“My own plays,” he replied.
“Have you written any plays?”
“My screenplay was originally intended for the stage, but my faculty adviser cautioned me against that.”
“Why?”
“Since the script is about two students murdering a teacher and getting away with it, I think he thought the school’s board would be reluctant to see it performed with parents present.”
That got a laugh from all three. The dean spoke up. “Since your film doesn’t have titles yet, I didn’t realize that you had acted in it, as well as directing, until I saw you this morning. Did you find that difficult?”
“Not as difficult as I had feared. I already had all the dialogue in memory, so I didn’t have to worry about that. It was mainly a matter of organizing the setups and preparing in advance so that I wouldn’t waste scene time.”
“You seem to have shot everything in existing light,” the dean said. “Why?”
“Because we had only two lights to work with. I used them, but it’s probably hard to tell where.” Peter cleared his throat. “May I ask a question?”
“Of course,” the woman said.
“How many people here have seen my film or read the screenplay?”
“Just the three of us,” she replied. “We watched it together.”
“My father is very concerned that if the film is widely seen that it might attract a lot of attention, and he doesn’t think I’m ready for that. I tend to agree with him, so may I ask that you not discuss the film with anyone else and that you return the screenplay and DVD?”
The dean answered. “I think that’s a very reasonable request, and we will give you our promise to do so, until you’re ready to have it more widely seen.”
“Thank you,” Peter replied.
“Do you have any other questions, Peter?” the woman asked.
“I don’t think so; I found answers to most of my questions before I got here.”
That got another laugh.
“Anyone else?” the woman asked her colleagues, but both men shook their heads. “I just want to mention one thing, Peter,” she said. “Do you know that we have places for only two hundred students in our program?”
“Yes, I do, and I appreciate how difficult that must make your decisions. I hope I’m accepted, but I certainly understand why I might not be.”
“Thank you for coming to see us, Peter,” she said. “We notify all our applicants at the same time, so you’ll get a letter in due course.”
Peter shook their hands and thanked them, then left the room.
When he had left, his inquisitors all chuckled.
“He’s lying, of course,” said the man who had not spoken during the interview.
“About what?” the woman asked, surprised.
“About his age,” the man replied. “He’s not eighteen; he’s at least thirty-five.”
They all had a good laugh.
Stone saw Peter coming down the hall and looked at his watch. He had been gone for only twenty minutes. The three of them got up and walked out to the parking lot. “That was quick, wasn’t it?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I was in there twice as long,” Ben said. “How did it go?”
“They were all very nice,” Peter said.
“Had they seen your film?” Stone asked.
“Yes, all three of them. They promised not to discuss it with anyone.”
“Did they like it?”
“They didn’t say.”
They found a restaurant and had lunch. Stone thought the boys were unusually quiet.
33
W hen Stone got the boys home he went upstairs to the master suite and found Arrington in bed, reading a New Yorker. “How did it go for the boys?” she asked, putting down the magazine.
“I’m not sure there’s any way to tell,” Stone replied. “They were both asked a lot of questions, but Peter was in there only half the time that Ben was. We weren’t sure what to make of that. Peter extracted a promise from them that they’d return his screenplay and DVD and not mention his film to anyone.”
“That’s a relief,” she said.
Stone picked up the magazine. “Why are you reading a fifteenyear-old New Yorker?”
“I’m reading the profile of Vance I wrote for them.”
“Oh.”
“Did you ever read it?”
“No, I was jealous.”
“I”m sorry.”
“Why are you reading it now?”
“There was another phone call from somebody at the Post, wanting information about Vance. I didn’t return it, but clearly there’s something afoot. I thought one way to stop it was to say that I’m writing a biography of Vance, to include a memoir of our marriage and his murder.”
“I think that’s a terrific idea,” Stone said. “Once you’re in the new house you’ll have time on your hands, and working again would be good for you.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Arrington said. “I talked with my old agent, Mort Janklow, and he thinks there would be a lot of interest in the book.”
“If you do it, you’re going to have to explain when Peter was born and why his name has been changed, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell anything but the truth.”
“I think you’re right, but by the time anyone saw the book, Peter would be older, when it might not matter. If I publish after he’s out of Yale and working at making movies, the publicity might even give his career a boost.”
“The boy wonder stories would run after he wasn’t so much a boy anymore,” Stone said, “and if we can keep a tight lid on it until then, it would be a stunner.”
“I’m glad we’re of one mind on this. Oh, and I had a call from the architect today. Completion date on the house is next week, and there are some last-minute decisions to be made that I have to be on-site for, so I thought I’d fly down tomorrow.”
“For how long?”
“Three weeks, maybe a month. I’ll have to get everything out of storage and moved in, and I want to send some of mine and Peter’s clothes up.”
“Don’t send anything he’s already outgrown,” Stone said. “I’ve bought him some new things, but he’s not done growing yet.”
“Good point. Maybe there’s no point in sending any of his things at all. I could give them to a charity down there.”
“That might be best,” Stone agreed. “I think I’ll move him to a larger room, too.”
“He’s going to have a lot of books and computer equipment,” she said.
“Then maybe the suite upstairs might be a good idea. It was intended for a servant couple when the house was built, and it’s empty, except for some things stored there. He’ll have a bedroom and a sitting room, and I could get some shelves and storage built in.”
“That’s the sort of thing he would love planning,” Arrington said, “so get him involved.”
“I wish his grandfather were still alive,” Stone said. “He could build everything and do a finer job than anyone I could hire.”
“It’s a pity they didn’t get to know each other,” Arrington said.
Stone got undressed and got into bed. He pulled her onto his shoulder, and she got out of her nightgown. “What am I going to do without you for three weeks?” he asked.
“Or a month. I suppose the way you got along without me for fifteen years.” She caught herself. “Well, maybe not exactly the way you got along without me. I can imagine the parade of women who’ve marched through this bed in the interim.”
“Well, I had to do something with my time, didn’t I?”
She snuggled closer and moved her hand to his crotch. “I suppose you did,” she said, “but it makes me jealous to think about them.”
Stone rolled on top of her and rested on his elbows, bringing their faces to within kissing distance. “I think I like you jealous,” he said, kissing her.
She reached down and maneuvered him inside her. “Stop talking, please, and start fucking.”
And he did.
The following morning he drove her out to Teterboro and got her settled on the G-III Gulfstream.
“I’m concerned about your having to see Timothy Rutledge again,” Stone said. “Is there any way to avoid that?”