Dishonorable Intentions (15 page)

B
oris Tirov arrived at the office of his attorney, Kim Kopchinsky, at five minutes before the hour to find his agent, Karl Muntz, and his publicist, Jean Jarman, sitting in the waiting room. He greeted them with a wave and proceeded directly to Kopchinsky's office without being announced.

“Good morning, Kim,” Tirov said, taking a seat and indicating that the others should do so as well.

“Just make yourselves comfortable,” Kopchinsky said wryly. “Anybody want a hot towel? A mani-pedi?”

“Kim, turn on the TV to CNN, and be quick about it. You won't want to miss any of this.”

“What the fuck, Boris?”

“Just do it, it'll save billable hours.”

Kopchinsky switched on the huge set on his wall and selected CNN.

The anchor gazed into the teleprompter and said, “And now, we're going to go to the Russian embassy in Washington, where we're told an interesting question will be answered.”

The TV switched to a small auditorium, where the ambassador was giving a boring answer to a question about the Ukraine.

“Boris,” Kopchinsky said, “why are you putting us through this?”

“Shut up, Kim, and listen.”

Then an off-camera voice shouted, “Mr. Ambassador, do you have any comment on the news that the film producer Boris Tirov was questioned on his arrival at LAX last night and is being shipped back to Moscow to answer a charge of murder in the death of Elena Ivanov eight years ago?”

“Yes, I do,” the ambassador replied. “Earlier this morning I spoke to the chief prosecutor in Moscow. He informed me that the warrant for Mr. Tirov's arrest was withdrawn by the prosecutor only hours after first being filed, for lack of any evidence whatever. I spoke to the former prosecutor, now an important judge in the Russian Federation, and he told me that he remembered the incident well, that an assistant prosecutor in his office had filed the warrant with the wrong name on it, and when he discovered the error, the chief prosecutor ordered it withdrawn immediately, and he personally telephoned Mr. Tirov and apologized to him for any inconvenience. Accordingly, I spoke to the United States director of Immigration and Customs Enforcement this morning, and, as a result, he has now issued an order
revoking the deportation order and has also apologized for the incorrect stamp entered into Mr. Tirov's passport. This embassy has issued a new passport to Mr. Tirov, which will be delivered to him by a consular official in Los Angeles today.”

As Kopchinsky switched off the TV there was a knock at his door. His secretary stood there along with a tall man in a business suit. “A gentleman from the Russian consulate to see Mr. Tirov,” she said. The man strode across the large office, shook Boris's hand, and handed him an envelope with a large wax seal. “Mr. Tirov, your new passport, with the compliments of the ambassador.”

“Thank you,” Boris replied, and the man left. Boris ripped open the envelope and held up the passport for all to see.

“Boris,” Kopchinsky said, “how the fuck did you do that? I was ready to file the appeal.”

“I made a phone call,” Boris said. “Questions, anybody?”

The group stared at him dumbly. Finally Jean Jarman spoke. “Boris, this is a great relief. After all the fires I've had to put out for you lately at Centurion and the Bel-Air Country Club and the Arrington, I thought we were about at the end of our rope.”

“Jean, I suggest you call the head of publicity at the studio and explain things to him. Kim, you call the head of the studio and explain what's happened, and, Karl, you call the head of production and tell him I want an immediate public announcement that our deal is still on, or I will be suing before sundown.”
He got to his feet. “I'll see you all at Spago Beverly Hills at twelve-thirty, and, Jean, I want press there to cover the lunch, especially the
L.A. Times
.”

“Right, Boris,” she replied, producing a cell phone.

—

S
tone and Gala were having a drink before dinner when Geoffrey announced a phone call from Holly Barker.

Stone picked up the phone. “Hi, there.”

“Hi. It appears that we've had something of a reversal.”

“What sort of reversal?”

“I've just e-mailed you a clip from a press conference with the Russian ambassador a few minutes ago.” She hung up.

Stone got out his iPhone, found the e-mail, and he and Gala watched the press conference. They were dumbfounded. “How did he do that?” Stone asked.

“He sometimes brags about his friendship with Viktor Petrov,” she said. “Maybe he wasn't lying.”

Geoffrey announced that Dame Felicity was on the line.

“Hello?”

“I'm told the Russian ambassador to the United States has just held a rather unusual press conference.”

“Gala and I have just watched it, and we are very nearly speechless.”

“My people in Moscow actually went to the Russian
prosecutor's office and viewed the arrest warrant. It had not been withdrawn.”

“I wish I could explain it. Gala says Tirov has bragged about his friendship with Petrov.”

“My information was that they were estranged. I will correct the record. See you at the weekend?”

“Of course.” Stone hung up.

“I wonder what Tirov did for Petrov?” Gala asked. “There must have been something.”

“I'd certainly like to know,” Stone said.

—

I
n Los Angeles, Howard Fine watched a replay of the press conference in stunned silence. He was going to have to start cultivating Boris Tirov, he reckoned.

A meeting was convened at Stalwart Studios, which included the CEO, the head of production, and the head of publicity. They watched the tape in silence, then the CEO said, “Anybody have any doubt what our new position on Tirov's contract is?”

Heads were shaken.

“Let's find Boris a bigger bungalow than we promised,” the CEO said, and the meeting broke up.

At Spago Beverly Hills, Boris Tirov held court at a center table in the garden. Photographs were taken by an
L.A. Times
photographer and those of the trade publications.

Across the garden, the film critic James Towbin switched seats with a companion so that his back was to Boris Tirov.

“I am so very glad that I sent the Tirov report to the editor before it ran,” he said ruefully. “Otherwise, I'd be looking for a new job.”

