weeks,
and he going to let this opportunity pass.  "In the first 'his two
visits to the Kensington offices Callabrese a new investment account
with seven hundred sixty thousand dollars.  A hundred thousand was and
the rest was in a cashier's check on a New

"Which bank?"  "We don't know that, and we'd have to subpoena records
to find out.  I don't think it's worth doing yet."  "Go on." 
"Callabrese specifically requested that his money and I quote, 'on the
street."" .

"Jesus, Carson, that could mean Wall Street.  deal?"

"You'd have to listen to the tapes to get the chief, but I don't think
he meant Wall Street.  the said he expected a return of three percent a
week, Kensington's L.A. manager said he thought hege that."  :i The
chief nodded.  "That sounds like loan-sharkc ing," he said, "but we
don't have enough evidence to prove it, do we?"

"Not yet, chief, but even if we did, I wouldn't want to go after
Kensington.  I think the bank is important because it could lead us to
some really big-time stuff.  It's more important as a conduit of
information for us than as a target for a bust."

"I see your point," the chief said, nodding.  "How much longer have we
got on the court order?"

"Three weeks," Carson replied.

"Have we got a cooperative judge?"

"Cooper; he's pretty good."  "Wait two weeks and then go back for a
six-month extension," the chief said.  "I'll sign the request." "Yes
sir," Carson said happily; this had been exactly what he had wanted. 
He hated to see a wiretap order expire; it made him look bad. "What
happened on Callabrese's second visit?"  the chief asked.  "He brought
another hundred thousand in cash."  "Well, he's got to be mob; nobody
walks around with that much cash."  "On his first visit, he mentioned a
New York connection, but no names.  I'd give odds he's connected,
though."  "With a name like Callabrese?  Sure he is.  Did you run him
through the system?"  "Yes, and he's there, but it's a low-grade
presence.  He was printed on a juvenile arrest eleven years ago, but
nothing since.  An L.A. homicide detective had run a request recently;
I talked to him about it.  Turns out Callabrese's prints turned up on a
car that had been stolen by a Vegas mob guy and used in a hit-and-run
murder.  This guy came up dry on a background check--there's no paper
at all on Callabrese."  "Then he's mob," the chief said, excited now,
"and it doesn't sound like he's just passing through.  Did you order a
photograph?"  "There isn't one on record.  The local precinct must have
screwed up.  I've flagged his file, though.  If he gets arrested, I'll
hear about it."  "Add Callabrese to the watch list," the chief said. 
"I want the name cross-referenced to both banking and loansharking."
"Yes sir."  The chief stood up.  "Thank you, gentlemen.  Next week at
the same time."

Carson went back to his desk feeling pretty good.  were he wouldn't
hear from Callabrese for a but it was a name he could use in weekly
meets for weeks to come.  "Thank you, Vincente he said, "wherever you
are."

CHAPTER

ringing telephone wolfe Detective Ricardo Rivera.  He rolled over and
looked at the bedside clock:

6:30.  And he didn't have to be in until 11:00.  Shit.  "Hello?" 
"Hello, Ricky."

He should have known.  "Cindy," he said, exasperated, "why the hell are
you calling me at six-thirty in the morning?"

"I guess you know why," she said.

"Goddamnit, I'm not on until eleven; I could have slept another three
hours."  She had lived with him long enough to know that once he was
awake he couldn't go back to sleep.

"Sorry, I wanted to be sure and catch you."  "How's Georgie?"  He'd
always hated the name, but she had insisted on naming him after her
father.  George Rivera just didn't work for him.

"He broke a finger playing football yesterday."  "Are you sure it's
broken?"  "Sure, I'm sure; they put a cast on it in the emergency room.
He'll have to wear it for six weeks."  i "Badge of honor," Rivera said,
smiling in spite of himself.  e'd had a cast on his arm once, and he'd
gotten a lot of mileage out of it with the girls.  "I had to write a
check for the hospital," she said.  hadn't used up the deductible yet."
He cringed inside.  "How much?"  "Three hundred and twenty dollars."
"Christ!  You'd think he'd broken his back!"  "They had to x-ray and
everything.  It's not really of line, considering sd hat medical stuff
costs these

"Did you have that' much in the bank?"  "That's why I'm calling.  I've
got to make a deposit today to cover the check, and I haven't got it."
"Let it bounce once," he said.  "Payday's the day after tomorrow."  "I
can't do that, Ricky," she said.  "I'm not screwing up my credit record
now that I'm on my own.  The order says you pay for medical."  "All
right," he said.  "I'll stop by a branch this morning on the way to
work.  "Thanks," she said.  "And Ricky?"  "Yeah, your check will be on
time; don't worry.  "Is that the truth, Picky?"  "Yes, it's the truth."
"Because you've been late three times, and it's really screwed up my
life every time, you know?"  "It'll be on time."  "My lawyer says that
if you're late again I shouldn't let you see Georgie this weekend." 
"So you're going to hold me up with the kid?"

"Not if I get the check on time," she said.

"It'll be on time, I promise."

"And you promise to make the deposit this morning?"  "Yes, I
promise."

"Thanks, Ricky; I'll see you this weekend."

Rivera got out of bed and rummaged in the bedroom desk for his
checkbook; his balance was three hundred and thirty-one dollars.  He'd
have eleven bucks left after he wrote her the check.  He looked in his
trousers pocket; twelve bucks there.  It was TV dinners until payday.
He sat down at the desk, took a fistful of bills from the top drawer,
and added them up on the calculator.  After the bills and Cindy's
check, he'd have just under a hundred dollars to last him until the
next payday.

Ever since the divorce, over a year ago, he'd had no money.  Even his
small part of their savings had been frittered away paying the most
basic bills.  He wasn't making it, and that was a fact."

They'd lived decently when they were married; there was a pretty nice
house in the Valley and two cars.  She'd gotten the house and the
station wagon, but he was making the payments on both, of course.
They'd accumulated some savings, but the judge had given her most of
it.  He knew her well; if he didn't keep up the payments, she'd go for
sole custody of the boy, and she'd probably get it, too.

He sighed heavily.  His life was in the toilet, and he didn't like the
swim.

He stopped at the bank and deposited the three hundred and twenty
dollars into her account, and he arrived at his desk early.  There was
a message to call Chico; he walked over there instead.

Chico was bent over a photographic negative of a thumbprint, inspecting
it carefully with a magnifying

Rivera waited until he straightened up to speak.  "How you doing,
amigo?"  he asked.  "Ricardo, my boy, how you?"  "Okay.  You got
something for me?"  "Yeah; sorry I took so long."  "That's okay, there
was no rush.  It's off the books, satisfying my own curiosity."  Chico
poked through a drawer and came up with plastic Ziploc bag containing
an elongated silver There was a fingerprint card stapled to it.  "I got
a match on the right index," he said.  "That what you

"Well, it confirms my guess," Rivera replied 'wearily, "but it doesn't
get me anywhere, really.  I can't prove when the prints got where they
did."  "That's the way it goes," Chico said, handing him the bag. 
Rivera accepted it.  "Thanks, amigo; I owe you one."  He walked back to
his desk, and his' heart was beating faster.  He had the sonofabitch,
he had him cold.  Now he had enough for an arrest and a lineup.  He sat
down at his desk and thought carefully about this.  If he played his
cards right, there was light at the end of his own particular tunnel. 
He picked up the telephone and dialed the number.  "Hello," he said. 
"This is Detective Rivera, LAPD.  I'd like to see him as soon as
possible." "Please hold," the woman said.

"Michael, that Detective Rivera is on the phone again.  He wants to see
you as soon as possible."  Michael thought for a moment.  "Margot," he
said, "remember when I lost my letter opener a while back?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Where did you find it?"

"I didn't.  I just went over to Supply and got.  you a new one."

"I see," he said.  "Ask Detective Rivera if he's free for lunch."

CHAPTER

ichael got to the beach half an hour early.  He'd borrowed Margot's
little BMW, and he parked it at the extreme northern end of the parking
lot, by itself.  He got out and trudged through the sa/ad toward the
sea, then stopped halfway and looked back toward the highway.  The
beach was lightly populated at this hour on a weekday; that was good. 
A couple of hundred yards to the north was a small concrete block
building containing toilets.  He walked over to it and checked the
men's room: three urinals, two stalls, and a sink.  He reached behind
him and made the pistol stuck in his belt more comfortable; then he
left the building and returned to the parking lot.

Rivera was on time.  Michael watched him park his car and approach; he
smiled and extended his hand.

"Good to see you, and thanks for meeting me out here; it was a lot more
convenient for me."

Rivera shook his hand but didn't speak.

"Let's take a stroll while we talk," Michael said.  He started up the
beach toward the toilets, and Rivera kept pace with him.  The wind was
at their backs.  "What's up?"  Michael asked.  "Made any progress on
your case?"

"Funny you should ask," Rivera said.  "It's solved; I wrapped it up
this morning."

Michael felt nauseous.  "Congratulations!  Tell me about it."

"You want me to lay the whole thing out for you, or you just want the
results?"

"Lay it out for me," Michael said.  Another hundred yards to the
toilets.

"It went something like this," Rivea said, puffing a little; it was
hard walking in the soft sand.  "Our man Callabrese was some sort of a
mob gy in New York.  Mob guys always have false IDs--Social Security
cards, driver's licenses, that sort of thing--that's why there was no
paper anywhere on Callabrese under his own name.  So, anyway,
Callabrese gets the hots for L.A. He comes out here arid goes into a
legitimate business, and he's doing pretty good.  Then Moriarty gets in
his way.  The lawyer has something Callabrese wants, and Moriarty won't
sell it to him.  Callabrese doesn't like this, and he reverts to type.
He calls somebody, who calls somebody in Vegas, who sends Ippolito down
to L.A. to deal with Moriarty.  Ippolito steals a car, meets Callabrese
somewhere, probably so he can ID the guy, and they park on Moriarty's
street and Wait for him to surface.  He comes out of the house to get
in his car, Ippolito runs him down" then gets out of the car, goes
back, and puts a knife in him.  Callabrese all this from the car, and
two neighbors get a at him."

Fifty yards to the toilets.  "Yeah, go on."

"Then Callabrese and Ippolito part company, and a third party,
probably, takes Ippolito out the desert and whacks him, so he can never
finger

But Callabrese has made a stupid mistake; t has left some fingerprints
in the car."

"So how do you find him?"  Michael asked.

yards to the toilets.  Nobody near.

Rivera stopped and turned toward Michael.  "I think I know where to put
my hands on him."

Michael took him by the-arm and propelled him gently forward again.
"I've got to take a leak," he said.

Rivera began walking and continued talking.  "All I've got to do, see,
is pick this guy up, fingerprint him, and put him in a lineup.  I'll
have firm fingerprint evidence, which puts Callabrese in the car, and
two eyewitnesses who'll put him at the scene.  Bingo!  A first-degree
murder conviction.  Remember, we've still got the death penalty in
California."

Ten yards to the toilets.  "I've got to stop in here for a minute," he
said.  He walked into the toilet and stood at a urinal.  Rivera
followed him and did the same.  Good.  This was reckless, Michael knew,
but there was no other way.  He finished at the urinal, zipped up his
fly, and took a step backward.  His right hand went to the small of his
back.

There was a scraping noise from the door, and a man and a small boy
entered.  Where the hell did they come from?  Michael pretended to be
stuffing in his shirttail.  Rivera stepped to the sink, rinsed his
hands, and walked out of the restroom.  Michael followed.  What was he
going to do now?  He started back toward the parking lot.  It would
have to be in the car; maybe that was best anyway.

The two men trudged silently-through the sand for a moment, then Rivera
continued.

"So, I've got my man," he said.  "You think there's a movie in this?"

"Maybe," Michael said.

"I've always been interested in the movie business," Rivera said.

"Yeah?  What in particular interests you?"  Maybe there was another
way.

"Oh, production, development, that sort of thing."

"You might be very good at it, ah ... what's your first name?"

"Ricardo; my friends call me Rick."

"Well Rick, there's always room in the movie business for fresh
talent."

"I thought there might be, Michael," Rivera replied.  "In fact, I
noticed there are a' couple of empty offices in your building."

"That's right; I'm still staffing up.  I'm going to need a production
assistant and maybe an associate producer.  You interested?"

"I might be," Rivera said.

"What do you think you could bring to the job?"  Michael asked.

"Well, I've worked on.  lots of interesting cases that might make movie
material," Rivera replied.  "And I could serve as a technical
consultant on cop films."

"That's very interesting," Michael said, "and you're obviously a bright
guy.  You might do very well in the movie business."

They were nearly to Rivera's car now.  "Is that an offer?"  he asked.

"I'd have to be sure of what I'm getting," Michael

"Shall I be absolutely frank?"  Rivera asked.

"Of course.  I appreciate frankness."

,.

"You'd still be in the movie business, for one said.

"How would I know I was Secure in my position?"

asked.

"You'd have my personal guarantee," Rivera said.

"But how can you guarantee such a thing?"  I "Well, you see, I would
ordinarily have my partner in a caSe like this--you met him the first
time We came to your office--but he's on his two-week vacation, so I've
developed this evidence on my own."  "I See; and where is this
evidence?"  "Right this minute it's in a safe in my lawyer's office.
That's so if I should die from anything other natural cauSes, my lawyer
could take the appropriate action."  ' They were approaching Rivera's
car.  He was probably lying, Michael thought, but he couldn't take the
chance.  "Rick, I think you might be very useful to me.  Let's make a
deal."  How much did a detective make, fifty, sixty grand?  "Why don't
you : Come to work for me as an associate producer.  I'll [I've ou an
office in my building, and you can stories for me."  "Sounds good,"
Rivera said.  "And I could provide, ah, security for your productions,
too."  "Good idea.  How about a hundred grand a year?"  "How about a
hundred and fifty?"  Michael laughed.  "You drive a hard bargain."  He
had to make a decision; he was either going to have to blow the cop's
brains out right now or bring him on board.  What was it Lyndon Johnson
used to say?  It was better to have an enemy inside the tent pissing
out than outside the tent pissing in.

"I think I'm a pretty good bargain," Rivera said.  "After all, if I
take this job, I won't be in a position to make that evidence available
to the department, not without compromising myself.  I think having me
aboard would be very good insurance, and a hundred and fifty grand
isn't big money in the movie business.  I'd want more, of course, when
I'm worth it."

"Of course," Michael said.  "The sky's the limit in the movie
business."  He made his decision.  "You've got a deal Rick; when can
you come to work?"

"Almost immediately," Rivera said.  "I'll put in my retirement papers
as soon as we've signed a contract."

"I'll get something drawn up today," Michael said.  "Oh, I would like a
little something up front, just to seal our deal," Rivera said.  "How
abgut twenty-five thousand in cash, under the table?  Let's call it a
signing bonus.  I wouldn't like to have to pay taxes on it."

"I think we can arrange that," Michael said, shaking his hand.  "Why
don't you come around tomorrow about five, and I'll have a contract for
you.  You can start as soon as you can get out of the police
department."

"That sounds good," Rivera said, sticking out his hand.  "As Bogart
said to Claude Rains, I think this could be the beginning of a
beautiful friendship."

Michael took the hand.  "I certainly hope so," he said.  Right up until
the moment I see you dead, he thought.

CHAPTER

ichael shifted the Porsche down into sec-gear and turned off Sunset
onto Stone CanyOn.  He at Vanessa, who sat silently in the passenger

"Look, this is supposed to be a celebration tonight;

do you think you could try and cheer up a little?"  "Some celebration,"
Vanessa said sullenly.  "Downtown Nights got a nomination for best pie
for Christ's sake!  Can't you be happy about that?"

"Yeah, and so did Carol Geraldi!  In my role!  I could have had.  that
nomination!"

"Are you blaming me for that?  It was Chuck who dumped you from the
part."

"That's not the way I hear it," she said through clenched teeth.  "In
fact, I hear it quite differently."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."  They Passed the
Bel-Air Hotel; they were nearly at the Goldmans' house.

"I just happened to run into Chuck at the Bistro Garden," she said.
"You didn't even tell me he was out here."

"Chuck.  Great.  The idiot has blown three quarters of a million
dollars since we made the picture, and he's turned himself into a
junkie.  I'm surprised he can afford the Bistro Garden."

"He's looking very well, as it happens; he's just out of rehab and
seems very together."

"Swell; I'm glad to hear it."

"You didn't tell me you'd bought his screenplay."  "I haven't told
anybody; I'm still working on it."

"He seems to think you've cheated him somehow."

Michael slammed on the brakes and brought the car screeching to a halt.
"Cheated him?  Let me tell you the truth about that.  Chuck came to me
in dire need of money; he had blown all the money he'd made on Downtown
Nights, and he was into the loan sharks and pushers.  I gave him two
hundred thousand dollars for his screenplay, sight unseen, because I
respect his talent and wanted to help him.  Do you think there's
anybody else on the face of the earth who would have done that?"

"He also told me about how you brought Carol Geraldi into the movie,
and how I got dumped."

"All right, I'll tell you exactly what happened.  Chuck came to me at
lunchtime one day during rehearsals and said that he didn't think you
could hack the part, that you weren't right for it.  I said I thought
that you weren't superficially right, 'but that you were a good enough
actress to carry it off.  He insisted that find somebody else for the
part; he was the direc-and I couldn't really argue with him, so I went
out found Carol Geraldi, who was down and out, and to use her.

"I hardly knew you; you were nothing to me at the and the director
wanted another actress.  If Chuck told you anything else, he's lying."
Vanessa said nothing.

He reached over, took her by the shoulders, and her toward him. "Listen
to me," he said.  "I've you out of a modeling career and given you the
of a lifetime in Pacific Afternoons, playing opposite the biggest stars
in the world.  I've installed you a beautiful apartment, directed your
career, and I'm you five thousand dollars a week, which,

I

add, you're blowing on clothes and-an ex pen-car.  I've done all this
on nothing more than that you'll make a fine actress and because I you,
and what I'm getting back is that you're with me because a director
dropped you from a you weren't really suited for and gave it to another
actress who could turn it into an Academy Award

He reached around her and opened the passenger door.  "It's time for
you to decide where your true interests lie, Vanessa; it's time to
decide whether you want to be with me or with Chuck Parish;

time to decide whether you really want the part in Pacific Afternoons.
There's the door; either get out and go your own way or close it and
apologize to me."

Vanessa hung her beautiful head for a moment, then reached over and
pulled the car door closed.  She turned back to him, snaked an arm
around his neck, and kissed him.  "I'm sorry, Michael," she said.

"How sorry?"  This was an old game with them.  Her hand went to his
crotch and began massaging.

"I'm an ungrateful bitch.  You've been wonderful to me, and I want you
to know how much I love you for it."  She unzipped his trousers and
pulled him free.  Her head went down into his lap, and her lips closed
over him.

Michael leaned back against the headrest and ran his fingers through
her hair.  "Sweet girl," he said.

Vanessa concentrated on her work, moving her head up and down, making
little noises.

It had been a long time since she had done this, and Michael had almost
forgotten how good she was at it, how much she knew about pleasing a
man, how much she could do with lips and tongue.  He came violently,
but she held onto him, sucking, kissing, stroking, until his spasms
ceased.

She tucked him back into his trousers and zipped him up.  "Am I
forgiven?"  she asked, kissing him lightly on the ear.

"You're forgiven," Michael replied.  He put the car in gear and drove
up Stone Canyon toward the Goldman house and the adulation that awaited
him.

CHAPTER

ichael eased the Porsche into the turn-of the Goldmans' driveway and
handed the to the valet parker.  Cars were lined up in the waiting
their turn.

They were greeted at the door by an English butler.  out around the
pool, sir," the man said.  They followed the music outdoors and joined
a the core of which was the Monday night mob Morton's, where Michael
was now a regular.  Amanda Goldman broke away from a group, hugged
Vanessa, and planted a firm kiss on the corner of Michael's lips.  For
an instant her tongue found its way surreptitiously into his mouth. 
She seemed to get just a little hotter each time he saw her.  "You both
look wonderful," she gushed, "and congratulations on your nomination,
Michael."  She turned to Vanessa "I know that this time next year we'll
be giving a party for you.  I can't wait to see Pacific Afternoons."
Michael thanked her.  "Where's Leo?"  he asked.  V "At the other end of
the pool, I think," Amanda replied.  anessa saw one of her girlfriends
and wandered off.

Amanda took Michael's arm and tugged 'him toward the house.  "Before
everybody gets hold of you, come inside.  I've never shown you the wine
cellar, have I?"

"The wine cellar?"

She towed him quickly down a hallway, then down a narrow flight of
steps; at the bottom, she flipped a switch, and a room about fifteen
feet square opened before them.  The walls were stacked 'from floor to
ceiling with rows of bottles, and the contents of each rack were
clearly labeled.

man da this s very impressive, but what the hell are we doing down
here?"  ' "I just wanted a moment alone with you," she said, stepping
close to him and putting her arms aroUnd his waist.  "That's a very
nice thought," he said, smiling.  "And just why did you want to be
alone with me?"  "I've wanted to be alone with you since the first
moment I set eyes on you, at Barbara Mannering's in New York."  "That's
the nicest thing anybody has said to me all day."  "Every time you're
aroUnd, all I can think about is getting you into bed."  "Now, Amanda,"
he said, "don't you think that would be a little dangerous in the
circumstances? After all, I work for your husband."  "Let's get
something straight," she said.  "I have no interest in leaving Leo for
you, so you're not under any pressure.  All I want is to be fucked
crazy and then.  If we can keep it on that level I think enjoy
ourselves quite a lot."

"I like the idea, I must admit.  And I like the terms."

call me, I'll call you, "she said.  "And I I will call you."  Not at
home, and when you call the office, use number."  He took a pen and
wrote it on the palm hand.  "Margot doesn't answer that line; it goes
my desk."

"Ah, the lovely Margot," she said cattily.  "Have fucked her yet?"  .

"Certainly not," Michael replied with mock stern' Margot a little too
close for comfort."  "That never stopped her before," Amanda said.
"It's strictly business with Margot and me," he said.  She turned to
the rack behind her and extracted a

"Here's a little reminder of our bargain," she him the bottle.

"Chteau

Mouton Rothschild, 1961," Michael read "One of Bob Hart's favorites,
Leo tells me."

