“He has a reputation around town for being mercurial, to put it politely. I’m told he has to pay higher than usual salaries to get crew to work for him, and even then, there’s a lot of turnover among his people. He’d probably be in jail or a padded room somewhere if he didn’t make so much money for his studio.”
“Keep an ear to the ground, and let me know what’s going on with Billy, will you?” Stone asked.
Ana returned to the table. “Sorry about that. There was a problem with a closing in Santa Fe, but I got it sorted out.”
“Funny I should meet you,” Peter said. “My wife, Hattie, and I have been talking about getting a place for weekends and vacations, and Santa Fe keeps coming up.”
“What a delightful son you have, Stone,” she said, producing a business card out of thin air and handing it to Peter. “Do give me a call if you’d like to come out for a weekend and look around. I’ll put you and your wife up in my guesthouse.”
“Perhaps we’ll do that,” Peter replied, tucking the card away.
“Hooked,” Stone said.
Ana laughed. “Your father managed to sell his Santa Fe house without an agent,” Ana said, “which is against God’s law. What sort of place did you have in mind, Peter? Acreage? Horses? Sunset views?”
“Well, Hattie and I used to ride, but not much lately. It might be fun to keep horses.”
“Now you’re talking about staff, Peter,” Stone said. “Careful.”
“Not much staff,” Ana said. “All you need is a groom, who can double as a caretaker, and the phone number of a good vet. I can get you both—all part of the service. Do you have any kids?”
“Not yet,” Peter said. “Neither of us seems much inclined that way.”
“Fewer bedrooms, then,” Ana replied.
For most of the rest of their lunch the two of them talked houses, while Stone looked on, amazed.
25
BEN BACCHETTI LET himself into one of the commissary’s private dining rooms, where his guest sat, waiting. “I’m sorry to be late,” Ben said, checking his watch.
“Quite all right,” the man said, rising and extending his hand. “I’m Dax Baxter.” He was taller and heavier than Ben and was neatly dressed in a jacket, no tie.
“Mr. Baxter,” Ben replied, shaking the hand.
“Dax, please.”
“And I’m Ben.” He sat down and spread the linen napkin over his lap. “Would you like a drink, Dax? Some wine, perhaps?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine with the mineral water.” He tapped his glass. “I’ve been hearing good things about your takeover of production,” Baxter said.
“Thank you, I think it’s gone pretty well, so far.”
“I especially like your productions with Peter Barrington.”
“Peter is the genius in that partnership. I just try to clear the way for him.” Ben took a sip of his water then found a button under the table and pressed it with his toe. “I’m continually impressed with your grosses,” he said.
“Thank you, I try to keep them up.”
A waiter entered the room and set two bowls of soup on their table.
“I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us both,” Ben said. “The commissary’s daily special. If there’s something you’d rather have, we can probably find it in the kitchen.”
“I’m fond of gazpacho,” Baxter said, tasting his soup.
“I was surprised to get your call,” Ben said. “What can I do for you?”
“I like a man who cuts to the chase,” Baxter said.
Ben didn’t reply; he didn’t get an answer to his question, though he thought he knew what it was.
“How would you like to add a few hundred million to your annual grosses?” Baxter asked, finally.
“It wouldn’t give me a heart attack,” Ben replied.
“I can do that for you,” Baxter replied. “My last two pictures have grossed better than half a billion dollars worldwide, and I have a release about every eighteen months to two years.”
“That’s very productive of you,” Ben said, “especially considering the complexity of your productions.”
“I have good people, and I demand the best work of all of them.”
“I’ve heard you’re demanding,” Ben said.
Baxter smiled. “And you’ve no doubt heard that I have occasional turnovers among my crews.”
“And that you have to pay a premium to attract people.”
“I like to pay well,” Baxter replied. “Why not spread the wealth?”
“A good policy,” Ben said.
“My contract with Standard ends after my current production,” Baxter said. “They want to make a new deal, but before I do that I thought I’d look around a bit.”
“And where are you looking?” Ben asked.
“Centurion is the first studio I’ve spoken to.”
Ben pressed the button again and two waiters appeared: one took away the soup dishes, and the other set a pasta dish before them.
“The service is very quick here,” Baxter commented.
“Like you, we like to get the best from our people,” Ben replied. “Why Centurion?”
“Because if I decided to come here I’d be the only producer on the lot making the kind of films I make—not to mention that I’d immediately be your studio’s highest grosser. I’d bring A-list stars and directors, as well.”
“And writers?” Ben asked. He thought he noticed a tiny wince from Baxter.
“My writers write to my orders,” he said.
“And to your formula?”
“If you want to call it that. I try and make each picture as different as I can, within certain boundaries of plot and action.”
“What would you require of your next studio?” Ben asked.
Baxter leaned forward. “Twenty thousand square feet of office space, designed by my architect and built to my specifications. How many sound stages do you have?”
He probably already knew, Ben thought, but he told him anyway. “We have six, and there are two under construction. We’re expanding in a planned way.”
“I’d want one of the old stages and one of the new,” Baxter said.
“Entirely to yourself?” Ben asked.
“Entirely. Believe me, I’ll keep them busy.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“If you’re thinking that might be a strain on a studio of your size, you’re right,” Baxter said, “but I’m worth the trouble. You’d be building more stages before you know it, and the banks would look very favorably on you.”
“We don’t do a lot of borrowing from banks,” Ben said. “What else do you want?”
“Final script, final cut, fifteen percent of the gross from the first dollar, and very large promotion budgets.”
“High production costs, too, I expect,” Ben said.
“If you want to make the big bucks, you have to invest big,” Baxter replied smoothly.
“I wonder, with your costs and your cut, what might be left over for us?” Ben said. He pressed the button, and the waiters performed their ballet again, depositing a slice of apple pie à la mode before each of them.
“There’d be plenty to go around,” Baxter said. “Don’t worry about that.”
Ben cut and ingested a chunk of pie, then chewed thoughtfully before he replied. “It’s my job to worry about everything,” he said, “and I worry about whether you would be happy at Centurion.”
Baxter spread his hands. “I’m in the happiness business,” he said. “You let me take care of that.”
“And I worry about how you might fit in at Centurion.”
“Fit in? I don’t fit in. I build my own world, and I make it work. All you have to bother with is the cash register.”
“We encourage individuality here, but we also like a team effort,” Ben said.
“I don’t play on teams,” Baxter said. “I’m the coach and general manager.”
“My very point,” Ben said. “Whatever would I do with my time?”
“I don’t much care what you do with it,” Baxter said, and he wasn’t trying as hard to be charming.
“Mr. Baxter—”