Lady Boss (12 page)

‘I may be speaking to her in the next few days. Shall I give her a message from you?'

Steven shook his head. ‘It can wait. When is she expected back?'

‘A week. Maybe longer, maybe sooner.' Gino attacked his steak. ‘So, tell me, how's the pregnancy going? Is Mary-Lou bad-tempered? Good-tempered? What?'

Steven grinned. ‘It ain't easy,' he said.

Gino nodded knowingly. ‘When my Maria was pregnant with Lucky she drove me insane! All the time it was somethin' – I could hardly keep up. And
that's
when I was young and strong!'

‘C'mon, you'll always be young and strong,' Steven said affectionately. ‘And by the way, isn't it about time you handed over the family secret of your sex life? From what I hear, you're unbelievable!'

‘Words of advice,' Gino said sagely. ‘A hard-on keeps you young, an' I don't
ever
intend to get old!'

Mary-Lou was in bed when Steven arrived home. She was propped up against several lace pillows watching a
Taxi
rerun while devouring a box of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.

‘What are you
doing?
' he demanded.

‘Watching gorgeous Tony Danza and having a
great
time,' she replied, happily munching chocolate. ‘How was Gino? Did you give him my love?'

‘I sure did. He was sorry you couldn't make it. I told him if you left the house you'd frighten women and horses! He understood.'

She pulled a pillow from behind her and threw it at him. ‘I don't look
that
bad.'

‘You look sensational, babe.'

‘
Babe?
' she echoed, smiling. ‘Has Gino been teaching you a new vocabulary?'

He loosened his tie as he approached the bed. ‘Gino's been teaching me that the secret of staying young is maintaining a constant hard-on. How about
that?
'

‘Steven! You're beginning to sound like Jerry!'

‘Wanna feel what I got for you?'

Mary-Lou began to giggle. ‘I love it when you talk dirty! It's so un-you.'

‘Hey, who's talking dirty? I'm just trying to get you horny.'

‘Try some butter pecan ice-cream and mucho chocolate. That's my big turn-on. Sorry, sweetheart. I promise I'll make it up to you the day I leave the hospital.'

‘Yeah, yeah.' He strolled into the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the way. ‘You know, I almost told Gino about the Deena Swanson deal,' he called out.

‘I hope you didn't,' Mary-Lou replied disapprovingly.

‘No. I kept it to myself.'

‘Good thing. You're a lawyer, Steven. You're
supposed
to be able to keep your clients' secrets. Remember?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

Sometimes Mary-Lou felt twenty years older than Steven instead of it being the other way around. She knew the Deena Swanson situation was worrying him, but why couldn't he relax about it like Jerry? It was no big deal. It was just some rich woman showing off and paying for the privilege.

Steven had to learn to lighten up. When they had the baby she would teach him. Oh, how she would teach him!

* * *

Paige Wheeler had not turned Gino down. She had not said yes to his proposal either.

‘Your kids are grown, the time has come,' he'd told her. ‘This once-in-a-while shit don't work for me no more.'

Paige had studied the huge diamond ring he'd presented her with. She'd tried it on and admired the way it sparkled on her finger. Then she'd said, ‘I can't live in New York.'

‘No problem. We'll live wherever you want. Tahiti, Tokyo – you name it.'

She'd returned the ring to its box and reluctantly handed it back to him. ‘Give me some time and I'll give you an answer.'

‘Do I pay for the ring?' he'd joked.

‘Make a deposit,' she'd joked back.

Now two weeks had passed and no word. Gino tried to pretend he didn't care, but he did. Getting old did nothing to diminish the strength of his feelings. He might be seventy-something, but he certainly wasn't dead yet. True, he had a few aches and pains, more than a few, but complaining had never been his style.

He'd had some life. Yeah! A real adventure. And God damn it, he had no regrets. Gino Santangelo had managed to live every minute of it. Now all he wanted to do was settle down with Paige and live quietly ever after.

Lucky had called him the night before. She was his daughter all right. Ready to try anything. He recognized so much of himself in her.

