Lady Boss (57 page)

He picked up the phone and placed a call to Adam Bobo Grant at his newspaper.

An officious assistant informed him that Mr. Grant was unavailable.

‘Tell him it's important,' Dennis insisted.

‘I'm sorry,' the assistant said, full of his own importance. ‘If you have an item for Mr. Grant, I can take it.'

‘Listen,' Dennis said with heavy authority, his Australian accent thickening, ‘I'm not saying this twice. Just go tell him I'm the one who wrote the story in
Truth and Fact
about the Swanson divorce. And comin' up I have an exclusive story by Venus Maria's brother. We're runnin' it next week. Now I thought he might be interested in some of this information. If he isn't, that's fine by me. Go run it by him, mate.'

The assistant left him hanging on the line for a good five minutes before Adam Bobo Grant, gossip columnist supreme, came on the line.

‘Mr. Walla,' Adam Bobo Grant said.

‘Saw your story,' Dennis replied. ‘A nice crib.'

Adam Bobo Grant was offended. ‘I
beg
your pardon?'

‘I said a nice crib. You stole half the stuff from
Truth and Fact
. My stuff – I wrote it.'

‘Did you phone to complain?' Bobo asked with a deeply put-upon sigh.

‘Nah, I'm takin' a shot we can do business.'

‘Business?' Bobo perked up.

‘Yeah, well, you've got items I find interesting, an' you'll find my next story very juicy indeed. It's this exclusive piece running next week, an' I thought – since you're making such a meal out of the Swansons – that you might want to take a peek at my upcomin' story before it runs.'

‘For a price, of course?' Bobo said crisply.

‘Yeah, mate. Whattaya think I am – a charity?'

Bobo thought fast. As successful as his daily column was, it was always nice to make the front pages. ‘How much?' he asked tartly.

‘A bargain price,' Dennis replied.

Sure,
Adam Bobo Grant thought. But he went for it anyway.

* * *

‘Photographers are camped outside my house,' Venus Maria complained to Martin on the phone.

‘Don't think they're not trailing me everywhere, too,' he said.

Was it her imagination, or did he sound quite pleased?

They'd talked a couple of times since
Truth and Fact
appeared, but they hadn't seen each other. Now they were attempting to set up a rendezvous.

‘We'd better forget about my house, and I'm sure your hotel is a definite no,' she said. ‘But I have an idea. If I can get out without being followed, I can make it to the Bel Air Hotel. What do you think?'

He thought it was an excellent idea and told her that he would book a suite under an assumed name and they could spend the night together.

‘Have you spoken to Deena?' she ventured tentatively.

‘No. I haven't called her.'

‘She must have seen it.'

‘I don't intend to speak to her on the phone. I'll discuss it when I get back. I
am
taking over a studio, you know I've been kind of busy.'

‘Oh, yeah. And I'm just lying around doing nothing,' she snapped back.

His tone softened. ‘I can't wait to see you.'

After she put the phone down she planned her escape. In a way it was a kick trying to fool the hovering paparazzi.

She summoned Ron, who dashed over to her house, dying to be in on the game. They dressed one of her secretaries in a platinum wig, dark shades, and one of Venus Maria's outfits.

When they decided she was ready, the girl ran from the house, jumped into a car, and roared off down the hill. Sure enough the photographers followed.

Meanwhile, Venus Maria slipped out the back into Ron's car. They giggled all the way as he drove her to the Bel Air Hotel.

Clad in a long coat, floppy hat, and dark glasses she went straight to the suite Martin had booked.

He was waiting for her.

The moment she was inside he jumped on her like a randy schoolboy.

She was taken aback. ‘Martin!' she began to object, but he was having none of it. He kissed her frantically, pawing at her clothes.

She threw off her hat, and her platinum hair tumbled around her face.

He buried his hands in her curls. ‘God, I've missed you,' he mumbled, unbuttoning her coat and groping under her sweater.

She'd never known him to be this passionate. Headlines obviously turned him on.

They ended up making love on the floor. It was the wildest she'd ever known Martin.

