Lady Boss (34 page)

Brigette laughed. ‘Just like you, huh?'

‘What's so bad about that?
My
opinion is that women do what men
think
they should do. I'm not going to be like that when I'm old.'

‘What's old?'

‘It says here Venus Maria is twenty-five. I guess she's sort of old.'

Brigette laughed again. ‘Don't let your mother hear you say that!'

‘Effie is forever young,' Nona said with a wicked grin. ‘She'll be young when she's eighty. I bet she'll still have that crazy streak of green hair, and wear outlandish clothes. Mom's quite a character.'

‘You're fortunate to have her,' Brigette said wistfully.

‘I know,' Nona agreed. ‘Oh, and by the way, have you spoken to your stepfather? When are we going to Malibu? Effie needs to know. It's not that she's dying to get rid of us, but she's got this little side trip planned to Bangkok and she doesn't want us tagging along.'

‘I've left a message with Lennie's agent to call me here,' Brigette said. ‘I heard he walked off the movie, and nobody seems to know where he is. He'll come through. Lennie won't let me down. He promised me Malibu, and Lennie always keeps his promises.'

‘Great!' exclaimed Nona. ‘I don't know about you, but
I
can't wait.'

* * *

Emilio Sierra and Dennis Walla formed an alliance. It was not a relationship based on trust, more on greed. They had a couple of meetings bickering about money back and forth. Emilio flatly refused to say who Venus Maria's married lover was until a price was settled. Dennis, on the other hand, insisted there could be no price until Emilio revealed his information.

After their initial meeting in Café Roma, they got together in a seedy coffee shop on Pico and tried to hammer it out. Finally they met at the offices of
Truth and Fact
in Hollywood.

Emilio said he wanted fifty thousand dollars.
Truth and Fact
agreed to pay it if the name he gave them was worth it. Now they were meeting to finalize the deal.

‘Morning, mate,' Dennis greeted him, sitting behind a littered desk, smoking a foul-smelling cheap cigar. ‘Today's the day, huh?' A mangy cat strolled by.

Emilio nodded uneasily. He wasn't sure if he should be here. Appearing at the offices of
Truth and Fact
was really blowing his cover. When he'd walked through the main room he'd noticed people at desks, behind typewriters, glancing in his direction. He felt like a traitor! And yet why shouldn't he do what he had to if it made him money?

Dennis introduced him to one of his colleagues, a short, squat Englishman with a rat face, scraggly eyebrows, and a droopy little moustache.

‘Who's he?' Emilio asked suspiciously.

‘We gotta have a witness,' Dennis explained. ‘Can't hand over a cheque without a witness. You gotta give us the facts, Emilio. Times, places, names. The lot.'

Emilio nodded. ‘I know all that,' he said rather crossly. God, you would think it would be easier than this. Why couldn't he just tell them who she was sleeping with, take his money, and go?

‘Sit down,' said Dennis. ‘Want a beer?'

Emilio shook his head. For the last week he'd been working on his gut. This had meant cutting out beer – a real drag.

When he had his fifty thousand dollars he wanted to be in better shape. He'd buy a decent car, new clothes, and move to a luxurious apartment. Emilio Sierra was going places.

‘Let's get this show on the road,' Dennis said, switching on a tape recorder.

‘Why are you doing that?' Emilio asked, alarmed.

‘I keep on telling you,' Dennis replied patiently. ‘We need the proof. We don't plan on getting sued, do we?'

Emilio thought about that one. ‘How can you be sued if it all happened?' he asked.

‘You'd be surprised who tries it on. Sinatra, Romano, Reynolds, the biggies. They're stupid, 'cause they never win. It ends up costing them big money. But we don't want to be dragged through the courts for years, do we?'

‘No,' agreed Emilio, wondering if Venus Maria would sue.

‘OK, shoot,' said Dennis, releasing the pause button.

Emilio felt hot. A thin trickle of sweat ran down his neck. He had an ache in his gut. He didn't feel well. ‘It's like this,' he said, sitting down. ‘Uh… where's my cheque?'

