Lady Boss (15 page)

The only good thing about Susan was that she'd introduced him to Paige. Actually he'd caught them together, enjoying each other in bed. Paige had never offered an explanation or an apology, although at the time they'd already embarked on their affair. He understood that Paige had a voracious sexual appetite. It didn't faze him. He was no slouch himself.

Now he wanted to marry her – and the sooner the better.

Grabbing the phone he tried her number again.

This time Ryder Wheeler picked up.

‘Is Paige around?' Gino demanded, deciding he'd had enough game-playing. If
she
wasn't going to get it out in the open,
he
would.

‘Who wants her?' Ryder asked abruptly.

‘
I
want her, Ryder. This is Gino Santangelo. Remember me?'

Lucky Santangelo knew how to kick ass – she'd had enough experience over the years. First the hotels in Vegas, then Dimitri's business empire which she ran with steely confidence, never depending on management, always going on her own instincts, which were rarely wrong. Now, to sit back in her little corner of Panther Studios, to merely watch and have no power, was driving her crazy.

Herman was hardly any help. If she gave him a chicken he couldn't make soup, the man was that incompetent. No wonder Mickey Stolli didn't mind having him around as Abe's spy – he knew Herman was incapable of doing any harm.

She'd told Herman to get copies of the budgets on the three big movies Panther was shooting. So far – nothing. She'd asked him to arrange screenings of the
Macho Man
dailies. He hadn't even done that. They fed him an excuse and he bought it.

Mister Ineffectual.

Arriving for her second Monday of work at Panther Studios, she was determined that this week things would be different.

Since her dinner with Harry Browning – the famous fish pie night – he'd hardly spoken to her. A mumbled, embarrassed hello was all she could get out of him. He'd changed his lunch hour, and fled whenever he saw her coming. So much for Harry.

In the meantime she'd put in serious work on Olive. Congratulating her on her engagement with a bottle of mediocre champagne. Popping in whenever she could to see if the budgets were ready for Mr. Stone. Staying to chat idly about inconsequential matters.

Olive had gradually warmed to her. ‘You're different from the other secretaries around here,' she'd confided. ‘Most of them are only interested in men, money, and makeup.'

They'd had a laugh at that. ‘What are
you
interested in?' Lucky had asked, trying to gain her confidence.

‘I pride myself on being the best personal assistant Mr. Stolli has ever had. Us English girls are very dedicated, you know.'

‘How long have you worked for him?'

‘Five years,' Olive had replied proudly. ‘And he appreciates me. He gave me a car for Christmas.'

‘A car! How wonderful!'

‘Yes. Mr. Stolli is a fine boss.'

Any probing as to what Mickey Stolli was like as a person got her nowhere. Olive was close-mouthed and loyal – a particularly annoying English trait.

Lucky had managed to have an interesting if somewhat exhausting weekend. On Friday afternoon she'd flown to London, arriving at noon on Saturday. She'd spent the rest of the day and Sunday morning with Bobby. And then she'd taken the Concorde to New York, where she'd made a fast connection back to L.A.

She'd needed the break, and Bobby was thrilled to see her. They'd taken a boat out in Hyde Park, eaten hamburgers at the Hard Rock Café, visited Harrods' toy department, and seen a movie.

Bobby was an incredible kid. At six and a half he looked just like a small Gino. Same black eyes and hair, with a jaunty little walk and sharp, inquisitive personality.

‘I miss you, Mommy,' he'd told her, just before she left.

‘You'll be with me all summer,' she'd promised, hugging him. ‘You're coming out to California, and we'll all be together in a big house right on the beach. You, Lennie, Brigette, and me. OK, baby? Does that sound like fun?'

He'd nodded solemnly, and she'd left him with his nanny and two permanent bodyguards. It was sad that Bobby had to lead such a protected life, but after his kidnapping she couldn't take chances. Anyway, it wasn't so bad. He enjoyed his school, and he adored CeeCee, his pretty Jamaican nanny who'd been with him since he was a baby.

Back in L.A. Lucky felt invigorated. She'd called Lennie in Acapulco on Sunday night and covered herself there.

‘How's the deal going?' he'd asked.

‘Slowly,' she'd replied, setting him up for a delay. ‘You know what the Japanese are like.'

