Lady Boss (58 page)

‘Yeah. One of those things you always seem to get involved in.'

‘So… how did you take care of it?' Eddie asked, trying to sound casual.

‘Never mind, and keep your mouth closed. It's no longer your responsibility – there's a deal memo says it's the studio's.'

‘Really? You fixed it?'

‘Forget about it, Eddie. All right?'

‘I heard about you and Orpheus.' Eddie hesitated before making a pitch. ‘How about bringing me along for the ride? Am I your good luck charm or what?'

‘Are you shitting me, Eddie?'

‘No, Mickey. I need a job.'

‘You've already got a job.'

‘Word is Lucky Santangelo is cleaning house.' He picked up a script, stared at it blankly, then put it down again. ‘Take me with you, huh?'

Mickey sighed. When was Eddie going to stop with the favours. ‘Get clean and I'll see what I can do,' he said.

‘Clean?' Eddie looked hurt. ‘I got no problem.'

Sure.
‘I'm
telling
you, Eddie – you're hooked. Check yourself into some kind of drug rehab and then we'll talk.' He took a beat. ‘By the way, was that your wife I saw at Madame Loretta's?'

Eddie glowered. ‘Are you crazy?'

‘And if it was her, what was she doing there?'

Now he was really furious. ‘You need glasses, Mickey.'

‘And you need to straighten out.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘Panther's going down when I leave,' Mickey boasted. ‘Everybody's gonna follow me. Johnny Romano, Arnie and Frankie, Susie – they'll all come over to Orpheus.'

Eddie scowled. ‘Yeah. You'll take everybody except me. Right?'

‘I told you – clean up your act and you're in.'

Clean up his act. Easier said than put into operation. When he was high he felt like he owned the world. And when he was straight he felt like the world wasn't even worth living in.

Why couldn't he carry on the way he was? Why was everyone on his case?

He left Mickey and drove home.

Leslie was showing a realtor around their house. He stared edgily at the two women.

Leslie attempted to introduce him.

‘Forget it,' he said rudely. ‘We're not selling.'

The realtor looked shocked. ‘What do you mean, Mr. Kane? I was under the impression we had an arrangement.'

‘No deal, baby. We've decided not to sell.'

‘Eddie?' Leslie said, her face flushing.

The realtor saw her fat commission fading away. ‘I feel you should reconsider your decision, Mr. Kane,' she said anxiously. ‘Once you've decided to sell a house, it's never a good idea to stay.'

‘Scram,' Eddie said.

‘Mr. Kane—'

‘Out!'

The realtor departed.

‘What happened, Eddie?' Leslie asked.

‘Things got taken care of. I'm off the dime.'

‘Yes?'

‘That's right. C'mon, baby, we're goin' out.'

‘Where?'

‘I'm about to surprise you.'

* * *

Mickey was emptying out his desk drawers into a briefcase when Lucky entered the office. He glanced up and their eyes met. She leaned against the door and stared at him. ‘Well, Mr. Stolli,' she said. ‘So you're moving on.'

‘That's right,' he replied shortly. What was this – visiting day?

‘I'm glad for you,' she said. ‘Saves me the trouble of firing you, huh?'

He looked at her like she was crazy. ‘You were going to fire me?'

‘Does that seem like such a strange idea?'

‘Yeah. As a matter of fact it does.'

‘How come?'

‘A New York broad like you – what do
you
know about the movie business? You need me desperately.'

‘Is that all you have to say?'

‘What do you want me to say? I've spent the last ten years building this studio up, and Abe goes behind my back and sells it to you. I wouldn't work for you, sweetheart, if you were the last broad in town.'

She stayed cool. ‘Really? You weren't a laugh a minute to work for yourself.'

He laughed derisively. ‘Your husband's been telling you stories, huh? Well, let
me
give you the facts. Lennie Golden ain't such a hotshot. Take a look at the dailies.'

‘I wasn't talking about Lennie.'

Brenda, one of Eddie Kane's secretaries, entered the room. She'd corn-rowed her hair and it looked good. ‘I shredded all those papers you asked me to take care of, Mr. Stolli,' she said, glancing at Lucky – checking her out so she could report to the rest of the girls what the new boss looked like.

