Lady Boss (18 page)

‘I need a change of pace,' Susie said, all business.

Where was the hand-holding of ten minutes ago? Mickey thought sourly, realizing this whole come-on for the last few weeks didn't mean shit. She had no wish to get into his pants, she merely wanted to get into his movie.

He sighed wearily. They were all the same, these actresses. Big star or minor player, they'd all drop their lace panties for the right role.

Everyone knew
Bombshell
was his special project – a script developed and written from an idea he'd suggested, a movie he was going to produce personally.
Bombshell
– the true, shocking story of a Hollywood sex symbol. He could see the billboard on Sunset now – preferably the one overlooking Spago. And with Venus Maria in the lead role it was a movie that couldn't miss. Venus Maria was the hottest actress in America. She had a fascinating chameleon quality, a new open sexuality that seemed to turn everyone on. Little girls copied what she wore. Big girls admired her feisty style of sticking her tongue out at convention. And all the males – whether sixteen or sixty – felt the musky heat she exuded. Most of all she was now – a true woman of the moment.

‘Well?' demanded a purse-lipped Susie, obviously waiting for some comment on her desire to star in his movie.

‘You're not right for it,' Mickey repeated.

‘I'm prepared to test,' Susie said stubbornly.

Mickey shook his head.

She glared at him. Hell hath no fury like an actress scorned. ‘
I'm
willing to test and
you're
saying no?'

‘Honey, I wouldn't put you through it. Venus Maria is set. It's a done deal.'

‘She's too cheap-looking – too obvious.'

Mickey was smart enough to make no comment when one woman was putting down another. Dealing with Abigaile had taught him that. He shrugged non-committally.

Susie sighed, a deeply put-upon type of sigh, and played her trump card. ‘Zeppo White has a script he wants me to read for Orpheus. I hardly wish to be disloyal, but I guess I'll take a little peek. What do
you
think?'

I think you're a blackmailing cunt
.

‘Go ahead if it makes you happy, Susie. But I'd still like you to think about doing
Sunshine
.'

A phony smile. ‘Thank you, darling, I knew you wouldn't mind.'

* * *

Olive called Lucky three times during the afternoon. The first time she thanked her for listening to her problems over lunch. The second time she informed her she'd made a decision, she was definitely going to broach the subject of Luce taking over for her a couple of days the following week while she visited her fiancé in Boston. The third time she sounded dispirited.

‘Mr. Stolli's in a dreadful mood,' she said. ‘I daren't mention my plans until he calms down.'

‘What's the matter with him?' Lucky asked curiously.

‘It's Susie Rush,' Olive confided in a low voice. ‘She's refusing to commit to the film Mr. Stolli wants her to do next.' Olive's voice got even lower. ‘And she's threatening to move over to Orpheus.'

‘Really?'

‘He's very upset. Not a word to anyone, Luce.'

‘Wouldn't dream of it.'

‘I must go now. I have to send champagne to his wife.'

‘Can't she call the liquor store?'

Olive snorted derisively. ‘Three dozen bottles. If she gets it from the studio she doesn't have to pay.'

Another petty scam. ‘Really?'

‘Oh, dear,' Olive fretted. ‘I shouldn't have told you that.'

‘Don't worry. Who am
I
going to tell?'

‘Thank you, Luce. You're a good friend for putting up with all my carrying on. Perhaps we can lunch again tomorrow.'

‘I'd like that,' Lucky said agreeably.

Shortly after Olive's final call, she took off. The heat was unbearable in the stuffy little office, and she couldn't wait to strip off her dreary clothes, dump the wig and glasses, and return to her real self.

Harry Browning was in the parking lot.

Harry Browning was watching her.

Virginia Venus Maria Sierra stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall of her all-white gym next to her all-white bedroom in her Hollywood Hills home. She was on her Precor Stairmaster, a lethal machine that simulated climbing stairs. Clad in pale blue sweats, a headband holding back her platinum-blond hair, she worked diligently.

Stereo speakers cleverly concealed in the ceiling entertained her with the latest Eurythmics. Much as she admired Annie Lennox, she wasn't really listening: she had other things on her mind.

