Lady Boss (66 page)

‘Who's the boyfriend?'

‘Fuck you!'

‘We can't print the story if we don't know his name.'

‘I'll give you the story an'
then
I'll give you the name. After I've gotten my money, of course.' Emilio was getting smart in his old age.

‘What's the matter? Don't you trust us by now?' Dennis complained.

‘I don't trust nobody,' Emilio said contemptuously.

‘How do I know this is genuine?'

‘Am I selling magazines for you, or what?' Emilio demanded in disgust. ‘Do I have to go through a third degree every time I give you somethin'?'

‘Your
sister
is selling us magazines,' Dennis pointed out. ‘Without her you got nothin', mate.'

‘Shit!' Emilio said. ‘Maybe I should go to the
Enquirer
. Could be they'll treat me better.'

Dennis sighed wearily. ‘OK, let's meet,' he said. ‘I'll listen to the details and we'll arrange a price.'

Triumphantly Emilio hung up.

Rita was primping in the bathroom mirror. She appeared to have moved into his apartment – her stuff was everywhere. He hadn't noticed how it happened, but it
had
happened.

Emilio didn't really mind. He'd never had a girl live with him before, and Rita was pretty.

‘Your sister's mad as hell,' she said, walking into the bedroom.

‘How do
you
know?'

‘'Cause I played your answering machine. I heard her. She's steaming.'

‘She'll get over it. In fact… You know something? I got a little treat for you tonight, baby.'

‘What's that?' she asked, hoping it wasn't his body.

‘I'm gonna take you to meet Venus. Her fag friend Ron is throwing a surprise birthday party for her.'

‘Oh, yeah?' Rita sneered sarcastically. ‘She'll
surely
want to see
you
.'

‘I was invited,' Emilio said cockily.

‘When?' Rita asked, full of suspicion.

‘A while ago. You gotta remember I'm her brother. Of course she'll expect me there.'

‘So? All the more reason for her to be mad.'

He hated it when a woman had something to say. His father had been right. Women were put on earth for three reasons – cooking, cleaning, and fucking. End of story. ‘Whadda I care? I wanna go to the party, don't you?'

Rita's eyes gleamed. ‘Is it a big party?'

‘Big enough.'

Rita nodded. Try and keep her away! ‘Whatever you say, Emilio.'

* * *

On Monday Deena followed her usual routine. After lunch she vanished to her room. Once there, she made her preparations. She took out her long black wig, the denim outfit, and finally she removed her gun from its hiding place.

Very soon she would slip out – unnoticed – get into the Cadillac, drive to the parking lot where she'd left the Ford, transfer into it, and drive straight to Los Angeles.

Tonight she was going to kill Venus Maria.

Ron surveyed the scene at his house. There were people running around everywhere. It was total chaos.

He turned to Ken. ‘I hope she's going to appreciate it,' he wailed. ‘They're wrecking my bougainvillaea!'

‘She will,' Ken assured him. ‘It'll be wonderful.'

‘It can't be just wonderful,' Ron fretted. ‘It has to be
the
party of the year.'

‘It will be.'

‘Do you really think so?' Ron was a nervous wreck. It had taken so much planning and time. The good news was that he'd located Martin Swanson in Detroit, and Martin had promised to fly in a day early to surprise Venus at her party.

‘Will there be any photographers present?' Martin had asked, remembering his promise to Deena.

‘Absolutely not!' Ron had said. ‘This is a private affair. We might have one of our own photographers, but I'll make sure he has instructions not to photograph you and Venus together.'

‘Excellent,' Martin said. He'd just been shown the new edition of
Truth and Fact
. When Deena saw it, there was going to be even more trouble. But still… He wasn't going to have to answer to Deena for much longer…

Ron was having a terrible time trying to decide on his seating arrangement. He wasn't place-carding the tables – that would be too difficult – but he was giving people table numbers so they'd know exactly which table they were at.

He placed himself, Ken, Lucky Santangelo, Cooper Turner, and of course Martin, at Venus Maria's table. Maybe he'd add another major star or two.

