Lady Boss (37 page)

‘No,' she said blankly, trying to ignore the fact that he'd screamed ‘dumb cunt' at her. Nobody called Lucky Santangelo a dumb cunt and lived.

‘What?' he bellowed.

‘No, I don't understand you,' she said evenly. ‘I'm not allowing people to trample over my body. And I'm certainly not putting myself at risk for you.'

He stared at her in disbelief. A secretary – answering back?

‘Are you tryin' to get yourself fired?' he asked angrily, practically hopping up and down.

She shrugged. ‘Whatever you want to do. It's up to you.'

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Until now this one had been the perfect secretary. She'd fended off his calls, taken care of his appointments, made him coffee, squeezed his juice. She'd even squeeze his balls if he told her to. Now she was developing lip. Jesus Christ!

He stormed back into his office and slammed the door. When the fuck was Olive coming back?

* * *

Lucky took a final leisurely lunch in the commissary as Luce.

When she was finished she strolled over to Harry Browning's table and said, ‘Do you mind if I join you?'

He glanced up, not pleased to see her. ‘Yes, I do,' he said shortly.

‘I'd like to explain something,' she said. She felt ever so slightly guilty about Harry. If she'd known he was an alcoholic she'd never have plied him with liquor that fateful night of the fish pie. She sat down. ‘Harry—' she began.

‘Mr. Browning to you,' he interrupted.

‘I'm sure you imagine I'm playing some kind of strange game.'

‘I
know
what you're doing,' Harry said. ‘The whole studio knows what you are.'

She raised an eyebrow. ‘What am I?'

‘You're Abe Panther's spy. He sent you in to sleep with Mickey Stolli.'

She began to laugh. ‘Huh?'

‘You told Brenda in Eddie Kane's office you were sleeping with Mickey Stolli,' Harry said furiously. ‘Now the whole studio knows.'

Lucky almost choked. The thought of shacking up with Mickey did that to a person. ‘Are you kidding me? I was
joking
when I said that to Brenda.'

Harry drummed his fingers on the table. ‘A sick joke,' he said grimly.

‘Oh, you bet it is,' she agreed. ‘And anyway, what do you mean – the whole studio knows?'

‘Brenda told everybody. All the secretaries, messengers, assistants. And they in turn told everybody else.'

Oh, wonderful!
She sighed.
What a reputation to have. Sleeping with Mickey Stolli, the man of my dreams!
‘And does everybody at the studio think I'm Abe's spy?' she asked.

‘No,' Harry replied shortly. ‘Only
I
know. I suppose that's why you're sleeping with Mickey Stolli. Mr. Panther told you to.'

Now she was getting irritated. ‘Cut it out, Harry. I am
not
sleeping with Mickey. Everything's going to become clear on Monday.'

‘Yes?' He looked at her suspiciously.

‘Yes.' She nodded her head and got up from the table. ‘Don't forget. Monday morning. Things are going to happen around here.'

* * *

Abigaile Stolli called at three o'clock. She had an annoying voice, sharp and imperious, as if everybody should jump the moment they heard it. ‘Who's this?' she asked.

‘Luce,' Lucky replied. ‘And who's this?'

‘Mrs. Stolli,' Abigaile said haughtily. ‘Are you the new girl?'

‘I've been here a few weeks,' Lucky answered.

‘When is Olive coming back?' Abigaile demanded, as if it was a great imposition for her to have to talk to Lucky at all.

‘Soon,' Lucky replied.

‘Have you ordered our car?'

‘What car is that, Mrs. Stolli?'

‘Our limousine for the première tonight. Surely you know?'

‘I wasn't aware you needed a car.'

Abigaile exploded. ‘My God! Do I have to take care of
everything
myself? Didn't Mr. Stolli tell you? We need a studio limousine. My usual driver. And the car must be stocked with Cristal champagne and Perrier water. Oh, and have it at my house at six-thirty. Not six-twenty-five, or six-thirty-five. Six-thirty. Arrange it.'

Lucky decided Abigaile and Mickey made the perfect couple. Both of them dripping with charm.

‘I'll see to it, Mrs. Stolli,' she said, the perfect secretary.

‘Where's my husband?' Abigaile asked crossly.

