Lady Boss

  Finally Lennie staggered downstairs with rumpled hair and a half-asleep look.

  ‘Good morning,’ she sang out cheerfully.

  ‘I had this wild dream,’ he mumbled. ‘Who’re you?’

  ‘Your wife. Remember?’

  ‘A wife who cooks?’ he said blankly, shaking his head. ‘I don’t have a wife who cooks.’

  She offered him a spoonful of eggs. ‘Try it and live!’

  Gingerly he tasted the eggs. ‘Hmm… Not bad.’

  ‘Not bad, my ass. They’re fuckin’ great! Admit it.’

  ‘You’re back.’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’

  ‘Still as crazy as ever, huh?’ he said, sitting at the table.

  She grinned. ‘Would you have it any other way?’

  ‘It’d be nice if you stayed home occasionally.’

  ‘Stop nagging!’ She stood back and surveyed him. ‘Hey – look at you in the daylight. Is that the very same beard that was scratching the hell out of me all night long?’

  ‘The very same.’

  ‘Hmm…’

  ‘You like?’

  ‘I hate.’

  ‘It’s gone.’

  She put her arms around his shoulders – anticipating the surprise she had for him, but not wanting to reveal it yet. ‘I’m really back.’

  ‘I noticed. For how long this time?’

  ‘No more trips, Lennie. We’ll be together all summer long. That’s a Santangelo promise.’

  ‘A Golden promise,’ he corrected.

  She smiled. ‘Right!’

  He surveyed the table. ‘So… what made you turn into Housewife of the Year?’

  ‘I thought you might be hungry.’ She bent down and kissed his neck. ‘Did I make you hungry, Lennie?’

  ‘Ravenous!’

  ‘Really?’

  He twisted around and his hands began to stray beneath her T-shirt.

  She backed away. ‘Later. I want to see you eat.’

  He ate like a starving man, grabbing everything in sight. ‘This is great,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘Best meal you’ve ever cooked me.’

  She laughed. ‘The only meal I’ve ever cooked you, right?’

  ‘You made me soup once.’

  ‘Was it good?’

  ‘Passable.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ She glanced around the loft. ‘This place is a mess. Who’s been looking after you?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘I can see that. What have you been doing?’

  ‘What I should have done a long time ago. Writing a script. A movie I might direct.’

  ‘Oh, we’re a director now, are we?’ she teased.

  ‘Why not? If Grudge Freeport can do it, anyone can.’

  ‘You’re talking to the right person,’ she said. ‘Will you star in it too?’

  He laughed. ‘Hey – you think I’d let anyone else do it? It’s a terrific role.’

  ‘When can I read it?’

  ‘Not until it’s finished.’ He paused. ‘So, I guess you heard I walked off the film?’

  ‘It’s not exactly a secret.’

  ‘I warned everyone it had to happen. They’ll probably sue, but who cares? It was something I had to do.’

  She almost told him about Panther, but held back just in time. It was too important to blurt out.

  ‘Don’t worry, they won’t sue,’ she said reassuringly.

  ‘What makes you say that? I hear Mickey Stolli is so crazed he nearly blew a blood vessel.’

  ‘Listen to me, Lennie. I know they won’t sue.’

  ‘Why?’ he joked. ‘Are you getting Gino to put a hit on them?’

  She laughed. ‘Gino doesn’t do that kind of thing.’

  ‘But he could arrange it if he wanted to, huh?’

  ‘Gino was never into putting hits on people. Why do you always imagine my father was such a major gangster?’

  ‘Wasn’t he?’

  ‘He shipped booze in during Prohibition. And then he ran a speakeasy. After that he got into Vegas and became respectable.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Really. Have you seen him?’

  ‘I haven’t seen anybody. I’ve been holed up here.’

  ‘We must call him.’

  ‘Later.’ He pushed his chair away from the table and got up. Then he reached out his arms for her. ‘C’mere, cook.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to try and knock you up. OK?’

  ‘Sweet-talker.’

  ‘And don’t you love it!’