"Poor Bob," Amanda said, pouting.  "Can't drink

Leo bought that wine from him, you know."  took his hand.  "Now let's
go socialize before they the house for us."

took him from group to group, introducing him,

he accepted congratulations.  Finally she put him from the Los Angeles
Times.  "Michael, this

Jack

Farrell.  Be nice to him, or he'll say something about your pictures."
With a squeeze of

Michael's hand, she left them alone.

"I thought Downtown Nights was wonderful," Farrell said.

"Thank you; we worked hard on it."

"What's happened to the directormwhat's his name?"  "Chuck Parish,"
Michael said.  "Are we off the record here?"  "Of course; this is a
social occasion."  "Chuck's had a bad time, I'm afraid; the money he
made on the movie is all gone--fast women and white powder.  He turned
up at Centurion a while back, desperate for money, and wanted to sell
me his new screenplay."  "You didn't buy it?"  "I did buy it, and sight
unseen."  "That's incredible; what did you pay him for it?"  "Two
hundred thousand."  "Christ, did Leo know you hadn't read it?"  "That's
between you and me," Michael said.  "So where's Parish now?"  "I got
him into a rehab program, and to his credit, he finished it.  I hope he
can keep it tSgether this time, but ..."  Michael shook his head
regretfully. "I've had to tell him that I can't buy treatments from
him, only finished work.  That way, you know, he produces.  The worst
possible thing you could do to a guy like that would be to give him
money up front.  It would go to some pusher, and he'd never finish
anything."  "I see your point," Farrell said, looking sympathetic.  "I
think it's a fine thing that you would help him when he's in that kind
of shape.  In this town, people just dump junkies, write them off." 
Michael spotted Leo at the other end of the Pool.  "Excuse me, will
you?  I want to catch up with Leo."  "Sure.  Listen, can I call you
sometime and get the latest on your projects?"  .. "Of course, any
time."  "I'll call you." Michael waved, then walked over to the bench
where Leo was sitting, blowing smoke rings from the high hedge.  "How
goes it, boss?"  Leo slapped him on the knee.  "Just the man I'm for. 
First of all, a formal congratulations on ' nomination."

Michael held up the bottle of wine.  "I've already by your lovely
wife."

'"She showed you the cellar, huh?"

"I was very impressed.  I'll save this bottle for a

"Good, there are going to be a lot of them.  By the

I was very impressed with your presentation of

Afternoons.  Script, story boards costumes, pro great: And on a
nine-and-a too.  It's a fucking miracle!"  "It's the way I plan to
shoot everything, Leo.  I

much money gets spent in this town."

"My philosophy exactly, kid.  We're going to make music together."

"You bet," Michael replied.

"Listen, kiddo, I think the studio owes you a little don't you find a
house for yourself, some-nice.  The studio will buy it, then sell it
back to r cents on the dollar."

"Leo, that's very generous."

"No, it's not; it's good business.  You and I are to make a lot of
money together, kid."

"I believe we are."

"You start looking for a house tomorrow.  Call

Berman, she's the best real estate lady in town."

scribbled the name on the back of his card.

"Remember, now--something nice.  You can go to, let's five million."

"You're a prince, Leo."

"I'm a king, kiddo; you're a prince."

Michael liked the sound of that.

CHAPTER

ichael was already dressed when Vanessa Woke up.  "It's Saturday," she
said.  "What are you doing?"

"I've got some things to clear up a(the studio before we leave for
Carmel tomorrow," he said, brushing his hair briskly.

"I thought we'd have lunch today," she said, pouting.  "Not today,
Vanessa."

"Where did you and Amanda disappear to at the party last night?"  There
was petulance in her voice.

"She wanted to show me Leo's wine cellar."  He slipped into a linen
jacket and inspected himself in the mirror.

"Did you screw her?"

Michael looked at her.  "In a wine cellar?"

"That wouldn't matter to you; it wouldn't matter to her, either."

"Vanessa, you're beginning to sound like a wife."  had considered and
rejected this option long ago.

"So?  What's wrong with that?  I want to be a wife.."  "Vanessa."

"Why not, Michael?  We'd be the golden couple of

"We can be that without being married."

"If you're working today, why are you all slicked

"I'm casually dressed, Vanessa; it's a Saturday,

"I want to go to the studio with you.":

"And what would you do at the studio but keep from working?  You'd be
bored stiff."  "I want to go."

"No, I'll see you later."  He walked out of the bed before she could
reply.  The place was a mess, he his way to the front door, and the
maid had only yesterday.  Vanessa would live l{kc a pig if let her. She
really was beginning to be a pain in ass.

gave the Porsche to the doorman at the Beverly

Hotel and found the coffee shop  Marie Berman waiting for him.  He sat
down and ordered a

"So," the real estate agent said, "you want to see in the
four-to-five-million-dollar bracket?"

:

"I've thought about it, and I've changed my

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to look at houses; I want to look at one house."

"One house?"

"Just one.  Sift through your mental files and find the best house in
town for under five million."

She looked thoughtful.  "What do you want, exactly?"  "I want big
rooms, sunshine, nice gardens, a pool, and a tennis court.  I'd like
the guest rooms to be away from the master suite."

"How do you feel about the beach?"  she asked.  "Love it."

"Finish your breakfast."

He followed her car out the Pacific Coast Highway through Malibu.  He
kept expecting her to stop at one of the hundreds of beach houses, but
she kept going.  Finally, she turned left and stopped at a security
guardhouse.  The guard raised a gate, and they drove in.

He followed her past a number of beautiful homes, then she turned into
a circular drive and stopped before a very impressive contemporary
house.  They got out of their respective cars.

"Do you know where we are?"  she asked.

"I'm fairly new in town; tell me."

"You're in Malibu Colony.  This little peninsula contains the biggest
and best houses; it has the best beach and the best neighbors."

'ooks good," Michael said.  "Les see the house."

She fiddled with a key-safe hanging on the front doorknob, then opened
the door.  Inside, the hallway ran straight through the house to the
beach.  They walked through, her high heels clicking on marble floors.
On the ground floor there was a huge living room, kitchen, dining room,
and, best of all, Michael thought, a large library.  It would make a
spectacular home office.

She led him down a stairway.  "Wine cellar through
temperature-controlled year-round, and here--" threw open a set of
double doors.  Beyond was a room with two dozen seats and the latest

Upstairs there was only one enormous suite, with lroom, sitting room,
kitchenette, two dressing and two baths; there was also a sauna, and a
big tub on a high deck overlooking the Pacific.  She led him back
downstairs and outdoors.

z a high wall were a two-suite guesthouse, a and a tennis court.
Michael had never played any except for stickball and handball, but
tennis to him.  He liked the clothes, for one thing, he liked to watch
beautiful women play.

"There are servants' quarters on the other side of off the kitchen,"
she said.

"How much?"  Michael asked.

"This house cost seven million dollar to build ago.  The owner was a
studio head who got It's been vacant for nearly a year."

"Sounds too rich for me," Michael said regretfully.  "Leo Goldman is a
good friend of mine," she said.  like to do him a good turn.  I happen
to know thht bank that holds the mortgage wants out very

The market in big houses has gone to hell in this

If I make them an offer that covers most of mortgage and my commission,
I think they'd be to take a loss."

"What would it take?"

"You're not going to be able to get a mortgage for place in today's
climate," she said.  "It would have to be all cash on closing.

"How much?"

"Offer them four million six," she said, "and a quick closing."

"Make the offer," Michael said.  "I can close immediately."  "I'll call
the bank president at home."  She walked into the kitchen and produced
a small cellular phone from her handbag.  Michael Walked around the
pool, peeked into the cabana.  He walked onto the tennis court and
inspected the surface.  Perfect, like everything else about the house.
He looked back toward the kitchen and saw Marie Berman gesticulating,
pacing the floor.  He glanced at his watch; she had been on the phone
for five minutes.  She hung up.  Michael watched as she came through
the sliding doors toward him.  It didn't work, he thought.  She stopped
in front of him.  "If the studio will close on Tuesday, you've got a
deal."  Michael's heart leapt.  "I'm delighted to hear it," he said,
smiling broadly.  She handed him the keys.  "As far as I'm concerned,
the place is yours from this moment.  Who's going to decorate it for
you?"  "Who's the best?"  "James Fallowfield," she said.  "If you're
willing to spend at least half a million."  She dug into her purse.
"Here's his number."  "Does he work on Saturdays?  I'm leaving town
tomorrow for three weeks."  "Maybe."  Michael handed her back the card.
"Call him for me.  Tell him I'll spend a million dollars if he's here
in an hour."  She whipped out her little phone and dialed.  "James? 
It's Marie.  Good, and you?  Glad to hear it.  Listen, I have a new
client for you, but he's in a hurry.  No, listen to me, James; it's a
million-dollar budget.

L.&. TIMES

Colony in an hour; there's a black parked out front.  Your client's
name is

She hung up.  "He's on his way."  "Thanks, Marie, I appreciate that."

"Don't mention it; I appreciate the commission.

I call Leo about the closing?"

"If you would.  He'll know where to reach me if need to talk to me. And
Marie, I don't want anyone about this but Leo and me.  I don't want to
it in the trades."

"I understand.  If you don't need me further, I've house to show in
Bel-Air."

"I'll be fine, thanks."

They shook hands and she left the house.

While he waited for the designer, Michael toured again.  It looked even
better than before.

Fallowfield arrived half an hour later.

"The budget is one million dollars, and not a more--and that includes
your fee," Michael him.

"My fee is ten percent of whatever you spend, and a lot of stuff at
cost plus ten."

"Okay.  Six weeks from now, I want to walk in this and find it
furnished to the hilt--dishes in the towels in the baths, books on the
shelves, on the walls.  I don't want to have to go shop-for a thing."

"No problem," Fallowfield said.  "Any preferences to style?"

"Rich, elegant, subdued; soft, comfortable furniture.  I'd like a
Steinway grand in the living room.  Don't buy everything new; I want
the place to feel lived in.  I want alk in and feel that I've always
lived here."

"Will there be a woman living here?"

"Yes, but she won't be involved in decorating."

"I won't have to get a woman's approval on anything, then?"

"No, just mine."  It was easier this way; he'd surprise Vanessa when
Pacific Afternoons wrapped.

"That will save an enormous amount of time."  Michael wrote in his
notebook, then tore out the page and handed it to Fallowfield.  "I'm
going to Carmel tomorrow; this is where I'm staying.  Send me sketches
of what you're doing; the bills go to my office, to Margot Gladstone. I
want a detailed accounting of everything as you go, then Margot will
check everything off as it's delivered."

Fallowfield looked at his watch.  "I'd better get started," he said.

"You do that."  '

The man left, and Michael walked around the house again.  Perfect.

CHAPTER

ichael stood on the beach at Carmel and Robert Hart approach on
horseback.  Vanessa for Hart in the foreground of the shot.  The sun a
huge red ball sinking into the Pacific behind the scene to perfection.
Hart dismounted,

her lightly, then took her hand and led her and horse down the beach
toward the facade of the cot Hathaway had designed.

::.

"Don't cut," Michael whispered to Eliot Rosen.

"Shoot whatever's in the camera; we can use this behind the rifles."

Eliot nodded.  "Good.  It's perfect, isn't it?"

"Couldn't be better."

"That's it," the camera operator called out.  "Want to do another one
before the light goes?"

"Print that and wrap," Eliot called back.

The man gave a thumbs-up sign.

Michael took Eliot's arm and walked him down the beach toward the
cottage.  "You've done a fine job up here; I want you to know that."

Rosen blushed.  "Thanks."

"When we start the interiors at the studio next week

I want you to deal a little differently with Bob Hart."  "What do you
mean?"

"All during the exteriors you've been properly deferential to Bob, and
that's good, given your relative positions in this business.  Also,
most of the exteriors have shown the doctor in charge of things,
confident.  But in the interior scenes, the doctor is less certain of
himself, because he doesn't know if the girl can ever want him.  Bob,
given his natural when, will appear confident and in charge in almost
any scene, and you cannot let him do that in the interiot, s. I want
you to crack the whip with him, rattle him; don't let him get away with
a thing; do an extra take or two, even when it's unnecessary."

"I don't know if I can treat Robert Hart that way," Eliot said.  "Do
you think he'll sit still for it?"

"He will, because he knows he should.  Susan won't."

"Oh, shit," Eliot said.  "I have to tell you, I'm scared to death of
her."  .

"And it shows.  I'll keep her off your back as much as I possibly can,
but if she starts getting to you, just tell her, as calmly as you can,
that you're the director, and what you say goes.  If she won't take
that, tell her to see me.  I'll back you all the way."

"All right, if you say so," the young man said.  "Michael, I haven't
told you this, but Susan has been at me about the singing scene.  She
really doesn't want Bob to do it."

:: "I know, and nothing you or I can say to her will her mind.  But we
are going to shoot it."  "I'm worried that her attitude will erode
Bob's in his ability to do it."  "That can work to our advantage,
Eliot.  The doctor the scene shakily anyway, then gains confi-Bob can
bring it off; I'll see to it."  ' "I don't know how you're going to do
that," Eliot "but I wish you luck."  "You crack the whip on everything
else; leave Bob that scene to me."

the crew moved back to L.A."  Michael's offices a hornet's nest of
activity.  Besides himself,

and Rick Rivera, Michael had two production on board, and he was
working every day in room with Eliot Rosen, the film editor, and
assistant, editing the exterior footage.  The business making Pacific
Afternoons exhilarated Michael, and concentration was complete.

But when he finally left the studio late in the he had Vanessa waiting
for him at home.  She had a lot to do in the exteriors, and she had
fine then, but now that the burden of shooting as much on her as on
Robert Hart, she was nervous tense, and bitchy.  Michael had read lines
with for a while, but finally, when her insecurity had driven him
nearly mad, he'd hired one of the sup actresses, an old pro, to work
with her, and he in his office.

Leo always sat in on the dailies with Michael, Eliot, Margot, who took
notes.  He was protecting his investment, and he seemed pleased.  Near
the end of shooting, he asked Michael to stay behind in the screening
room when the others left.

"Michael, I think it's going beautifully Leo said.

"I'm glad you think so, Leo.  He thought he knew what was coming, and
he was not wrong.

"Kiddo, Susan Hart came to see me this morning."  "Right on schedule,"
Michael said, smiling.

"I think she may have a legitimate concern, Michael.  She really
doesn't think Bob can bring off the last scene, and God knows, she
knows him better than anybody.  She was frantic this morning; I've
never seen her like that."

"She's been getting short shrift from Eliot, and I haven't been very
sympathetic, I guess.  I'll try to placate her."

"I don't think you can do that, notf you shoot that scene."

"For Christ's sake, LEO," Michael said irritably, "I made a deal with
her; I told her that if she and Bob weren't entirely happy with the
scene, I'd shoot an alternate.  What more can I do than that?"

"Maybe you ought to just shoot the alternate and forget the singing
scene."

"No, absolutely not."

Leo lit a cigar and blew smoke at the screen.  "I think the problem is,
she doesn't want footage to exist in which Bob makes a fool of himself.
She's worried that it might get around town.  When Bob was drinking, he
wasn't exactly everybody's sweetheart; he has enemies."

"I hope you do.  You're going to have to find a way to get past Susan
on this, or she's not going to let Bob do the scene."

"I'll work on it."

"You better, kiddo."

a rehearsal studio and listened to Robert sing "Dein ist mein ganzes
Herz."  Anton was at the Michael thought it went well.  Hart, in fact,
than Michael could have hoped.  His voice quite pleasing.  Anton liked
it, he could see.  Susan Hart was there, and she

"Michael," she said when they were in the hall "I don't want Bob to do
this scene."

"Susan, we have a deal."

"Not anymore, we don't.  The scene is driving Bob don't see it, but I
hear about it When we get I won't let him do it, and that's final."

"Didn't you think he sang well?"  Michael sighed.

right, Susan.  We wrap the day after tomorrow.  cut the scene; we'll
shoot the alternate."

"Good," she said, pecking him on the cheek.

do I see it?"

"I want Mark to do a polish first.  How about tn

Friday morning, my office?  We have to do a set and we won't be ready
to shoot until after

"You promise?"

"I promise.  The scene will be waiting for you."  She gave him a big
smile, then walked down the toward the ladies' room.

Michael watched her go.  He was thinking hard.

CHAPTER

ichael slept in his office again on Thursday night, and on Friday
morning, the last day of shooting on Pacific Afternoons, he held an
8:00 A.M. meeting with Eliot Rosen and the production manager, Barry
Wimmer.

"Barry, I want you to go now and get the set ready for the drawing room
scene."

"Which drawing room scene--the singing one or the alternate?"  "We're
going to do them bothmthe alternate first."  "Has anybody told Bob
Hart?"

"Leave that to me.  I want Eliot to be able to light the set in an
hour.  We shoot at ten-thirty.  Eliot, the schedule calls for three
cameras for today, right?"

"That's right.  I wanted to get Bob on one, then use the other two for
simultaneous reaction shots from Vanessa and the little audience."

In the singing scene, we'll use all three cameras then shoot the
reaction shots later.  Tell the

"Whatever you say," Barry said, rising.

"Make sure Bob doesn't hear about it until I'm

' to tell him."

Barry left.

looked frantic.  "Have you told Susan about

"She's due here at ten, and she'll be fifteen minutes late.   I'll
break it to her then."

her off my back?"

"She won't be at the shooting."

"How are you going to keep her off the set?"  "Leave it to me, Eliot.
Now go talk with- your people-and make sure the cast and crew are ready
at ten sharp.  Have Anton standing by to play piano; him a costume. 
"Eliot left, shaking his head.

Michael went to his briefcase, found a small bottle Valium, and shook
two into his hand.  Reconsidering,

a third.  He found a coffee cup in the wet bar using the butt of his
fat Montblanc fountain pen,"

the pills into a fine powder.  He added a few of hot water from the tap
and stirred until the had completely dissolved; then he poured liquid
into a bar glass and returned it to its place on shelf.  If this didn't
work, he'd slug her, if he had to.

to ten Margot showed Susan Hart into office.  He put her on the sofa
and gave her pages to read.  "Hot off the fax machine from he said.
These were the pages he had removed first draft of Adair's script.  She
began to read.

He went to the wet bar.  "Something to drink?"

"No thanks," she said, reading rapidly.

"Fruit juice?  Perrier?"  Come on, lady, he thought;

the alternative is a quick chop to the neck.

"Oh, all right, I'll have a V-8."

He took down the prepared glass, opened the juice can, and poured the
contents into the glass, giving it a quick stir with a spoon.  Then he
poured himself a Perrier and went to the couch.  "Here you are," he
said, placing the glass in her hand.

Susan sipped the juice idly and continued to read.  Finally, she put
down the pages and smiled.  "I think it's so much better than the
singing scene, don't you?"

"If you say so, my darling."

She drank more of the juice.  "What time are we shooting?"

"One o'clock sharp.  They're puttifig the new set together now."

"Why don't we go over and take a look at it.?"

"I promised George Hathaway we wouldn't see it until it was done.  If
you have any objections, there'll be time to make changes."

"Good."  Susan yawned.  "Sorry, I didn't sleep very well last night."

You'll sleep well today, Michael thought.  "Relax.  I'd like you to
read something, if you have time."

"Sure.  Something for Bob?"

"Not really.  I'd just like another opinion."  He handed her the
screenplay for Inside Straight.  "You're the first to read it--not even
Leo has seen it."

She took the script.  "I like the title."

"Just read the first act, and tell me what you think."  "Sure."

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, I've got to attend to something."

ahead, I'll read."  She sipped the V-8.

'"More juice?"

"No, this is fine."

Michael left the office and closed the door.

waited ten minutes, then returned.  Susan Hart.  sat on " SOfa, her
head on her chest, snoring lightly.  Michael cushion at the end of the
SOfa, lowered her head onto it, then lifted her feet onto the couch.

:: He went to a cupboard, removed a gift-wrapped and left the building.
He walked quickly down street to the bungalow occupied by Robert I-fart
as room, knocked, and was invited to enter.  Bob Hart was sitting at
his makeup mirror reading

"Come in, MiChael," he said.  "We ready shoot ?"

"In a few minutes, Bob."  He held out the package.

was on your doorstep."

"Who from?"  Hart asked, accepting the package.  "I don't know.  Go
ahead and open it."

"I hear we're shooting the alternate' Hart said.  He away the ribbon
and foil wrapping, then opened box.

"l'hat's right."

"Where's Susan?"

"She's in my office, reading a script.

The actor looked into the box gave a little gasp.  H. Christ," he said,
'qook at this."  He held up a of wine.  "I don't know much about
wines," Michael said.  t something gooo.

"It's a Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1961; a lot of geable people would
say it's the greatest of this century."

"I've certainly never tasted anything like that," Michael said.  "I
suppose you'll save it for a special occasion."

Hart removed two glasses and a corkscrew from the gift box.  "Have some
right now," he said.  "Taste it for me; tell me what you think."

"I'd love to," Michael said.  He watched as Hart lovingly removed the
cork, wiped the lip of the bottle, and poured a glass.  He swirled the
red liquid in the glass and sniffed it deeply.

"Ma'cent nose," he said.  He handed the glass to Michael.

Michael accepted it, held it to the light.  "Beautiful color," he said.
He sniffed the glass.  "You're right; it has a wonderful bouquet."  He
tilted the glass back and sipped the wine.  "My God," he said.  "I've
never tasted anything like it!"  '

"Is it truly wonderful?"  Hart asked, his envy obvious "You know, Bob,"
Michael said, "in this scene the doctor is supposed to have had a
couple of glasses of wine."

"I shouldn't," Hart said regretfully.  "I'm on the wagon."

"Of course," Michael said, watching the actor closely.

"Still, if it would help the scene, I don't suppose half a glass would
hurt."

Michael picked up the bottle and filled the second glass.  "I don't see
how it could possibly hurt," he echoed.

Hart sniffed the glass again, then took a sip, sloshing it around his
mouth.  "Perfectly wonderful," he pronounced.  "A hint of black
currants wouldn't you say?"

"I would."  Michael had no idea what black currants were.