Nervously he went outside to inspect the tent once again. Everything looked marvellous. The tent was black with a sea of fairy lights strung around it. At night they'd look like a thousand tiny stars. The rest of the decor was black and silver – a dramatic theme Venus Maria would love. And the flower arrangements were exotic blooms imported from Hawaii.

Huge screens were erected on the sides of the tent. Hidden projectors would flash giant blow-up photographs of Venus Maria all night long.

‘You must relax.' Ken put a soothing hand on his arm.

Ron shook it off. He was not pleased with Ken since the eye incident with Antonio. ‘No more flirting,' he'd warned him.

‘As if I would,' Ken had replied, quite affronted that Ron even imagined he was doing so.

‘I've never given a party like this before,' sighed Ron. ‘What a responsibility!'

‘It will be successful,' Ken said. ‘I can promise you that.'

‘I don't care about successful,' Ron said irritably. ‘I already told you – it has to be the most talked-about party of the year.'

‘Same thing,' said Ken.

Ron shot him a look. What did he know?

* * *

Abigaile had no intention of hiding herself from public life just because Mickey had done something most other men in town probably did all the time but were smart enough not to get caught doing. She had every intention of attending the surprise party for Venus Maria. Her problem was, who could she get to escort her? Abigaile had no male friends: all the men she knew belonged to Mickey.

Sitting in Ivana's, having her hair attended to by Saxon, she came up with a brilliant idea.

‘Saxon, dear,' she said, slightly condescendingly, ‘how would you like to attend a glamorous Hollywood party?'

Saxon couldn't believe Abigaile Stolli was about to invite him out. It certainly wasn't the first time a client had come on to him, but he'd never expected it from her.

‘Well?' Abigaile said impatiently, waiting for his reply.

He stalled for time while he thought it over. ‘Well what, Mrs. S.?'

‘Do you want to come to a Hollywood party with me or not?'

Like he hadn't been to ten thousand of them. ‘Uh, I…' He didn't know what to say. Maybe he should say yes. She looked desperate. ‘Sure, what party did you have in mind?'

‘A birthday party for Venus Maria.'

‘I'm already invited to that, Mrs. S.'

‘You are?' She was surprised. Hairdressers weren't supposed to get invitations to important events.

‘Yeah, I do her hair. She's a good friend.'

‘She is? I didn't know that. You've never mentioned her.'

He grinned. ‘I'm discreet.'

‘Well, then, if you're already going, perhaps you can escort me.'

Saxon saw no way out. This was really going to blow everyone's mind! He couldn't wait to see Venus Maria's face when she realized he was with Abigaile Stolli! It might be worth it for a laugh.

‘It'll be a pleasure, Mrs. S.,' he said. ‘Shall I pick you up?'

Abigaile suffered from car anxiety. ‘What car do you drive?'

‘A Jaguar.'

She thought a moment before deciding a Jaguar was acceptable. ‘Hmm… very well.'

‘About what time?'

‘What time does it start?'

‘Ron wants everybody there by seven-thirty. He's planning the full surprise bit. So I'll pick you up around seven-fifteen. You'd better jot down your address for me.'

Abigaile did so and left the salon feeling quite lightheaded. If Mickey could have an affair with a six-foot-tall black policewoman, she could certainly appear at Venus Maria's party with an exceptionally good-looking hairdresser.

Why not? All was fair in love and marriage.

* * *

After mulling it over Mickey decided he'd go to the party for Venus Maria. He had nothing else to do. Sitting in a hotel room night after night, as luxurious as it was, had not turned out to be a laugh a minute. At home he had his Olympic-size swimming pool, his sauna, his steam bath, his gym, and his magnificent private study leading into his screening room.

Ah, the comforts of home. How he missed them.

If he was going to divorce Abigaile, he'd better think about buying himself a house – and fast. Hotel living was not for him.

Martin Swanson was screwing him around. He couldn't reach him. Every time he called he got one of Martin's many assistants, who gave him the Zeppo White story. Apparently they had to handle Zeppo carefully. Zeppo had an extremely lucrative contract with Orpheus, and he had no intention of leaving. At least not voluntarily.

‘How long is this going to take?' Mickey had asked.