Mickey shot her a filthy look.

‘What papers?' Lucky interjected.

‘Personal files,' Mickey replied quickly. ‘Nothing to do with you.'

‘If it's studio business, I'd prefer you didn't shred anything,' Lucky said.

‘A little late for that.' Mickey smiled triumphantly. Fuck her. Who did she think she was dealing with? ‘I'm outta here,' he said, waving Brenda out of the room.

Lucky walked over and sat in the chair in front of his desk.

Brenda hovered by the door, dying to listen in.

‘How's… Warner?' Lucky asked casually.

Mickey snapped to attention. ‘Huh?'

‘Warner Franklin? The black cop you were servicing twice a week. Oh, and that kid of yours in Chicago, the one you send a cheque to every month. Did you ever marry his mother? Or was she only another girlfriend?'

Mickey's skin flushed a dark red. He glared at Lucky and waved a frantic hand at Brenda, indicating she should get the hell out. Brenda exited.

Mickey was furious. ‘Where did you get all this information?' he asked gruffly.

She lapsed into her best Luce voice. ‘Working for you, Mr. Stolli. Kissing your ass, Mr. Stolli. You were such a
charming
boss. A real pleasure to work for.'

He glared at her as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes. She wasn't… couldn't be…

‘Yes.' She nodded, confirming the bad news. ‘I was Luce. Little Luce who you kicked around pretty good. It's amazing what a good disguise can do, huh?'

His flush deepened, sweeping upwards until even his bald head was covered. ‘You spying
bitch
. What did you do that for?'

‘Abe and I figured it was a fun thing to do. Y'know, see what his favourite scum-in-law was up to. That's what he affectionately calls you and Ben – the scum-in-laws.'

‘I'll tell you something,' Mickey said angrily. ‘You may be a rich broad with a lot of money, but you're going to lose every penny in this business, 'cause this studio's going down. Right to the bottom. I'm taking everybody with me. You'll be left with nothing but shit.'

Calmly she walked outside to where Brenda pretended not to be eavesdropping.

‘Brenda, dear,' she said coolly, ‘call in the exterminators. I want this office fumigated before I move in.'

* * *

‘Where are we going, Eddie?' Leslie asked for the sixth time.

‘It's a surprise. You'll see, babe,' he said, leaning across and patting her knee. ‘Just relax.'

She wasn't relaxed. She wasn't relaxed at all. Eddie had something on his mind, and she didn't know what to expect.

Deena was appalled at the press coverage. She was even more appalled when Martin made no attempt to contact her.

As the days passed, her anger grew until she was finally reduced to leaving a cryptic message with Gertrude: ‘Tell Mr. Swanson if he does not call me back within the next hour, I am making a statement to Adam Bobo Grant which he will regret.'

It worked. Within an hour Martin was on the phone.

‘How nice to hear from you,' Deena said coldly.

‘My God,' he replied. ‘You have no idea what it's been like here.'

‘
I
have no idea?' Deena said, her voice like ice.

‘I
am
trying to take over a studio,' Martin said testily. ‘I'm in meetings twenty-six hours a day. And it seems every time I get to a phone it's the wrong time to call you.'

‘Really, Martin?'

‘Besides, isn't it best if we talk when I get back?'

‘When are you coming back?'

He thought swiftly. ‘I'll be in New York by the weekend.'

‘We have a party to go to on Saturday night. Can I depend on you? It would be nice to be seen together in public. Don't you agree?'

He hesitated, reluctant to bring the subject up, but it couldn't be ignored any longer. ‘You're not mad at me, are you?' he asked. ‘That picture in the magazine was a fake. A pasted-together job. My lawyers are looking into it. We're going to sue 'em.'

‘We are?'

‘Don't you think we should?'

‘Whatever you want, Martin. As you say, we'll discuss it when you get back.'

Did Martin honestly imagine he was fooling her? Did he think she would believe the photograph was a fake?

She was dying to talk to Effie about it – but unfortunately Effie was taking no calls. Obviously she was still upset about the picture with Paul.