Hart took another sip.  "Fills the mouth; and a very finish.  God, what
memories this brings."  He took deeper draught of the wine. "Ahhhhhh,"
he "You know, Michael, I have been more woribout the singing scene than
I may have let on."  never showed."" drank from his glass, and Michael
refilled it.  I'm afraid I let Susan carry the can on that one.  I it
went well enough in rehearsal, but I was It's been thirty years since I
sang in front of ludience--even an audience of actors." "Well, nothing
to worry about now."  "i know, but I really would have liked to see it
on I mean, I wouldn't like for anyone else to see it, [ would have
found it interesting."  "If you like, one of these days we'll shoot a
test."  "Yes, maybe."  Hart emptied his glass.

walked onto the set with Bob Hart and called over.  "Do one quick take
of the alternate," said.  "No more."  "All right, everybody," Rosen
called to the cast "Let's shoot one; this is not a rehearsal."  They
went through the scene: the doctor interrupt-a recital, with Vanessa at
the piano, and made his

"Cut!"  Eliot called.  "Print it!  That's a wrap, it's all need ."
There was a buzz as the actors rose from their

Michael walked onto the set.  "Just a minute, d" He turned to Hart.
"Bob, I wonder, just a little treat for us all, if you'd sing "Dein ist
mein ganzes Herz' for us."

"Yes, yes," some of the supporting cast cried.  Hart, who was showing a
little pink under his makeup, looked around as if to see if his wife
were present.  "Well, all right; I'd love to.  Just give me a moment."
He walked out of the lighted area.

Michael was waiting for him.  He handed the actor a glass of wine, then
raised his own.  "Your good health."

"Thank you, Michael," Hart said, raising his own glass.  He emptied it,
then turned back to the set.  As he walked on, there was a round of
polite applause from the supporting players.

Michael looked at Eliot Rosen, who nodded.  All three cameras were
trained on Hart.  "Just for fun, let's Shoot it," he said.

hat ever you say," Hart replied with a wave of his hand.

Anton, dressed in period costume, took his place at the piano.

"Quiet, please!"  the assistant director called out.  A hush fell on
the stage.

"Roll cameras," Rosen said quietly.  "Speed," each operator called
back. "Action."

Hart waited a moment, then made his short speech.  He nodded to Anton,
who played a short introduction, then the movie star began to sing.

Michael stood entranced.  The music had the same effect on him as it
had the first time he'd heard it, and as he looked around, it was clear
that the audience of supporting actors was rapt, too.  Hart, as the
doctor, played the scene expansively, singing his heart out, and as the
song drew to a close, tears could be seen running down his cheeks, The
little audience burst into spontaneous applause, something that had not
been in the script.

Eliot Rosen waited a full minute before calling,

Wonderful, Bob!  For all of us, thank you so

Michael took him aside.  "Shoot the reaction shots to playback.  Wrap
it as soon as you can, and get film to the processors.  I want to work
on this He went forward, separated Bob Hart the little throng of actors
who were fawning over and walked him toward his dressing room.

"Bob," he said, "that was a thrilling moment for I only wish your
public could have seen that

"I only wish Susan could have seen it," the actor "But don't tell her I
did it."

"Don't worry, Bob.  Mum's the word."  Michael left at his dressing room
door and began walking where his car was parked.  As he got into the he
glanced back and saw Vanessa knocking at door.  Hart opened the door,
and she went

Michael was unaccustomed to being cuckolded.  He back to his office in
a quiet fury.

CHAPTER

ichael watched as Bob Hart leaned over his wife and kissed her on the
lips.  "Come on, sleeping beauty, wake up."

Susan Hart opened her eyes and looked at her husband.  "Hello.  Is it
time to shoot?"

"We've already done it," the actor said.  "Got it in one take; I think
it'll be good."

She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked at Michael.  "Why didn't you
wake me?"

"You were exhausted; I didn't have the heart."

"You didn't sleep well last night, you know," Hart said to her.

"That's right; I was so tense about this last scene.  When can I see
it?"  she asked Michael.

"Not until Monday," he replied.  "I've told everybody to go home and
relax.  We're on schedule, so there's no need to work this weekend."

She suddenly looked sharply at her husband.

you been drinking?"

"Just a glass of wine," the actor replied.  "A fan a bottle."

"You shouldn't have," she said worriedly.

"It's all right.  Come on, let's go home."

Michael saw them to their car.  When he got back,

: Rivera was waiting for him.  "I hear it went well," former detective
said.

"It did.  What did you want to see me about, Rick?  very busy."

Rivera laid some pages on Michael's desk.  "I've a treatment based on a
case I had a couple of

I'd like your reaction."

get to it as soon as I can," Michael said.  "Now excuse me... '

"Sure."  Rivera left Michael's office

Michael glanced at Rivera's treatment, then pages into a drawer.

The phone rang, "Michael," Margot said, "it's will you speak to him?"

"Yes."  Michael was excited about the call.  After ks of looking at
photographs of furnishings, of fabric and paint samples, the new
house

; completion.  "James?  How are you?""I'm extremely well, Michael.
Let's see, it was six ago tomorrow that you gave me the assign.  wasn't
it?"  "That's right."

"It's finished.  When do you want to see it?"

"I can be there in an hour."  Michael hung up and out of his office to
Margot's desk.  He handed

"Margot, I'd like you to find a couple of men lot, then go over to my
apartment and my clothes and take them to the new house."

"It's ready?"  Margot asked.

"It is."

"Shall I move Vanessa's things, too?"

"No."

Margot looked surprised.  "As you wish."  She found her purse and left
the building, passing Barry Wimmer on the way out.

"Barry, my office," Michael said.  Once inside, he closed the door.
"How much?"  he asked.

Barry dug a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Michael. "A
little over a million three," he said.  "I kept twenty percent as
agreed and shipped the rest as you instructed."

"It should have been a million five," Michael said.

"I could have done it, but it might have been noticed," Barry said.  "I
used my best jclgment."

"All right," Michael said.  "Is Eliot still shooting the reaction
shots?"

"Yes.  He's done the supporting cast; Vanessa's shots are next."

"Go and see Eliot.  Tell him to keep Vanessa working for another couple
of hours."

"She's a quicker study than that."

"Just do it."

"All right.  By the way, we're throwing a little wrap party when Eliot
finishes Vanessa's shots.  Will you come?"

"Thanks, but I can't.  Give my best to everybody,

and send me the bill."

"Right; thanks."

Michael took Rick Rivera's treatment from his desk drawer.  "Read this
over the weekend, will you?"  he said, handing Barry the pages.  "I
want to know what you think."

"Sure, I'll be glad to."

Rick ever shown any interest in the budgets?"  asked me what we were
spending for Pacific him?"

was no secret."

ever asks you about budgets again, I want to cure."

all."

production manager left.

drove toward Malibu Michael felt the same thrill that he had felt when
he was on his to L.A. for the first time.  He had never owned but
clothes and a car; now he was about to i homeowner.

The guard at Malibu Colony admitted him quickly, drove toward his new
house.  He parked the circular drive and opened the front door with
key.  Although he had approved of everything that gone into the house,
Michael had made a point of visiting the place while James Fallowfield
was his work, so it was as if he were entering the for the first
time.

: The designer met him in the hall and walked him the house.  Michael
followed him silently, in the atmosphere of his new home.  there was
handsome, comfortable fumi-plush rugs, good pictures.  Already the
house of him.

When they had finished, Fallowfield faced him am-"You haven't said a
word," the designer said.

"It's absolutely wonderful, James," Michael said.  "You've done exactly
what I asked you to do."

Fallowfield exhaled sharply.  "Thank God.  You scared' me badly there.
I've never had a silent client."

Michael walked the man to the front door and stuck out his hand. "Thank
you so much," he said.

"There's champagne in the fridge," Fallowfield said, then left.

As Michael was about to close the door, a van pulled up, followed by
Margot's BMW.  Michael showed the men where to put his clothes, then
came back downstairs.  He looked through the house until he found
Margot standing in his study, staring.

"It's very beautiful," she said.  "In a strange sort of way,
Fallowfield has made the place like you."

"How so?"

"I don't know--it's very handsome, even sexy, but it tells me very
little about you."

Michael liked that.  "Excuse me, I have to make a call; don't leave."
He picked up a phone, dialed the studio, and asked to be connected to
the sound-stage where Eliot was still shooting.  When the director was
on the phone, Michael asked, "Are you finished?"

"Only just," Eliot replied.

"How did it go?"

"Beautifully.  Vanessa was very good."

"I want the film back tomorrow morning, and I

want a rough cut by Monday at nine."  "We can do that," Eliot said.
"Congratulations; you did a fine job,"

"Thank you, Michael.  You were very supportive."

"I won't be at the wrap party.  Please thank everyone for me; tell them
they did a superb job."

"All right."

let me speak to Vanessa."  l's voice was tired but happy.  "Hello, are
you?"  "i had to leave the studio.  You've done a good job, you'll get
a lot of offers when the film starts

"Aren't you coming to the wrap party?"  "No.  I'm otherwise occupied,
I'm afraid."

"Michael, you sound funny."  "It's time for you to do Hollywood on your
own, dear."  "What?"  "I've moved out of the apartment."  "Michael, I
don't understand."  "You and I don't need each other anymore.  You'll I
just fine on your own."  "Michael..."

'the lease on the apartment has another six weeks that'll give you time
to find a new place.  I'm your salary under our contract.  If you need
call Margot."  :

"Michael... ' "Good-bye, Vanessa."  He hung up.  When he Margot was
staring at him oddly.  "Fhat was.."  very strange," she said.  "Come
into the kitchen," he said.  He led the way, found a bottle of
champagne in the refrigerator.  began opening it.  "There's a lot of
food in the ice he said.  "Will you join me for dinner?"  "Michael what
exactly does this invitation mean?"  He found two glasses and poured
the wine. profound; just a good dinner and an evening uninhibited sex
between two people who know other well.  By Monday morning, we'll have
for all about it."

She smiled.  "In that case, I'd be happy to accept."  He handed her a
glass.  He'd always enjoyed older women, and he'd always wondered what
she'd be like in bed.

CHAPTER

ichael went to the studio on Saturday,

Margot lying by the pool, and saw the dailies the last day of shooting.
He was astonished at how

Bob Hart's performance was in the singing' even without reaction shots.
The editor, Jane and Eliot Rosen watched with him.

"It's extraordinary, Michael," Eliot said.  "You right."

"Jane, I want you to keep the reaction shots of the cast to a minimum,"
Michael said.  "I don't to detract from the performance we've seen."

"What about Vanessa's shots?"  EliOt asked.  "I'hey're important to the
scene, of course, but the

Bob's, not Vanessa's, so don't use any more of is necessary to convey
his conquest of he .

"Conquest?"  Jane Darling said.  "I hadn't thought of it that way."
"It's a conquest pure and simple," Michael said.  "The male point of
view, I suppose."  Michael laughed.  "Exactly that.  Jane, how close
are you to a rough cut?"  "Close.  All that's left to do is organize
this scene?  "Can I screen the whole thing Monday morning?"  "Oh, I
guess I can work tomorrow," she said.  "I'll send you large amounts of
flowers if you do."  "How can I resist?"  she said dryly.

When he got back to the new house, Margot was gone.

Michael arrived at his offices at nine o'clock sharp on Monday morning.
He exchanged greetings with Margot as he usually did, and there was not
a hint of anything other than business in her when.  That was the way
he wanted it.  "Get me Leo," he said.  "Morning, kiddo," Leo yawned.
"Rough night, Leo?"  "A late one.  Poker with the boys."  "You up for a
screening of the rough cut of Pacific Afternoons?"  "Already?  You
better believe I'm ready.  Eleven o'clock in Screening Room A?"  "See
you then."  He buzzed Margot.  "We're screening the rough cut at eleven
in A. I want you to round up enough people to fill the room, and go
heavy on the secretaries."  "Can I come?"  "I ,ouldn't do it without
you. And get the Harts for me."

Hart sounded tired.  "Hello, Michael."  "Good morning, Sue.  Can you
and Bob make a of the rough cut at eleven?"

"Bob's, ah, not very well," she said.  "I'll be there,

How does it look?"

"We'll see it together.  I'm sorry Bob isn't well."

"Vlichael, what exactly happened on Friday?"  "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I fall asleep, which I never do in the day and Bob ends up
drinking wine with you."

invited me to have a glass," Michael said.  "Where did he get it?"

"It was delivered to his bungalow.  Some fan sent said."

"That's what he said."

"Susan, is there something wrong?"

you know about Bob's, uh, problem?"  "I'm sorry?"

"Bob can't handle alcohol.  He'd been on the for months."

"He did say that, but I didn't infer that he had a

"All right, I'll see you at eleven."

"Screening Room A."  He hung up.

Barry Wimmer appeared at the door.  "Got a

"Just about that.  Come in."

Barry handed him some pages.  "I read Rick's treat the weekend."

And?"

"It's interesting stuff; certainly worth your time to

To tell you the truth, I could never figure out what around here.  He's
looking better to me now."  Michael tapped the pages.  "This is what he
does; my resident expert cop."

"Conquest?"  Jane Darling said.  "I hadn't thought of it that way."
"It's a conquest pure and simple," Michael said.  "The male point of
view, I suppose."  Michael laughed.  "Exactly that.  Jane, how close
are you to a rough cut?"  "Close.  All that's left to do is organize
this scene."  "Can I screen the whole thing Monday morning?"  "Oh, I
guess I can work tomorrow," she said.  "I'll send you large amounts of
flowers if you do."  "How can I resist?"  she said dryly.

When he got back to the new house, Margot was gone.

Michael arrived at his offices at nine o'clock sharp on Monday morning.
He exchanged greetings with Margot as he usually did, and there was not
a hint of anything other than business in her when.  That was the way
he wanted it.  "Get me Leo," he said.  "Morning, kiddo," Leo yawned.
"Rough night, Leo?"  "A late one.  Poker with the boys."  "You up for a
screening of the rough cut of Pacific Afternoons?"  "Already?  You
better believe I'm ready.  Eleven o'clock in Screening Room A?"  "See
you then."  He buzzed Margot.  "We're screening the rough cut at eleven
in A. I want you to round up enough people to fill the room, and go
heavy on the secretaries."  "Can I come?"  "I wouldn't do it without
you. And get the Harts for me."

Susan Hart sounded tired.  "Hello, Michael."  "Good morning, Sue.  Can
you and Bob make a of the rough cut at eleven?"

"Bob's, ah, not very well," she said.  "I'll be there,

How does it look?"

"We'll see it together.  I'm sorry Bob isn't well."  "Michael, what
exactly happened on Friday?"  "What do you mean?"

'"i mean, I fall asleep, which I never do in the day and Bob ends up
drinking wine with you."

"Bob invited me to have a glass," Michael said.  "Where did he get
it?"

"It was delivered to his bungalow.  Some fan sent he said."

"That's what he said."

"Susan, is there something wrong?"

you know about Bob's, uh, problem?"  "I'm sorry?"  '

"Bob can't handle alcohol.  He'd been on the

"He did say that, but I didn't infer that he had a

"All right, I'll see you t eleven.".::

"Screening Room A."  He hung up.

Barry Wimmer appeared at the door.  "Got a

"just about that.  Come in."

Barry handed him some pages.  "I read Rick's treat over the weekend."

"And?"

"It's interesting stuff; certainly worth your time to

To tell you the truth, I could never figure out what here.  He's
looking better to me now."  Michael tapped the pages.  "This is what he
does;

r resident expert cop."

"Well, I like it.  A good writer could whip it into something really
taut and exciting."

"I'll read it first chance I get."  As Barry left, Michael reflected
that maybe Rick Rivera wouldn't be a total liability after all.
Certainly this treatment, if it was as good as Barry said, could help
justify having Rick on the payroll.  Leo had been asking questions
about that.

Michael picked up Leo at his office and walked him to the screening
room.  Margot had done her job well; the room was packed.

"What is this, a sneak preview?"  Leo asked as he entered the room.

Everybody laughed.

Michael looked affound for Susan Hart, then saw her in the fourth row,
where Leo liked to sit.  "Leo," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"If Susan tries to talk before it's over, shut her up,

will you?"

"Yeah, okay."

Michael followed Leo into the row and sat down.  The fourth row had
little writing desks attached to the soft seats, and Leo sat down and
picked up a pencil.  Michael pressed a button on the arm of his chair
and said, "All right, roll it."

Five minutes into the film, Michael got up and stood against the wall,
watching the faces of his audience.  He didn't need to see the 'film;
he needed to see their reactions.  The audience was very still.

He stood against the wall for most of the film's running time, and he
knew from the faces that he had made a good film.  What he didn't know
was if he had crazy to force a big-time movie star to do a scene might
make laughingstocks of them all.  As the scene began, Susan Hart looked
over at him an expression of pure hatred.  She whispered to Leo and
started to get up.  Leo put his hand on her arm and pressed her back
seat, holding a finger to his lips.  On the screen, Hart began to sing.
Michael looked up the rows of viewers, mostly and watched their faces
as Bob sang.  There a look of pure wonder on each of them, but great
surprise was Leo Goldman as Hart finished his song.  Leo's face was
shiny with tears.  The editor had cleverly put a piano track of the
under the final seen.  e, when Bob and Vanessa down the beach toward
the cottage, and as the en went dark, the little audience stood and

It took Michael a few minutes to get to Leo, as they both crowded by
women who wanted to congratthem.  He caught a glimpse of Susan Hart's
face the crowd, and it was stony with anger.  Finally, only Michael,
Leo, Susah, Eliot, ad Jane, were left in the screening room. 
"Michael," Susan Hart said, "I want to see the

'q?here is no alternate scene," Michael said.  "You shot it, I know you
did."  "I burned the negative this morning."  She turned to Leo.  "Are
you going to let him get away with this?":'

"Susan," Leo said, "am I crazy or something?  Didn't you just see the
movie I saw?"  "Of course I saw it."  "Didn't you like it?"

"I didn't like the singing scene."

"Didn't you hear the reaction of those women?"  "Michael packed the
screening."

"So what?  Those secretaries are people; they go to the movies."

"I've been tricked," Susan said.  "I don't know quite how it was done,
but I won't be made a fool of."

Leo put his arm around her shoulders.  "Susan," he said firmlY, "thank
Michael."

CHAPTER

From an article in Vanity Fair:

As Academy Award time approaches again ad

the usual prognostications paper the trades and the daily newspapers,
more than a little attention is being paid to a "little" film and its
rather mysterious producer, relative newcomer Michael

Vincent.  The film is Pacific Afternoons, adapted by

Mark Adair from an obscure 1920s novel of the same name by a spinster
named Mildred

Parsons.  ,

The movie has received four nominations, for

Best Picture, Best Actor, Best Actress, and Best

Screenplay Adapted from Another Medium.  Not since Driving Miss Daisy
has a low-budget film attracted such rave notices or, for that matter,
such box office.  Variety reported last week that the picture has had a
domestic gross of more than $70,000,000, and if it does well at the
Awards, insiders say it could end up doing more than $150,000,000
worldwide.  This is especially good news for its producer, because if
sources at Centurion Pictures are correct, his contract gives him ten
gross points if he keeps his budgets under $20,000,000.  Pacific
Afternoons is reported to have cost less than $10,000,000 to shoot,
plus as much again for prints and advertising.  Michael Vincent arrived
in Hollywood a couple of years ago with only one movie under his belt,
the much-lauded Downtown Nights, which was nominated for Best Picture
but didn't win, and for Best Actress.  The late Carol Geraldi, who died
of a drug overdose shortly after completing work on the film, won a
posthumous Oscar with a performance that everyone said would have
revived her moribund career if she had lived.  Downtown Nights was
written and directed by a New York University Film School student named
Chuck Parish, but it was the film's producer who has, unaccountably,
received all the praise.  Vincent sold the just-completed film to
Centurion's Leo Goldman and simultaneously made a production deal for
himself with the studio.  Vincent is currently shooting Inside
Straight, another screenplay by Chuck Parish, and his next project is
said to be a cop drama brought to him by an ex-homicide detective who
is now an associate producer with Vincent.  This time, Vincent is
directing.  Leo Goldman, who could be said to have discovered Vincent,
is bullish on the thirty-one year-old producer.  "He's another David
Selznick,"

Goldman said in a telephone interview.  "I'v never worked with a young
producer who had so great a grasp of what goes into making a movie-and
he keeps costs down.  I don't think anybody else could have shot
Pacific Afternoons on the budget Michael did."

True enough, Vincent is adept at shooting on a shoestring.  His secret
seems to be to get good people to work for very little.  For instance,
Robert Hart, whose usual fee these days is in the $3,000,000 range, is
said to have done Pacific Afternoons for under half a million, because
Mark Adair was writing the screenplay, and because the part gave him an
opportunity to do something strikingly different, Adair, too, is said
to have worked for a fraction of his usual fee.  Neither man would
comment on what he was paid.

Another way Michael Vincent is able to keep costs down is by using
unknown talent.  He picked Eliot Rosen, the director of Afternoons,
right out of UCLA Film School, on the strength of an eight-minute scene
Rosen shot for ii class.  And Vanessa Parks, the beautiful young
actress who has been nominated for her work in the film, was a
little-known model when Vincent met her.  He placed her under personal
contract to him on a salary of $5,000 a week, and after Afternoons he
doubled her salary.  He also moved her into aCentury City penthouse
with him.

So it would seem that everybody is delighted with Michael
Vincent---Centurion and all the people who have worked with him. Except
that isn't the case.  It seems that almost everybody who works with
Vincent does well out of it in one way, but loses out in another.
Witness the

:

salaries Vincent paid Hart and Adair, compared to the money Vincent
himself has made on the film.  Vincent also seems to leave human
wreckage in his wake.  Carol Geraldi, who was, during the time she
worked on Downtown Nights, a serious heroin-and cocaine junkie, is now
dead; Robert Hart, who had been on the wagon for some months after
years of a drinking problem, was back at the Betty Ford Clinic for a
tune-up three days after completing his outstanding work on Pacific
Afternoons.

Vanessa Parks is another such case.  While $5,000 a week sounds like a
lot of money, it is only about a quarter of a million dollars a year,
and even though Vincent has doubled her salary, her performance in
Afternoons and her nomination have pumped her asking' price up to two
million or more.  She has the fastest-developing career of any actress
since Julia Roberts, but Vincent stands to gain the most from her
success, since he owns her contract and negotiates all her deals.