‘Are you having a good time?'

‘Without you? No way.'

‘This movie sucks.'

‘You've told me that seven thousand times.'

‘Make way for seven thousand and one.'

‘I love you, Lennie,' she said wistfully, aching to be with him.

‘Prove it.'

‘How?'

‘Dump your deal and get on the next plane.'

‘Have you ever heard of the word
patience?'

‘I'm trying.'

‘Keep trying.'

When he eventually found out she'd bought the studio it was all going to be worth it. Oh boy, would
he
regret his relentless nagging!

Now it was Monday morning, and Herman was staring at her, and she was ready for action.

‘Mr. Panther wishes to speak to you,' he announced as soon as she arrived.

‘He does? Why?'

Herman fidgeted in his seat. ‘I don't know.'

It was a particularly hot day. Lucky pulled at her awful wig in disgust. After two days of freedom, being back in disguise was a burden. She flopped into a chair and called Abe.

Inga answered the phone, asking, ‘Who's this?' in a clipped, unfriendly tone.

‘Lucky Santangelo.'

‘I'll see if Mr. Panther is available.'

‘
He
called
me
, Inga. I'm sure you'll find he's available.'

‘I'll see.'

Tight-assed dragon lady!

A short wait, and then Abe on the phone, talkative, excited. ‘What's goin' on, Lucky? What's happening? How come you haven't phoned me? Did you forget about keeping in touch?'

‘Our deal is six weeks, Abe. I didn't realize you expected me to check in.'

‘I'm anxious for a report, girlie. I want to hear it all.'

‘Nothing much yet.'

‘Come for dinner tonight. Six o'clock.'

‘Just you, me, and Inga?'

‘Yes, yes,' he said impatiently.

‘I wouldn't miss it,' she drawled sarcastically.

As soon as she hung up, Herman couldn't wait to ask what Abe wanted.

‘My body,' Lucky replied dryly.

Her humour was lost on poor Herman. He gazed at her blankly.

She reached for a cigarette and lit up. ‘Have they sent the budgets over?'

He shook his head.

‘Pick up the phone and tell Mickey Stolli personally you want them today or else.'

‘Or else what?' Herman asked, wheezing.

‘Good point.' Thoughtfully she sucked on a pencil. ‘Or else you tell Mickey you're going to have to inform Abe Panther you can't get any cooperation, and that maybe Abe had better put a younger guy in your position. Mickey won't like that.'

Herman loosened his tie. He had a chicken neck etched with wrinkles. ‘It's so warm today,' he grumbled.

‘Tell me about it,' Lucky sighed, tugging at her wig again. ‘It's only going to get hotter. Let's make the call, Herman. Are you ready?'

He nodded reluctantly.

Lucky reached Olive, who told her that Mr. Stolli was in conference and could not be disturbed.

‘Mr. Stone needs to talk to him about the copies of the budgets he asked for a week ago. I
have
reminded you, Olive. When can we expect them?'

‘Doesn't he have them? I was under the impression they were sent over,' Olive said, sounding quite put out.

‘Not yet.'

‘Oh, dear.'

‘I can drop by and collect them,' Lucky offered helpfully.

‘Let me check with Mr. Stolli when he leaves his meeting. I'll get back to you.'

Lucky put down the phone. ‘You are getting what is commonly known as the royal runaround,' she informed Herman. ‘Or, as my daddy used to say – fucked.'

Herman winced.

‘But I,' Lucky announced grandly, ‘will take care of it.' She leaped to her feet, full of sudden energy. ‘Today we will have the budgets in our possession. Sit tight, Herman, and trust me. I'll see you later.'

Over at the main building there was the usual activity. People coming and going. Executives in tight jeans with open shirts. A sprinkling of gold chains. A ton of hair-spray. Tennis tans and toned bodies. And that was just the men.

The women were divided into two categories – business and pleasure. The business ones wore suits with no-nonsense jackets, silk shirts, and determined expressions. The pleasure-seekers let it all hang out in clinging tops, and miniskirts with no visible panty line.

It was difficult figuring out who did what. One of the secretaries – conservatively dressed – was so drop-dead gorgeous you would have sworn she was a movie star. And an expensive-looking young man, featuring all the right gold accoutrements, worked in the mail room as a runner.