Dennis opened his desk drawer and took out a cheque for five thousand dollars. He waved it under Emilio's nose. ‘You get this now, the rest when the story's ready for press.'

Emilio tried to grab it.

Dennis snatched it out of reach. ‘Not so fast. I'm only showing it to you. Before you get it we need the name. If it's worth something to us an' you've got proof, it's yours, an' plenty more to come.'

Shit,
Emilio thought,
better get this over and done with
. ‘The boyfriend's name is Martin Swanson.' He blurted it quickly, savouring the shock and amazement on both men's faces.

Dennis let out a long, low whistle. ‘Martin Swanson! The New York biggie?'

‘Martin Swanson?' repeated the Englishman. ‘This is juicy stuff.'

‘Shit!' exclaimed Dennis happily. ‘If you can back this one up, you've given us a good one, mate.'

‘Oh, I can back it up,' Emilio boasted cockily. ‘I even have a picture of them together.' His trump card.

‘A picture?' Dennis said, getting more excited. ‘You never mentioned you had photos.'

Emilio thought quickly. ‘Yeah, well, if you want the picture, it's extra.'

‘Oh,' said Dennis. ‘The picture is extra?'

‘If you want it,' Emilio said.

‘We want it,' Dennis said.

* * *

Martin Swanson stood in his dressing room and examined his face in a magnifying mirror. He reached for the tweezers and plucked a few offending hairs from beneath his eyebrows. Then he stood back and admired himself in a full-length mirror. He was dressed as a Confederate soldier. Deena had thought it an original costume. He had to admit the outfit suited him.

Birthdays usually sunk him into a deep depression, but today he felt particularly good. It seemed he had a lot of friends. Presents had been arriving at the house all day, along with flowers, balloons, and greeting telegrams.

Deena had presented him with a solid gold picture frame. In it she had placed their wedding picture. There they were, Deena and Martin Swanson, standing outside the church, the happy couple.

Was it only ten years ago? It seemed like a lifetime. When he'd married Deena he had been ready to settle down. Who'd have thought he'd ever find a woman like Venus Maria?

Venus had called him at his office earlier. ‘Happy birthday, Martin,' she'd said long-distance. ‘I'm disappointed you couldn't get out here to celebrate with me.'

‘It's been difficult,' he'd replied. ‘Business.'

‘You shouldn't let business run your life,' she'd chided. ‘All work and no play makes Martin a very dull boy indeed.'

He'd laughed. ‘I'm never dull when I'm around you, am I?'

‘Baby,
I
make sure of that.'

They'd talked for a few minutes more. She hadn't said, ‘When am I going to see you?' She didn't have to. He knew it was on her mind. It was on his mind, too. Their relationship had reached the point where she required more than promises.

It wasn't easy. Sure he could divorce Deena. It would probably cost him a bundle, even though he'd made her sign a prenuptial agreement, and they'd suffer through a wave of bad publicity. But after that he'd be free to do whatever he wanted.

OK, so right now they were the Swansons. They owned New York. But Martin Swanson on his own could still own New York.

It was a difficult decision, and one he wasn't quite ready to make. At the end of the phone conversation with Venus Maria he'd promised to fly to L.A. the following week. The thought excited him. She really knew how to turn him on. Her little tricks and surprises were something else. For a moment he allowed his thoughts to linger on the two hookers and the silk scarves. Quite an event. Venus Maria knew how to keep a man interested.

One final glance and he strolled out of his dressing room, satisfied with his appearance.

Deena was downstairs, her full-length sable coat covering her outfit for the evening.

‘Let's have a look at you,' Martin said easily.

She swung around, dropping her coat.

‘Wow!' Martin was impressed. He'd married a beautiful woman.

Deena had on some outfit. Her long legs were encased in sleek black stockings, and the rest of her get-up was a carbon copy of the famous Marlene Dietrich costume in
The Blue Angel
. Deena, when she wanted to, could turn herself into a real stunner.

‘You're very handsome tonight, Martin,' she said, reaching out to smooth the back of his hair.

‘And you – well, what can I tell you? You've really done it, haven't you?' He laughed. ‘Effie will be a jealous wreck.'