Is this all just good business on the part of Vincent?  Well, consider
this: When Vanessa Parks signed her contract with Vincent, he took all
her living expenses--clothes, a new Mercedes, everything--out of the
weekly salary he was paying her.  Then, during the shooting of
Pacific

Afternoons, he bought a fabulous new house in the.  Malibu Colony
without mentioning it to Parks, and minutes after she finished shooting
her part in the film, he called her and told her that he had moved out
of the Century City apartment, and that she had only a few weeks to
find a new place to live.  After that, he declined to take her phone
calls unless the subject was strictly business.  Parks is now back with
Chuck Parish, who was her boyfriend when she met Vincent.

But earlier in this piece it was said that Michael Vincent was
mysterious.  Consider this: Vincent is happy to give interviews to the
press, on the con-clit ion that no photographs are taken of him, his
office, or his house, and that there be no discussion of his personal
life.  The only photograph extant of the producer is the illustration
for this article, and that was taken from the TV screen when he
accepted Carol Geraldi's posthumous Oscar.  His acceptance speech--"I
didn't know Carol Geraldi before shooting Downtown Nights and I never
saw her again afterwards, but she touched all our lives with her
talent"--is the Gettysburg Address of acceptance Speeches, and he
dodged the usual photographs and interviews after the ceremonies,
heading straight for Swifty Lazar's after-Oscar party at Spago, where
he felt he had to be seen.

When one looks into Michael Vincent's back-grgund independently, one
finds nothing; a blank.  It is known that he is a native New Yorker,
but no one knows where he attended school and college, except for his
part-time stint as a student at the NYU Film School, or where he worked
before joining Centurion.  His parents, whose names appear on his birth
certificate, a public record, are apparently dead, since they cannot be
located.

So the mysterious Mr.  Vincent lives silently in his Malibu Colony
mansion (practically a gift from Centurion), and the only person in
whom he seems to confide even a little is his executive assistant,
Margot Gladstone, a beautiful, fiftyish former actress who also once
worked for Leo

Goldman.  Gladstone guards the gates, and she is effective.

Leo Goldman and Centurion, as might be expected, are deliriously happy
with Michael Vincent, as the total grosses on his two completed films
are well over a hundred million dollars, on an investment of less than
thirty-five million.  Recently Goldman invited Vincent to join
Centurion's board of directors.  "Except for me," Goldman says, "our
board was financial people and captains of industry.  I felt it was
time we had another filmmaker on the board."

So the mysterious Vincent sails on toward major Hollywood success,
perhaps even immortality, and who cares about the jetsam left in his
wake?  Granted, it's an industry of sharks, but Michael Vincent is,
even in Holywood, something special.

CHAPTER

ichael put down the magazine and stared it the sea.  He kept telling
himself that this was part the business, but he could not put down the
fear.  him.  They had been checking out his back and that was very
frightening indeed.  They found much, because he had anticipated such
but if anybody smart ever had a reason to out about him, the truth
would eventually be

He turned his mind toward the past and observed the mob collector, on
his rounds--breaking fill-noses, forcing money out of people, getting
from turnips.  That had been his job.  Vinnie was person from another
time; he in no way Michael, who was everything Vinnie had wanted to
be.

The phone rang, startling him.  He was doing a lot of his work at home
now, and Margot could ring him directly and put any caller through.
Only a handful of people had his home number.  "Hello?"  "Hiya, kid,"
Leo said.  "I know you don't deign to come into the office these days,
but I trust you will show up for the board meeting at two."  "I'll be
there, Leo."  "I'm looking forward to introducing you to the guys, and
they're looking forward to meeting the producer who is putting so much
money in their pockets."  Michael had never been to a board meeting; he
had no idea what happened in one.  "What am I supposed to do, Leo?" 
"Just agree with me, kid; vote my way."  "Is there something to vote on
today?"  "You'll hear about it at two.  See ya."  Leo hung up.  Almost
immediately the phone rang again, and this time it was the special ring
that identified a call from the front gate..  "Mr.  Vincent, there's a
lady here to see you," the guard said.  "A lady?"  Michael was
irritated.  He had been dating half a dozen starlet types, but he
didn't like them showing up at the house unannounced.  "What is her
name?"  "She said to tell you Amanda."  Suddenly Michael wasn't
irritated anymore.  "It's all right; send her in."  He walked quickly
through the house to see that everything was neat.  It was; it was
always meticulously organized.  The front bell rang, and he went to the
door. Amanda Goldman stood there in a wisp of a silk dress, her blonde
hair falling around her shoulders, looking very beautiful.

kissing her softly.  "You've been a long time

"I thought the anticipation would do you good,"

said.  "Show me your house."

Michael led her around the ground floor, down to screening room, out to
the pool and tennis court.  "Now show me upstairs," she said.  Michael
showed her upstairs.

Amanda nodded with approval as she walked then, when he showed her the
upstairs deck the hot tub, her eyes brightened.  "Now this is

I'm in the mood for," she said.--S, he reached her neck, undid
something, and the little silk fell around her feet.  She was wearing
nothing

Michael was immediately thankful for the California female's obsession
with beauty fitness.  Amanda Goldman, in her early forties, have looked
much the same fifteen years before,

: "Join me?"  she asked, stepping into the hot tub.

Michael joined her.

board of directors of Centurion Pictures con-at a little after 2:00,
after some desultory chat the participants.  Michael had shaken hands
all of them before entering the boardroom, but nevertheless, made a
formal introduction.

"It is my great pleasure to welcome today our director, Michael
Vincent.  I expect Michael to to this board the intelligence and
creative thinking of a first-rate filmmaker, and, in addition, a lot of
good old horse sense."

There was a round of polite applause.

Leo remained standing.  "Gentlemen, this is a special rather than a
regular meeting of this board; I have called this meeting to consider a
takeover offer."

Michael was startled, but he immediately began thinking what this might
mean to him; he didn't think he liked it.  It was plain from the
expressions on the faces of the other directors that they were
surprised, too.

"I would be very surprised," Leo said, "if none of you had heard this
was in the wind.  These things have a way of getting around."

A gray-haired man at the opposite end of the long table spoke up.
"Well, I sure as hell haven't heard anything about it, Leo, and I think
I'm as well-connected as anybody else here."

"Harry," Leo said, "if you haven't heard about it, nobody's heard about
it."

There was a murmur of amusement around the table.

"The offer comes from the Yamamoto Corporation of Tokyo," Leo said.  He
mentioned a very large figure.

Michael suddenly wished he owned some Centurion stock.

"Yamamoto?"  a director asked.  "I tend to get these Japanese companies
mixed up."

"The Yamamoto Corporation has wide interests--electronics, of course,
real estate in this country and Europe, a car-manufacturing operation
in Thailand, pharmaceuticals and the record business in Europe.  They
seem to think that a major American film studio would be compatible
with their other holdings."

"If they're offering that, they'll offer more," Harry from the other
end of the table.  "I move we tell to stick their offer up their
sideways Oriental

"There is a motion on the table to decline the

Leo said.  "Do I hear a second?"

"Second," a voice said from down the table.  "All in favor," Leo said.
There was a chorus of ayes.  "All opposed?"  ;ilence.

'"Harry's motion is carried unanimously," Leo said.

"Leo," Harry said, "just because I don't like their doesn't mean that I
couldn't be persuaded to like right number."

"Harry," Leo said, "I want you and every member board to know that I
will never accept an offer a Japanese company.  I don't mean to sound
but the little bastards already have Universal Columbia, and anyway,
Centurion is just not for

"Everything's for sale, Leo," Harry said, "even

"Not as long as I control fifty-four percent of the shares," Leo said.
/

Harry said nothing.

"Now, gentlemen, there being no other business this board, we are
adjourned.  Scatter to the winds this afternoon, but remember, dinner
is me tonight.  My house at seven."

The directors stood and shuffled from the room,

among themselves.

Ten minutes later, Michael was alone with Leo in

"Tell me something, Leo," he said.  "Those have come from all over the
country for this haven't they?"

"They have."

"I know you must have a good reason for this, but I think if I were one
of them and I were summoned out here for a five-minute board meeting, I
would be somewhat pissed off."

"I do have a reason," Leo admitted.  "This is not the last we're going
to hear from this Yamamoto bid.  This particular group of Japs is one
tough bunch of sonsofbitches.  I wanted my board to know that I am not
going to brook any leaning toward accepting such an offer.  Not as long
as I control fifty-four percent of the stock."

"Why not, Leo?"

"Because this studio is me.  It is my life.  It is what I do and who I
am.  I'll sell when I'm on my deathbed if the offer is stupendous."

"I see."

"Good, because I'll want you on my side, finding good business reasons
to hang on to this studio."

Michael walked to the door.  "I'll keep that in mind."

"See you at my house tonight," Leo said, giving him a little wave with
his cigar.

CHAPTER

ick Rivera sat by the pool behind the house West Hollywood and regarded
the young woman ho slept, naked, on the chaise next to him.  She was ,
brown everywhere, and oily to the touch.  It.:was I' y five o'clock on
a Saturday, he reflected, and he --d already banged her twice.

] Rick lay back and reflected on the changes in his life since he had
come to know Michael Vincent.  He was only renting the house, sure, but
he had an option buy if he could come up with a substantial down
,yment.  Cindy and the kid were taken care of now;

lao more squawks from her at alimony time, although The had been
dropping big hints about a new car.

' His sex life was athletic, thanks to his position in i'the movie
business.  The starlet as a life form would Outlive the ockroach, he
thought.  As long as there were movies, there would be pretty women who
wanted parts.  If a hydrogen bomb fell on L.A. and wiped out all the
studios, the next day those girls would be drifting in from Nebraska
and Alabama, picking among the ruins, looking for a producer to fuck
for a walk-on.

He heaved a sigh of great contentment.  The cordless phone rang.
"Hello?"  "Mr.  Rivera?"  "Yes."

"This is Miss Callahan at the Bank of America."

A little knot of tension formed inside his stomach.

"You're a month late on your Visa payment," she said.  "When may we
expect payment?"

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," he said.  "My secretary must have
overlooked it.  11 see that she gets you a check next week."

"By that time you'll be into the next billing cycle, Mr.  Rivera.  If
you're going to go on using the card, I'll have to have a payment by
the close of business on Tuesday."

"Sure, sure, no problem.  Sorry about being late."  "Given the way the
mails are these days, perhaps it would be best if your secretary took
your payment to a branch."

"I'll see that she does," Rivera said.  He hung up the phone.  Payday
wasn't until next Friday; he'd have to take the payment to a branch at
the last minute and hope the check didn't clear before he got his
paycheck into his account.

The afternoon was ruined for him.  A whole Saturday of sex and
contentment ruined by a bill collector.  It was amazing, he thought:
when he'd been on the force, he'd been living from paycheck to
paycheck,

barely getting by.  Now he was pulling down a and a half a year, and he
was still living from to paycheck.  At a different level, of course;
driving a BMW instead of a Toyota, and his address was a better one,
but still, he was liv right at the line.  What he needed was to pump up
income, say, another fifty thousand a year.  That do it; that would put
some money in the bank r month after the bills were paid.

hael was spending one of his rare days at the working through a pile of
phone messages and that had built up over the past weeks.  He had cut
negative on Inside Straight, and it was good.  It down a nomination for
best picture, but make money and, with his points, and with money Barry
Wimmer was shimming off the top them both, he'd be richer next year.
The phone

"Yes?"

"Rick would like to see you," Margot said.  "He it's important."

" He sighed.  "All right, send him in."  Rivera was a the ass.

Rick came bustling in and laid a fresh script on desk.  "Just back from
the typists," he said.  "A

script, I reckon.  When do we go?"

i;.  "We've wrapped on Inside Straight," Michael replied.  "I'll put it
into preproduction next week, if the script's right."

"Who's going to direct?"

"I am."

"Good, good.  From what I've seen on the dailies of

Inside Straight, you're going to be a top director."

Why did he have to sit here and take this syrup from this annoying
ex-cop, Michael wondered.  He'd like to give him the chop right now.
Granted, he had finally gotten a shoo table script out of Rivera's
treatment, but that was the only productive work Rivera had done since
he had crow barred his way into Michael's offices.  "Thanks, Rick.  Was
there anything else?"

Rivera got up and closed the door, then sat down again.  "I got this
call over the weekend," he said.  "Yes?"  Michael asked irritably.

"From an FBI agent in the L.A. office," he lied.

Now Michael worried, but he tried not to show it.  "And?"

"This agent says he did a records search on a guy named Callabrese, and
he found out that I had done the same a while back."

"Why would he do that?"  Mchael asked, alarmed now.

"He wouldn't say, exactly; he just wanted to know if I had found out
anything else about this guy--some-thing that might not be in the FBI
records."

"Come on, Rick, don't string this out; what do you think the guy has
got?"  There couldn't be anything, Michael told himself.  He had never
committed a federal crime; he had never done anything that would bring
him to the attention of the FBI, not in L.A.

"Well, I happen to know that this particular agent runs the wiretap
operation in the L.A. office," Rivera saidT.  "I think he might have
picked up the Callabrese name that way."

"What else?"  Michael asked.

"That was it," Rivera replied.  "He said to call him if I ever heard
anything."

"Fine; don't worry about it.  I've got some calls to make, Rick."

"Ah, Michael, I was wondering--you're going into on my movie pretty
soon.  Doesn't that rate raise?"  "Listen to me, Rick.  You've been on
board here for time; I've paid you a lot of money, and you've up with
exactly one treatment.  All you do is casting sessions for nonexistent
films and screw will go for your line.  You might just give thought to
what you'd be doing now if you working for me, if I weren't around to
prop up."  "Listen, Michael, I didn't mean..."  "Sure you did, Rick;
you thought you could hold for even more money, didn't you?  Well, if
you to keep making what you're making, you'd bet-start coming up with
some film able ideas, do you me?"  "Sure, Michael, I'll get right on
it."  "See that you do, and I don't want to see any more in your
office.  Run your casting scams some-else, you got it?"  Rick was
backing out of Michael's office.  "Sure, whatever you say..  And
listen, there was this years back..."  "Write a treatment and have it
on my desk by the I of the week," Michael said.  "Sure thing, Michael."
"And if you hear from this FBI agent again, I want conversation." 
"I'll report to you right away, if I hear from him."  "Put a recorder
on your phone.  I want to hear the

"Sure, Michael, right away."  Rivera backed out closed the door.
Michael sat and thought.  After a moment, he knew that there was only
one place he'd ever used the name Callabrese in L.A.

He left the office, got into his car, and drove until he found' a
working pay phone.  He looked up a number in his pocket address book
and dialed.  The phone was answered by a beeping noise.

"Message for Mr.  T.," he said.  '"Call V. tonight from a good
phone."

He hung up, got into his car, and drove back to the studio.

CHAPTER

ichael stood at the front door and watched stretch limousine follow the
road from the security to his driveway.  The car stopped, and the
hauf-leapt out and held the door for Tommy Pro, fol by a blonde.

Michael met them on the walk and hugged

"Jesus, man, you've slimmed down!"  He held back and looked him up and
down.  "A new you look great!"

Tommy grinned.  "Two grand a pop, pais an  He introduced the blonde.
'"This is Sheila."

"Hi, Sheila," Michael said.

"Hello," the girl said.  She was nervous and looked little sick.

Michael turned to the chauffeur.  "Take the bags in to your left and
out to the guesthouse by the pool."

"Hey, hey," Tommy said, looking around the house.  "This is a number
one pad; this is better than the Bel-Air Hotel!"

"I thought you'd enjoy staying with me," Michael said, starting the
tour of the house.

"Tommy," Sheila whispered, tugging at his sleeve.

"Oh, yeah," Tommy said.  "Vinnie, did a messenger bring a package for
me?"

"Right here," Michael replied, reaching for a fat brown envelope on a
hall table.

Tommy took the package and held it out toward the girl, then snatched
it back.  "Don't overdo it," he said.  "We're going to the Academy
Awards, and you're not going to be stoned out of your tiny mind."  "I
won't, Tommy," she said meekly.

He handed her the package, and she trotted toward the guesthouse after
the chauffeur.  Tommy shook his head and laughed.  "Junkies gotta have
their junlc"

"Is she going to be okay, Tommy?"  Michael asked.  "Sure, sure.  She
just had a long trip; she'll be fine when she's fixed."  He looked at
Michael's worried face and laughed.  "Don't worry, baby, I'm not gonna
stick you with another bummed-out broad."

Michael gave him the tour of the house, and after suitable praise from
Tommy, he took him out onto the terrace overlooking the ocean.  A man
in a white jacket materialized.

"May I get you something, gentlemen?"  he asked.  "Just a vermouth on
the rocks," Tommy said.  He turned to Michael.  "I gotta stay off the
hard stuff; my weight, you know."

"I'll have a Pellegrino," Michael said.

"You, too, huh?"  Tommy laughed.

"It's not a booze town," Michael explained.  "After while you get used
to paying five bucks for water."

They settled into wicker chairs and looked out the Pacific Ocean.

"This is really something," Tommy said, shaking head.  "A whole ocean
at your doorstep.  A blue too.  You know what you gotta do to get by
the on Long Island these days?  Millions, and then you get is the gray
Atlantic."

"You're looking really well, Tommy," Michael

"I've never seen you so skinny."

"Well, you gotta make an impression these days,

know?"  He leaned forward.  "I got a personal comes to the house three
times a week.  Maria believe it."

"How is Maria?"  Michael asked.  "A!3d the kids?"

Tommy waved a hand.  "Ah, she's Maria, always you know?  The kids are
great.  Little Tommy himself busted," Tommy said, laughing..  "What?"

"Went joyriding in somebody's Mercedes.

a twelve-year-old kid stealing a Mercedes!"

"That's good," Michael said, remembering that his car-stealing record
was why this meeting wadtak place.

"Listen, I'm really looking forward to this r Awards thing.  How'd you
swing it?"

"I'm a member of the Academy now," Michael

"Your seats won't be down front, though.  That's

he nominees.  You'll be in the rear third of orchestra."

"Listen, that's just great.  I don't want to be any near you, anyway. I
don't want you and me just yet, you know?"

"Tell me how it's going in New York," Michael

"It couldn't be going better," Tommy replied.  He took his drink from
the silver tray and waited until the butler had left.  "English?"

"Irish; they're the best."

'q'm impressed, boy."

"So tell me about New York."

"Well, you must have read in the papers, even out here" that we had
kind of a shakeout in the family."

"Yeah, I saw that Benny Nickels and Mario B. got it."

"Coming out of a restaurant on Park Avenue, no less."

""And you profited from this event?"

"Did I ever!  I pulled all of Benny's people and about half of Mario's
into my operation.  The Don is very, very happy with me these days."

"And how is the Don?"

"Ailing.  His liver, you know?  -Ie always drank too much."

"What happens when he gOes?"  Tommy smiled tightly.  "I happen."  "That
sounds great."

Tommy looked around.  "You do what I tell you about this place?"

"Yes, it was swept this morning.  Nothing, believe me.  Nobody has a
handle on me out here."

"Except the FBI," Tommy said.

"Not even them.  My source says that the agent that runs the wiretap
unit in L.A. picked up on Callabrese.  Like I told you on the phone,
there's only one place in this town where that name was ever used."

Tommy nodded.  "The bank.  I had somebody talk to Winfield.  He's
taking precautions."

"Tommy, I don't know whether to leave my money with that guy.  What do
you think?"

"How much you got with him?"  "About three million, four."  "Hey,
that's good.  You left the interest in, huh?"  "Nearly all of it.  Once
in a while I need a little you know?"  "Don't I know?"  Tommy laughed.
"Anyway, you're secure here.  Malibu Colony is a private place." 
"Good, good."  Tommy leaned forward again.  I'm so proud of you, kid;
you're doing just I read about you all the time."  "You saw the Vanity
Fair piece."  "Yeah; that was a little rough."  "Things are quieting
down.  I gave a quarter of a to an industry AIDS charity---alaonymous,
you in the trades the next day."  Tommy's jaw dropped.  "You gave away
a quarter a million?"  "A cheap investment.  Now I'm known in the
busias a philanthropist.  Only trouble s, every charity town has come
out of the woodwork.  I give ten twenty grand there."  "You can afford
it, baby, with three and a half mil he street."  "Tommy, that's the
smallest part of it.  I've made fifteen million on my points on three
movies, there's more to come."  "How much of it you got left?"  "Well,
after taxes, expenses, you know; maybe million in the market, besides
what's on the

"Taxes," Tommy said, shaking his head.  "Imagine paying taxes."  "You,
too?"  "Listen, I've got a very nice line in legitimate stuff now.  I
run a dozen little businesses out of a holding company.  We got offices
in an office building--everything.  And we pay taxes!  It's driving the
feds nuts."

"That's got to be the future," Michael said.  "Legitimate."

"I'm always looking for an investment," Tommy said.  "In fact, some
friends of mine have brought up the subject of Centurion Studios."

Michael nearly dropped his drink "Centurion?"  "Yes sir.  I've made
some contacts in Japan.  They've got their own little Cosa Nostra over
there, only they call it the yakuza."

'qaat's very interesting," Michael said.

"In fact, they've got the jump on us in going legit.  For years they've
been working their way into big, big corporations over there.  Just
between you and me,

they've got Yamamoto sewed up tight."

"Yeah?"

"And they think there's a lot of money to be made in the movie
business."

"l'hey're right about that," Michael said.  'q, Jniversal and Columbia
are already in the Japanese bag."  ,

"My friends think they can make even more money than those studios by
using, shall we say, tried and true methods?"

'q'hat's very interesting," Michael said.

"And you're on the Centurion board."

"Went to my first board meeting the other day."  "And?"

"Leo Goldman let the board know that he would never sell, especially to
the Japanese.  He owns fifty four percent of the voting stock, you
know."

Tommy smiled slightly.  "Not owns; controls.  Big difference."  He got
up.  "Well, I'd better freshen up.

'll talk some more about this later."  Tommy ick into the house,
leaving Michael alone.  Michael sat and watched the waves break on the
trying to figure out what this could mean for

CHAPTER

Michael was picked up by a studio limousine in the afternoon and driven
to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion for the Academy Awards presentations.
Leo had tried to get him to escort an actress starring in one of
Centurion's films, but Michael insisted on going alone.

