Lady Boss (7 page)

Better take it easy, old man
, he warned himself.
You're not as young as you used to be.

No shit?

When his heart resumed its normal rhythm he remembered Steven, and regretted being so abrupt with him. Reaching for the phone he called him back. There was no reply.

Paige slept face down on his rumpled bed. The woman was an original. No shadows of the past to haunt him when she was around.

He got up and went to his dresser, unlocked the top right-hand drawer, and took out a Harry Winston box. Opening it, he gazed at an Elizabeth Taylor-sized diamond ring.

He'd bought Paige gifts before – usually from Forty-seventh Street, where he had connections and could get a deal. But this ring was different. This ring he'd gotten retail.

If Paige wanted it she could have it. There was only one small catch.
If
she wanted it, she had to divorce Wheeler – no more excuses – and marry him.

Gino Santangelo had waited long enough.

* * *

Brigette was counting the weeks until vacation. June 15 and she was a free person for the rest of the summer. What a relief to escape the daily grind of suffocating, boring school. She'd already spoken to her grandmother about spending a good chunk of her vacation with Lennie and Lucky.

Charlotte had not objected. ‘Whatever you like, dear,' she'd said vaguely, probably thrilled to be rid of her.

Sitting in English class Brigette daydreamed about all the fun she'd have. There had to be more than getting up in the morning, mingling with a bunch of stupid, unfriendly girls, and listening to a succession of uninspiring teachers drone on about nothing that interested her. Malibu with Lennie and Lucky was sure to be a major blast.

‘Stanislopoulos!' Mr. Louthe, her English teacher, interrupted her reverie. He was a grey-haired man with ferret teeth and a droopy moustache. ‘What did I just say?' he asked sharply.

Brigette looked at him blankly. ‘Huh?'

Two of her classmates whispered an exaggerated
huh
at each other and giggled.

‘Silence!' Mr. Louthe said sternly. ‘See me after class, Stanislopoulos.'

She groaned inwardly. She'd be late for tennis practice – her one pleasure. And Mr. Louthe was notorious for his sanctimonious lectures.

After the class was over she went and stood by his desk. He was attending to paperwork and made her wait for fifteen minutes. Finally he looked up. ‘Stanislopoulos,' he said, ‘I'll make this brief.'

Thank goodness
, she thought.

‘You are an intelligent girl. A pretty girl—'

Oh, no! Was he coming on to her? After Santino Bonnatti she was never going to allow anybody to do anything to her again – unless she wanted them to.

‘And you are also an extremely isolated and unsociable girl.'

Thanks a lot!
she thought sourly.

‘In life,' Mr. Louthe continued in a sonorous tone, ‘there is always a price to pay. And I do not mean a monetary price. You must realize, young lady, that with all your money and connections, you will not end up a very happy person if you go through your days and weeks and months living in your own cocooned little space. Learning, sharing, reading, mixing with other people, giving of yourself – these are all growth experiences. Learn to grow, Miss Stanislopoulos, and your life may have some meaning. Thank you. You are dismissed.' He bent his head and resumed work.

Brigette was stunned. How dare he talk to her like that! She knew how to learn – only it wasn't something she cared to do. She knew how to share – but why should she? And as for mixing with other people – well, it was they who didn't want to mix with her… wasn't it?

Returning to the dormitory she continued to fume. What did he know about her life anyway? What did he care?

Dumb man.

Dumb
old
man.

Dumb
old
man with a stupid moustache!

Inexplicably she began to cry, and suddenly it was a deluge of tears, as if all the pain and frustration and hurt of the last few years came pouring out.

It occurred to her that this was the first time she'd cried since Tim Wealth's death and the ensuing nightmare events.

When the tears were over she felt better, until she noticed Nona, one of her more recent roommates, standing inside the door. God! On top of everything else she would now have a reputation as a crybaby.

‘Are you OK?' Nona asked, sounding sympathetic.

Brigette rubbed her eyes. ‘Just a choking fit – nothing terminal.'

‘I know what you mean,' Nona said casually. ‘I get 'em all the time. Especially when I have to endure one of Louthe's lectures.'

‘It wasn't too bad.'