For a moment Lucky was tempted to say, ‘Why don't you try Warner's apartment? You know, the black Vice cop he's been screwing twice a week for God knows how long.' Instead she replied, ‘I've no idea, Mrs. Stolli. But I'll be sure to leave a message that you phoned.'

‘Do that,' snapped Abigaile, banging the phone down.

Lucky called up Dispatch. ‘Marty,' she said, ‘Mrs. Stolli needs a car for tonight. Not her usual limousine. She's requested one of the small sedans, OK? Have it at her house at six-forty-five. Thank you.'

While Mickey was safely out of the office she then called Boogie. ‘Did you charter a plane for tonight?'

‘All set,' he replied.

‘And you've found out where Lennie is?'

‘Yes.'

‘What would I do without you, Boogie?'

‘You'd get into a lot of trouble.'

She smiled to herself. He was probably right.

‘Mickey,' Warner asked, ‘are you seeing other women?'

Mickey looked at her in surprise. ‘What kind of a stupid remark is that? Why would I want to see other women?'

‘I'm just asking,' Warner said. ‘I can ask, can't I?'

He didn't like her tone. ‘You can do what you want, but it's a goddamn stupid question.'

Warner stared at him. He'd been in a bad mood all day. Usually she respected his moods and tiptoed around them, but today she'd heard some disturbing gossip and it was on her mind. Some of the cops in Vice had a sting going on concerning a brothel in the Hollywood Hills. The high-class whorehouse was run by a woman called Madame Loretta, and according to the word around the locker room, many important and influential people in the film industry frequented this place. One of the names she'd heard mentioned today was Mickey Stolli.

Mickey got up from Warner's bed. The sex had not been good. Maybe it was time to move on.

‘It really pisses me off when you ask questions like that,' he said, annoyed. ‘For those kind of questions I may as well stay home with my wife. What do I need to come here for?'

Warner wondered if Mickey's guilt was making him even angrier. She clenched her teeth and didn't say anything. Instead she walked briskly into her tiny kitchen and plugged in the kettle.

‘How about a cup of coffee?' she called out.
Bastard!
If he was playing games with other women – especially hookers – she wasn't going to take it. No way.

‘What are you trying to do, kill me?' he complained, following her into the kitchen. ‘All that caffeine they put in coffee. I have to watch my diet.'

She bit back a sharp retort. Mickey only watched his diet when it suited him. Who was he kidding? ‘Did you remember to get my tickets for tonight?' she asked, tight-lipped.

‘Huh?' Mickey looked guilty.

She strode out of the kitchen. ‘You promised me four tickets for the première of
Motherfaker
, remember?'

‘Oh, Christ,' he mumbled, right behind her. Naturally he'd forgotten, and she'd made the request months ago, Johnny Romano being one of her favourite movie stars and all. Shit! He'd gotten her an autographed picture of Johnny – wasn't that enough? Now she had to have tickets for the goddamn première too.

He reached for the phone. ‘Luce,' he said, when his dumb secretary picked up. First thing Monday morning he was firing her. He'd bring in Brenda, the pretty black girl from Eddie Kane's office. At least he'd have someone decent to look at.

‘Yes, Mr. Stolli?'

‘Get me four extra tickets for the première tonight. They don't have to be great seats. And I want them… uh… shit, you'd better messenger them to… uh…' He held his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Warner, I can't give them your address. Where shall I have the tickets sent?'

‘Why can't you give them my address?' Warner demanded belligerently.

‘'Cause it's not a smart thing to do.' She was definitely beginning to needle him.

‘I'll pick them up,' she said. ‘I'm going to be out that way today.'

The thought of Warner appearing at his office to pick up tickets for
Motherfaker
was one he didn't even wish to contemplate. ‘The best thing is to have them left at the box-office,' he said quickly, ‘under your name.'

‘If that suits you.'

‘Leave 'em at the box-office under the name of Franklin,' he mumbled into the phone, hanging up and turning back to her.

‘Who are you taking anyway?'

She glared at him. ‘Don't worry, Mickey. I won't come near you or your wife.'

He didn't like the way she said that, or the way their relationship was going. He'd thought Warner was different, making no demands. But all women turned out to be the same. They all ended up nagging and wanting more than any sane man was prepared to give.