Like Ron.

Like Emilio – one of her brothers.

Like Cooper.

And like this stupid dinner party at the Stollis' she'd rashly agreed to attend tonight.

Oh, God! How she hated Hollywood dinner parties. They were such pretentious affairs. And she'd have to make nice to the Stollis – especially Mickey – Mister Mogul himself.

She and Ron had christened Mickey Stolli Mister Mogul the moment they'd met him. He was the perfect Hollywood studio head prototype. Central Casting couldn't do better. He had the mogul look, the mogul voice, and the mogul bullshit charm.

She suspected the charm only lasted as long as one was hot.

Venus Maria was no fool. She was savvy and street smart. She even kept a watchful eye on her money – no smooth-talking ‘I'll just take twenty per cent of your income' business manager for her. She knew where every dollar went, and signed all her own cheques, along with Ron. Early on she and Ron had formed a company together. They'd called it Maro Productions, and they were fifty-fifty partners. At the time it had seemed like a wonderful idea. Two best friends, joined forever. Now Ron had acquired a new busybody boyfriend, and Ken – that was his name – was pissing Venus Maria off.

Not that she was jealous. Lord knows Ron had gone through enough different boyfriends since they'd arrived in Hollywood three years ago. But this one was definitely a pumped-up pain in the butt. A handsome – if you enjoyed the ‘I've got a hot poker up my ass' look – know-all male model. Behind his back she called him the Ken Doll. He was twenty-eight, and acted as if he were fifty.

Ron was in love. Ron was buying the Ken Doll suits and jackets and paintings and sculptures and jewellery, and finally – a Mercedes. A fucking Mercedes, for Christ's sake!!
She
didn't even have a Mercedes.

Angrily her legs worked the Stairmaster. She'd made up her mind she had to split the partnership, and although she realized it was the only sane thing to do, it still hurt. Ron was her family, her spiritual brother, and she loved him. But she couldn't sit back and allow him to spend her money on some loser he had a hot nut for.

She'd turned to Cooper Turner for advice. ‘Do it,' he'd advised her. ‘It's a foolish arrangement anyway. He makes plenty, it's not like you're leaving him with nothing.'

This was true. Ron was an extremely successful choreographer, very much in demand since he'd done all the dance routines for
Danceflash,
a smash hit sleeper movie. And he always choreographed the top videos, including all of hers. So it wasn't like he was broke. He'd have plenty of money, and if he wanted to spend it on the Ken Doll that was his prerogative. As long as it was
his
money buying the presents there was no need for her to be angry.

Now all she had to do was tell him.

Next problem. Her brother Emilio had turned up at her front door uninvited and unannounced. ‘I've come out to Hollywood t'be a star, just like you, little sis,' he'd said.

Little sis!! Was this the same Emilio who used to scream at her all the time? The brother who used to whack her across the face if his Saturday-night-date shirt wasn't pressed exactly the way he liked? The very Emilio who'd called her ‘rat face' in front of his friends, and repeatedly told her she was the ugliest, shittiest little turd he'd ever seen?

Yes, it was the same Emilio. Thirty years old and too fat to be anything but a slob.

‘Get out of my face,' she'd told him. ‘Go home. I can't help you.'

He'd shoved his way inside her house, checked it out, settled down in front of the big-screen TV and said, ‘I'll only stay a few days, just till I get a job, little sis.'

Big chance of that. Five weeks later he was still comfortably ensconced in front of her television with no intention of ever moving.

Another situation she was going to have to deal with.

One thing Venus Maria hated was confrontations. She wasn't good when it came to a showdown. Ever since she was a little girl she'd wanted to run away and not face up to conflict. It was a weakness she was working on.

Fortunately the movie with Cooper was going well. She liked herself in the dailies, she looked better than she had in her other two films. The acting classes she'd taken had helped, and her new worked-out worked-on body was a definite improvement.

It was a challenge to be up there on the screen with Cooper Turner. She clearly remembered – although she hadn't told Cooper, because he was sensitive about his age – the first time she'd ever seen him. Her mother was alive then, and Venus Maria had been about eleven. Her mother was a big fan, and had taken her to see Cooper in one of his early movies.