His car had a pass taped to the front window that allowed it to drop
its occupants at the front door, where the television cameras were.
Michael made his entrance right behind Meryl Streep and her husband,
and the television interviewer in front of the stands didn't recognize
him.  He liked that.  Since the Vanity Fair piece, he had thought it
good to cultivate the "mystery man" image, while doing anonymous good
works that were always, made public.

Once inside the Pavilion he met Leo and Amanda and worked the crowd,
with Leo introducing Michael half the stars in town.  Shortly an
announcement was

"Ladies and gentlemen," an amplified voice said.  you please take your
seats; we go on the air in minutes."  Michael sat with Leo and Amanda
ten rows back from the orchestra.  As the music came up for the of the
telecast, he put on his heavy black glasses  Even with Rick Rivera
neutralized, he terrified of being recognized by a witness to murder.
Michael looked to his right and saw Vanessa Parks Chuck Parish sitting
directly across the aisle.  He but both of them ignored him.  After ten
minutes of monologue by the master of ceremonies and another ten of
dancing and singing, awards began.  There were only four that Michael
the slightest interest in: the nominations that had earned--Best
Actress, Best Actor, Picture, and Best Screenplay (Adapted).  In fact,
he deeply only about Best Picture, because the would come to him.  Leo
leaned across Amanda and whispered, know if you noticed this last year,
but it alvys to take longer here than it does watching it on

Michael could but agree.  He was intensely bored the pageant unfolding
in the huge auditorium.  mind ran from his banking relationship with
the Trust to the coming screenings of his new film to TOmmy Pro's
surprise announcement of his with the Japanese who were bidding for He
wondered what Tommy meant by his statement that Leo controlled, but did
not own, a majority of the studio's shares.

He was startled from his reverie by the reading of Vanessa's name, and
he watched as a scene from Pacific Afternoons was projected onto a huge
screen.  There was the usual business with the envelope, and another
actress's name was read out.  He glanced across the aisle at Vanessa
and saw her pale and rigid, clapping noiselessly for the winner.  As
soon as the winning actress had made her speech, Vanessa and Chuck got
up and left the auditorium.  Graceless, Michael thought; that would be
written about, and he hoped it would not reflect badly on the film.

More dancing and singing, more hilarity from the emcee, then the award
for Best Actor was announced.  Michael looked around and found the back
of Bob Hart's head three rows in front of him.  He knew well how
controlled the expression on the actor's face would be'as the nominees'
names were read and the clips of their performances shown.  Bob's was
shown last, and there was a burst of applause at the end of it.  That
must mean something, Michael thought.  The people clapping were the
ones who had voted.

A willowy actress, winner of last year's Oscar, read: "And the winner
is Robert Hart for Pacific Afternoons."  The name of the film was
drowned out in the roar of approval from the audience.  Hart made his
way down the aisle and up to the podium.

"I will be as brief as my conscience will let me," the actor said to
the audience.  "First of all, I must thank my wife, Susan, without whom
I never make a move, as you all know."  There was applause for Susan,
then Hart ran down a long list of names.  "Finally," he said, "I must
thank the man without whose foresight and wise guidance Pacific
Afternoons could not have been made."  He drew a breath.

Michael suddenly felt all warm inside.  He was smiling in spite of
himself.

"Leo Goldman," Hart said, then, holding the Oscar he left the stage in
triumph.

Michael was stunned.  Amanda's hand gripped his and Leo leaned across
her.  "That was a shitty to do," Leo said.

Michael took a deep breath and tried to keep a expression on his face.
His impulse was to the theater, but he calmed himself and waited.

Finally, finally, the award for Best Picture was up, Michael watched
through glazed eyes as the clips the films were shown.  He had just
endured a per-insult witnessed by a billion people all over the world,
and his mind was on how he could possibly get out of the auditorium
without meeting the eyes of any "Pacific Afternoons, producer, Michael
Vincent,"

said.  Michael continued to stare at the back of seat in front of him.
Suddenly Leo was banging on the back and shouting, "Get up there,
kiddo, i won!"

Michael stood, dazed, and a shoe from An.  and a walked down the aisle.
He climbed the steps to the slowly, as if exhausted, and accepted a
peck on cheek from an actress he had admired all his life.

The applause died down as he stepped to the podium and cleared his
throat.  "I have already repeatedly and profusely everyone associated
the marvelous experience that was Pacific including the perfectly
wonderful old man so it only remains to thank all of you for this
award, and the Academy for presenting Good night."  Someone took his
elbow and guided ihim offstage.

Weak and perspiring from the double shock of Bob Hart's insult and
winning the Oscar, Michael suddenly found himself in a backstage room
with what seemed like a thousand photographers.  Bob Hart was just
concluding his remarks before a bank of microphones, and, collecting
his wits, Michael strode across the room and flung his arms around the
astonished movie star.  "Take that, you son of a bitch," he whispered
into Hart's ear; then he stepped back and pumped the actor's hand while
a thousand flashguns recorded the event.  The bemused Hart was led away
from the microphones by someone, and Michael found himself facing more
press than he could ever have imagined existed.  Michael ignored their
shouted questions and raised his hands, one of them clutching the
remarkably heavy statuette, for qiet.  "Ladies and gentlemen," he said.
"I am too stunned to answer questions, so I will just say that this
award was made possible by superb performances by Vanessa Parks and
Robert Hart and a wonderful job by a new director, Eliot Rosen. Without
their work, I would not be clutching this Oscar, never to let it go." 
He left the microphones and pushed his way through the mob, saying
"thank you" repeatedly.  There was no point in returning to his seat,
since the Best Picture award ended the ceremonies, and he could hear
the final music rising.  Instead, he looked for the stage door that led
to where the limousines were parked.  He spotted an exit sign and
headed for it, but someone took his arm and pulled him into what must
have been the stage manager's office.  Michael was pre.  pared to fend
off another reporter, but instead a man held up a wallet with an
identification card.  "Mr.  Vincent, I am Special Agent Thomas Carson
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."  He nodded at the other man.
"This is Special Agent Warren.  We'd like to talk to you."

"What the hell is this?"  Michael asked angrily.  "Perhaps I should say
Vincente Callabrese?"

Michael was terrified, but he maintained his composure.  "What are you
talking about?"

"That is your real name, isn't it?"  the agent asked.

"My name is Mi'chael Vincent," he replied, "and I resent this
intrusion.

"Are you refusing to talk to us?"  the agent said, and there was
something threatening in his voice.

"I most certainly am," Michael replied, un cowed "If you wish to speak
to me you may call my office during business hours.  Is that perfectly
clear?"

"Perhaps you d rathe come down to our offices to i talk?"

"Am I under arrest for something?"  Michael demanded.

"Not exactly."

"Then get the hell out of my way," Michael said,

past the two men and out into the hallway.

the exit sign again and headed for it.  Outside there was a sea of
limousines; Michael looked frantically for his, but they seemed to be

"Mr.  Vincent?"  a voice called out, and Michael his chauffeur.

"Yes, yes," Michael said, heading for his car.  "Congratulations, sir,"
the chauffeur beamed.

"Let's get out of here," Michael said, diving into the back seat of the
car.  "Take me home."

The chauffeur turned' and looked over the seat.

you want to go to the Lazar party at Spago?"  Michael hesitated.  If he
didn't show for the party,

the papers would be full of it the next morning.  He had to brazen it
out.  "All right, take me to Spago, but drive around a little; I don't
want to be the first one there."

He sank back into the seat and tried to get ahold of himself.

CHAPTER

ichael was home before midnight.  He said night to the chauffeur,
tipped him a hundred and let himself into the house.  The servants
asleep in their quarters, and the lights were off in guesthouse.

He had barely managed to be civil to his hosts and other guests at the.
Lazars party; his mind had racing the whole time, working on the FBI
angle.  knew his real name, and they knew that Rick knew his name; they
must also know why Rick it.  He did not have much time.  He walked out
to the pool and past it to the guest'-knocked on the door, and entered.
Tommy and Sheila were still out.  It did not take him long to find
what he was looking for; he grabbed the brown envelope and stuffed it
into a pocket.  He went to the kitchen, rummaged around until he found
some plastic freezer bags, then took two of them out to the beach, put
one inside the other, and filled it with sand.  Back in the house, he
rolled the bag into a sausage shape and taped it closed. Under the
sink, he found a pair of rubber kitchen gloves and put them into his
pocket.

The security guard went off at midnight, and the gate opened
automatically as the Porsche approached.  He drove slowly into L.A."
taking the freeway and exiting at Sunset.  Soon he was in West
Hollywood, searching for the address.  He found it at a little past one
o'clock.

The block was dark and quiet as he drove past the address and parked at
the end of the street.  He walked back to the house and stopped on the
front porch; no lights were on.  He rang the bell.

Shortly a light went on omewhere at the back of the house, and a moment
later a bleary-eyed Rick Rivera opened the door.

"Michael?  What the hell?"

"I need to talk to you, Rick."

"Sure, sure, come on in.  Congratulations on the Oscar; that's really
great.  Can I get you something to drink?"

"Are you alone?"

"Absolutely."

"No girls in the house?"

"Not a one."  Rick turned toward the bar.

"Nothing for me," Michael said.  "You have something."

"Well," Rick said, pouring himself a stiff bourbon, "with what I've
already had tonight, another one can't hurt."

"I won't take much of your time, Rick; there's something I have to
know."

"Right."

"I heard from the FBI tonight, backstage at the Academy Awards."

"No kidding?"

:

"What have they got on me, Rick?"

"I told you, I think they picked you up on a

"What, exactly, did they pick up?"

"I don't know.  I just know that the agent who

Carson, is head of the wiretap unit."

"What did they ask you, exactly?"

"They asked me why I had run a check on

"And what did you tell them?  Exactly."

"I told them that I had found the Callabrese prints the car that ran
down the lawyer."

'qNhat else?"

"That was it."  '

"Rick, you said that you took the fingerprint evi with you when you
left the force, is that right?"  "That's right."  Rivera spread his
hands.  "Look,

I'm not going to give you up; it's insurance, that's all."  .... "What,
exactly, does the evidence consist off" "The fingerprint card showing
the prints lifted the car, and the card with the file prints faxed in '
the FBI."

"Is the card showing the prints lifted from the car original?"

"Are there any copies?"

"Is there any other record showing the evidence found on the car?"

'four partner doesn't know about it?"

"No.  He was on vacation when this came up."  "And where is the
evidence now?"  "I told you, it's with my lawyer."

"I see."  Michael walked over to the door and opened it.  "Come over
here; there's something I want you to see."

Rivera walked to the open door and peered out into the dark street.
"What?"

Michael took a good backswing and, remembering his early experience,
caught Rick across the back of the neck with his homemade cosh.

Rick's knees buckled and he fell in a heap.  Michael dragged him away
from the door, closed it, then massaged the ex-detective's neck to help
prevent any bruising.

Michael made a quick tour (f the house, switching on lights as he went,
then switching them off behind him.  He went back to the living room,
heaved Rivera onto a shoulder, carried him to the bedroom, and dumped
him on the bed.  He stripped off Rivera's bathrobe, leaving him dressed
only in jockey shorts, then tucked the man into bed.

He removed Sheila's brown envelope from his pocket, donned the rubber
kitchen gloves, and opened the package.  Two pharmaceutical vials of
morphine were inside, along with half a dozen disposable syringes and a
length of light rubber hose.

Rivera made a gurgling sound, and his eyelids fluttered.  Time to
hurry.  Michael completely filled a syringe with morphine, then stood
behind Rivera, winding the rubber hose around his arm from the same
direction that Rivera would have done himself; the vein came up nicely.
Rivera jerked and opened his eyes, staring at Michael.

Quickly, Michael inserted the needle into the vein it.  Rivera opened
his mouth as if to speak, his eyes glazed over, and his head rolled to
one Michael left the needle in the vein, took Rivera's hand, and put
his fingerprints on the syringe.  He Rivera's prints on the other
syringes and the mor-vials, too, then put them into the bedside
drawer.

Still wearing the rubber gloves, Michael began a search of the house.
After ten minutes he got lucky; in a small desk in the den he found an
mail envelope marked LAPD, and inside two fingerprint cards and
Rivera's notebook, the carried by all police officers.  He closed the
drawer, off the light, and returned to the bedroom.  He

Rivera's body to look rare natural, then, a final touch, he turned on
the TV to a late movie.  the bedroom light on, he retraced his steps to
front door, making sure that he had' left no trace of visit; then,
looking up and down the empty street, closed the door behind him and
heard the latch

Slowly, he walked back down the street to the got in, and started the
car.  Before switching on the lights he checked the rearview mirrors;
not a light in any house on the street.  Taking care to remain the
speed limit, he drove back to Malibu.

He let himself in through the security gate with his card and drove to
the house, parking in the garage.  lights in every house in the Malibu
Colony were he noted.

Inside, he went to the kitchen, replaced the rubber gloves under the
sink, and found a packet of He walked out the back of the house and the
beach in the moonlight emptying sand from the plastic freezer bag as he
went.  A hundred yards down the shore, he walked to the water's edge,
made sure he was alone, struck a match, and lit the police envelope. He
held it carefully as it burned, and when it was down to ashes, he
dropped it into the water.  The tide was ebbing, and fragments of ashes
went out with it.  He walked back to the house and, as he was about to
go upstairs, Tommy let himself into the house with his key, Sheila
trading him.  He walked over to Michael and gave him a big hug.  "You
sonofabitch, you did it!"  Tommy cried, shaking Michael like a rag
doll.  "Congratulations, Michael," Sheila said.  "Fommy, I want to go
to bed now."  She looked ragged.  "Go ahead, sweetheart, I'll be there
in a minute."  The two men watched the blot!  de twitch out of the
house. "Tommy," Michael said, "I'm afraid I borrowed Sheila's stash; a
friend was in need."  "All of it?"  Tommy asked, surprised.  "His need
was great.  I hope you can replace it without too much difficulty." 
"No sweat, pais an Tommy said.  "I'll fix it in the morning."  "I'm
bushed, Tommy.  Let's talk at breakfast in the morning."  "Right." 
Tommy planted a big kiss on Michael's cheek and headed for the
guesthouse. Michael trudged up the stairs, drained of adrenaline and
energy, sure of having covered his tracks.

2;O

CHAPTER

il Michael had already finished breakfast on terrace overlooking the
Pacific when Tommy came of the guesthouse, still in pajamas and a silk
robe.  "Good morning, Vinnie," he said.

"Morning, Tommy."

The Irish butler appeared, and Tommy ordere breakfast.  When he had
gone, Michael put his hand on

"I need your help," he said.  "

"Sure, anytime.  What do you need?

"Two things: I need an alibi from the time I got home last night a
little before twelve until about two "hirty.  How about, you and Sheila
got home at, say,

xrelve-thirty, and you and I talked until two-thirty,

en we both went to bed.  ,

:' Tommy shook his head.  "You don't need me in this; the cops hear my
name, and they're all over you."  He thought for a moment.  "Here it
is. Your house-guests were Sheila Smith and Don Tanner from New

York.  It happened the way you just said."

"Who is Don Tanner?"

"Straight guy, as far as the cops are concerned; works for me in a
legitimate business.  Don't worry, he'll play."

"All right, that SOunds good."

"What else?"

"Can you get a message to Winfield at the

Kensington Trust without the feds overhearing?"

"Sure; what's the message?"

"Tell him it was like this: I deposited over three quarters of a
million with him two years ago, then pulled it out last April.
Then.tell him to pull everything I've got off the street and wire it to
his branch in the Cayman Islands."

"Consider it done.  Listen, Vinnie, I talked to you a little yesterday
about our thing with the Japs."

"Yeah."

"It boils down to this: How would you like to be the head of a major
studio?"  "Of Centurion?"  "That's the one."

"That's a very interesting idea, Tommy."

"Well, you are what I've got in mind.  With an Academy Award under your
belt, and with your record on keeping costs down, I can sell you to the
Japs, no problem."

"What about Leo's control of the voting stock?"  "This is how it is:
Goldman owns less than ten percent of the stock personally.  His wife
is the key.  She's an heiress--her old man was into everything, and
before he died, he set up a trust for her.  That trust percent of
Centurion's voting stock."  "Yeah, but Leo controls it."

"Here's the thing--there are three trustees who

Mrs.  Goldman's trust; they appoint a represen-who sits on the board
and votes the stock.  Mrs.

has a big say, too; that's why Leo Goldman the trust's
representative."

Michael nodded.  "Go on."

"Now the guy who heads the trustees is named

Geldorf.  He's an investment banker who was friend of Mrs.  Goldman's
father; he's also into some with us."

"What and of stuff?"

"Doesn't matter; it's all legitimate; Geldorf is a legitimate guy.
Thing is,.  though, the family has lot of legit money invested with
him, so I have his and if I can show him how Mrs.  Goldman's trust
benefit from a takeover of Centurion, he's in the

"But won't he listen to Amanda Goldman?  Won't wishes?"

"That's a consideration, sure.  She has to be made the light."  Tommy
smiled and spread his hands Michael blinked.  "You mean you want me to
talk into voting her stock against Leo?"

"That would be very helpful."

Michael shook his head.  "Listen, Tommy, you're i into the realm of the
impossible here."  "Impossible?  Not with your talent with women.

Vinnie, with your yen for dames, I'd be surprised-if you weren't
banging her already."

"That's beside the point," Michael said quickly.

have you considered Leo's pull with the board?

a closely held corporation.  If the trust owns only percent of the
stock, that means Leo and the other board members together control a
majority, and Leo handpicked every one of those guys."

"You let me worry about that," Tommy said smugly.  "You get on the good
side of Amanda Goldman and start creating a few doubts about how Leo is
running the store.  Just a few.  If you can gain her confidence then,
worse come to worse, if we have to, ah, displace Goldman, then you'll
be the only game in town."

Michael looked sharply at Tommy.  "Wait a minute; Leo Goldman has taken
pretty good care of me.  I'm not about to pour a pair of cement shoes
for him so you can drop him in the Pacific."

"Easy, kid," Tommy said.  "It's never going to come to that.  But you
have to remember something: Leo Goldman is a Jew; he's not one of us,
he's out for himself.  The only reason he's backing you is because he
knows you'll make money fgr him.  Those people are just like us; they
only care about their own kind.  It's human nature."

"I don't want anything to happen to Leo," Michael said.

'"Then get him to see the light,"

Michael put down his coffee cup.  "I've got to get to the office; I'm
expecting the feds to call on me."  "Yeah?"

"Something to do with the bank, I think."

"Tell them Don Tanner sent you there, that the company he works for
does some legitimate business with them.  He's in town for the awards
show."

"Tell me more about Tanner, in case they ask."  "He's corporate counsel
for a film distribution company, small time, nothing you'd know about,
but you can tell the feds that's how you met."  He took a pad and pen
from the table and wrote down Tanner's address and phone number in Los
Angeles.

"Will I see you tonight?"

Tommy shook his head.  "Nah, this was a one-for me; I've got to be back
at business in the We're getting a noon plane."

The two men stood up and embraced.

CHAPTER

t was after lunch before the two FBI agents showed up at Centurion
Pictures.  Michael showed them into his office.  "All right, what can I
do for you?"  he asked.  "We need your help," Carson said.  "If you
needed my help you shouldn't have approached me last night," Michael
replied.  "I did not appreciate that."  "Tell you the truth," Carson
said, "I don't much give a shit whether you appreciated it or not.
You're between a rock and a hard place, mister, and you're going to
help us whether you like it or not."  Michael glanced at his watch.
"I'm going to give you just one minute to start making sense, and if
you don't, then you can talk to my lawyer."  I'll lay it out for you,
Callabrese."

"My name is Vincent.  It was legally and properly in New York State six
years ago, for personal of people change their names."

"All right, you're Vincent, but I know a homicide can put you away on a
murder one charge;

it takes is a word from me."

"You're insane."

"You left your fingerprints all over the car when ran down Moriarty."

"The lawyer?  Detective Rivera told me he was by some Mafia hoodlum.
They found him dead

"Rivera didn't mention the Callabrese prints, I

because he didn't know you were Callabrese.

tell him, he'll know, and I'll tell him unless you with me."

"Cooperate with you on what?"

"Bringing down the Kensington Trust.":

"What has the Kensington Trust got to do with

"you're doing business with them; they're funneling your money to the
street sharks."

"You make less and less sense, Carson, and I'm out of patience."

"Then I'll have a word with Rivera," the agent said, "and then we'll
see about your patience.

"Let me make it easy for you," Michael said.  He a button on the
speakerphone.  "Margot, will please go to Rick Rivera's office and ask
him to and see me right away?"

"yes, Mr.  Vincent," Margot said.

"Wait a minute," Carson said.  "You mean to tell me Rivera works for
you?"

"And has for about a year and a half," Michael

"Doing what?"  "He's an associate producer, specializing in police
stories."  "Horseshit.  You bought him."  "I go into production next
month on his first story," Michael said.  "He's a valued associate."
Margot buzzed back.  "Mr.  Vincent, I'm afraid Mr.  Rivera isn't in
yet."  Michael sighed.  "I'm afraid that's not unusual," he said. 
"He's been out of the office a lot recently."  "Let's get back to the
Kensington Trust," Carson said.  "What business have you done with
them?"  %qhen I first came out here a couple of years ago, I deposited
something over seven hundred thousand dollars with them."  "Where'd you
get the money?"  "I earned it.  On a film' called Downtown Nights."
"What else?"  "Sometime later I deposited another hundred thousand with
them, then in April of last year I withdrew all my funds and closed my
account."  Carson looked surprised.  "Why?"  "I wasn't terribly happy
with the service.  I moved my funds to two brokerage accounts.  Would
you like the names of my brokers?"

Michael took a legal pad from his desk and wrote down the names.  He
wondered if they knew yet that Rivera was dead.  "Another thing,"
Carson said, "where were you between midnight last night and two A.M.
this morning?"  They knew.  "At home.  From the Awards ceremony, I went
to Irving Lazar's party at Spago, but I left early; I was home before
midnight."  "Can you support that statement?"

"Of course; I had houseguests.  They were already home when I got
there, and we stayed up talking until about two-thirty."