  Chapter 52

  Saturday morning in Los Angeles was smoggy. Emilio Sierra couldn’t help but notice that Rita had stayed the night. Her clothes made a trail from the living room to the bedroom, and she herself was asleep in his bed. Score one for Emilio. He was some stud!

  Nudging her roughly, he urged her to wake up.

  ‘What time is it?’ Rita mumbled, hugging the pillow.

  ‘I told you – it’s late, an’ I gotta go out.’

  Rita buried her face in the pillow. ‘I’ll stay here.’

  ‘You won’t stay anywhere,’ Emilio replied, agitated. ‘I gotta lock the apartment.’

  ‘Whaddaya think – I’m gonna rip you off?’ Rita asked accusingly.

  ‘Naw. My mother’s comin’ over,’ he lied. ‘I better drop you off.’

  She dressed, unabashed about strutting naked in front of him. She was a hot little number all right – although not quite so hot in the harsh light of morning with the sun streaming through the windows, hitting her un-made-up face.

  ‘Come on,’ Emilio urged, forcing her to dress in a hurry.

  She did so, complaining all the way.

  Then he hustled her out to his car, drove her to her apartment, and said a fast goodbye.

  ‘When am I gonna see you again?’ she asked, stalling.

  ‘Soon.’ He winked. ‘I’ll call you.’

  She wasn’t thrilled with his reply, but she sashayed into the entrance of her apartment building as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Women, Emilio thought to himself. The worse you treat ’em, the more they like it.

  Once rid of Rita, he drove directly to Venus Maria’s house. He knew it was too early for her to be up, and it being a weekend the housekeeper had the day off, which was exactly what he was counting on. Her housekeeper was too protective by far, always spying on him. With just himself and Venus Maria in the house he’d have a better chance of getting what he needed from her safe.

  He didn’t bother ringing the doorbell. There was a window at the back that allowed him easy access. Why disturb her if she was asleep? All the better to surprise little sis.

  Venus Maria was asleep all right, curled up in front of the television, an empty ice-cream carton on the floor beside her, a jacket thrown casually across her body.

  This was too good to be true.

  Stealthily Emilio made his way through the living room, up the stairs to her bedroom, straight to her hidden safe. He knew where she’d jotted down the combination in some kind of a code. Quickly he found her private phone book, located the coded combination, hurried to the safe, opened it, slid out the picture of Venus Maria with Martin Swanson, and placed it safely in his pocket.

  All this took only a few minutes. It was far easier than he’d expected. Now he could skip, and she wouldn’t even know he’d been there.

  Unknown to Emilio, when he’d opened the window he’d triggered a silent alarm connected directly to the police. As he started to make his way downstairs he was shocked to hear the screaming siren of a police car. It sounded like it was right outside the house.

  Venus Maria awoke with a start. ‘Oh, God!’ she exclaimed, realizing she’d fallen asleep in front of the television. The police were already urgently pressing her front door buzzer.

  Groggily she rushed to the door.

  Two uniformed cops stood at attention. One of them had a hand hovering near his gun. ‘Your alarm went off, miss,’ he said. ‘You all rig
ht?’ And then realization hit. He nudged his partner. ‘Excuse me, aren’t you—?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, I am, and I’m not looking my best. What do you mean, my alarm went off?’

  ‘There’s an intruder in your home.’

  Oh, God! The crazed fan she’d always dreaded was somewhere in her house. She shivered. ‘I’m here by myself.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll check everything out. Do you mind if we come in?’

  ‘Mind? I’d be delighted.’

  Emilio lurked at the top of the stairs, listening. How was he going to get out of this one?

  His mind raced over the possibilities. He could always say the back door was open and he’d gone up to her bedroom to see if she was awake. Venus Maria wouldn’t be pleased, but what could she do? He was her brother.

  Before he could make any move at all, the two cops were crouched at the bottom, of the stairs, guns drawn. ‘Hit the floor, sucker,’ one of them yelled. ‘Don’t even think about going for a weapon.’

  * * *

  Dennis Walla groped for the ringing phone. ‘Yeah?’ he muttered into the receiver. ‘Wassa matter?’

  ‘Dennis?’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘’Ere, Dennis, it’s yer New York connection, Bert. You got a short memory or wot?’

