‘Well?’ demanded a purse-lipped Susie, obviously waiting for some comment on her desire to star in his movie.
‘You’re not right for it,’ Mickey repeated.
‘I’m prepared to test,’ Susie said stubbornly.
Mickey shook his head.
She glared at him. Hell hath no fury like an actress scorned. ‘I’m willing to test and you’re saying no?’
‘Honey, I wouldn’t put you through it. Venus Maria is set. It’s a done deal.’
‘She’s too cheap-looking – too obvious.’
Mickey was smart enough to make no comment when one woman was putting down another. Dealing with Abigaile had taught him that. He shrugged non-committally.
Susie sighed, a deeply put-upon type of sigh, and played her trump card. ‘Zeppo White has a script he wants me to read for Orpheus. I hardly wish to be disloyal, but I guess I’ll take a little peek. What do you think?’
I think you’re a blackmailing cunt.
‘Go ahead if it makes you happy, Susie. But I’d still like you to think about doing Sunshine.’
A phony smile. ‘Thank you, darling, I knew you wouldn’t mind.’
* * *
Olive called Lucky three times during the afternoon. The first time she thanked her for listening to her problems over lunch. The second time she informed her she’d made a decision, she was definitely going to broach the subject of Luce taking over for her a couple of days the following week while she visited her fiancé in Boston. The third time she sounded dispirited.
‘Mr. Stolli’s in a dreadful mood,’ she said. ‘I daren’t mention my plans until he calms down.’
‘What’s the matter with him?’ Lucky asked curiously.
‘It’s Susie Rush,’ Olive confided in a low voice. ‘She’s refusing to commit to the film Mr. Stolli wants her to do next.’ Olive’s voice got even lower. ‘And she’s threatening to move over to Orpheus.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s very upset. Not a word to anyone, Luce.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
‘I must go now. I have to send champagne to his wife.’
‘Can’t she call the liquor store?’
Olive snorted derisively. ‘Three dozen bottles. If she gets it from the studio she doesn’t have to pay.’
Another petty scam. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, dear,’ Olive fretted. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that.’
‘Don’t worry. Who am I going to tell?’
‘Thank you, Luce. You’re a good friend for putting up with all my carrying on. Perhaps we can lunch again tomorrow.’
‘I’d like that,’ Lucky said agreeably.
Shortly after Olive’s final call, she took off. The heat was unbearable in the stuffy little office, and she couldn’t wait to strip off her dreary clothes, dump the wig and glasses, and return to her real self.
Harry Browning was in the parking lot.
Harry Browning was watching her.
Chapter 21
Virginia Venus Maria Sierra stared at her reflection in the mirrored wall of her all-white gym next to her all-white bedroom in her Hollywood Hills home. She was on her Precor Stairmaster, a lethal machine that simulated climbing stairs. Clad in pale blue sweats, a headband holding back her platinum-blond hair, she worked diligently.
Stereo speakers cleverly concealed in the ceiling entertained her with the latest Eurythmics. Much as she admired Annie Lennox, she wasn’t really listening: she had other things on her mind.
Like Ron.
Like Emilio – one of her brothers.
Like Cooper.
And like this stupid dinner party at the Stollis’ she’d rashly agreed to attend tonight.
Oh, God! How she hated Hollywood dinner parties. They were such pretentious affairs. And she’d have to make nice to the Stollis – especially Mickey – Mister Mogul himself.
She and Ron had christened Mickey Stolli Mister Mogul the moment they’d met him. He was the perfect Hollywood studio head prototype. Central Casting couldn’t do better. He had the mogul look, the mogul voice, and the mogul bullshit charm.
She suspected the charm only lasted as long as one was hot.
Venus Maria was no fool. She was savvy and street smart. She even kept a watchful eye on her money – no smooth-talking ‘I’ll just take twenty per cent of your income’ business manager for her. She knew where every dollar went, and signed all her own cheques, along with Ron. Early on she and Ron had formed a company together. They’d called it Maro Productions, and they were fifty-fifty partners. At the time it had seemed like a wonderful idea. Two best friends, joined forever. Now Ron had acquired a new busybody boyfriend, and Ken – that was his name – was pissing Venus Maria off.
