Swimming to Catalina

invested. I called David for advice, and he arranged a lunch with Ippolito. A week later, we had the financing from Safe Harbor.”
    “Was the project a questionable one?”
    “I never thought so. The managing partner had had some problems in the past with repaying debt on a project, and that made our lender shy away. The mall is open now, and doing excellent business. It was a good deal for Safe Harbor.”
    “What happened next?”
    “It was all very gradual. I began shifting my banking business to Safe Harbor, until finally they hadeverything—checking accounts, CDs, T-bills, and all the trusts I had set up over the years, including one for Arrington. Whenever I had a business investment that required financing, they were always willing and eager. When Oney asked me to join their board, I accepted.”
    “How long have you been on the board?”
    “Seven or eight months, I guess. I haven’t been happy.”
    “Why not?”
    “It became apparent to me early on that Oney expected me to rubber-stamp any decision he made, particularly the ones concerned with his personal compensation—stock options, bonuses, et cetera. The other directors, David Sturmack among them, were obviously in his pocket. I’m on three other boards, and I take an active part; I take my responsibilities to the shareholders seriously. I was ready to quit early on, but Oney persuaded me that I owed him something, and that I shouldn’t make him look bad by resigning. I agreed to stay on for a few months more. Then he came to me and said he wanted me to be the television spokesman for the bank. I flatly refused.”
    “How did he take that?”
    “Not well. I explained that I had never done a television commercial and that I never would. I’ve carefully built a persona as an actor, and I didn’t want to squander that. He said that persona was the very reason he wanted me. After all, I was connected to the bank as a customer, I had done business with it, I was on its board; it made sense for me to be a public spokesman. I refused again, and I told him I was giving him thirty days’ notice, and then I would resign from the board. He had that time to put the best face onit, and I promised him I would not make my reasons public.”
    “Did he put further pressure on you?”
    “Not immediately. But the following week, David Sturmack came to me and said that someone was willing to pay handsomely for my Centurion stock—double what it’s worth, I reckon. I told David that I couldn’t even consider that until I’d talked to Lou Regenstein about it.”
    “What did he say to that?”
    “He urged me not to reveal to Lou that I’d been approached, and especially not that he was the one who’d done the approaching. There was something very hard about it, almost threatening.”
    “What did you do?”
    “As soon as he left my office I called Lou and told him what had transpired. Lou was very angry about it, and I promised him I wouldn’t sell the stock. I had Betty put my shares in a new safe deposit box the same day.”
    “You felt that threatened?”
    “It’s hard to explain, but yes.”
    “Is Centurion a very profitable studio?”
    “Not wildly so, but year in and year out, it does well. The studio has always operated without much debt, but the last year or two there had been a couple of expensive failures, and Lou started to borrow from Safe Harbor, with the board’s approval. I’m on the board.”
    “Why were they so anxious to get the studio, if it’s not all that profitable?”
    “The real estate.”
    “What real estate?”
    “The land the studio sits on. That was Lou’s theory, anyway. All the stockholders and everyone on the board knew that the land was as valuable as the businessitself The back lot had been sold off years ago, for a few million dollars, which was stupid. It would be worth twenty times as much now. The studio sits on the biggest piece of land remaining in Los Angeles that is still held by a single owner—more than four hundred acres. If you tried to put together that much well-located, contiguous land in L.A. by assembling it from different owners, it could cost hundreds of millions of dollars, maybe as much as a billion.”
    “Why doesn’t the studio sell it, move to the sticks, and build a new studio?”
    “The costs of doing that, of building from scratch, would be nearly as much as would be gained by selling the land. Anyway, all the stockholders are deeply involved in the movie business; all of