Deena decided to set things straight. She sent her a short note requesting a chance to explain. If Effie was any kind of friend she would call back.

Paul Webster had telephoned the house three times. Deena had not returned his calls. She had enough on her mind.

Her latest aggravation was Adam Bobo Grant. She was quite upset that he'd betrayed every confidence she'd whispered to him. Now her confidences were spread daily across the front of the
New York Runner
.

Deena Swanson loves her husband, and refuses to give him up. ‘Whatever happens,' she said today, ‘Martin and I refuse to give credence to these ugly rumours.'

There were many conversations to have – and when Martin returned they would have them.

In the meantime, her plans regarding Venus Maria were progressing smoothly.

Soon she would be ready to make her move.

* * *

Abigaile was not Abe Panther's granddaughter for nothing. She had a certain amount of larceny in her, and she soon decided that Mickey Stolli deserved to be taught a lesson. He'd humiliated her and Tabitha. He'd publicly disgraced them and nobody seemed to care except herself.

Her girlfriends dismissed the news that Mickey had been caught in a whorehouse as nothing more than an irritation. ‘Just ignore it,' they'd advised her. ‘Most men play around. What difference does it make as long as they don't bring it home?'

Ah, but Mickey
had
brought it home. He could hardly bring it any closer to home than the front page of the
L.A. Times
.

While Primrose and Ben dealt with lawyers, she sat and brooded. It soon became clear why Mickey did not wish to become embroiled in a fight over Panther Studios. He had a new job. He was taking over as head of Orpheus Studios.

Abigaile frowned. He'd be Martin Swanson's boy, that's all. Didn't he realize? Mickey had no idea what it was like to work for somebody else. He'd never had to answer to Abe, but he'd certainly have to answer to Martin Swanson.

While she was sitting and brooding, Abigaile began to think about Mickey's secretary at the studio, Luce, the one who'd given her Warner Franklin's number. And then she thought about Warner Franklin, the six-foot black cop. Why had Luce given her the number? And why had Mickey made such a lame excuse?

None of it made sense. And yet, if she thought about it long enough…

Abigaile picked up the
L.A. Times
and reread the story on Mickey. It stated that he'd been arrested while in the company of an Oriental lady of the night.

Oriental… Black… Warner Franklin's words began to come back to Abigaile.

‘I'm also your husband's mistress,' the woman had said over the phone.

Your husband's mistress…

Abigaile searched her desk to see if she had jotted down Warner Franklin's phone number. No. However, she did remember where she lived.

Abigaile was anxious to find out more. If Mickey planned to leave her she wasn't about to let him get away unpunished. He was going to have to pay. Oh, was he going to have to pay!

Abigaile climbed in her Mercedes and headed for Hollywood.

Lucky's first week at the studio passed quickly. There were meetings, meetings, and more meetings. There were decisions to be made, films to be halted, films to be continued with, distribution discussions, pre-production, post-production, editing, business affairs. Suddenly Lucky found herself immersed in the creative process. She attended script meetings, looked at dailies, viewed rough cuts, went over budgets, and at night, quite exhausted, she read scripts.

‘You don't have to do
everything
,' Morton Sharkey told her, amused at the idea that she would want to. ‘There are employees to take care of the everyday affairs. You're supposed to only make the big decisions.'

Lucky was into it. ‘I
want
to be hands on,' she said, full of enthusiasm. ‘These are
my
decisions.'

On Friday she and Boogie drove out to the airport to meet Bobby and CeeCee, his Jamaican nanny. It was a joyful moment. Her son bounded off the plane straight into her arms.

Bobby was six and a half years old and gorgeous.

Lucky swept him up and swung him around.

After a moment he got embarrassed. ‘Hey – Mom, put me down, I'm too big,' he objected, struggling like crazy.

She crushed him with a kiss. ‘You're mine,' she sang out, wildly happy. ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!'

Bobby chattered all the way to the house, while CeeCee just smiled.

‘Where's Lennie, Mommy?' he asked as soon as they arrived.

‘He's working, sweetheart.'

Bobby was persistent. ‘Will he be here soon?'

‘Sure,' she said, although she still hadn't heard from him – not one word.