Not that she was jealous. Lord knows Ron had gone through enough different boyfriends since they’d arrived in Hollywood three years ago. But this one was definitely a pumped-up pain in the butt. A handsome – if you enjoyed the ‘I’ve got a hot poker up my ass’ look – know-all male model. Behind his back she called him the Ken Doll. He was twenty-eight, and acted as if he were fifty.
Ron was in love. Ron was buying the Ken Doll suits and jackets and paintings and sculptures and jewellery, and finally – a Mercedes. A fucking Mercedes, for Christ’s sake!! She didn’t even have a Mercedes.
Angrily her legs worked the Stairmaster. She’d made up her mind she had to split the partnership, and although she realized it was the only sane thing to do, it still hurt. Ron was her family, her spiritual brother, and she loved him. But she couldn’t sit back and allow him to spend her money on some loser he had a hot nut for.
She’d turned to Cooper Turner for advice. ‘Do it,’ he’d advised her. ‘It’s a foolish arrangement anyway. He makes plenty, it’s not like you’re leaving him with nothing.’
This was true. Ron was an extremely successful choreographer, very much in demand since he’d done all the dance routines for Danceflash, a smash hit sleeper movie. And he always choreographed the top videos, including all of hers. So it wasn’t like he was broke. He’d have plenty of money, and if he wanted to spend it on the Ken Doll that was his prerogative. As long as it was his money buying the presents there was no need for her to be angry.
Now all she had to do was tell him.
Next problem. Her brother Emilio had turned up at her front door uninvited and unannounced. ‘I’ve come out to Hollywood t’be a star, just like you, little sis,’ he’d said.
Little sis!! Was this the same Emilio who used to scream at her all the time? The brother who used to whack her across the face if his Saturday-night-date shirt wasn’t pressed exactly the way he liked? The very Emilio who’d called her ‘rat face’ in front of his friends, and repeatedly told her she was the ugliest, shittiest little turd he’d ever seen?
Yes, it was the same Emilio. Thirty years old and too fat to be anything but a slob.
‘Get out of my face,’ she’d told him. ‘Go home. I can’t help you.’
He’d shoved his way inside her house, checked it out, settled down in front of the big-screen TV and said, ‘I’ll only stay a few days, just till I get a job, little sis.’
Big chance of that. Five weeks later he was still comfortably ensconced in front of her television with no intention of ever moving.
Another situation she was going to have to deal with.
One thing Venus Maria hated was confrontations. She wasn’t good when it came to a showdown. Ever since she was a little girl she’d wanted to run away and not face up to conflict. It was a weakness she was working on.
Fortunately the movie with Cooper was going well. She liked herself in the dailies, she looked better than she had in her other two films. The acting classes she’d taken had helped, and her new worked-out worked-on body was a definite improvement.
It was a challenge to be up there on the screen with Cooper Turner. She clearly remembered – although she hadn’t told Cooper, because he was sensitive about his age – the first time she’d
ever seen him. Her mother was alive then, and Venus Maria had been about eleven. Her mother was a big fan, and had taken her to see Cooper in one of his early movies.
Venus had thought he was sexy. That night she’d ended up playing doctor with herself under the bedclothes.
Cooper would enjoy that part, but she wasn’t about to give him the pleasure.
Right now Cooper was being too dictatorial for his own good. He thought he knew everything, but professionally Venus Maria had an instinctive knack of sensing exactly what move to make next – and nobody could alter that, not even Cooper Turner.
‘Tone it down,’ he kept advising her about her performance. ‘You’re too stylized. Wear less makeup. Darken your hair. Don’t come on so strong.’
She had the savvy not to listen. She knew the way she was playing the role was right. And if all went according to plan – her plan – she would steal the film.
Cooper was not happy. They fought a lot. Venus Maria was wise for her years, and she understood him very well. He was an ageing matinée idol who didn’t enjoy getting older. At forty-five he was twenty years older than her, and on screen it showed. Consciously or subconsciously he was trying to dilute her impact.