  With a weary sigh Dennis recognized the rough Cockney accent of Bert Slocombe, one of his colleagues in New York. Just for a lark they’d put a man on Swanson watch.

  Dennis yawned and scratched his balls. ‘Find anything out, mate?’

  ‘Only that they go out a lot,’ replied Bert sourly. ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, they’re never at ’ome.’

  ‘Yeah? Where’d they go?’

  ‘Try just about every party in town. An’ every club. It’s bloody well not easy following ’em.’

  ‘Do they seem like a happy, loving couple?’

  ‘’Ere, you ever seen a husband and wife out in public who don’t seem lovey-dovey? They’re all over each other. It’s bleedin’ sickenin’.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Dennis groped for a cigarette, lit up, and inhaled deeply. ‘I don’t suppose he’ll be so cheerful come Monday.’

  ‘Yer think the bugger’ll sue us?’

  ‘Talk sense, mate. Nobody’s that stupid. Four or five years with lawyers swarmin’ all over you, an’ then finally sloggin’ it out in court. No. He won’t sue.’

  ‘Yeah, but Martin Swanson’s a tough one.’

  ‘Don’t worry about him being so tough. Today I’m getting my hands on a photograph of him with Venus Maria. A very telling photograph. When our story runs we’ll have plenty to back it up.’

  ‘OK. Am I off duty now?’

  ‘Stick with ’em another twenty-four hours.’

  ‘It’s a useless waste of my time,’ Bert complained.

  ‘Waste it. You’re gettin’ paid,’ Dennis said. He took another drag of his cigarette, stubbed it out in an overflowing ashtray, turned over, and went back to sleep.

  * * *

  At seven o’clock on Saturday morning Martin Swanson played racquetball for two hours. He got off on the challenge of beating the hell out of his opponent, and since most of his opponents usually worked for him he managed to win every time.

  Afterwards he took a shower, towelled himself dry, dressed, and jogged up the stairs to the top floor of the Swanson Building, where his penthouse office gave him a panoramic view of the city.

  It was too early to call Venus Maria in California. He wondered what her reaction was to his gift. Well, it wasn’t a gift really. He’d lost a bet. And what a beautiful way to lose!

  Gertrude, his personal assistant, greeted him with a triumphant smile. She’d been with him eleven years and knew more about his business than anyone. ‘Good morning, Mr. Swanson, and how are we today?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be delighted with these,’ she said, handing him a sheaf of faxes. ‘Yes, Mr. Swanson, it looks as if we’ll be taking over a studio. Shall I alert your pilot and have him ready the plane?’

  He read the first fax quickly. And the second one. And the third.

  A smile played around his lips. ‘Do that,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave first thing tomorrow.’

  * * *

  Mickey was awoken by a troop of Mexican gardeners using their illegal leaf-blowers right outside his bedroom window. The smell of gas assailed his nostrils. Furiously he turned over to prod Abigaile, but she was already up and gone.

  ‘Goddamit,’ he muttered under his breath. How many times had he told her that under no circumstances were the gardeners to come anywhere near his house on a Saturday? He groped for his watch. Was it ten o’clock already?

  Rolling from his comfortable bed he stalked into his bathroom, glared at himself in the mirror, filled his sink with ice-cold water, and plunged his face into the icy bowl. It woke him in a hurry.

  When his head cleared he called Warner. ‘What kind of game are you playing?’ he demanded in a low voice, just in case Abigaile was listening.

  ‘It’s over, Mickey,’ hissed Warner, not pleased to hear from him.

  ‘What do you mean, it’s over?’

  ‘I’ve had enough.’

  ‘Enough of what?’

  ‘Your bad moods, your wife, and the way you use me for sex. Besides, I’m in love with somebody else now.’

  He nearly choked. ‘You’re what?’

  ‘Yes, I’m in love with somebody else,’ she said, repeating the ego-busting news.

  ‘And who might that be?’ he demanded.

  ‘Johnny Romano,’ she replied, and promptly hung up on him.