‘Wow! You're hot tonight. What happened to you?' she laughed, when they were finished.

‘Are you saying I was cool before?'

She wasn't saying it, but she was certainly thinking it.

‘A girlfriend called me from New York today,' she said casually. ‘We're on the front of the New York papers. And last night there was a story on that TV show –
Entertainment Tonight
. Why all this coverage?'

‘You're a popular lady.'

‘It's not just me, Martin. It's
you
that's captured the imagination of the public. Billionaire this and billionaire that. Hey, you're getting a real stud reputation!'

‘Don't be ridiculous,' he said. But he didn't sound at all mad.

She bent down and began picking up her crumpled clothes. ‘I'm going to soak in a hot tub. Shall we order room service? I'm starving!'

‘I've already ordered caviar, steak, and ice-cream. Does that sound like a feast?'

‘This is an adventure! Here we are, just the two of us, and nobody knows where we are. Exciting, huh?'

‘It works for me.'

She couldn't help smiling. ‘So I noticed.'

She drew herself a long hot tub filled with bubbles and luxuriated in it.

Martin strolled into the bathroom carrying two glasses of champagne. He perched on the side of the tub and handed her one.

She lay back. ‘So…' she said dreamily. ‘What's going to happen? Now that Deena knows, it's a whole different game, huh?'

Martin wasn't about to be drawn into conversation. ‘We'll have to see what she says.'

‘How about what
you
say?'

‘I've been married to Deena for ten years. It's impossible for me to pick up and go.'

‘Isn't that what we wanted?'

‘It is, but there are ways of doing things. It'll be better if Deena asks me to leave.'

‘If she has any pride she will.'

He nodded.

‘Martin,' Venus said, ‘you
are
going to make a decision, aren't you?'

He nodded again.

‘'Cause if you don't,' she added, ‘I'm not staying in this relationship. Especially now it's out in the open.'

He trailed his hand in the bubbles, touching the tip of her breast. ‘You wouldn't be threatening me, would you?'

She smiled seductively. ‘Would
I
do a thing like that? Come here, billionaire stud. Get in the tub with me.'

He couldn't help laughing. ‘I'm not nineteen.'

She sat up, wrapping her wet arms around him. ‘Pretend,' she said. ‘Let's play pretend.'

* * *

In New York, Deena raged around her apartment, angry and humiliated. It seemed she'd been deserted – which wasn't exactly true, because her phone was ringing off the hook. Everyone had phoned except for Martin, and she couldn't reach him. When she'd called him in California, various secretaries and assistants had told her he was in important meetings and could not be disturbed.

Meetings
, she thought to herself.
Ha!
He was with The Bitch.

Deena had already put her plans into action. She'd activated the private detective she'd hired several months earlier in Los Angeles. His instructions were to give her a complete dossier on Venus Maria, tracking all her movements. The detective had no idea who he was dealing with. She'd set it up by phone, and he reported to a box number.

Deena knew exactly what she had to do. However, she hadn't anticipated the amount of publicity Martin's affair with Venus Maria would generate.

She stared at her list of incoming phone calls. Every married woman in New York had called her. They all wanted the inside dish. Adam Bobo Grant had telephoned three times. Did he want more from her? Hadn't he taken enough?

She picked up the
New York Runner
and reread the frontpage story. It was different from
Truth and Fact
. Everyone knew
Truth and Fact
was a cheap rag. The story in the
New York Runner
gave it credence.

Her eyes scanned the page.

Deena Swanson, wanly beautiful in a lime-green Adolfo suit, refuses to discuss her rival, Venus Maria. Her only comment, ‘I'm sure Venus Maria is quite talented.'

And then further down:

For a moment Deena is silent as she gazes across the crowded restaurant. A fragile woman. A beautiful woman. A woman about to lose her husband?

At least Bobo had had the good grace to put a question mark after that.

She was not about to lose her husband. She was not about to lose anything.

She'd planned what she had to do for the last six months, and now the inevitable was in motion.

Nobody could operate like Mickey Stolli. He was a master at the game. He'd exceeded even his own expectations.