Too bad. She knew the Venus Maria her fans were expecting to see, and she refused to let them down. Not at this stage of her career.
Finishing her workout she jumped off the machine, stripped off her sweaty exercise clothes, and stood under an icy shower for a good ten minutes. Cold water toned the skin. And after it was toned she lathered on a Clarins body lotion, making sure she covered every inch of valuable flesh.
As she was doing this the door to her private bathroom was flung open, and there stood Emilio.
She was stark naked, with one leg up on a stool as she diligently applied the creamy lotion.
‘Oh, wow. ’Scuse me!’ exclaimed Emilio, eyes taking in every inch of little sis.
Venus Maria did not move. She refused to give him the satisfaction of grabbing for a towel and covering herself. Instead she glared at him, a put-down menacing glare. ‘Get the fuck out,’ she said coldly.
He thought about a smart reply, decided against it, checked out pussy and tits and everything else he could lay his eyes on, then backed slowly from the doorway.
She was furious. This intrusion was too much. Emilio was out.
Once, a long time ago, another of her brothers had come to her bed in the middle of the night drunk and amorous. She’d kicked him in the balls so hard he’d walked with a limp for several days. A week later she’d fled the family home with Ron, her saviour. Without Ron she’d never have had the courage to hitch across the country all the way to Hollywood. She owed Ron a lot. She didn’t owe him half her money.
With Emilio out of the room she walked over to the door, slammed and locked it. Burning with anger she decided five weeks was long enough. Emilio had to go, no more putting up with his shit.
The phone rang. She snatched it up quickly. Emilio had developed a habit of picking up the phone before either she or her housekeeper could get to it, and chatting to her friends. She’d overheard him speaking to her agent one day. ‘Hi, I’m Emilio, Venus’s brother.’ Pause, while her agent probably said something polite. Then Emilio again. ‘Yeah, I’m good-lookin’. Sure, I’m talented. Hey, man, I got more talent than she got in her—’
She’d removed the phone from his big fat fist and snapped, ‘Don’t you dare pick up my calls!’
It had not deterred him.
‘Who’s this?’ she asked in her best disguise voice.
‘Hi, babe. It’s Johnny. What’s with the funny accent?’
Ha! He could talk!
Why did she have to be put in this position? Johnny Romano was a pest. He seemed incapable of accepting the fact that she had no desire to go out with him. ‘Johnny; I’ll have to call you back, I’m on the other line,’ she lied.
‘Don’t give me that, babe. Hang up your other call. It’s me. In person.’
She tried to sound reverent. ‘I’m talking to Michael Jackson.’
A touch of respect. ‘Michael, huh? How is the home boy?’
‘I’ll find out and get back to you.’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
‘How soon?’
‘Sooner than you think.’
‘Hey, babe. You an’ I – we gotta take this further.’
‘We will.’
‘When?’
‘Goodbye, Johnny.’
She knew it destroyed him that she didn’t jump. And why should she? Johnny Romano was not for her. He was a stud factory, nailing everything that breathed.
She wished he’d get the message and leave her alone. There were too many guys like him in Hollywood – Johnny was just a bigger star than most of them.
It was time to get ready for the Stollis’ dinner party. After applying an alabaster-white makeup with darkened eyes and bright red lips, she pinned her platinum hair on top of her head and marched into her walk-in closet to survey the possibilities. Abigaile Stolli’s secretary had said ties for the men and pretty for the women. What the fuck did that mean?
Venus Maria selected a black suit with a thin pinstripe – cut masculine style. Under it she chose a matching vest which only just covered her breasts. On her feet she wore white stockings and granny-style lace-up black boots.
She chose her jewellery carefully – deciding on silver hoop earrings accompanied by three small diamond studs embedded in each ear, and eight thin silver and gold bangles on both wrists. The Venus Maria look was complete.
A star was ready to face the world.
