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“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?”