T
he studio's Boeing Business Jet, a corporate version of the 737, took off from Van Nuys Airport with nearly a full load, which included a digital film crew of three, two still photographers, the studio's CEO and head of publicity, three assistant publicists, a Russian translator, the stars of the film, Rod Rambeau and Nathalie Dumont, their personal assistants, her makeup artist and hairdresser, and her personal publicist, Howard Fine, in addition to the airplane's crew, a relief pilot, three flight attendants, and enough luggage to support a traveling circus. It would be a nonstop flight of some nine hours, with a stiff tailwind, to Moscow Ostafyevo Airport.

Over Wichita a three-course lunch with four wines was served, then everyone settled in for the long flight. Rambeau and Dumont each occupied a small suite of four facing luxurious chairs; Nathalie shared hers only with Howard Fine, who dozed off almost immediately after dessert.

Shortly, the studio head of publicity, George Hammond, approached Nathalie. “Nathalie,” he said, “Mr. Milestone would be very pleased if you would join him in his suite.” Marvin Milestone, the studio's CEO, occupied an enclosed area that looked more like the living room in a small but luxurious apartment. As she rose from her seat, Nathalie wondered if a pass were in the offing. She was dressed in a Chanel suit and affected a cool, businesslike mien for this invitation. To her relief, Hammond, after opening the door for her, followed her inside.

Marvin Milestone, a tall, elegantly dressed and barbered man with a face made florid by an unceasing flow of alcohol, rose to meet her and shook her hand. They had met half a dozen times socially, once at his home, but never at a business meeting.

“Come in, Nathalie, and make yourself comfortable,” he said.

Nathalie chose a large chair facing his and sat down, demurely crossing her legs. “George,” Milestone said to Hammond, “why don't you go and check on the film crew?”

Nathalie's heart sank; it was going to be a pass.

“Nathalie,” Milestone said when Hammond had gone, “I saw the final cut of the film yesterday, and I want to tell you how delighted I am with the quality of the film and with your delightful performance.”

“Thank you, Marvin,” Nathalie replied with an appreciative smile.

“As you can tell by the load this airplane is carrying, we are taking Moscow and the Russian Federation very seriously as a future market for our films. This is the first time we have made a
major effort in that country, with a gala premiere, followed by a large seated dinner and a ball, and an all-out publicity effort, akin to what we might do for a Radio City Music Hall opening.”

“I'm delighted to be a part of it,” Nathalie said.

“And I was delighted to hear that Howard Fine, through means I can only imagine, has arranged for you to be invited to dinner by President Viktor Petrov. That Howard is really something, isn't he?”

“He certainly is.”

“Have you met Viktor Petrov before?”

“No, I haven't.”

“I know him fairly well, and I thought it might be a good idea to prepare you a little for your dinner with him.”

“Thank you,” she said uncertainly. Prepare her?

“You'll find him—how shall I say?—gregarious. He can be quite warm-natured, especially after a few vodkas. My advice to you is, don't try to keep up with him in the drinks department—you'll want to keep your wits about you.”

“I'll remember that.”

“Viktor has quite a reputation with the ladies. I understand that many of them have found him to be a charmer.”

“Oh, good.”

“Nathalie, I recall from reading your contract that this is the first film in which you have had profits participation.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Two gross points, isn't it?”

“Yes, and I'm very pleased about that.”

“I'm glad you're happy. My point is, if this junket goes the way we hope it will, we anticipate that ticket sales in the Russian Federation could add as much as twenty-five million dollars to this picture's gross, perhaps even more. That would mean a very large contribution to your bank account, in addition to other worldwide income, of course.”

“That's certainly good news.”

“Of course, that goal can only be achieved if we make a complete success of our publicity effort.”

“I'll do whatever I can to help.”

“I'm so happy to hear that. I just wanted you to understand that you have an important personal stake in making your dinner with Viktor Petrov a complete success.”

Nathalie wondered what making the dinner a “complete success” would entail.

“I've no doubt that Viktor will find you extremely alluring.”

Nathalie thought that she now knew where this was headed. Milestone did not leave her in doubt.

“If his reputation is to be believed, he will expect his attentions to be received warmly. Do you understand?”

“I think I'm beginning to.”

“Not that this would have to be unpleasant. The man does have a reputation for pleasing women.”

“Ah.”

“I would never ask you to sleep with the man—unless your heart were in it,” Milestone said. “But I did want you to understand what is at stake for you, personally.”

“You've made that very clear,” Nathalie said.

“And I hope my candor has not offended you.”

“I appreciate your frankness,” she replied.

“One other thing. Petrov also has a reputation for making things difficult for those who disappoint him. I mean, we could suddenly find that the fire department has shut down our theater for the premiere, or there could be a catering disaster for our dinner afterward, or the print for our showing could be ‘misplaced.' It could be very unpleasant for us and wreck our plans for making this film a hit in Russia.”

“I see your point.”

“I'm so glad.” He rose. “Now, I expect you'd like to get some sleep, in order to arrive in Moscow fresh. I understand there will be photographers at the airport and at the hotel. The news of your dinner with the president has piqued the interest of the Moscow public.” He shook her hand and opened the cabin door for her.

Nathalie fixed a smile on her face and returned to her seat. Howard Fine was snoring gently by now. She retrieved her handbag and fished out her iPhone.

“How did your meeting with Marvin go?”

She looked up to see George Hammond standing there, smiling.

“Very well, George,” she replied.

“I'm delighted to hear it. Marvin just loved the movie, and he is a very perceptive man. It's good for you to know his thinking.”

“I expect so,” she replied.

“Well, I'll let you get a nap in. I'll ask your makeup girl to freshen you a bit before we disembark.”

“Thank you, George.” He went farther up the aisle.

Nathalie fired up her iPhone and tapped the calculator app. She wanted to know what two percent of twenty-five million dollars came to. She was pleasantly surprised.