Chapter 22
The driveway leading to Abe Panther’s house was shrouded in darkness. Talk about creepy! Lucky wasn’t frightened of the dark, but surely the old guy could afford a few lights?
She’d decided against bringing Boogie, he’d only have to sit outside in the car all night.
From the studio she’d driven straight back to her rented house, bypassing Sheila Hervey’s depressing apartment where Boogie had installed an answering machine with a remote so if anyone from the studio called her – such as Olive or Harry Browning – she would know about it.
Once at the house she’d thrown off the hated wig, dumped the heavy glasses, stripped off the disgusting clothes, and dived into the pool for a welcome and invigorating swim.
She’d swum twenty lengths before quitting, and then she’d hurried to get ready for an evening with good old Abe. There wasn’t even time to call Gino.
Inga answered the door of Abe’s Miller Drive house. Big-boned Inga with her cropped hair and sour expression.
‘Hello,’ Lucky said pleasantly.
Inga merely gave a curt nod and stomped off, obviously expecting Lucky to follow, which she did.
Abe was in the dining room sitting at one end of an elaborate oak table. ‘You’re late,’ he snapped impatiently, indicating she should occupy the chair next to him.
‘I wasn’t aware we were running on a strict timetable,’ Lucky remarked.
Gnarled fingers beat out a rhythm on the table. ‘I always eat at six o’clock.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s only twelve past.’
‘That means I’ve been sitting here for twelve minutes,’ he said crossly.
‘C’mon, Abe, lighten up,’ Lucky said, attempting to put him in a better mood. ‘Eating dinner a few minutes late is hardly a disaster. And frankly, I wouldn’t mind being offered a drink.’
‘What do you drink, girlie?’
‘Jack Daniels. What do you drink?’ she replied, challenging him.
He admired her attitude. ‘Whatever I goddamn feel like.’
‘And what do you feel like tonight?’
‘I’ll join you. Two Jack Daniels, on the rocks. Pronto! Pronto!’ He issued these instructions to an uptight Inga, who stormed off without saying a word.
‘Used to have a houseful of servants,’ Abe offered. ‘Hated it! Couldn’t take a crap without somebody s
mellin’ it.’
Lucky laughed. It felt good to laugh. She realized she’d been taking the whole Panther Studios deal too seriously. It was time to lie back and relax. Not too much, just enough to let it all go for a night.
‘Y’know, my father, Gino, is in town. I’d love to bring him up here one day,’ she said, thinking to herself how well the two old men would get along.
‘Why?’ Abe snapped. ‘He and I acquainted or somethin’?’
‘Maybe. He built one of the first hotels in Las Vegas, the Mirage.’
‘I remember the Mirage,’ Abe said gruffly. ‘Lost ten thousand big ones at the crap tables. That was way back when ten thousand meant somethin’. Today you can’t buy nothin’ for ten thousand bucks.’
‘You wouldn’t want to buy anything anyway, you never leave the house.’
‘Why should I?’ he demanded testily. ‘You think I’m crazy? I know all about what goes on out on the streets today. You think I want t’get mugged an’ shot at? No, thank you, girlie. No, thank you very much.’
Inga appeared, carrying the drinks. She placed them on the table with a disapproving thump.
Abe cackled. ‘She don’t like me to drink,’ he said, taking a hearty swig. ‘Thinks I’m too old. Thinks the old tick-tock can’t take it. Ain’t that right, Inga?’
‘You do whatever pleases you,’ Inga replied dourly. ‘I can’t stop you.’
‘Don’t even try,’ he warned, shaking a bony finger in her direction.
‘You’re only as old as you feel,’ Lucky said cheerfully. ‘That’s what my father says. He’s decided to stick at forty-five – he’s actually seventy-nine, though you’d never believe it. The man is amazing.’
‘Seventy-nine’s not old,’ Abe scoffed. ‘I was still runnin’ the studio in my seventies.’ Realizing Inga had remained standing beside him, he waved her away with his bird-like arms. ‘Shoo! Shoo! Go get the food. I’m a hungry old dinosaur, an’ I want to eat now! Hurry, woman.’