"Who were these guests?"

"Don

Tanner, a lawyer for a film distributor, and his Sheila Smith.  Would
you like their number?"

"I would."

Michael wrote down Tanner's number on the pad,

shoved it toward Carson.  "That's it, gentlemen; I

any more time for you."

"Carson and Warren stood up.  "We'll be back,"

said.

"No, you won't," Michael said, remaining seated.

Not unless you have a warrant for my arrest.  Otherwise, we'll meet at
my lawyer's office."

"You're a slick number, callabrese," Carson said,

we're on to you now."

"The name is Vincent," Michael said.  "Get out.  The two agents left,
and after they had gone lowered his forehead to the cool glass top of
desk.  He was covered.  They had nothing.

2;,

CHAPTER

ichael and Amanda Goldman lay naked on the upstairs back deck of the
house, baking in the midafternoon sun.  They had already made love
once.  Michael dribbled oil on her back and rubbed it in gently.
"Mmmmm," Amanda sighed.  "I don't think I've ever known a man who knew
women so well, Michael.  You never miss an opportunity to please." 
"I'm glad you think so," Michael said softly.  "If I weren't married,
you'd be dangerous."  "You mean to Leo specifically, or just married?" 
"I mean to Leo.  If I were married to anybody else, I'd ' " be thinking
about leaving my husband for you.  "I'm'glad you couldn't leave Leo for
me.  I love the man; he's been absolutely wonderful to me."  "Don't
take it too personally," she said.  "It's not as if he isn't making a
lot of money out of the relationship."

"Funny, another friend of mine pointed that out not long ago."

"Who?"

"Just a friend; somebody who doesn't know Leo, who was ?"t making an
objective observatioru"

Your friend is a shrewd judge of character.  "People like Leo get as
good as they give."

"Leo has always struck me as generous."  "Generosity is a two-way
street: Surely you aren't naive enough to believe that anybody in this
town, in this industry, has the slightest whit of unrequited in his
soul.  You read in the trades about who's made some big donation to
some charity.  Chances are he's doing it because somebody he wants to
do business with is-involved with the charity."

"So what do you and Leo give each other?  How do you reciprocate?"

' "Well, let's see; Leo gives me a status in this town that.  only two
or three other men could.  There's hardly anyboclr in the country that
I couldn't have at my dinner table on a couple of days' notice--right
up to, and president of the United States."

"What could you offer the president of the United besides a good
dinner?"

"Leo could put together a million dollars in cam-pmgn contributions to
the party in a week, and with left hand.  Every politician in the
country knows it."  'qNhat else does Leo do for you?"

"Status is everything in this town," she replied.  "I can pick and
choose among our invitations--and we're invited everywhere.  I can
lunch with a Nobel laureate;

I can give a boost to any charity I choose.  Leo makes -all that
possible."

"And I suppose his money doesn't hurt."

"Money has nothing to do with what Leo does for me.  I'm richer than he
is."  "I didn't know."  "Leo is the perfect man for a rich woman to be
married to, you know; he's an excellent tender of my money.  Since
we've been married, he's increased my fortune many times over.  If we
were divorced, I'd have to pay him alimony."  "How did he do this?"
"With the studio."  "Your money is invested in the studio?"  "My money
practically controls it.  The trust my father set up for me owns nearly
half the stock, and Leo's bit puts us over the fifty-percent mark.  Not
many people know that; Leo likes for the town to think that he's in
personal control."  "I guess that must keep him in line."  She laughed.
"It certainly does.  I can promise you, in all the years we've been
married, Leo has never slept with another woman.  He knows that if he
did and I found out about it, I could cut his dick off, and the size of
a man's dick is everything in this town."  She laughed even louder.  "A
woman I knew, who before she died was a very important hostess in this
town, was being wheeled into the operating room for surgery, and she
said to her husband, who was walking along beside the gurney, "Whatever
they do, don't let them cut off my dick."" Michael laughed
appreciatively.  "And what is it you give Leo, besides money?"  "I'm
the smartest and best hostess in this city, maybe the country.  You
should know; you've been to my house often enough.  I make Leo look
like the king he likes to think he is.  I cater to his every vanity.  I
order his clothes, I choose his food and wines, and of course, there's
the sex."

"How is that?"

"Well, we've been married a long time.  Leo is happy with an occasional
blow job, and I'm an ace at that, as you well know."

"i know.  Doesn't he do anything for you?"  "Why do you think I'm
fucking you?"  "I'm glad to be of service."

She rolled over.  "I didn't mean to sound hard; it's more than just
sex.  If I let myself, I could fall very much in love with you."  She
shrugged.  "Iell, maybe I already am."

"That's the nicest thing I've heard since I came to

L.A."

"I'm glad you think so."

"What do you think of me?".  Michael asked.  "I'd really like to have
your blunt opinion."

She looked up at him.  "I think you're more than just a young man on
the make.  I think that, in a few more years, you could become a
legendary moviemaker,

right up there with the best of them.  I think, if you play your cards
right, you could rule this industry."

"Fhank you, I have to agree."

They both laughed.

"Amanda, apart from loving me, do you like me?"

She smiled.  "I do."

"That's a relief," he sighed.  "I'd like to think I'm mdre to you than
a good fuck."

"You are."

"Do you trust me?"

"Probably as much as I trust anybody."

"Then there's something I have to tell you."

"What?"

"I wouldn't have brought this up, but I had no idea about your
financial involvement in the studio."

"What is it, Michael?"

' think there's major trouble brewing at Centurion."  "What kind of
trouble?"

"Has Leo told you about the Japanese offer?"  "Yes.  He said it was
inadequate."

"Suppose they made it good enough?  What do you think Leo would do?"

"I hope he would take it."

Michael shook his head.  "I don't think he would take it under any
circumstances."

"Any circumstances?"

"I think Leo likes running the studio so much that he's too emotionally
involved to make a good business decision."

"God knows, he loves running the studio," she agreed.

"There's more to this.  Leo is getting into a couple of very expensive
projects--the sort of thing that he's always saying he doesn't like."

"You mean the science fiction film?"

"Yes.  I'm alarmed at the amount of development money that's gone into
it without a finished script.  Then there's the Vietnam movie;, it
would have to be shot in the Philippines, and you know how shaky the
political situation is there."

"Well, he's always felt strongly about Vietnam, but that does sound
risky."

"I think there's some restiveness among the board members about those
two films and about the Japanese offer."

"How much restiveness?"

"It's hard to say.  I'm operating on instinct here."  "And what do your
instincts tell you?"

"That the potential exists for a major debacle.  If Leo proceeds with
both these projects, while at the same time refusing even to consider
an offer the company that interests the board, then..."  "Then, what?"
"Then there could be a boardroom rebellion."  "So what?  Leo and my
trust together have an abso'That's not the only consideration.
Centurion borrows to finance its films, just like all studios.  In
fact, its is heavier than most.  If several board members to sell their
stock to the Japanese outfit, the are going to take it as an indication
of a lack of in Leo's management, and things could get very indeed." 
"Are you seriously worried about this, Michael?"  looked very worried
indeed. "Look, I'm sorry; Leo's no fool; he can handle the I shouldn't
have brought it up."  "No, no, I'm glad you did.  I should know about
and Leo isn't telling me.  ""For God's sake, don't bring this up with
Leo.  He out where you got the information."  "I've got to do
something," she said.  "Don't say a word to Leo, whatever you do.  I'll
you posted on developments.  Then, if things get enough, you can say
that you were approached some of the board members, who gave you the

"That's very sweet of you, Michael," she said, his cheek.  "I know how
loyal you are to Leo.  I you would never do anything to hurt him."  "Of
course not.  I'd like to keep him out of trouble, he's just not willing
to take anybody's advice the situation.  I hesitate to say it, but I
think a touch of megalomania in Leo these days."  "There always has
been," she said.  "Let's change the subject."

"What subject did you have in mind?"

He leaned over and bit a nipple lightly.

"Ooooh," she moaned.  "That subject."

CHAPTER

ichael sat in Leo's private screening room,

to his office, and watched the studio head's personal production, Drive
Time, a comedy.

"What do you think?"  Leo asked when the lights,:-up.  "I think it's
going to do business," Michael said.  "Is that it?"

"Leo, I won't bullshit you; it's like Inside Straight in it's not going
to pull any nominations, but it's to do business.  It's a good movie; I
liked it."  "Good," Leo said, sounding relieved.  "I'm getting flak
from Harry Johnson about my personal He and I have never agreed on
movies; now he's

I'll fall on my face with the sci-fi movie."  He to Michael.  "Come on
in my office for a

Michael followed Leo into his huge private office.  The story boards
for the science fiction movie were stacked against a sofa.  The movie
still had no name.  "Have you seen these, Michael?"  Leo asked, waving
his cigar at the story boards "Of course, Leo; I was at the
presentation yesterday, remember?"  "Oh, yeah, yeah.  I want your
honest opinion.  If I can make the movie that's on these story boards
for, say, eighty million--and that figure is strictly between you and
me--what do you think it'll do in the U.S.?"  "Leo, have you ever known
me to be overoptimistic about grosses?"  Michael asked.  "No, never." 
"Good.  So believe me when I say I think it'll do a hundred and
seventy-five milJion domestic.  God only knows what it'll do worldwide,
maybe two hundred fifty million?"  Leo's eyes lit up.  "That's what I
think," he said.  '"you know damned well I'm down on blockbusters, but
this one I'm willing to bet the farm on."  '"you may have to, Leo." 
"You mean the board?  They'll bitch and moan until they see the
grosses, then I'll be their hero again."  "I think you're right, Leo. 
If I were in your shoes, I'd go the whole hog."  "Well, that's
something coming from you, kiddo, stingy as you are with a budget." 
"You can't do low-budget sci-fi," Michael said.  "I'm thinking of
putting the Vietnam film into turnaround," Leo said.  "Why?"  "Well,
you know how nuts the Philippines have been, politically."  "They've
had a successful election," Michael said.

The right man won; the communists seem to be in

It might be a good time."

"You think so?"

"Do you know anybody in the State Department?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact."

"Call him; ask him to talk to somebody on the desk; see what's
happening."

idea.  I'd really hate to stop work on the think it could be great."

"So do I. It would be worth a little hassle in the

Philippines to get a great moment mad .

"Johnson, that cold-eyed Scandinavian son of a was on the phone this
morning about these two films.  I don't know what's got into the old
bastard; he always used to back me on everything.  It's not like /e're
losing money."

"Fuck him," Michael said.  "Make the movies you else be the head of a
studio?"  "You're right about that, kid," Leo said with vehe'rhat's why
I could never sell this place.  Do you r idea what it's like to be able
to make any movieY' u want, and without anybody's permission?"  He and
sat down at his desk.

"Almost," Michael said.  "You've been that good to

Leo reached into his top desk drawer and removed a small revolver,
gold-plated.  He flipped the cylinder open and showed Michael that it
was loaded.  "You know what I'd do if I had to let somebody like
Johnson tell me what movies I could or couldn't make?"  He

'held the pistol to his temple.  '

"Leo..."  Michael said.

Leo pulled the trigger.

Michael was halfway out of his chair before he realized that the gun
had not gone off.

"Hell, hell," Leo chortled.  "Had you going, didn't I?"  He tossed the
revolver across the desk to Michael.  Michael opened the cylinder and
extracted a cartridge.  It looked real enough, though it felt a little
light.  "Special effects made them for me years ago," Leo said.  "The
pistol is one of only two made special by Smith and Wesson.  Eisenhower
owned the other one."  Michael took the silk handkerchief from his
breast pocket and carefully wiped the pistol.  "It's beautiful, Leo."
He placed the weapon on Leo's desk.  "Oh, I've got the real ammo, too,"
Leo said, holding up a handful of loose cartridges, then dropping them
back into the drawer with a clatter: "If ever some nutcase-gets through
security and into this building, I'd like to have a piece nearby, you
know?"  He put the weapon back into the drawer.  "I hope you have a
permit, "Leo "Sure I do; I can even carry it as a concealed weapon, but
I'm not as paranoid as all that."  "I'm glad to hear it.  Guns are
dangerous."  "You're right, of course.  I mean, I'm no NRA enthusiast
like Chuck Heston, for instance, but I think a man ought to be able to
own a piece for his own protection."  "A responsible man, yes," Michael
replied.  He looked at his watch.  "I'd better get back to my office;
I'm due to look at the first advertising ideas for Inside Straight."
"Let me know when they're ready for me to see," Leo said.  "Sure,"
Michael replied.  He left Leo's office wondering what it would be like
not to have to go to anyone for approval of anything, ever.

gave him his messages.  "I put the ad people in "Right," Michael
replied, flipping through the

"How did the screening go?"  Margot asked.

"I thought it was okay.  Leo put a gun to his head when it was over."

Margot laughed.  'he gold-plated one?"

'That's the One."

"He's been doing that for years, every time he to make a point."

Michael looked at her.  "Why don't you come over this weekend and cook
you and me dinner?"

"Why not?"  Margot said, smiling.

Michael was spending a lot of afternoons with Amanda, but he still
enjoyed Margot on a Saturday

CHAPTER

5,2

ichael walked into the Beverly Hills Hotel, through the main lobby, and
out into the rear gardens.  A housemaid directed him to Bungalow
Four.

A

Japanese man answered the door.

"I am Michael Vincent."

The man bowed, then ushered Michael into a living room.  At one end of
the room a large dining table was surrounded by several men, all but
three Japanese.  Harry Johnson stood up and approached Michael, his
hand out.

"Hello, Michael," he said, beaming.  "Thank you so much for coming."

Michael nodded noncommittally.

"Please let me introduce you to these gentlemen."  Everyone at the
table stood.

"This," said Johnson, indicating a white-haired

Japanese man, "is Mr.  Matstlo Yamamoto, head of the company that bears
his name."

The Japanese bowed.  "How do you do, Mr.  Vincent," he said, and his
English was vaguely British.

"How do you do?"  Michael replied, bowing slightly as he had been told
to do.

"This," Johnson continued, "is Mr.  Yamamoto's consultant, Mr.
Yasumura."

A stocky, low-browed man standing next to Yamamoto bowed, but said
nothing.

There were three other Japanese, two of whom seemed to be management
types; the third seemed somehow less business-oriented.  Johnson then
introduced the two Caucasians standing at the table.

"This is Norman Geldorf, chairman of Geldorf and Winter, investment
bankers."

Geldorf shook Michael's hand but seemed very reserved.

"And this is Mr.  Thomas Provensano, an associate of Mr.  Geldorf."

Tommy Pro stuck out his hand.  "I'm very glad to meet you, Mr. Vincent;
I've heard a great deal about you."

Johnson indicated a chair.  "Please sit down."

When Michael had done so, he waited for Johnson to speak again.

"I've asked you to come here, Michael, to help resolve some concerns
expressed by some of the board ."

Michael finally spoke.  "Harry, you are the only board member I see
here."

"I am, Michael, but Mr.  Geldorf is the chief trustee of a private
trust which owns forty-five percent of Centurion stock."

Michael looked surprised.  "I was not aware that anyone but board
members owned any Centurion stock."

'"That is probably what Leo Goldman wished you to think," Johnson
said.

"I was under the impression that Leo owned a controlling interest."

"Not exactly.  Leo votes a controlling interest, but, you see, he
currently votes the trust-owned shares, in addition to his own."

"I see," Michael said, taking care to look surprised.  "This meeting
was called so that I could present Mr.  Geldorf and Mr.  Provensano
with an up-to-date account of the present condition of Centurion."

"I see.  Is Mr.  Yamamoto to be given this information, as well?"

"Now, Michael, Mr.  Geldorf and I represent between us voting control
of Centurion, and we felt it altogether proper for Mr.  Yamamoto and
his associates to share this information."

"Does Leo know about this?"  Michael asked.

"He does not; Leo is in New York today.  Mr.  Geldorf and I thought it
'best to consult with Mr.  Yamamoto in Leo's absence."

"Well, I suppose you have that right," Michael said.

Geldorf spoke for the first time.  "Mr.  Vincent, on behalf of the
trust I administer, I would like to know your opinion of the current
production schedule of Centurion.  Excepting your own productions, of
course.  I have been very glad to hear of their contribution to the
studio's profits."

"My opinion?"  Michael asked.

"Please.  You are the only active production executive on the board
besides Mr.  Goldman, and we would like to have your views."

ii "Michael," Harry Johnson said, "I know very well the loyalty you
must feel to Leo, but surely you feel a loyalty to the studio as a
whole."

"Of course," Michael said.  "Centurion has made it possible for me to
do successful work."

"Then please believe me when I tell you that it is entirely in the
studio s best interest that you be as frank in your opinions of the
production schedule."  Michael looked at Johnson and Geldorf.  "Do I

your absolute assurance that what I say will be held in the strictest
confidence?"

"You do," Geldorf and Johnson said together.  Michael looked at his
reflection in the polished table.  "I... have some concerns about the
direction the studio is taking," he said.

"What concerns?"  Geldorf asked.

Michael looked directly at him.  "From what I know of history, its
reputation and its success been built on reasonably priced but
high-quality motion pictures, pictures that have earned more than their
share of Academy Award nominations and an excellent profit for the
studio."

"That is correct," Johnson said.

"I'm afraid that seems to be changing," Michael said.

"How so?"  Geldorf asked.

"The current production schedule contains two projects that are very
high-budget, indeed, and not, I'm afraid, what I'd consider
high-quality."

"Which are those?"  Geldorf asked.

"Two untitled projects--a science fiction film and one about the
Vietnam War."

"Have you read the scripts of these productions?"  Johnson asked.

"I have."  "And have you seen the budgets and production schedules?" 
"I have."  "And what is your opinion of the chances for success of
these productions?"  "Well, of course, both pictures could conceivably
make a lot of money..."  "In your considered opinion, will they?"  "I
think that both these projects are highly risky at best--more than the
risk that usually runs with making motion pictures."  "Why?"  Geldorf
asked.  "The science fiction film has a derivative script, and the
opportunities for budget overruns are prodigious.  Mr.  Goldman expects
to make this film for, I think, around eighty million dollars..." 
"Which is twice the budget of Centurion's most expensive productions,
is it not?"  Johnson asked.  "Yes, it is."  "And do you think the film
has a chance of coming in on budget?"  "A chance, perhaps; no more." 
"If you were producing this film, Michael, what budget would you
realistically expect to need?"  "I don't believe I could shoot it for
less than a hundred and twenty-five million," Michael replied.  "And
what sort of domestic gross would you anticipate?"  Johnson asked. 
"Well, of course, it could go through the roof, but I think it would be
unwise to count on more than a hundred and fifty million."  "And would
that figure cover production, prints, and advertising?"  "Not much
chance of that."

"So Centurion might be facing a loss on the film?"

"It very well could."

"Michael, what do you think the chances are of the film doing as-much
as a hundred and fifty million?"  "Not good," Michael replied.

"So Centurion,could be facing a very great loss indeed on the film?

"Quite possibly."

"What about the Vietnam film?  What do you think of that?"

"I think it's a very serious look at the political consequences of that
war."

"Is there a demand for such a serious film at this time?"

"Possibly; I'm not at all sure."

"Are there any other risks associated with this film;t is to be shot in
the Philippines; and although there has been an election recently, the
communist insurgents are still very active, and there are many other
difficulties associated with shooting that far from the studio."

"I see.  Have any other major production been filmed in the
Philippines?"

"Francis Ford Coppola's film Apocalypse Now was shot there."

"And what happened to the budget on that film?"  "It went completely
out of control.  There was a hurricane, illness, every sort of dsaste. 
"Has that film ever made money?"  "I don't know; I doubt it." 
"Michael, have you recently attended a screening of a new production
called Drive Time?"

"yes."

"What did you think of it?"

37?

"I don't think it will be a great success."

"Why not?"

"I think they began shooting with less than a good script."

"This was Leo Goldman's personal production, was it not?"

"Mr.  Vincent," Geldorf asked, "what sorts of films do you believe
Centurion should be making at this moment in time?"

"I'm personally making the kind of movies that I think we should
concentrate on," Michael said.  "Very tight budgets, no highly paid
stars, high-quality writing.  Films with low risk and high
profitability."

Geldorf continued.  "Do you have an opinion as to whether Centurion
could continue to make such films if under new ownership?"

Michael looked at Yamamoto, who smiled slightly.

"If good management were allowed to make good films without hindrance,
yes."

Harry Johnson stood up.  "Michael, we are all grateful to you for your
candor.  Please be assured that your remarks will be held in the
strictest confidence."  He shook Michael's hand.  Everyone stood.

Michael understood that he was dismissed.

An hour later, Michael was parked on a side street off Sunset when a
limousine pulled up next to his car and the rear window slid silently
down.  Tommy Pro beamed at him from the rear seat of the big car.

"Aces, pais an he said.  "Now Norman Geldorf will go and see Amanda
Goldman."

"Good," Michael said.

"When does Goldman get back from New York?"

"tomorrow afternoon."  "Schedule a meeting in his office, okay?"  "All
right," Michael said.  The window slid up and the limousine moved away.
Michael drove back to Centurion and parked in front of the Executive
Building.  I-Ie ran up the stairs to Leo's office.  Leo's secretary was
sitting at her desk.  "Hi," he said.  "What time should Leo be back in
the office tomorrow afternoon?"  "He always comes straight from the
airport," the woman said.  "He should be here vy to .  "Good.  Would
you schedule a meeting for me at that time?  It's important that I see
him the moment he gets back.  Tell him I won't take he no for an
answer. She flipped open a diary.  "Four it is."  Michael put a hand on
the doorknob of Leo's office.  "Oh, there's something I left in here
yesterday; it's on Leo's desk."  "Sure, go ahead," she said.  Michael
stepped into Leo Goldman's office and closed the door behind him.

3;,

CHAPTER

ichael looked up into the glazed eyes of Margot Gladstone and gave a
little thrust.  Margot's eyes closed, and she whimpered.  "Again," she
said.  Michael complied.  Margot dissolved into a series of whimpers,
climaxing quietly, as she always did.  She collapsed onto Michael.  He
held her against him, rubbing her back and shoulders while she
continued her orgasm.  It occurred to Michael that perhaps his secret
in bed was that he derived his greatest pleasure from making women
come, then come again and again.  He rolled onto his side but remained
inside her.  "That was a wonderful bit of weekend recreation," Margot
said, sighing.  "I lost count of how many times I came."

