“You’d think that would get them into any school in the world,” Eggers said.
“Who knows?” Stone replied. “It was a lot easier when you and I were applying to NYU Law School. These days you can’t know how these admissions committees work.”
“Do they have backup schools?”
“Ben has already been accepted to Columbia, but Peter has no backup.”
“It might not hurt if he did.”
“The better I get to know Peter, the more I realize that he habitually assesses the possibilities and alternatives of any situation and chooses what he thinks is the best path. If he felt he needed a backup, he’d have one.”
“He has a lot of confidence.”
“He calls it structured optimism.”
Eggers laughed. “I like that.”
“Let’s hope Yale likes it, too.”
“What are you doing this evening?”
“Ben’s off to Choate next week, and we’re having an eighteenth birthday party for him at the house. I’ve rearranged my gym to provide a dance floor, and we’ve hired a DJ, and they’ll all eat in the kitchen.”
“Are you chaperoning?”
“Joan and Helene, my housekeeper, are handling that; they’re a lot tougher than either Arrington or I would be. I’m setting the motion detectors on the first floor so that if anybody tries to make it to a bed, the alarm will go off and lights will flash.”
“Smart move. Good luck.”
Stone got back to the house in time to be there when Peter returned from school. Joan handed him the letter, and he carried it to Stone’s office.
“I got a letter from Yale,” he said, holding it up.
“Good,” Stone replied.
“I’m going to read it now.”
“Good idea.”
Peter stared at the envelope a little longer, then he picked up a letter opener and carefully slit the envelope flap and removed the letter. He unfolded it and read aloud: “‘Dear Mr. Barrington, we are in receipt of yours and Mr. Benito Bacchetti’s applications and their relevant enclosures. We have scheduled an admissions committee meeting for 11:00 AM this Friday, the 7th, and we invite you and Mr. Bacchetti to be interviewed at that time. If this is seriously inconvenient, please phone my office to make other arrangements.’”
Peter flopped down on the couch and heaved a huge sigh. “Wow!” he said. “It’s signed by the dean of the School of Drama.”
“I’ll drive the two of you up to New Haven on Friday morning, if you like,” Stone said.
“I like,” Peter replied. “Ben likes, too. Holy cow, I have to call him!”
“Call him from your room, if you will. I have work to do here, and I don’t want to listen to your squeals.”
Peter ran up the stairs, waving the letter.
Joan came in. “I was listening,” she said. “This is so great!”
“Isn’t it?” Stone said. “Where’s his mother?”
“Out shopping.”
“I didn’t think I could make him wait until she returned to open the letter. He would have exploded.”
32
A t the appointed time for Ben’s birthday party, Stone and Arrington had a pizza delivered and repaired to the master suite, where they watched Peter’s film, rapt.
Halfway through, Stone put down his glass of beer. “He did this by himself?”
“He and the other boys,” Arrington replied, “but knowing Peter, I’m sure he took the weight of it on his own shoulders.”
“I didn’t know he had acted in it, too.”
“Neither did I. He’s good, isn’t he?”
“He is, and so is everything else. Now I see why Leo Goldman at Centurion was so impressed.”
They continued to watch until the final fade-out, then Stone put on some music. “You know that Peter sent his screenplay and the DVD along with his application to Yale, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Arrington said.
“When Leo called me and wanted to buy the film, I insisted that he return his copies to me and keep absolutely quiet about the film, but now I don’t think it can be kept quiet. They’ll see it at Yale, and word is bound to get around that the thing is, well, brilliant.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yes.”
A faint throbbing could now be felt from three floors below.
“The party seems to be at its peak,” Stone said.
“I’ve told them to have everybody out of the house by eleven,” Arrington said.
“I hope there’s still a house left by then,” Stone said.
Early on Friday morning Stone got the two boys into the car and started for New Haven. Ben had stayed the night before. They reached New Haven in plenty of time, and Stone followed the map that Peter had printed out from the Internet. They found the administrative offices, and took seats in the waiting room. Ben was called in first for his interview.
“Peter,” Stone said, “your mother and I watched your film last night, and we thought it was absolutely terrific.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“You remember our conversation about Leo Goldman liking it, and how I asked him to keep it a secret?”
“Sure.”
“Somebody at Yale, maybe more than one person, has seen it by now, and it may be difficult to keep it quiet.”
“It had occurred to me that that might happen,” Peter said, “but I thought my chance of being accepted here would be better if they saw it.”
“I expect that’s right, but you might see if you can find out how many people have seen it and ask them to keep quiet about it.”
“I can ask, I guess,” Peter said.
Forty minutes passed, and Ben came out of his interview. “They’ll be ready for you in a minute, they said.” He plopped down beside Peter. “Whew!”
“Was it tough?”
“Not exactly, but they sure had a lot of questions. They didn’t like it that I hadn’t done any sort of audition, but they seemed to like it that I want to study production and get an MBA. They have a program for that.”
“Good,” Peter said.
A woman came and took Peter down a hall to a large office, where two men, one of them the dean of the school, and a woman waited. Introductions were made, and they all sat down at a small conference table.
The woman began. “Peter, please tell us why you want to study at the Yale School of Drama.”
“For the past seven months,” Peter said, “I’ve read up on about fifteen schools, and I concluded that Yale has the best program. It’s as simple as that.”
“Do you know anyone who has attended here?” she asked.
“No, but I know that Elia Kazan trained here, and as far as I’m concerned, that’s the best possible recommendation.”
“Have you read his autobiography?”
“Yes, twice,” Peter replied.
“You’ve indicated in your application that you want to study both acting and directing. Why?”
“My intention is to direct, but I’ve enjoyed the acting I’ve done in school productions, and if I’m going to direct, I’ll need to understand how actors think and how to work with them. I’m interested in everything you teach here, but I suppose I have to concentrate on something, so I chose acting and directing.”
“You understand, don’t you, that this is a professional school, and that it’s very time-consuming, so you won’t have an opportunity to take a lot of college courses simultaneously.”
“Yes, I understand that, but by the autumn I will already have taken all of the standard liberal arts curriculum, and I’ve done most of the reading required to get a BA.”
The three exchanged a glance. “I see,” the woman said. “Who are your favorite writers?”
“Mark Twain and Jane Austen,” Peter replied without hesitating. “In the theater, Tennessee Williams, Arthur Miller, and Noel Coward.”
She smiled. “I believe that’s the first time I’ve heard an applicant mention Coward,” she said, half to herself. “What have you read that you would most like to direct?”
“I’d like very much to make a film of Pride and Prejudice,” he said. “I know it’s been done, but it seems to get redone every generation or so.”
“What would you like to direct onstage?”