‘Soon,' was the reply he received.

Soon
was getting to be a word he hated.

He didn't even have the energy to return to Madame Loretta's. Every time he thought about getting laid he remembered a hand clamping him on the shoulder and a voice saying, ‘You're under arrest.'

Talk about putting a man off sex!

And as for Warner – he missed the sex, the compliments, and the uncomplicated pleasure of being with her.

But it was over. Of that he was sure.

Rita had a red dress that emphasized every curve of her quite spectacular body. She pirouetted for Emilio, showing off. ‘You like, honey?'

He whistled. ‘Hot!'

Pleased with his reaction she twirled a couple more times. ‘What are
you
going to wear?' she asked.

Emilio had a new pair of brown leather pants and a matching leather jacket. He planned to wear the outfit with a dusty-pink frilled shirt.

When he put it on, the leather pants clung unflatteringly to his thighs, making him look plumper than he already was.

Rita didn't care to point this out, because Emilio was a vain one, and she wasn't about to piss him off.

‘Do
I
look hot too?' he asked, strutting peacock-like in front of her.

‘
Veree
hot,' she replied. Not such a lie, because he'd already started to sweat. ‘Are you sure your sister's going to be pleased to see you?' Rita worried. ‘She screamed “Fuck you” on the answering machine. It doesn't exactly sound like you're the person she wants to be with – especially with the new issue of
Truth and Fact
out today.'

‘Will you quit? She loves me,' Emilio boasted. ‘The Sierras stick together.'

‘OK.' Rita wasn't about to argue. This was going to be an amazing party and she didn't want to miss it. She'd get there somehow. With or without Emilio.

* * *

Warner went out and splurged on a gold spangled dress. If her idol – Eddie Murphy – ever saw her in it, he would die for her. She added a matching jacket.

Parading in front of the mirror, she decided Johnny Romano was definitely going to like what he saw. But just in case he didn't… she folded her old uniform and stuffed it in an overnight bag, along with her handcuffs and gun.

When the limo arrived to pick her up, she had the driver place her bag in the trunk.

‘When we get to Mr. Romano's at the end of the evening,' she said with a pleasant smile, ‘make sure I don't forget it.'

‘Certainly, ma'am,' replied the driver, looking her over and deciding she had the best tits he'd ever seen.

‘Thank you.' Warner climbed in the car, exhibiting plenty of leg. ‘Are we picking Mr. Romano up?'

‘We're on our way,' said the driver, happy with his view.

* * *

‘I'm a movie star,' recited Johnny Romano, admiring himself in the mirror. ‘Hey, man, I'm a movie star.'

There was nobody else in the room, but Johnny liked to hear the sound of his own voice. It turned him on, gave him a charge. ‘Hey, man, I'm a movie star.' He repeated the words a third time and grinned at his reflection. Cool. He was looking cool.

A model he'd dated a couple of times had turned him on to Armani, and the Italian look really suited him. Sharp tailoring. A black suit, black shirt, white tie. And with his black hair, olive skin, and dark eyes, he certainly looked like a movie star.

The entourage waited downstairs. The entourage did everything for him.

Being a movie star meant never having to lift a finger.

He could remember when it wasn't that way. Oh, could he remember! Johnny's first job in Hollywood had been parking cars. Big, sleek, expensive automobiles.

Most people whose cars he parked treated him as if he didn't exist. Some of the nicer ones gave a decent tip, but most of the time he was fortunate to make the two-dollar parking fee.

Sometimes, at parties, he saw the very same people whose Rolls and Porsches he'd used to park. What a kick it would be to tell them, ‘Hey, man – I pissed in your trunk. I ripped off your radio. I stole your cassettes.'

They wouldn't appreciate the joke, but he liked it a lot.

That was before stardom. Before he was Johnny Romano. Before he was a movie star.

One last look in the mirror. The man was hot. The man was gonna kill 'em! In spite of abysmal reviews of his movie and an ominous drop at the box-office.

What did he care? People loved him. They'd be back.

He flung open the door to his bedroom. ‘Hey, Johnny Romano is ready,' he yelled out. ‘Let's go!'