  * * *

  Leslie Kane awoke in L.A. and shivered when she realized where she was and what she’d done. She’d run out on Eddie, straight back to her old life. On reflection it probably wasn’t the smartest move in the world.

  Tearfully she thought about her husband. Eddie wasn’t so bad. He had his problems – didn’t everyone? And she’d deserted him just when he’d needed her most. What kind of wife did that make her?

  Madame Loretta’s house was very still. Saturday mornings and sex for sale did not mix. Most men were busy with their children.

  She lay in bed and tried to decide what to do. One thing was sure, and that was she had to teach Eddie some kind of lesson. He had to be made aware that he could not treat her like dirt.

  Twenty-four hours should do it.

  Twenty-four hours and then she’d go home.

  * * *

  In New York Deena opened her eyes at ten o’clock, removed her black satin sleep mask, and summoned her maid, who served her tea in bed and brought her the morning papers. She skipped straight to the gossip columns, anxious to know who was doing what to whom and if there were any parties she might have missed. Satisfied that there weren’t, she immediately turned to the fashion pages. Not for Deena world events and crime news. She wasn’t interested.

  Her houseman buzzed the bedroom to tell her there was a call for her.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Mr. Paul Webster,’ he replied.

  Hmm… what was Effie’s son calling her for?

  She picked up the phone. ‘Paul? Little Paul?’

  ‘Do you get your kicks trying to make me feel small?’ he asked.

  Nice voice. Very low. Very sexy. In spite of herself Deena felt a tingle. ‘I don’t think your mother would enjoy it if she knew you were flirting with me,’ she said.

  He came right back at her. ‘What makes you think I’m flirting?’

  ‘Either that or you’re calling to ask after my health. Which is it, Paul?’

  ‘You’re a turn-on, Deena.’

  She couldn’t help being amused. ‘Paul, I’m old enough to be your… your…’

  ‘Older sister?’ he offered.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Can I take you to lunch?’

  Why not? she thought to herself. Effìe would have a thousand fits – but Effie didn’t have to find out, did she? ‘
Where did you have in mind?’

  ‘The park,’ he said easily.

  She thought he meant Tavern on the Green. ‘What time?’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at noon.’ He paused, waiting for her response.

  ‘I’m not sure. I—’

  ‘Twelve o’clock,’ he interjected. ‘See you.’

  She smiled. There’d been nobody since the soul singer. Just because Martin said she wasn’t supposed to…

  Why should she listen to Martin when he did exactly as he pleased?

  But Paul Webster… a boy… Effie’s son…

  Deena Swanson, she scolded herself. You ought to be ashamed…

  * * *

  Eddie Kane didn’t sleep at all. He went to a party at the beach house shared by Arnie Blackwood and Frankie Lombardo. He got good and truly bombed. He snorted as much cocaine as he could manage because he knew Arnie and Frankie kept a generous supply for their friends, and it would cost him nothing. At one point he’d asked Arnie for a loan. Arnie had laughed in his face.

  There were plenty of girls around, but Eddie didn’t feel like getting laid. He knew how badly he’d treated Leslie. He’d hurt her, and he didn’t know how she’d react. What was he going to do about it?

  First of all he had no idea where she’d gone. And secondly he wasn’t sure how long it would take her to return.

  Talk about fucking up a perfect relationship. The story of his life.

  On Saturday morning he came to, only to find himself slumped on the living room floor of Arnie and Frankie’s house in Trancas along with half a dozen other bums who’d spent the night.

  Fortunately, he’d managed to score enough coke at the party to give himself a jump start. After visiting the bathroom and doing just that, he felt considerably better. He made his way outside to his car.

  Home sweet home.

  He could only hope Leslie was waiting.

  Chapter 53

  ‘Don’t shoot! I’m her brother,’ Emilio shrieked, his voice filled with panic.

  ‘Hit the ground now, or you ain’t gonna be nobody’s brother,’ one of the cops yelled.

  Venus Maria hovered behind them.

  ‘Get back, miss,’ said the other cop.

  She’d recognized Emilio’s voice. Damn! What the hell was he doing sneaking around her house without permission?

  Warily one of the cops climbed the stairs, while the other one stayed behind and covered him.