3;0

L.A. TtME$

"Six or seven," Michael said.  "Stop bragging," she laughed.  "I'm
hungry."  "All right, all right, I'll finish dinner."  He had
interrupted her in the kitchen and had her on a double lounge at
poolside.  Margot rose, back her hair, and dove into the pool.  She
swam to the end, picked up a terrycloth robe, and headed toward the
kitchen, dripping as she went.  He watched through the glass wall
between the and the pool as she went about preparing their they had
finished dining, Michael leaned back poolside chair and gazed at the
stars.  'that was he said.  "What was it?"  "It was a caesar salad,
chateaubriand with bar sauce potatoes souffid, haricots verts, and
Stock

"It was the last one I meant.  What was it again?"  "Stock Exchange
Pudding.  When I.,was but a slip a girl I had a job conducting guided
tours of the Stock Exchange.  There was a corps of us girls, and we
cooked lunches for ourselves--quite elaborate sometimes.  That's where
I got the recipe for the pudding."  "It was superb."  "So were you."
"What would I do without you?"  he asked.  "Funny you should mention
that."  "What?"  "Michael, you must remember that when I came to you I
said I was serving out my time until my pension mattered.  You do
remember."

"Vaguely," he replied.  "Well, next month I'm off."  Michael was
alarmed. "You can't do that," he said.  "I can't do this without you." 
She shrugged.  "I was thinking of Mexico.  I might buy a little place
somewhere around Puerto Vallarta."  "I won't let you go.  I can't."
"Michael, it's been fun, but I can't go on doing that job the rest of
my life.  I'll be sixty in fewer years than I care to think about."
Michael was genuinely panicked at the thought of losing Margot.  She
made his life work; she was the closest thing to a confidant he had
ever had.  "Suppose you were doing a different job," he said.  "What do
you mean?"  "I mean something better."  She shook her head.  "f
wouldn't derive the pleasure from producing that you do.  Really, I
wouldn't." "Something bigger."  She looked at him closely.  "Why don't
you tell me what's going on?  I know something is I can always tell." 
Michael sat back and sipped his wine.  He was a little tipsy--rare for
him--and he was enjoying her company greatly.  He was not enjoying the
idea of having to replace her.  He made a decision.  "All right, I'll
tell you." She curled up in her chair and waited.  "In a day or two,
Leo will be out."  Her eyes widened.  "And I'll be running the studio."
"Michael, you shouldn't underestimate Leo's influence with the board."
"The board came to me.  They're worried about Leo--especially that he
won't consider an offer from the Japanese."

"That I had heard about," she said, "but do you that Amanda's trust has
the biggest chunk of

"I do.  The head trustee, Norman Geldorf, is in right now.  I met with
him and Harry Johnson some other people this afternoon."  "The
Japanese?"  Michael nodded.  "And a friend of mine.," "Tommy?"  "You do
keep up, don't you?"  "I read the papers, and I hear more than You
think office."  "What do you hear?"  he asked, a little worried.  "Oh,
come on, Michael; you don't have any secrets me.  We're too close for
that."  "I have some secrets from everybody," he said.  "Not from me." 
"Just which of my secrets do you know?"  "All of them," she said.  "I
know how much money where it is, and how you made it."  "Where is it?" 
"Well, you've moved it out of the Kensington but I know how it was
invested there. What waft percent a week?"  Michael was taken aback. 
"What else do you

"Oh, I've put the pieces together.  I know about and Moriarty.  I'm
damned sure you got rid Rick Rivera, but I'm not quite sure how."
Michael was flabbergasted, but he kept his compo "Oh, come on, Michael;
that poker face won't work You know I know."  "Well, this is an
unexpected turn of events," he

She held up her hands.  "Now, Michael, you have nothing to fear from
me, so don't start thinking about somehow getting rid of me.  I've
watched you operate -with total admiration.  I mean, I've seen some
operators in this town, but you are truly something special.  You have
the single most important 'quality that a successful producer can
possess in this town: you are a complete sociopath."  Michael stared at
her silently.  She held up a hand again.  "Please don't take that as a
criticism.  I simply mean that you have no conscience whatever and that
you will do anything necessary to get what you want."  She smiled at
him.  "Am I wrong?"  He smiled back.  "You know me better than I
thought."  "It has been thrilling to watch," she said.  "If I had met
you when I was twenty-five, you and I could have ruled this town
together."  "We still might," Michael said.  "How would you like to be
chief operating officer of Centurion?"  Her eyebrows went up.  "That's
a big leap from executive assistant," she said.  "Honestly, Margot, do
you think there is anyone in administration at the studio whose job you
couldn't do better?"  She laughed.  "Michael, you know me better than I
thought."  "I do."  "But there's a problem here."  "Nothing we can't
overcome."  "So you get your way; you get Leo's job, and you're running
the studio.  Then Geldorf and Johnson sell out to the Japanese, and
suddenly you're not in charge anymore.  You'd be working for them, just
as working for Leo now.  And I don't think you'd that."

"You're right, I wouldn't.  I understand what Leo so much about running
the studio.  As he put it he has the ability to make any movie he
without asking anybody."

The Japanese wouldn't let you do that; not for anything."

"You're right."

"So what are you going to do?"

Michael smiled.  It was wonderful telling somebody this.  "I'm going to
take Leo's job, and then I'ming to fuck the Japanese."

"And Tommy?"

"Tommy is, my closest friend.  He and I can work me thing out."  "

"If you can do that, I'm with you, Margot said.

"Then you're with me."

CHAPTER

ichael waited impatiently for the call from Leo's secretary, and when
it came, he made his own call.  "Leo's ready," he said.  "We're right
behind you," Johnson replied from his car phone.  "We're already inside
the gates."  Michael left his office and walked toward the Executive
Building, taking his time, waiting for Johnson.  As he mounted the
steps to the building, the limousine have into view.  He continued
through the lobby and up the stairs to Leo's office.  "Hi," he said to
Leo's secretary.  "He's expecting you," she said.  Michael knocked,
then opened the door.  Leo was sitting at his desk shuffling, through
some papers.  He looked up.  "Hiya, kiddo."  "How was your trip?"

"Pretty damn good.  I got some new distribution---sixty for first
releases."

"Congratulations."

:

"What did you want to see me about?"

Before Michael could speak, Leo's phone buzzed and at the same time,
the door to his office opened.

Johnson entered, followed closely by Norman

Leo looked at them, puzzled.  "I didn't know you were in town," he
said.  'qArhy didn't you call?"  "There was no time, Leo," Johnson
said. "We have

"Sure."  Leo waved them to chairs in front of his and Michael sat down
near Leo's right hand.

"I'll come right to the point," Johnson said.  "Good," Leo replied.  He
',emed unconcerned.  "Leo, the board is unhappy.  We've met in your i
absence, and we've decided that it's time for you to : step down."

Leo stared at Johnson.  "What?"  he demanded.

"Board members with a large majority of shares in this decision."

Leo looked at Geldorf.  "Did you buy into thi?

'"i did," Geldorf said.

"What about Amanda?  What did she have to say about it?"

Geldorf looked away.  "It is not her decision.  As head trustee, it is
mine alone."

"You're out of your fucking minds, all of you."  He turned to Michael.
"You hear this?  I've made these bastards richer and richer by the way
I've run this studio and now they're stabbing me in the goddamned
back."

Michael looked down.

"Not a moviemaker among them," Leo said, and his face was becoming very
red.  "How do they expect to run this place without me?"  He looked at
Johnson.  "Or do you just expect to sell the joint to the Japs?"

"Maybe," Johnson said.  "They've made us another offer."

"So why didn't you consult me about it?"

"Because you've made it plain that you wouldn't accept under any
circumstances."

Leo stared at him for a moment, then reached into his top right desk
drawer and took out his gold-plated revolver.  He put the gun to his
head.  "You know something?  If I thought I couldn't run this place
better than the bunch of you and the Japanese put together, I'd blow my
brains out right here and now."

"Oh, come on, Leo," Johnson said, exasperated, "don't start with that
old' routine I've seen it half a dozen times."

Leo took the gun away from his head and pointed it at Johnson.  "Okay,
instead of me, I'll do you."

Johnson shook his head.  "Leo, stop behaving like a child."

Leo pulled the trigger.  The gun went off, and Johnson spun sideways
out of his chair.

"Jesus Christi" Geldorf shouted.  He pushed his chair aside and knelt
beside Johnson.

Leo was standing, looking first at Johnson, then at the gun, a look of
amazement on his face.

Michael saw his chance.  He stood up, grabbed Leo by the wrist with one
hand, then closed his other hand over Leo's, running his finger inside
the trigger guard.  "Don't do it, Leo!"  Michael shouted.  Then he
jerked Leo's hand around toward his head and pressed Leo's trigger
finger.

The gun roared again.  The bullet entered Leo's just under the temple
and exited above his right knocking Leo back into his chair and
spattering with gore.

Geldorf looked up from attending to Johnson.  are you shot?"  he
yelled. Leo's secretary burst into the office, and, seeing lying
facedown on the floor and her boss in chair with part of his head
missing, fainted. Michael hesitated only a moment, then picked up
phone, got an outside line, and dialed 911.  "An "he said to the
operator, giving her the "There's been a shooting."  He hung up and
iialed the Legal Department. "This is Michael he said.  "Leo Goldman
has just shot another and himself.  Get the best lawyer you can find up
Leo's office at once."

and Geldorf sat on facing sofas before the fire-in Leo's office.  The
swarm of ambulance men,

and crime technicians was thinning out; two detectives Michael and
Geldorf, and the lawyer remained.

"All right, let's go through it once more," a detec-said.  "No,"
Michael replied.  "You've heard it again and have any doubt what
happened?

"We've told you the truth," Geldorf said.  "Surely don't think that Mr.
Vincent and I murdered two men in this office."

The other detective put down the phone.  "There been a murder," he
said.  "They're both still alive."

Michael looked at the man.  "That's wonderful," he managed to say. "How
are they?"

"Johnson wasn't hurt bad.  The bullet missed the lung and exited the
shoulder; broke his collarbone.  He'll be out of the hospital in a
couple of days."

"What about Mr.  Goldman?"  Geldorf asked.  "He's alive; that's about
it.  You can talk to his doctor when we're through here."  "We're
through here," Michael said, rising.  "I'm going to the hospital."  He
stopped.  "Jesus Christ, has anybody called Amanda?"  "Mrs.  Goldman?"
the detective asked.  "His secretary called her; she's at the
hospital."

"Are you coming, Norman?"  Michael asked.

"Yes, of course.  Amanda will need us."  The group started to shuffle
out of the office, but one detective pulled Michael back.

"Do you remember me, Mr.  Vincent?"

"I'm sorry, I don't."

"My name is' Hall; I was Rick Rivera's partner.  We met when Rick and I
came to see you about the

Moriarty murder."

"Oh, yes, I remember."

"People around you keep dying or getting hurt,"

Hall said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Moriarty dies right after you see him; Rick dies after he comes to
work for you---and Rick was never a junkie.  And now these two."

"What are you getting at, Detective?"

"The shame of it is I'm not getting anywhere,"

Hall said.  "But I want you to know that I'm not through rooting around
in your life.  Rick was my friend, and... '

"That's about enough out of you," Michael interrupted  "You're implying
that I had something to do with all these things, and you're wrong. 
You just do job, and you'll find out that I'm nothing more than
innocent bystander.  Go too far, and you'll find that this studio has
more than a little influence with the government of this city." 
Michael turned and stalked out of room.

and Amanda sat in a corner of the large, hospital room occupied by Leo
Goldman.  Geldorf waited outside.  Leo lay on his back, his head
swathed in bandages, his left eye open and staring.

"I can't believe any of this," Amanda was saying.  was composed now,
and coming to terms with had happened.  "What happened in that
office?"

"Leo was arguing with Johnson He pulled a gun out of his desk and
pointed it at his head.  Johnson seemed to have seen the gun before; he
told Leo to put it down and stop acting like a child.  Leo shot Johnson
and then put the gun to his own head.  I tried to stop him, grabbed at
his arm, but it went off."

"Had Johnson and Geldorf told Leo that he was finished at the
studio?"

"Yes."

"Did you know this was coming?"

"I was called to a meeting with them yesterday.  I defended Leo as best
I could.  I scheduled a meeting with him as soon as he returned to warn
him of what was happening, then Johnson and Geldorf showed

"The worst part of it is, he's going to live and be a vegetable,"
Amanda said.  "He'd rather be dead, believe me."

"Amanda, you aren't obliged to keep him alive artificially under these
circumstances."

"Don't worry, I won't."  She began to cry.

"There, there," he said.  "Don't cry; Leo isn't in pain."

"That's not why I'm crying," Amanda sobbed.  "I'm crying because right
now, all I can think about is wanting you."

CHAPTER

'. "Michael looked around the hospital room.

The entire Centurion board of directors was gathered around Harry
Johnson's bed, and Harry, his arm and shoulder in a cast, was
speaking.

"All right," he said, grimacing with pain.  "You've all heard from
Norman, Michael, and me what happened in Leo's office yesterday.  Now
we've got some business to conduct, and I want to get on with it so
that I can have a painkiller.  Norman, do you have a motion?"

Geldorf nodded.  "I move that the board appoint

Michael Vincent as president and chief executive officer of Centurion
Pictures, with full operating authority, at a salary and with benefits
to be negotiated between representatives of the board and Mr.
Vincent."

"Do I hear a second?"

"Second," another board member said.

"All in favor?"

"Aye," rumbled from the group.

Silence.

"Congratulations, Michael," Johnson said.  "Now, if there is no further
business to conduct at this time, this board is adjourned.  Nurse!"

A uniformed nurse entered the room with a hypodermic needle on a tray,
and the board members filed out.

Outside in the hall, Michael accepted the congratulations of his fellow
board members, then, when they had drifted out, he walked down the hall
toward Leo Goldman's room.

Michael entered and approached the bed.  Leo seemed unchanged from the
day before, but his exposed left eye was closed.  He opened it.  "Hi,
Leo," Michael said softly.  Leo blinked rapidly.

"l'here was a board meeting.  They chose me to succeed you."

Leo blinked rapidly again.

Michael leaned over and looked into Leo's good eye.  There was
intelligence there.  "Leo," he said, "if you can understand me, blink
once."

Leo blinked once.  Leo was alive in there.

"I want to ask you some questions.  Blink once for yes, twice for
no."

Leo blinked once.  "Are you in pain?"  Leo blinked once.

"Do you want me to call the nurse?"  Leo blinked twice.  "Can you
move?"

"Can you speak?"

Leo blinked twice.

"Do you want to see Amanda?"

Leo blinked twice.

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Leo blinked twice.

"I wish I could just ask you what you want,"

"Don't worry, you'll get better in time."  Leo blinked twice.

Michael stared at the eye.  "Don't you think you'll

Leo blinked twice.

Leo, do you want to go on living like this.

Leo blinked twice.

"Do you want me to do somethirg about it?"

Leo blinked once.

Michael walked to the door and' looked up and the hallway.  No one was
in sight.  He went back to Leo's bedside and looked around.  Leo had an
oxygen tube up his nose and an IV was running.  If he tampered with
those, somebody would notice.  Gently he lifted Leo's head and removed
the pillow.  He leaned over Leo.

"Is this what you want, Leo?"

Leo blinked once.

"Leo, I want to thank you for everything you've done for me."

Leo blinked once.

"I want you to know I'll see that Amanda is all right."

Leo blinked once.

"GOOd-bye, old friend."

Leo blinked once, and the eye filled.  A tear trickled toward his
ear.

Michael placed the pillow over Leo's face and pressed gently.  He
waited for three minutes by his watch, then he removed the pillow.  He
felt at Leo's neck, but couldn't find a pulse.  He lifted Leo's head
and placed the pillow under it, then he left the room.  No one saw him
leave.

For the first time since he was a little boy, Michael was fighting back
tears.

CHAPTER

, ichael stood at the podium and addressed the memorial service
audience.  The auditorium was packed.

"I had not known Leo Goldman as long as many of you, but I counted him
as my closest friend.  I have been asked to address you about Leo's
professional side--Leo as filmmaker.

"Leo Goldman personified what was best in the title 'producer."  He had
taste, judgment, style, an appreciation of talent of all sorts, and a
keen business sense.  The films Leo made as a producer were always
among Centurion's best.

"But Leo was more than a producer: he was a studio head, and he
operated in a manner not often seen today.  He was the kind of studio
head that L. B. Mayer and Jack Warner were.  He was responsible.  Leo
personally analyzed and approved every project that came out of
Centurion, and every movie that Centurion made reflected his taste and
judgment.  I think that it is possible to view every film that
Centurion ever made under Leo, as I have done, and conclude that Leo
Goldman never made a bad movie.  Not one.  And that is something that
neither L. B. Mayer nor Jack Warner could have justifiably said.  "What
Leo tmldman did make was hundreds of good movies, and I know that Leo
would be happy to be judged by nothing other than that output.  He was
responsible.  "I have been chosen to replace Leo, but we all know that
such a thing is not possible.  When I was offered his place at
Centurion, my first emotion was awe, followed closely by humility, when
I realized what I was being sked to do.  Perhaps it would be better to
follow a bad studio head, because it would be easier to look better;
following Leo would be very hard, because he was so good at what he
did.  "But on reflection, I see that my job will be made easier because
Leo did his job so well; because he made decisions, knocked heads, and,
no doubt over opposition, established a standard of filmmaking that is
the envy of the industry.  He was responsible.  "My gratitude to Leo is
complete.  He made it possible, first, for me to do what I do, and then
for me to do what he did.  If I don't do it as well, it won't be Leo's
fault.  "I tell you now that I would rather work for Leo than nm the
studio.  I would rather stand in his shadow than face the glare of
solitary scrutiny, as he did.  "And if, in my examination of my own
life and work, I find that I had the slightest part in driving Leo to
what he finally did, I will ask God to punish me.  "I loved Leo
Goldman, and I miss him.  In the coming days, if I find myself in a
quandary, at loggerheads with my peers, in trouble with my studio, I
will ask myself, "What would Leo Goldman have done?"  And I

I know what to do."

Amanda Goldman received her husband's friends and admirers at her home
on Stone Canyon.  Some four un dred people ate, drank, and talked of
Leo Goldman and The Business.

Michael found himself besieged by new admirers Congratulating him on
his eulogy.

Margot Gladstone was nearby.  "These people are eating out of your
hand," she whispered to him when she had the opportunity.  "Let's try
and keep it that way."

When the crowd began to drift away, Michael cornered Norman Geldorf and
Harry Johnson, whose arm was still in its cast.

"I wanted to say this as soon as possible," he said.  "I don't think we
should sell to the Japanese.  Not yet, anyway."

"I'm inclined to agree," Geldorf said.  "With Leo gone, they'll try to
knock down the price."

"Give me a chance to get established, to get some movies into
production," Michael said.  "Then, if selling is the right thing to do,
you'll get a lot more money for the studio."

Both men nodded.

"That was a wonderful eulogy, Michael," Johnson said.  "Just the right
touch."

Michael was the last to leave.

"Don't go," Amanda said, clinging to him.  "Stay the night."

"It's better that I go," he said.  "We'll talk in a few days.  See your
friends, ignore me; that's the best way for a while."

"In a week I'll be on fire," she said.

"In a week you can set me afire," he replied.

Michael cloistered himself in the Malibu house for the weekend with
Margot.  He strode back and forth beside the pool, dictating notes for
running Centurion, and Margot took them down.  She cooked; they made
love.  There was little love in it, they both knew.  They used each
other to the fullest.

But in their developing relationship, Michael had found what he had
never had ma confidant.

CHAPTER

52'

ear the end of his first week as head of Centurion Pictures, Michael
was working at his desk in what had once been Leo Goldman's office,
preparing for a board meeting, when Margot Glads.lone entered through
the door between their adjoining 7 offices.

"Have you heard the news this morning, or seen the papers?"  she
asked.

"No, neither.  I haven't had time for anything but this board
meeting."

She placed the New York Times on his desk.  In the lower right-hand
corner of the front page, Michael found the story:

MAFIA CHIEFTAIN DEAD AT 72

Benito Carlucci, for many years head of New York's largest Mafia
family, died yesterday at the age of seventy-two, at Columbia
Presbyterian Hospital, of complications of liver disease .... Carlucci
was convicted of a crime only once, as a young man, when he served two
years in Sing Sing prison for heading a car theft ring.  From the time
of his release, he rose rapidly in the ranks of his criminal
organization, always protected from arrest by layers of command, and at
the age of only forty, he succeeded to the leadership of his Mafia
family.  Under his management the family took the first tentative steps
toward legitimate investment, and, at the time of his death, FBI
sources said that more than half the family's income derived from
legitimate business, although' these businesses were often operated in
a fashion that flirted with illegality .... Often the death of the head
of a Mafia family results in a struggle for succession that is bloody,
but it appears to knowledgeable observers that Carlucci, anticipating
his death, mediated the succession, and arranged that the family would
be run by a council, the members of which are capos of units of the
family.  None of the four members seems, at this time, to have the
upper hand.

Services will be held tomorrow at St.  Patrick's Cathedral, with the
Archbishop of New York officiating.

Michael put down the paper and picked up the phone, dialing the number
of a cellular phone.

"Yes?"  Tommy's voice was tense.

"It's Vinnie; I just heard."

"Hold."

Michael listened as muffled orders were barked, then Tommy came back on
the line.

"Sorry, Vinnie.  It's been hectic around here, as you

"I'm very sorry, Tommy; I know you loved the old man."

"I did, but he's gone, and now we've got stuff to do."

"Is everything all right?"

"Don't believe everything you read in the papers."  "When can we get
together?"

"I'll try and come out there next month."  "Good.  Convey my sympathy
to his family."  "Of course."  Michael hung up.

'q/Veil?"  Margot asked.  "What's going on?"

"He couldn't really talk," Michael said.  "He'll come out here when he
can, and then we'll know."

Michael called the board meting to order.  "Good afternoon, gentlemen;
this will be a brief meeting.  I want to bring you up to date on
business, then there are two matters before the board for approval.