Venus had thought he was sexy. That night she'd ended up playing doctor with herself under the bedclothes.

Cooper would enjoy that part, but she wasn't about to give him the pleasure.

Right now Cooper was being too dictatorial for his own good. He thought he knew everything, but professionally Venus Maria had an instinctive knack of sensing exactly what move to make next – and nobody could alter that, not even Cooper Turner.

‘Tone it down,' he kept advising her about her performance. ‘You're too stylized. Wear less makeup. Darken your hair. Don't come on so strong.'

She had the savvy not to listen. She knew the way she was playing the role was right. And if all went according to plan – her plan – she would steal the film.

Cooper was not happy. They fought a lot. Venus Maria was wise for her years, and she understood him very well. He was an ageing matinée idol who didn't enjoy getting older. At forty-five he was twenty years older than her, and on screen it showed. Consciously or subconsciously he was trying to dilute her impact.

Too bad. She knew the Venus Maria her fans were expecting to see, and she refused to let them down. Not at this stage of her career.

Finishing her workout she jumped off the machine, stripped off her sweaty exercise clothes, and stood under an icy shower for a good ten minutes. Cold water toned the skin. And after it was toned she lathered on a Clarins body lotion, making sure she covered every inch of valuable flesh.

As she was doing this the door to her private bathroom was flung open, and there stood Emilio.

She was stark naked, with one leg up on a stool as she diligently applied the creamy lotion.

‘Oh, wow. 'Scuse
me!
' exclaimed Emilio, eyes taking in every inch of little sis.

Venus Maria did not move. She refused to give him the satisfaction of grabbing for a towel and covering herself. Instead she glared at him, a put-down menacing glare. ‘Get the fuck out,' she said coldly.

He thought about a smart reply, decided against it, checked out pussy and tits and everything else he could lay his eyes on, then backed slowly from the doorway.

She was furious. This intrusion was too much. Emilio was out.

Once, a long time ago, another of her brothers had come to her bed in the middle of the night drunk and amorous. She'd kicked him in the balls so hard he'd walked with a limp for several days. A week later she'd fled the family home with Ron, her saviour. Without Ron she'd never have had the courage to hitch across the country all the way to Hollywood. She owed Ron a lot. She didn't owe him half her money.

With Emilio out of the room she walked over to the door, slammed and locked it. Burning with anger she decided five weeks was long enough. Emilio had to go, no more putting up with his shit.

The phone rang. She snatched it up quickly. Emilio had developed a habit of picking up the phone before either she or her housekeeper could get to it, and chatting to her friends. She'd overheard him speaking to her agent one day. ‘Hi, I'm Emilio, Venus's brother.' Pause, while her agent probably said something polite. Then Emilio again. ‘Yeah, I'm good-lookin'. Sure, I'm talented. Hey, man, I got more talent than she got in her—'

She'd removed the phone from his big fat fist and snapped, ‘Don't you
dare
pick up my calls!'

It had not deterred him.

‘Who's this?' she asked in her best disguise voice.

‘Hi, babe. It's Johnny. What's with the funny accent?'

Ha!
He
could talk!

Why did she have to be put in this position? Johnny Romano was a pest. He seemed incapable of accepting the fact that she had no desire to go out with him. ‘Johnny; I'll have to call you back, I'm on the other line,' she lied.

‘Don't give me that, babe. Hang up your other call. It's me. In person.'

She tried to sound reverent. ‘I'm talking to Michael Jackson.'

A touch of respect. ‘Michael, huh? How is the home boy?'

‘I'll find out and get back to you.'

‘When?'

‘Soon.'

‘How soon?'

‘Sooner than you think.'

‘Hey, babe. You an' I – we gotta take this further.'

‘We will.'

‘When?'

‘Goodbye, Johnny.'

She knew it destroyed him that she didn't jump. And why should she? Johnny Romano was not for her. He was a stud factory, nailing everything that breathed.

She wished he'd get the message and leave her alone. There were too many guys like him in Hollywood – Johnny was just a bigger star than most of them.