First of all he'd outsmarted Abe Panther and Lucky Santangelo by signing a pre-dated note giving Panther the full responsibility of owing Carlo Bonnatti a million dollars. Supposedly legally. And then he'd had the document filed neatly away – buried in business affairs.

Secondly, he'd sat down with Martin Swanson and clinched himself a fine deal with Orpheus at double the salary he made at Panther, plus profit-sharing.

Martin Swanson was a straight-talker. ‘I'm only interested in making money,' he'd said. ‘You can bring with you whomever you want. We're turning Orpheus into a money-making machine.'

Business taken care of, Mickey had then returned home to Abigaile. Dear sweet Abigaile.

She was stewing – but what did he care? He had a whole new life ahead of him.

One of the good things about Hollywood was that when you failed, you failed up. And being caught in a whorehouse was no big deal. He wasn't committing some heinous crime, he was merely getting laid. Abe Panther's sale of the studio had completely deflated Abigaile. She was almost prepared to forgive him for being arrested.

But not quite. When he'd arrived back at the house after the meeting with Lucky Santangelo, she'd greeted him with a miserable expression and Ben and Primrose. They were all waiting in the library.

‘We have to sit down and discuss everything,' Abigaile said very matter-of-factly. ‘Ben has kindly offered to deal with the lawyers.'

‘What's to deal with?' Mickey had fixed himself a drink. By this time he was a happy man. And he was about to be a free man.

‘Mickey,' Ben said, with a long, serious face, ‘we can't let Abe get away with this.'

‘It seems to me there's nothing we can do,' Mickey replied, downing a hefty shot of scotch.

‘Oh yes, there is,' said Ben, the upright family man, who Mickey knew for a fact had been screwing a buxom blonde starlet who'd worked on one of Panther's movies shooting in London last summer.

‘What, Ben?' Mickey asked wearily.

‘First of all Abigaile has told me of your problems, and you can't walk out on her now,' Ben said pompously, pacing up and down. ‘We're in a crisis situation. We have to present a united front. I've already spoken to my lawyer. He suggests we might be able to have Abe declared incompetent.'

‘No way,' Mickey said. ‘What's incompetent about Abe? He's walking and talking. This is Hollywood, for chrissakes! So he's old – big deal. Look at George Burns, Bob Hope.'

‘At least we should discuss it,' Ben insisted.

‘Discuss what? My wife
wants
me out – so I'm out.'

Ben put his hand on Mickey's shoulder. ‘Think about your Tabitha.'

‘Listen, I didn't
ask
to go. Get this straight – Abby threw me out. Remember that.'

‘And now she's asking you to stay.'

‘Too late.'

‘We'll have to work this out, Mickey,' Abigaile said, her no-nonsense expression firmly in place.

‘There's nothing to work out,' he shrugged. ‘I screwed around. I got caught. Now I have to take the consequences. I suggest you see a lawyer.'

‘Mickey, you don't seem to understand,' Primrose chimed in, speaking firmly. ‘Abe has sold the studio. Things are different.'

‘Stay out of it, Primrose,' he warned. ‘What goes on between me and my wife has nothing to do with you.'

‘We're all involved.' Ben was determined to make his presence felt.

‘Not in my private affairs,' Mickey declared. ‘What we do about our marriage concerns me and Abby. It's nobody else's business.' He wanted to add, ‘Get fucked,' but didn't deem it appropriate.

Without further discussion he went upstairs to his dressing room and packed a small suitcase. Then he got in his Porsche and drove straight to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where he checked into a bungalow.

Mickey Stolli was back in action.

* * *

Forty-eight hours later the news of Mickey's new appointment was all over town. It hadn't actually hit the trade press – after all, the deal wasn't even signed – but everybody in the know was aware of it.

Eddie tracked him down at the studio, where Mickey was packing up his personal papers and effects.

‘What's happening, Mickey?' he asked feverishly. ‘Did you hear from Bonnatti?'

‘I've taken care of it,' Mickey said. ‘Like I take care of all your fuck-ups.'

‘Hey.' Eddie refused to feel guilty. ‘It was just one of those things.'