‘What have I let myself in for?' she'd wailed over the phone. ‘I'm finding out nothing. I need
ACTION
!'

They'd talked awhile. She'd told him about Olive, Mickey Stolli's English secretary, Harry, the projectionist, and No-balls Stone – her nickname for Herman.

‘Get friendly with the projectionist,' Gino had advised. ‘He'll know a lot more than you think.'

‘How come?'

‘'Cause he's always around, y'know? He's in that small dark room where nobody sees him. And I can bet you
he
sees everything.'

‘You may be right,' Lucky had replied slowly.

‘Sure I'm right, kid. When I was datin' that movie star – Marabelle Blue – she made it her business to get friendly with the little guys. That way she always had a bead on what the big guys were gonna do next.
Capisce?'

‘
Capisce.
'

He wondered how Lucky was making out her second day on the job. Maybe he'd fly out to California and see for himself. Or maybe the real reason he wanted to visit L.A. was to force an answer out of Paige.

Whatever… A trip to the Coast wasn't such a bad idea. He had his routine, but routines could become boring. Sometimes it was healthy to shake things up. There was nothing wrong with surprising Paige on her own territory.

Reaching for the phone he called his travel agent. Gino never had been good at sitting still and waiting.

* * *

‘Didja score?'

‘Did I
what?
'

Joey leaned closer. ‘Didja score with Cristi? Miss Legs-up-to-her-eyeballs.'

‘
C'mon
, Joey.'

‘I'm serious, man.'

‘Get real. I went home to my wife.'

‘Lucky ain't here.'

‘She flew in for the weekend.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Ya missed out.'

‘On what?'

‘Cristi's a trip.'

Lennie gave a weary sigh. ‘Let's get this straight. I am not in the ball park for any trips. I'm married
and
I like it. Can that fact penetrate what I laughingly refer to as your brain?'

Joey shrugged. ‘What the cow don't know, the bull don't tell her.'

Lennie shook his head in amazement. ‘You have no idea what being with one woman is all about, do you?'

Joey mock-shuddered. ‘Don't ever let me in on it, it's too frightening!'

They were on the private Panther plane en route to Acapulco. Attractive flight attendants served drinks while Marisa Birch sucked up the attention of her producer boyfriend, Ned Magnus. Grudge Freeport and Shorty Rawlings also formed an admiring audience. The three men all had a hot nut for her.

‘You want to talk frightening – how about shacking up with that?' Lennie nodded down the aisle towards the amazonian Marisa. ‘She could crush Schwarzenegger with those knockers!'

‘Maybe I should go for it,' Joey mused.

‘Maybe you wouldn't have a chance. She's screwing for a part, and the part she's screwing for is definitely not yours, Romeo.'

‘If she saw it, she'd want it,' Joey boasted. ‘They all do. Joey Senior gets 'em every time!'

Lennie sighed. ‘You got anything else to talk about?'

‘Not really,' Joey said, with a casual shrug.

There were press waiting at Acapulco airport, and more at the hotel. Lennie hated it. He couldn't get off on the attention anymore, although in the early days it had been a kick. He didn't enjoy smiling for photographers and making nice for the assorted journalists. In his next contract he was going to insist on a no-publicity clause.

What did it all mean anyway, this celebrity crap? Sometimes he thought about taking all this stardom shit and shoving it. So he was having a terrible time on
Macho Man
– so fucking what? It was only a movie.

Marisa Birch revelled in the attention. She gave herself to the photographers. She gave them her eyes and her teeth and her hair. She gave them her forty-inch silicone breasts barely covered by a thin silk top, nipples erect, thrusting their way into the public's consciousness.

On the side Ned Magnus gazed lustfully on. Mister Producer. Mister Married Man. Mister Asshole.

Lennie had met his wife, Anna, a tight-lipped WASP with an anorexic body and a penchant for good causes.

Thankfully Lennie thought about Lucky. He couldn't imagine being with anyone else. She was the best, everything he'd ever wanted. And soon she would be pregnant with his baby and they'd be a real family.

