Lady Boss

‘Sex, power and intrigue – no one does it better than Jackie'

heat

‘A tantalising novel packed with power struggles, greed and sex. This is Collins at her finest'

Closer

‘Bold, brash, whiplash fast – with a cast of venal rich kids, this is classic Jackie Collins'

Marie Claire

‘Sex, money, power, murder, betrayal, true love – it's all here in vintage Collins style. Collins's plots are always a fabulously involved, intricate affair, and this does not disappoint'

Daily Mail

‘Her style is pure escapism, her heroine's strong and ambitious and her men, well, like the book, they'll keep you up all night!'

Company

‘A generation of women have learnt more about how to handle their men from Jackie's books than from any kind of manual… Jackie is very much her own person: a total one off'

Daily Mail

‘Jackie is still the queen of sexy stories. Perfect'

OK!

‘Cancel all engagements, take the phone off the hook and indulge yourself'

Mirror

The Power Trip

Goddess of Vengeance

Poor Little Bitch Girl

Married Lovers

Drop Dead Beautiful

Lovers & Players

Hollywood Divorces

Deadly Embrace

Hollywood Wives: The New Generation

Lethal Seduction

Dangerous Kiss

L.A. Connections

Thrill!

Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

Hollywood Kids

American Star

Lady Boss

Rock Star

Hollywood Husbands

Lucky

Hollywood Wives

The Bitch

Lovers and Gamblers

The World Is Full of Divorced Women

The Love Killers (
British title:
Lovehead)

Sinners

The Stud

The World Is Full of Married Men

JACKIE COLLINS

LADY BOSS

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

L
ADY
B
OSS
. Copyright © 1990, 2013 Chances, Inc.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or part, in any form.

The right of Jackie Collins to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

ISBN 978-0-9857459-9-8 (eBook)

A CIP catalogue record for the print version of this book is available from the British Library

Cover design by Kim Koehler; [email protected]

eBook editions by eBooks by Barb for booknook.biz

 

Visit Jackie at her website
www.jackiecollins.com
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@jackiejcollins
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For Tracy, Tiffany and Rory

Girls can do anything!

September 1985

‘Kill her,' the voice said.

‘Who?'

‘Lucky Santangelo, that's who.'

‘It's as good as done.'

‘I hope so.'

‘Don't worry – the lady is already dead.'

From the very beginning they were destined to be a lethal combination – Lucky Santangelo and Lennie Golden. Two stubborn, crazy, smart people.

Lennie was tall and lanky, with dirty-blond hair and ocean-green eyes. He was good-looking in an edgy offhand way. Women loved his looks. At thirty-seven, he'd finally made it as a movie star. He was the new breed – a comedian of the Eddie Murphy/Chevy Chase school. Cynical and funny, his films made big bucks – the bottom line in Hollywood.

Lucky Santangelo Richmond Stanislopoulos Golden was the thrice-married daughter of the infamous Gino Santangelo. At thirty-six, she was darkly, exotically beautiful, with a tangle of wild jet curls, dangerous black eyes, smooth olive skin, a full sensual mouth, and a slim body. She was a fiercely independent, strong-willed woman who never compromised and always took chances.

Together they were like charged electricity.

They'd been married for over a year, and both looked forward to their second wedding anniversary in September with a mixture of delight and amazement. Delight, because they loved each other very much. Amazement, because who would ever have thought it would last?

Currently Lennie was in Los Angeles shooting
Macho Man
for Panther Studios. The film was a comedy take-off on all the Hollywood super-heroes – Eastwood, Stallone, and Schwarzenegger.

They'd rented a beach house in Malibu, but while Lennie was filming, Lucky chose to stay in New York where she headed a billion-dollar shipping company – left to her by her second husband, Dimitri Stanislopoulos. She also wanted Bobby, her six-and-a-half-year-old son by Dimitri, to be educated in England, and being in New York meant she was closer to his English school.

On most weekends she either visited Bobby in London or Lennie in Los Angeles. ‘My life is one long plane ride,' she joked ruefully to friends. But everyone knew Lucky thrived on activity, and to sit by Lennie's side playing movie star's wife would have bored her. As it was they had a volatile and passionate marriage.

Macho Man
was causing Lennie nothing but problems. Every night he called Lucky with a litany of complaints. She listened patiently while he told her the producer was a jerk, the director a has-been lush, his leading lady was sharing her bed with the producer, and Panther Studios was run by money-mad grafters; he wanted out.

Lucky listened, smiling to herself. She was working on a deal that, if all went according to plan, would free him from the restrictions of answering to a director he didn't respect, a producer he loathed, and a studio run by people he never planned to do business with again – even though he'd foolishly, against her advice, signed a three-picture contract with Panther.

‘I'm about ready to walk,' he threatened for the hundredth time.

‘Don't,' she said, attempting to soothe him.

‘I can't make it with these assholes,' he groaned.

‘Those
assholes
can sue you for a fortune.
And
stop you working elsewhere,' she added, the perfect voice of reason.

‘Fuck 'em!' he replied recklessly.