Suddenly they were having a conversation, something Brigette had managed to avoid until now.

‘OK,' Nona said brightly, ‘I'm out of here. I've got a pass for town.' She picked up her purse and hesitated for a moment. ‘You wouldn't like to come, would you?'

Normally Brigette would have said no and that would have been that. But today was different. Today was the start of something new – making friends.

‘I'd love to,' she answered shyly.

Nona was surprised. The other girls would kill her for dragging along the poor little rich kid – but she couldn't help it, Brigette looked so lost and lonely.

‘Come on,' she said warmly, grabbing her by the arm. ‘I don't know about you, but the sooner I'm out of this prison the better.'

It was a go situation and Lucky felt incredibly elated. First she made a short trip to London by Concorde to visit Bobby. He was in fine shape, small and handsome with an endearing British accent. Gino would have a shit fit!

After visiting Bobby, she flew out to Los Angeles to spend a couple of days with Lennie before embarking on her adventure. If she was to vanish successfully for six weeks everything had to be carefully coordinated.

Arriving at their rented house in Malibu, she was met by Miko, their diminutive Japanese houseboy. Miko informed her he was expecting Mr. Golden home at seven.

She was pleased. She'd told Lennie she wasn't flying out until Sunday, figuring a surprise would enhance the mood nicely. Now she'd have time to relax for a few hours.

‘OK, Miko,' she said, handing him a wad of bills. ‘Here's five hundred bucks to do a vanishing act. This'll pay for your hotel and expenses. I don't want to see you for forty-eight hours. Do we understand each other?'

Miko accepted the money with a small, formal bow. ‘I am gone, Madame,' he said in perfect English.

With Miko out of the way, she threw open the doors to the beach, plumped up the cushions on the large rattan couches, put Luther Vandross on the stereo, called Trader Vic's and requested Lennie's favourite Indonesian lamb roast to be delivered at nine p.m., and prepared a mean margarita mix.

When that was all done she indulged in a leisurely shower and slipped white shorts and T-shirt over nothing. Lucky rarely bothered with underclothes, she didn't see the point. Piling her long dark hair atop her head, she added a touch more gloss to her lips, and tawny blusher to accentuate her sharply defined cheekbones.

In her mid-thirties Lucky Santangelo had only grown more beautiful – a beauty she treated very casually, for ego was not her thing.

The beach looked inviting. It was almost dusk and several people jogged along the shoreline with their dogs while a single swimmer braved the cool Pacific Ocean.

She'd only spent a few weekends at the house, but there was something about it she was beginning to get attached to. It was so peaceful and quiet. You couldn't hear the cars racing by on the nearby Pacific Coast Highway, only the soothing rhythm of the waves hitting the beach.

Maybe they should buy it, she mused. Not that she was crazy about California, but once she owned Panther Studios they would obviously be spending more time there.

Mental note: call the real estate agent and find out if the house was for sale.

It was nearing seven. She blended the margaritas, poured hers into a tall frosted glass, and sat outside on the deck overlooking the beach.

Luther serenaded her with ‘Superstar'.

Leaning back, she closed her eyes and drifted off into a jet-lagged sleep.

* * *

Cristi was definitely coming on to him in her all-California-girl way. She'd been doing it throughout the day. Nothing too overwhelming, but Lennie was more than aware of her interest.

‘I'm takin' the twist to Spago, why don't you come with us?' Joey suggested, enjoying the possibilities. He referred to all women as twists or grunts. The twists were the delectable ones, and Cristi was certainly edible.

Lennie said no.

‘You prefer drivin' back to an empty beach house rather than a fine pizza with two of your best friends?' Joey tried to look hurt. The expression did not take.

Joey Firello was short and wiry, with rubbery lips, an ethnic face, and lots of nervous energy. Not traditionally good-looking, he was seemingly irresistible to women. ‘They want to mother me,' he deadpanned. ‘Hey – the day I say no to tit is the day it's over, man.'

Joey had been very supportive of Lennie when he'd first arrived in L.A. fresh from being fired out of a gig in Vegas and stone-cold broke. Joey, who at that time was just beginning to make it himself, had gotten Lennie a job at the legendary Foxie's club on Hollywood Boulevard, and been there for him all the way.