‘OK, OK,' he said, reaching for his clothes. ‘I've got to get dressed an' out of here.'

The scene with Eddie had unsettled him. He hated scenes, let alone a fist fight. God knows what Eddie would do next, he was hardly a stable character. If Leslie wasn't such a stupid piece of ass she'd have gotten him into drug rehab long before now.

Driving back to the studio, Mickey felt dissatisfied and restless. Making a sudden detour he headed for Madame Loretta's. He'd finally realized Ford Werne spoke the truth.
Pay for it and you don't get any grief. Pay for it and your life is your own.

Madame Loretta greeted him warmly. No hassles. No ticket requests. No questions.

‘Who've you got for me today?' he asked, as if he was chatting to a butcher in the supermarket, selecting a better cut of meat.

‘A beautiful Oriental girl,' Madame Loretta offered soothingly. ‘Very nice. Very sweet. Very talented. You'll like her.'

‘Yes,' Mickey said, looking forward to being pampered. ‘I will.'

* * *

Eddie called Kathleen Le Paul from his car phone. ‘I'm sorry,' he mumbled. ‘I forgot.'

‘Perfectly all right,' Kathleen replied calmly. ‘Your wife gave me the money.'

Eddie was shocked. ‘She did?'

‘You left it for me, didn't you?'

‘Yeah, yeah, sure. I had to run to the studio. Unexpected.'

Kathleen gave a deep sigh. ‘One of these days you'll clean your life up, Eddie.'

‘No thanks to you.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘You introduced me to Carlo Bonnatti. Now I'm in deep trouble.'

‘What kind of trouble?'

‘Don't give me the you-haven't-heard bit. It's all over town.'

Kathleen's voice had a steely edge. ‘What did you do, steal from him?'

‘I tried to make a living. That's all, a living,' he said defensively. ‘What is it, a crime? The studio'll pay.'

‘Eddie, Eddie, you'll never learn, will you? You don't fuck with a man like Carlo. If you do, you could end up dead.'

Jesus Christ! Eddie Kane had no desire to end up dead. Maybe the only answer was to get out of town. He'd thought about running to Hawaii, where he'd once had such a good time. Plenty of cheap dope and gorgeous girlfriends.

But wait a minute, wasn't he forgetting about Leslie? What was he going to do about her?

Christ! Why had he allowed himself to get into this mess?

Why had he allowed his perfect existence to fall apart?

* * *

The call from her sister took Abigaile by surprise.

‘What's this all about?' Primrose shrieked all the way from London.

Abigaile quivered with suppressed fury. Primrose managed to make everything seem like it was her fault. Whatever happened to the niceties of life such as – ‘How are you? Are your children well?' No, Primrose jumped right to it as though Abigaile owed her an explanation.

‘I have no idea what you're talking about,' she snapped.

‘The telegram,' Primrose replied impatiently.

‘What telegram?'

‘Oh, for God's sake! Don't tell me you're going to pretend you don't know anything about it. Ben's furious.'

Abigaile spoke slowly and evenly to make sure her sister understood every word. ‘Primrose, I have absolutely no clue what your problem is.'

‘Ben and I received a telegram from Grandfather today,' Primrose said in an accusing voice, as if Abigaile should know.

Abigaile was surprised. ‘You did? Saying what?'

‘Saying that he wishes us to be at the studio for an urgent meeting on Monday morning.'

Abigaile frowned. Did this have something to do with her recent visit to old Abe? Was he readying himself to inform Primrose and Ben that Mickey was trying to sell the studio without his knowledge?

She sighed. ‘I really don't know what it's about.'

‘Inconvenient, that's all I can say,' Primrose snorted. ‘Do you realize we've got to get on a plane tomorrow morning? That hardly gives me time to pack.
And
I have to make arrangements for the children. It's simply disgraceful.'

‘Why don't I get back to you?' Abigaile suggested, anxious to get off the phone. ‘I'll call Mickey and see what he knows.'

‘Fine,' Primrose snapped.

Abigaile put down the phone. The easiest thing would have been to contact her grandfather immediately. Unfortunately she didn't have the courage. Abe, in his feisty old way, would say something rude and insulting like ‘Butt out, girlie, it's none of your goddamn business.'