Deena smiled triumphantly. ‘Why is that?' she inquired.

‘Because, my dear' – he held out his arm – ‘tonight,
everyone
is going to be looking at you. Including me,' he added.

Deena felt her triumph grow. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really?'

‘Really,' he said.

There was not much spare time in Venus Maria's life. From the moment she got up in the morning until the moment she went to bed at night, she was always busy doing something. If it wasn't her workouts, it was rehearsals for her videos. If it wasn't rehearsals, she was in the studio recording. Or she was sitting with the two songwriters she liked to work with, making suggestions as far as lyrics were concerned. Several times a week she worked with Ron. He still choreographed all her routines, and they were still best friends – in spite of the Ken Doll.

Then there was her acting. She tried to read every script sent to her. And if she didn't have time, she depended on a reader she employed.

Frankly, she was annoyed that Martin hadn't flown back for his birthday as he'd promised. She confided in Ron while they sweated their way through a new dance routine in his rehearsal room.

‘What do you want from the man?' Ron asked, straight to the point as usual.

‘To be with me all the time,' she said.

‘That's a ridiculous suggestion,' Ron exclaimed truthfully. ‘Martin Swanson is based in New York. You're here. What kind of life would the two of you have together? He'd be out screwing around and so would you. I
know
you, Venus.'

‘Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do,' she replied indignantly.

‘Come off it,' Ron said. ‘I know you better than anybody. I knew you when – before all the big-deal star stuff. I knew you when Venus Maria was just a twitch in your fanny.'

‘And don't
you
forget, Ron,' she retaliated, ‘I knew you before you were the gay prince of Hollywood.'

‘The what?'

‘You heard,' she replied tartly.

‘Oh, thank you
so
much, Madame. I always wanted to be a gay prince.'

‘And may I be the first to tell you you're doing a marvellous job. You and the Ken Doll are the talk of boys' town.'

Ron was annoyed. ‘Don't call him the Ken Doll. I've told you a million times.'

She brushed a hand through her platinum hair. ‘That's what he is.'

‘Listen, honey, don't talk about my lover and I won't talk about
yours,
OK?'

They glared at each other and continued the rehearsal.

Ron was a hard taskmaster. When he choreographed a routine it had to be perfect. And he made sure Venus Maria practised every move before he put her with the other dancers. She was his star pupil.

Secretly she knew that Ron believed he was totally responsible for her success. It didn't bother her; if he wished to take the credit, let him do so. She knew she would have gotten to the top with or without Ron. He'd been a great help, especially in the early days, but now she didn't need him.

She didn't need anybody.

Except Martin.

* * *

Effie greeted all her guests personally. Not for her an army of servants, although there were plenty around. Effie considered the personal touch important to make any party successful.

When Deena and Martin arrived, Effie was at the door to welcome them.

Deena slid her sable coat off her shoulders.

‘My God!' Yul said, hovering behind Effie. ‘I never realized you had such incredible legs.'

Deena smiled her cool smile. Tonight she was going to make every man in the room hot, and she knew it.

‘You look divine, darling,' enthused Effie. ‘And Martin, the handsome soldier look suits you. You should do it more often. I simply adore a uniform.'

‘I feel like a fool,' Martin said, perfectly at ease.

Yul, who was dressed as a caveman, said, ‘
You
feel like a fool? Try this outfit for ten minutes.'

Martin laughed and got lost in a sea of greetings. Everyone wanted to wish him a happy birthday. He was Mister Popular.

Gathered in a corner, Brigette, Nona, and Paul watched the activities.

‘Martin Swanson is such a corny old smoothie,' Nona proclaimed. ‘Just watch him work a room. What an operator!'

‘Wow,' Paul said. ‘Get a load of his old lady's legs.'

‘She's too ancient for you
and
she's married,' Nona said snappishly.

‘But she's rich,' Paul remarked.

‘Will you get off it? She's not as rich as Brigette.'

‘Oh well, we all know it's impossible for anyone to be as rich as Brigette. And while we're on the subject, since she's so rich, how come you two didn't come up with decent outfits? You look like a couple of tarts.'