Lennie did not forget favours, so when his own career began to surpass Joey's by a long streak, and Joey's was on a downward spiral due to a serious cocaine problem, he'd always made sure there was a role for his friend in everything he did. Right now Joey's career was on an upswing.

‘You comin' for dinner or what?' Joey demanded.

‘Maybe I'll let you buy me a pizza,' Lennie said, relenting. After all, the house in Malibu was distinctly lonely with just Miko and himself for company. And he was tired of trying to make improvements on a script that was going nowhere.

Joey seemed pleased: he'd been trying to get Lennie out for weeks. ‘We'll go back to my place, you can grab a shower, an' then we'll
paaarty
all night long! Yeah!'

‘Dinner, Joey. That's it.'

Joey pulled a disappointed face. ‘Dinner, Joey,' he mimicked. ‘Hey – hey – hey – Whatever happened to the wild guy I used to know? Whatever happened to the king of the party scene?'

‘He got married,' Lennie said. ‘Yeah, he got married – not dead.'

* * *

The doorbell woke Lucky. Asleep on the outside deck she came to with a start and shivered. A brisk wind whipped along the beach and now the ocean was black and the waves sounded thunderous.

A quick glance at her watch revealed that it was nine o'clock.

She hurried through the dark house to the front door and let in the waiter from Trader Vic's. The food was sealed in cardboard cartons. She had him place them on a counter in the kitchen and leave.

Nine o'clock and where was Lennie? Miko had told her he was expecting him at seven, and like an idiot she hadn't thought of checking because she'd wanted to surprise him. Obviously not so smart. Lennie was out and about, and she had no idea where to start looking.

It's your own fault, Santangelo
, she scolded herself sternly.
That'll teach you to go for the unexpected.

She wondered if Abe Panther was awake, or did the fierce Inga put him down to sleep at eight o'clock? She wouldn't mind talking to the old guy. He was sharp and canny. She liked him.

Morton Sharkey had insisted that two separate psychiatrists and an independent doctor examine Abe before allowing Lucky to go ahead with the deal. ‘What if he drops dead?' Morton had asked. ‘Or even worse – what if
when
he dies the family steps forward and challenges his state of mind? We need to have this covered.'

Abe had not objected. Like Lucky, he was enjoying the game. He brought his own lawyer into play, and every intricate detail was worked out.

Now they had a deal set in concrete. Starting Monday Lucky was going in undercover. She couldn't wait!

* * *

Joey knew almost everyone in the restaurant, so what started out as a quiet dinner for three gradually grew into chaos.

‘I'm getting out of here,' Lennie announced at ten-fifteen. He'd had enough.

Joey grimaced. He was surrounded by women of all shapes, hues, and sizes. ‘I may be talented but I need help,' he complained. ‘You can't leave me, man.'

‘Watch me.' Lennie was already on his feet.

‘Can you drop me off at my car?' Cristi asked hopefully. ‘I never was one for group auditions.'

How could he say no to Miss California? ‘Aren't you staying with Joey?' he asked half-heartedly.

She eyed the seven other girls hanging on to Joey Firello's every breath. ‘Give me a break, Lennie.' With that she pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, allowing him no choice but to take her with him.

‘Bye, Joey,' they both said in unison, although not intentionally.

Joey signalled a thumbs-up. After four vodkas and several lines of cocaine (surreptitiously snorted because after numerous dry-out periods he was supposed to be reformed) he was flying on a solo journey.

Instinctively Lennie steered Cristi towards the back entrance which led directly to the parking lot. Sometimes fans and photographers nested outside the front, and he didn't want to get caught. Even though this was a perfectly innocent situation, being photographed with Cristi wouldn't look right, and he had no wish to put Lucky's understanding to the test.

Once in the passenger seat of his Ferrari, Cristi let out a little sigh and said – all Miss California Clean-Cut – ‘I'd
really
enjoy having sex with you, Lennie.'

She made it sound so matter-of-fact he almost didn't get it. But when she accompanied the words with a silky hand on his crotch, cleverly missing the gear shift by inches, he had no doubt of her intentions.