"Since taking charge of the studio, I have canceled the science fiction
and Vietnam War projects and have written off the expenses."

There was a murmur of approval around the table.  "I have also put
three pictures into produation, the largest budget of which is fourteen
million dollars.  I expect all of them to be highly profitable.

"Naturally, there will be some personnel changes at the studio.  Some
of the department heads under Leo will, of course, be unhappy with
working for me, and there may be some that I will be unhappy with."

Harry Johnson spoke up.  "You will, of course, seek board approval of
any major changes."

Michael looked at Johnson.  "That concludes my update.  Now I wish to
bring to a vote the employment contracts for myself and Margot
Gladstone.  To answer your question, Harry, my proposed contract gives
me full authority to hire and fire as I see fit.  Do I hear a
motion?"

"Move that the contracts be approved," a board member said.

"Second," said another.

'Any discussion?"  Michael asked.  "Harry?"  Johnson stood up.
"Michael, first I want to say how pleased I am--and I'm sure I speak
for all the board--at the way you've taken charge of the studio.  Your
actions on the production side are both prudent and creative, and we
are all grateful."  He cleared his throat.  "However, there are
potential problems on the business side of the studio.  Some of the
department heads have been in their jobs for many years and have proven
their worth under Leo.  All of these people have had vastly more
experience than you in this business, and I, for one, am reluctant to
give you the power to terminate and replace them at will."

'qThank 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 CeO," 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 give 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."

"Yes sir," Margot replied.

CHAPTER

ichael 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 r..nway 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
air stairs 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."  Torn
Brokaw's image apeared 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."  'qThis 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?."  'q'he 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."  Tom,ny
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."

"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."  Torn
Brokaw's image apieared 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
chinged 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."  Tomrhy
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 s, aid. 
"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."  "I'he old man wanted
me dead?"  "You double-crossed him, Vinnie."  "Now, wait a minute,
Tommy."

"Some people would say that you double-crossed me."

"Fommy... '

"You talked Geldorf and Johnson out of selling the studio to the Japs,
which means us and the Jape."

"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."

"Fommy, listen to me.  I've got a movie studio in the palm of my han
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, the
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 tadn't been for
me, you'd be feeding the fishes in the Pcific 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 (wn 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 roller skate 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

ichael 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 no irs

"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.

'qVhat?"  '

"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 sd
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 nm 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?"  "Fell 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?"  'res, 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 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 ycu're taking 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.  Michael was near
to losing his temper now; he was getting too much flak from women
today, and he didn't like it.  "Your contract remains as it is," he
said.  "If you don't trust me, then go fuck yourself."

Margot turned white, then she stood up.  "I'm glad to know where I
stand," she said coldly.  Then she walked out of the room, slamming the
door behind her.

Michael went back to his script, but he had trouble concentrating,
Finally he got up and opened the door that joined their offices.
"Margot," he said, "I'm sorry, I..."  He looked around the room.  She
was gone.

CHAPTER

ichael stood at the mirror and expertly tied his black silk evening
tie.  The phone rang, the private number that only a few people had.
"Hello?"  "It's Tommy."  He sounded unhappy, Michael thought.  "Hey,
how are you?"  "Not so good.  I just had a drink with Norman
Geldorf."

"And?"  "He won't sell the trust's stock."  "Wait a minute, I told
Amanda Goldman to tell him to sell everything, including Leo's stock." 
"She didn't get the message."  "Look, Tommy, I can fix this."  "I don't
think you're getting the message either, Vinnie."

"Look, she'll do whatever I tell her to; I've got her wrapped around my
little finger; she thinks we're going to get married."

"Geldorf told me it was her express wish that she hang on to the stock,
just so she can keep you in power at the studio."

"Fommy..."

"In fact, Geldorf had the distinct impression that you were playing her
along, just to get her to do that."  "Tommy, that's not so; I..."

"Good-bye, Vinnie," Tommy said.  "Or maybe I should say good-bye,
Michael.  That's who you are these days, isn't it?"  He hung up.

"Fommy..."  Michael crashed the phone down on the receiver.
"Goddamnit!"  he screamed at nobody in particular.  He grabbed his
dinner jacket; he was already late for an industry dinner at the
Beverly Hills Hotel.

He ran down the stairs to the garage, to find the chauffeur working
under the hood of the car.  "What the hell?"  he said.

"I'm sorry, Mr.  Vincent.  The starter's not getting any juice from the
battery; I think there's a broken wire."

"Never mind, I'll drive myself," Michael said, getting into the
Porsche.

He roared out of the garage, flashing his lights at the security guard,
who got the gate up just in time, then drove down the Pacific Coast
Highway, forcing himself to keep it at eighty, lest he be arrested.  He
was receiving an award tonight for his support of the campaign against
AIDS in the Hollywood community, and he didn't want to be late for his
own party.

At the pre dinner cocktail party he stood in line for a gin and tonic,
chatting with whoever came up to him.  Everybody was there this
evening, the big-time play em--the studio heads, talent agency heads,
top actors, agents, producers.  There were no more than fifty women in
an audience of five hundred, he reckoned.  Margot Gladstone was one of
them.  She came up as he was talking with an agent and waited
discreetly nearby until she could catch his eye.  "How are you, Margot?
I wanted to talk to you..."  "That's over," she said.  He looked
around and managed a smile, not wanting anyone to catch the hostility
in their exchange.  He took her arm.  "Listen, let's talk after this;
come out to the house, and... .. "It's over," she said sharply.  "The
only reason I'm here is to tell you that face to face.  My resignation
is on your desk."  She pulled, her arm away from his grasp.  "All bets
are off," she said, then she smiled.  "Goodbye, Michael."  She turned
and made her way through the crowd.  Michael was about to go after her
when an amplified voice said, Ladies and gentlemen, please the your
seats for dinner."  A studio head he knew took' his arm and guided him
toward the head table.

Late that night, after the speeches and his acceptance of the award,
Michael finally was able to disengage himself from the congratuhtors
and get out of the ballroom.  He walked out of the hotel and waited for
five minutes while the Porsche was retrieved from its parking place,
then, tipping the valet parker twenty dollars, he got into the car and
started down the drive toward Sunset Boulevard.

He was a little drunk, he knew.  It had been hot in the dining room,
and a waiter had kept bringing him fresh gin and tonics.  He took a few
deep breaths and tried to clear his head.

Driving carefully and not too fast, Michael turned onto Sunset and
headed toward the freeway that would take him to Malibu.  He released
the levers that held the top down and pressed the button that retracted
it.  The cool night air made him feel better, and the perfume from the
lush gardens along Sunset made him feel happy to be in Beverly Hills.

He was right where he wanted to be, he thought.  He held the reins of a
great studio in his hands, and he could make any movie he wanted to. He
would get square with Tommy tomorrow; this was only a little tiff
between lifelong friends, and he would make it right.  He would talk to
Margot, too; she'd come around.  He'd even give her the contract she
wanted--anything to keep her happy.  He needed her, after all.

A red Corvette was overtaking him on the left and, it seemed to him,
crowding him a bit.  Not in an aggressive mood, he gave way a little to
let the sports car pass.  Then, suddenly, inexplicably, the corvette
veered sharply to the right, as if to ram him.

Michael yanked hard on the wheel; he would run onto the sidewalk, if
necessary, to avoid this maniac.  Fortunately, there was a street to
his right, and, shifting down, he turned the corner, swearing loudly. 
But he was still not all right.  Directly in his path, two cars were
stopped, side by side, taking up the whole dark street.  He stood on
the brake, ready to scream at these people, and, suddenly, the Corvette
was beside him.  Two men got out of the car.  and walked to either side
of the open Porsche.  Panicky now, Michael slammed the car into
reverse, but a glance in the rearview mirror showed him another car
stopped directly behind him.

"Put your hands on your head," a young voice said."  An automatic
pistol appeared near his head, and it was wearing a silencer.

Michael obeyed, then looked up into a face that might have been his own
a few years before.  He looked to his right: another such face---young,
hard, free of any conscience.  How could this happen to him?

"This is a robbery," the young voice said.  "Let's have your wallet."

Michael slumped with relief.  This was no hit; he'd already be dead if
this were a contract job.  He fished his wallet from his inside pocket
and handed it to the young man.

"Very nice," the gunman said.  "Thank you, Vinnie."

Startled, Michael looked up into the young face.  "How do you..."

Then the young man moved the barrel of the gun from Michael's head,
pointed it instead at his lap, and fired twice.

Michael screamed.  His lower belly was on fire.  He grabbed at his
crotch, then jerked his' hands b .a0c.  They came away crimson with his
own blood.

Michael screamed again and again.  He was only vaguely aware of the
cars around him roaring away, even less aware of reaching for the car
phone, dialing 911.

CHAPTER

* ichael sat at his desk, going over the budget for a film he would
soon put into production, He ran through the figures, using his
lifelong faculty for numbers, mentally comparing them with the figures
for other, past productions, making a note here and there, indicating
that the number should be discussed later with the production
manager.

There was a soft knock, and Margot came through the door from her
office.

"Time for the screening," she said.  "Everybody's waiting for you."

Michael looked up at Margot, cool, elegant as ever.  She dressed better
these days on her new salary.  She moved behind him.

"Shall I..."

He raised a hand.  "No!"  he barked.  "I'd rather do it myself."  He
was more and more irritable these days, especially since there was no
longer any sex to relax him, to take his mind off work.  He grabbed the
joystick and reversed.  The chair rolled back from the desk.  He moved
the stick forward, and the chair rolled toward the door.  Margot was
there to open it for him, and he guided the chair expertly down the
little ramp that had been built for him, right into the screening room.
Tommy Pro and Mr.  Yamamoto turned to watch him enter.  "Hiya, Vinnie,"
Tommy said as Michael rolled into the place where a chair had been
removed to accommodate him.  "Good morning, Tommy, Mr.  Yamamoto."  He
made a little bow from the neck in Yamamoto's direction.  How he hated
the smooth little man.  "Ready?"  Tommy asked.  Michael picked up the
phone.  "Roll it, Max."  He sat and numbly watched the film, a sorry,
violent mess, riddled with car chases and shootouts, starring a kung fu
expert who, until recently, had been Tommy Pro's personal trainer.
Tommy was looking very trim and fit since he'd moved his olrations to

L.A.

The filmbnded and the lights went up.  Yamamoto was the first to speak.
"Veddy goood, veddy goood," he said in his Oxford-accented English.
"I'm glad you liked it, Mr.  Yamamoto/' MiEhael said.  Tommy leaned
over.  "Vinnie, there was a car crash I saw in the dailies--the one
where the guy hits the school bus?"

"I didn't think we needed it," Michael said.  "It seemed a little too
much."

"I liked it," Tommy said.  "Put it in."

Michael died a little more.  "Of course, Tommy," he said.

CHAPTER

Michael straightened his desk, squared away the legal pads, scooped up
the pens, and placed them in the small Acoma pot he used for a pencil
holder.  Satisfied that all was neat, he pushed back from the desk and
lifted the heavy briefcase onto his lap, then wheeled himself across
his office toward the door to the conference room for what would be his
last board meeting at Centurion.

As he took his place at the center of the long table (he no longer sat
at the head of the table--Tommy Provensano now occupied that seat) he
felt a certain peace in knowing that his work at Centurion was nearly
completed.

Certainly he felt no joy in the fact that he had publicly presided over
the studio's rapid decline in the quality of its productions and the
growth of its debt;

he did not take it kindly that his own name was now synonymous with
schlock; he felt no affection for the men--and one woman--who had
sucked the very viscera from the studio that had been the preeminent
maker of quality Hollywood films and turned it into an industry joke.
Still, he felt a certain peace, knowing that it was nearly all over. He
placed his briefcase on the conference table.

"Gentlemen," Tommy said, "please be seated."  The dozen men and one
woman took their places at the table--Tommy Pro at the head, and Margot
Gladstone to his right.

"This regular monthly meeting of the board of directors of Centurion
Pictures will come to order," Tommy said.  "The vice-chairman of the
corporation,

Ms.

Gladstone, will act.  as recorder for this meeting."  Margot gave first
Tommy, then the others at the table, her warmest smile.

"This meeting," Tommy continued, "will be brief,

since there is little business to conduct.  We..."

"Mr.  Chairman?"  Michael said.

Tommy looked irritably in Michael's direction.  "If we could just stick
to the agenda," he said, and his tone brooked no argument.

"Mr.  Chairman," Michael continued, despite Tommy's warning.  "If I may
interrupt for just a moment.  The board is aware that today is our
chairman's birthday, and I have been asked to say a few words and
present a small gift."

Tommy looked startled, then smiled.  "That is very kind of you,
Michael.  And may I thank all of you?"

"I will not dwell on the chairman's years," Michael said, to light
laughter, "but it is well known to all of us that he has a keen
interest in the weapons used in Centurion's films, so I have asked our
special effects to supply something which will be used in forthcoming
production, Armed Force, one that our is taking a particular interest
in."

Tommy leaned back in his chair and smiled broadly.

you have for me, Michael?"

Michael released the locks on his briefcase and i. Opened it.  Inside
lay two gleaming automatic weapons and a number of accessories. Michael
picked up one of the guns and began screwing a suppressor onto its
barrel.  "This, Tommy, is a prototype of the production model of a new
automatic weapon developed by the CIA, in conjunction with the Drug
Enforcement Agency.  I was able to persuade the Director of
Intelligence to allow us to use it in Armed Force."  He passed the
weapon down the table to Tommy, who received it gingerly.

"Is it loaded?"  Tommy asked.

Michael began screwing l suppressor onto the second weapon.  "Of
course, Tommywbut only with ammunition formulated by Special Effects. I
assure you, it would be quite safe if you raked the conference table
with automatic fire."  He slid back the bolt on his weapon and released
it.  "It cocks like so."

Tommy stood up and cocked the weapon.  "I hope you don't mind, Michael,
if, in light of previous events at this studio, I don't point it at
anyone."

"Of course, Tommy," Michael replied.  "Try that beautifully panelled
wall I assure you, it will come to no harm."

Everyone stood and backed away from the table as Tommy raised the
weapon.  "All right; let's preterfd that all of the New York film
critics are lined up against that wall."  He pointed the machine gun at
the wall and pressed the trigger.

The weapon exploded in Tommy's face.

Pandemonium broke out in the boardroom.  Some board members dived under
the table, others rushed' to Tommy's aid.  Margot Gladstone dragged him
away from the table and propped him up against a wall.  "Tommy!"  she
was crying, "Are you alive?"  Tommy was, indeed, alive, though his face
was ruined, and he seemed able to make only croaking sounds.  "Thank
you for your tender efforts on Tommy's behalf, Margot," Michael said,
then he fired a short burst in her direction.  Margot spun around,
bounced off a wall, and fell in a heap before Tommy, who was still
trying to speak.  Michael swung his weapon toward a group of directo?s
who were now huddled in a corner of the room.  "Now, Mr.  Yamamoto/' he
said. "You may join your ancestors?  He fired a long burst at the
group, sweeping back and forth across the corner.  The gun stopped
firing, and the bolt locked.  Michael reached into the briefcase for
another clip, then reloaded and cocked the weapon.  He swung his
wheelchair back toward Tommy.  "I don't want you to think that the
exploding weapon was designed to kill you, Tommy," he said.  There was
a hammering on the door leading into the hallway, which, as Michael
knew, was always locked.  "I have kept that particular pleasure for
myself."  Tommy roared something, but his words were unintelligible. 
One or more persons was now aempting to break down the stout mahogany
door.  Michael pointed the weapon at Tommy.  "On be hal of movie lovers
everywhere, I give you this," he said.  He fired, and Tommy's body did
a little dance under the withering rain of large-caliber slugs.

After a few seconds, the weapon was again out of ammunition.

Michael was reloading for the final coup when efforts to break down the
door succeeded.  Michael hurried, but he was not fast enough.  Two
uniformed security guards were emptying their weapons in his
direction.

Michael felt himself fly sideways out of his wheelchair.

EPILOGUE

ichael slowly opened his eyes.  He had been aware, over the past days,
that heroic efforts had been made to save his life.  He had been in
some sort of intensive care room that was noisy and busy at all times,
but now he was in a quiet place.  He tried to lift his head, but the
muscles would not work.  He tried gripping the sides of the bed with
his hands, but that didn't work either.  He tried moving his toes, to
no effect.  In his rising panic, he tried to scream, but couldn't.

Michael spent some moments calming himself; then he swiveled his eyes
around to take in as much as he could.  There was a stand next to his
bed that held a plastic bag of some sort of fluid; apart from that, he
could only see the ceiling.  He closed his eyes, and a few minutes
later he dozed.

3?2

X. X

A noise awakened him; a door had opened, and now it closed.  Footsteps
approached his bed.  Michael swiveled his eyes to try and see who it
was.  Amanda Goldman's face moved into his vision.

"Oh, my darling," she said, "you're awake."  She moved a finger back
and forth across his field of vision.

Michael's eyes followed the finger.

"You really are awake, aren't you?  I've been visiting you for weeks,
and they've always told me not to expect any response.  Something about
brain damage."  Michael's eyes widened.

"Can you hear me?"  She asked.  "If you can, blink once for yes and
twice for no."

Michael blinked once.  He could communicate!  If he could communicatet
then there was some way out of this!

"Can you move?"  she asked.

Michael blinked twice.

"My God, you know me, don't you?"

Michael blinked once.  :

"I want you to know what's been happening," she said.  "A lot of
Japanese turned up at the studio, and they've been running things."

Michael closed his eyes.

"I've been taking care of your personal affairs," she said.

Michael opened his eyes again.

"My lawyers got a trust established to run your affairs, and I'm the
trustee.  Somebody found the will you left, naming me as beneficiary,
so the court appointed me."

Michael stared at her.

3?3

Amanda sat on the bed and positioned herself so that he could see her
easily.  "I'm all right, I guess.  Michael, there's something I want to
tell you.  I feel that I can confide in you more than anyone else."

Michael blinked once.  He was impatient with all this talk.  He had to
find a way to let her know what he wanted to do.

"I've met somebody, and I've been seeing a lot of him.  He's younger
than I am, but that never made any difference with you and me, did
it?"

Michael blinked twice.  Better to humor her until he could figure out
something.

"He's somebody you know, somebody you worked with," she said.  "His
name is Chuck Parish."  Michael's eyes opened wide again.

"You remember; you made a couple of films together.  This is' all real
incestuous, you know, because until recently, he was living with
Vanessa, your old flame.  She, my darling, is living with Bob Hart! Can
you believe it?  She must be some smart cookie to have been able to
winkle him out of SUsan's clutches, but she did it.  The divorce is the
talk of the town?

Michael blinked rapidly.  This was insane.

"Chuck is sweet," she said.  "Not as good as you in bed, of course, but
quite all right.  He doesn't seem to like to talk about you, but I knew
you'd be glad I was with a friend of yours.  I've taken the money in my
trust that I got for my Centurion stock and formed a new production
company to produce Chuck's work.  He's a wonderful director and writer,
as you well know, having discovered him?

Michael closed his eyes tightly.  How could he get her to shut up?

Amanda was quiet for a moment, then she wiped a tear from the corner of
an eye.  "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

Michael stared at her.

"I remember our conversation when Leo was in the hospital.  You were
right then, and I want you to know that I understand what you must be
feeling about your condition.  I've had a second and a third opinion,
but no one gives you any hope of any sort of a recovery.  I'm afraid
the best you could hope for would be to be propped up in bed and
pointed at a television for the rest of your life."

Michael blinked rapidly.  He had to think of some way to communicate
what he wanted.

"I know what you want, my darling, because you as much as told me when
Leo was ill."

Michael saw he pounds hand go past the corner of his eye, and his head
tilted up for a moment, so that he could see more of the.  room; then
it was tilted back again.

"You changed my life," she said, and she was weeping now.  "I owe you
everything, but now there is only one thing I can do for you."

Michael saw something come into his field of vision, and it was
white.

"Good-bye, my darling," Amanda said.  "I love you."

The r,illow filled his vision, and then it was dark.

Michael couldn't even blink.  He fought the pillow with his mind, but
it didn't work.

Suddenly it wasn't dark anymore.  There was light coming from
somewhere, and, miracle of miracles, he could move!  He held up a hand
to shield his eyes, but then it wasn't necessary.  The light was kind,
and it seemed to originate down a hallway or tunnel.  Michael walked
toward it.

Then there was a dark shape in the light--another person, and somehow
he felt he knew who it was!  He walked faster.  It was a man, and he
was walking toward Michael, his hands reaching out for him.  Behind the
man were other people.

Michael reached out for the man, and then he knew who he was.  Onofrio
Callabrese took his son's hands and held them tightly.  His smile was
ghastly.

Michael struggled to free himself, and then other people were around
him, pulling him forward into the light.  They were glad to see him, in
some odd way, and he knew them all.  There was a woman, and it was
Carol Geraldi.  She held onto him particularly.  Rick Rivera was there,
and--my God!  It was Leo!  Leo put an arm around his shoulders and
hurried him forward.  Benedetto and Cheech walked alongside him, and
there, coming out of the light, was the lawyer, Moriarty!

Michael felt a terrible fear, and he tried to dig his heels in, but
nothing could stop his progress toward the light.  Inexorably they drew
him into it.

Michael suddenly found that he could do more than walk.  He could
scream.

THE END

Santa Fe, New Mexico, September 9, 1992

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to my former editor, Ed Breslin, who is now writing his
own novel, for his fine work in editing this book; to Gladys Justin
Carr, my new editor, for working so hard for the bt2ok's success; to
all the other people at HarperCollins for their help; to my agent, Mort
Janklow, his principal associate, Anne Sibbald, and their colleagues at
Janklow & Nesbit, who have been so important to my career over the past
dozen years; and to Chris Connor, for helping me.o understand
Hollywood.

Here is an excerpt from

SWIMMING TO

CATALINA

HarperCollins Publish

STUART WOODS is the author of more than fifteen novels, including
Chiefs, Grass Roots, Santa Fe Rules, L.A. Times, Dead Eyes, Heat, New
York Dead, Imperfect Strangers, Choke, Dirt, Dead in the Water,
Swimming to Catalina, and Deep Lie.  He lives in Litchfield County,
Connecticut and Vero Beach, Florida.