The two hottest producers on the lot – specializing in the sex/horror mega-bucks movies so dear to Mickey Stolli's heart – resembled a couple of bums off the street. Lucky recognized them from a recent photograph in
Variety
as they made their way into the building.

Frankie Lombardo and Arnie Blackwood were partners. Arnie was lean and lanky, with greasy hair pulled back in a ponytail, and mirrored shades covering watery eyes. Frankie had freaked-out brown hair, an unruly beard, small eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a rolling gut.

Their nickname was the Sleazy Singles, and most female employees went out of their way to avoid them. ‘Sexist pigs' was a kind description.

Lucky kept her distance as she followed them all the way to Mickey Stolli's office, where Olive promptly stopped them at her desk.

‘Gentlemen,' Olive said crisply, ‘kindly take a seat. Mr. Stolli will be with you in a moment.'

‘What an accent!' Frankie exclaimed, perching on the corner of her desk, his big bulk dislodging a framed photo of her fiancé.

‘What class! What an ass!' Arnie joined in. ‘
I
want a limey broad to do
my
dirty work, Frankie. How about it?'

‘Whatever Arnie wants – Arnie gets,' Frankie promised, and then he noticed Lucky lurking in the doorway. ‘Hello, gorgeous,' he said in a loud, arrogant voice. ‘You ever given any thought to changing your hairdresser?'

Arnie guffawed. ‘Looks like a wig t'me. Gives a whole new meaning to the word
head
, huh?'

This broke Frankie up.

Lucky had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from zapping these dumb assholes into the ground. She recalled Harry Browning's reports of their scandalous activities in the screening room.

Olive jumped to her feet, two bright red spots highlighting her very English complexion. ‘Mr. Stolli will see you now,' she said in a strained voice. ‘Please go in.'

Frankie removed himself from her desk and ambled towards Mickey's office, closely followed by Arnie. When they opened the door, Mickey Stolli could be spotted behind his enormous desk, leaning back in an oversized leather chair speaking on the phone. He waved a greeting to the two producers, and then Arnie kicked the door closed with an unpolished cowboy boot.

Olive turned to face Lucky. ‘I'm so sorry,' she said, clearly embarrassed. ‘They don't mean any harm. They're like two big, naughty schoolboys.'

Lucky found it hard keeping her mouth shut. She'd heard about Frankie and Arnie from Lennie. ‘A couple of major zeros,' he'd told her. ‘They run around the lot with T-shirts emblazoned
I EAT PUSSY IF IT DON'T EAT ME FIRST
.'

‘They sound like real charmers,' she'd replied.

‘Put it like this – I'd have to be dead to do a movie for 'em,' Lennie had laughed. ‘They make Ned Magnus look classy.'

Olive was staring at her, waiting for a response. ‘You're upset, aren't you? Please don't be. Your hair looks very nice,' she said.

Oh, Olive, Olive. You are full of shit. Speak out. My hair – wig – is a disaster. Arnie called it like he saw it.

‘That's all right,' Lucky managed in a low voice, hoping she sounded suitably hurt.

‘How about lunch?' Olive said brightly. ‘One o'clock. My treat.'

‘You said you didn't eat lunch.'

‘Certainly not every day. I don't get engaged every week either. We'll call it a celebration. Yes?'

Lucky agreed, deciding not to bother Olive about the budgets. If she didn't mention them now it would give her an excuse to come back tomorrow. They arranged to meet in the commissary and Lucky departed.

Outside she observed the tall, striking woman she'd seen entering the building the week before. Last Monday the woman had been wearing Donna Karan. This Monday it was Yves Saint Laurent. There was something about her that didn't quite gel.

Instinct made Lucky turn around and follow her back inside. The woman walked fast and knew exactly where she was going. High heels clicked their way down the marble hallway, stopping in front of a door marked
EDDIE KANE, SENIOR VICE PRESIDENT OF DISTRIBUTION
. She entered and vanished.

Lucky waited a few minutes before pushing open the door. Two secretaries were carrying on a conversation about Tom Selleck. One of them glanced up. She had blood-red talon nails and lips to match. ‘Can I help you?' she asked tartly.