‘Don't do anything until I get out there,' she warned. ‘Promise me that.'

‘
When,
for chrissakes? I'm beginning to feel like a virgin.'

A throaty chuckle. ‘Hmm… I didn't know you had that good a memory!'

‘Hurry it up, Lucky. I really miss you.'

‘Maybe I'll be there sooner than you think,' she said mysteriously.

‘I'm sure you'll recognize me,' he said dryly. ‘I'm the guy with the permanent hard-on.'

‘Very funny.' Still smiling, she replaced the receiver.

Lennie Golden would be shocked and delighted when he found out her surprise. And when he did, she planned to be right there next to him, ready to enjoy the expression on his face.

* * *

Once he had put the phone down Lennie felt restless. His wife was the most exciting woman in the world, but – damn it – she pissed him off. Why couldn't she say –
Lennie, if things are tough, I'll be right there?
Why couldn't she forget everything else and be with him?

Lucky Santangelo. Drop-dead gorgeous. Strong. Determined. Enormously rich. And too independent.

Lucky Santangelo. His wife.

Sometimes it all seemed like a fantasy – their marriage, his career, everything. Six years ago he'd been just another comedian looking to score a gig, a few bucks, anything going.

Lennie Golden. Son of crusty old Jack Golden, a stand-up Vegas hack, and the unstoppable Alice – or ‘Alice the Swizzle' as his mother was known in her heyday as a ‘now you see 'em – now you don't' Las Vegas stripper. He'd split for New York when he was seventeen and made it all the way without any help from his folks. His father was long dead, but Alice was still around. Sixty-five years old and frisky as an over-bleached starlet, Alice Golden was caught in a time warp. She had never come to terms with getting older, and the only reason she acknowledged Lennie as her son was that he was famous. ‘I was a child bride,' she'd simper to anyone who'd listen, batting her fake lashes and curling her overpainted lips in a lascivious leer. ‘I gave birth to Lennie when I was twelve!'

Lennie had bought her a small house in Sherman Oaks. She wasn't thrilled at being shunted out to the Valley, but what could she do? Alice Golden lived with the dream that one day she'd be a star herself, and then – as far as she was concerned – they could all watch out.

‘You're wanted on the set, Mr. Golden,' said Cristi, the second assistant, appearing at the door of his trailer.

Cristi was a natural California blonde, with an earnest expression and extra-long legs encased in patched dungarees. Lennie knew she was a natural blonde because Joey Firello, his friend and cohort in
Macho Man
, had been there, and when it came to women Joey had a notoriously big mouth. Not to mention a notoriously big dick – which he'd affectionately christened Joey Senior.

Lennie never double-taked anyone anymore. Since Lucky had entered his life he couldn't even be bothered to look, and he really didn't appreciate Joey giving him a rundown of the sexual habits of every female on the set. ‘You're just jealous, man,' Joey had laughed when he'd complained. ‘Out of action an' gettin' no action, huh?'

Lennie had merely shaken his head with a ‘Why don't you grow up' expression. Once he'd been a serious cocksman.
If it's blonde and it moves – nail it
had been his motto. For years he'd explored every possibility, managing to avoid any lasting commitments.

Along the way there'd been a few women who'd left their mark. Eden Antonio for one.

Ah, Eden, he thought ruefully. She was something else, a real operator.

Poor Eden. In spite of all her dreams she'd ended up living with a vicious mobster who'd used her in a series of porno movies. Not exactly the future she'd planned for herself.

And then there was Olympia. He'd married the plump, spoilt shipping heiress because he felt sorry for her – and stayed because it never got any easier. Unfortunately, even he was unable to save Olympia from her own excesses. Eventually she and spaced-out rock star Flash overdosed in a sleazy New York hotel, and Lennie was a free man.

Now he had Lucky and life didn't get any better.

Grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the dresser, he said, ‘OK, Cristi, I'm on my way.'

The girl nodded thankfully, earnest expression firmly in place. This was not an easy movie to work on, and any cooperation at all was a definite plus.

On the set Joey Firello was arguing with the old-time director, Grudge Freeport, about the next scene. Grudge wore a bad rug and chewed tobacco – spitting great gobs of it indiscriminately wherever he pleased. As usual he was almost drunk.

Marisa Birch, Lennie's leading lady, who doubled as the producer's girlfriend, leaned against a slant board idly picking her cuticles. She was a startling-looking woman, six feet tall with spiky silver hair and frighteningly huge silicone breasts – a present from her former husband, who hadn't considered thirty-six inches enough. Marisa was a terrible actress, and as far as Lennie was concerned she was helping to ruin the movie in a big way.

Macho Man
, he thought sourly, a comedy destined to be dead on arrival at the box-office – in spite of his presence. His other movies had been hits; now he was stuck in a real disaster waiting to happen and there was nothing he could do about it. The trouble was he'd been dazzled by the astronomical amount of money Mickey Stolli, the head of Panther Studios, had offered him – and like a greedy fool he'd gone ahead and made another three-picture commitment.