He made a decision. After this film he was going to take a year off. Relax and do nothing except be with Lucky. And if Panther Studios sued him, let them. He deserved the time with his wife. Since their marriage they'd both done nothing but work. It was getting to be too much.

As soon as Lucky arrived in Acapulco he planned to tell her. He could convince her. He knew she'd understand.

One year. No responsibilities. No work. No nothing.

Yeah!

Deena Swanson and her husband, Martin, were one of the most sought-after couples in New York. They had what everyone else seemed to lust after – money, position, power, good looks, and invitations to every major event and party in town.

Deena, with her ice-cold appearance, trademark pale red bobbed hair, frosty blue eyes, and famous-for-being-famous demeanour, aroused envy in other women, and a certain kind of desire in men. She was so cool she was hot. The Grace Kelly syndrome. Rip off the Chanel suit, the lace teddy, the silk panties, and crack the zero-temperature façade.

Everyone thought Martin must be a fortunate man, for surely, between the satin sheets, Deena was an untamed tigress, enough to make any man crazy with her passion? And Martin must be something too. The manly profile, ready smile, toned body, and charismatic charm.

Were the truth to be made public, sad to say, a different story lay beneath the glossy exterior of the very visible Swansons. Deena loved her handsome husband, and was prepared to do anything he wanted. But Martin only enjoyed sleeping with star achievers, and famous as his wife might be, she was only famous because of him, and as far as he was concerned that didn't count. Besides, everyone knew Deena was merely a figurehead. She didn't design the jeans she lent her name to, or create the perfume that bore her signature.

When Martin married her he'd thought she showed terrific potential. Deena had arrived in New York from her native Holland a few years previously, and soon became a partner in a small interior design firm which seemed to be going places. She was beautiful, smart, and appeared to be everything Martin was looking for in the woman who was going to be his wife. His own career was taking off, lifting him above his wildest expectations, and it was time to connect with the perfect partner.

On their honeymoon in a secluded villa in Barbados, Deena had told him that as soon as they got back to New York she was leaving her job.

Martin had objected strongly. ‘You can't do that, you're a full partner. They need you there.'

‘Well, actually,' she'd confessed, ‘I'm more an employee. They used my image as one of the partners because it seemed to be good for business. You don't mind if I leave, do you?'

Yes, he did mind. Deena was not the woman he'd thought she was. And discreet enquiries revealed she didn't come from one of the wealthiest families in Amsterdam. Her father, it turned out, was an innkeeper, and her mother worked at the American Embassy as a translator. Furthermore, Deena was six years older than she'd told him, making her only two years younger than him, instead of the eight years he'd believed.

Martin Z. Swanson was not a happy man when he discovered all this information. He'd angrily confronted his bride. She'd nodded, perfectly composed. ‘Yes, it's true. But what does it matter? Besides, if I can fool a smart man like you, then I can certainly fool the rest of the world, making me the perfect wife for you, don't you think?'

She happened to be right. The image was there, why bother about the past?

So the Swansons embarked on married life, both determined to reach the top. Deena became pregnant twice, and miscarried on both occasions. After the second time, Martin took his first mistress, a Tony-award-winning stage actress with a jutting lower lip and an insatiable sexual appetite. The important thing was she was famous, extremely talented, and her achievements really turned Martin on in a big way.

After the actress came a prima ballerina. Then came a voluptuous blonde author who wrote about sex and had topped the
New York Times
bestseller list several times. The author was followed by a female racing-car driver, and then a particularly skilled lawyer.

By this time, Deena had grown used to Martin's indiscretions. She didn't like it, but what could she do? Divorce was not even a consideration. She was Mrs. Martin Z. Swanson for life and let no one forget it. Especially her erring husband.

When Deena decided to parlay her social celebrity into real bucks, Martin was unimpressed. After she showed him how much money her various products were making, he was still unmoved. ‘Money is not talent,' he'd said flatly.

‘Ah, but that's
all
you've got – money,' she'd answered triumphantly.

‘The truth is, I'm closer to real talent than you'll ever be,' he'd replied.