Chances

  Lucky wanted to giggle. The whole scene was so ludicrous, really. She and Olympia all dolled up, an angry red-faced Warris, several amused onlookers.

  “Oh, God!” Olympia said loudly. “This is ridiculous. Let’s go.”

  “No,” said Warris stubbornly. “Rules are made to be broken.”

  “Not in this casino, sir,” said one of the men implacably.

  “Fucking frogs!” screamed Warris suddenly. “What the fuck do you know about anything?”

  Even as he lost control, one of the men was gesturing for a doorman or two to remove the obstruction. They moved in on him, a firm hand under each elbow. This really infuriated him, and he began to scream insults even louder.

  “Wonderful!” sighed Lucky, rolling her eyes at Olympia. “Who’s your friend?”

  Olympia tossed her long blond curls imperiously.

  At this point a fiery dark-haired woman in the tightest, most revealing dress Lucky had ever seen, alighted from a white Rolls-Royce accompanied by a tall gray-haired man. “Warris!” she yelled wildly. “You sneaky crapshooter! Where have you been?”

  Warris stopped struggling and screaming. He shook himself free and adjusted his clothing. “Pippa,” he mumbled sheepishly, “I was going to call you.”

  “Sure,” she replied sarcastically, “and the President took a shit in Washington Square!”

  Olympia stepped into the fray. She wound herself around a somewhat shaken Warris and said in a proprietary fashion, “Who is this woman, darling?”

  Pippa squashed her with a look. “I didn’t know juvenile pussy was your bag,” she said derisively to Warris. “Wassamatter, all the big girls found out you’re a crap artist?”

  “Pippa, I’d like you to meet Olympia Stanislopoulos,” he said stiffly, “of the Stanislopoulos family.”

  “Oh!”

  “And Olympia, sweets, I’d like you to meet Pippa Sanchez, a business associate of mine.”

  What am I, chopped liver? thought Lucky. But she couldn’t help enjoying the scene. It was certainly a kick to see Warris firmly entrenched in the shit.

  “So,” boomed the gray-haired man, speaking for the first time, “these are friends of yours, Pippa dear. Why don’t we all go and have a drink?”

  The Vieux Colombier was a large cavernlike place situated along the coast at Juan-les-Pins with live jazz groups and a spacious dance floor. Lucky loved it immediately. It was about time she had some fun, and judging from the guys around the place, tonight was her night. While Olympia and Warris had been fucking their brains out, she hadn’t even indulged in Almost. The time had come to even up the score.

  Pippa and Warris were engaged in earnest conversation. Olympia was batting her eyelashes at Pippa’s Bolivian friend. So Lucky sauntered through the dimly lit club to the ladies’ room, and got herself accosted by a nice-looking boy in tight jeans.

  “You American?” he asked, grinning.

  She grinned back and nodded.

  “Dance?” he gestured toward the dance floor filled with wildly gyrating couples.

  “Love to.”

  Something was bothering Pippa. As she spoke earnestly to Warris about her precious script, something was nagging in her head.

  “If I can just get to her old man,” he was saying, “do you realize how much money the Stanislopoulos family has?”

  “Who is the other girl?” Pippa asked. “The dark one, Olympia’s friend.”

  “Oh, don’t take any notice of her, she’s a pain.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Some kid. They were at school together or something. Why?”

  Pippa shook her head. “I don’t know, she looks familiar…. ”

  “Sure, like a million other beatniks.”

  Pippa nodded. “When do you think you will meet Olympia’s father?” she asked.

  “Soon. I have to play it carefully, can’t push anything.” Pippa watched the dark-haired girl jive past on the dance floor. What was it about her? “Are you screwing this Olympia?” she asked. Her attachment to Warris had always been strictly business except for one drunken night the second evening of the festival when they had both thought they had a deal going. The fucking had been good; the deal had fallen through. Neither of them had felt inclined to try again.

  “No, no,” Warris replied sarcastically, “I’m just up at the villa taking care of the houseplants. Of course I’m fucking her.”

  “She’s very young. What makes you think her father is going to like the idea?”

  “By the time I meet daddy he’ll have no choice. Maybe I’ll marry her. How does that hit you?”

  Pippa smiled and murmured, “Shh…. ”

  Olympia was returning to the table with the Bolivian jeweler, who had taken her for a tour of the place. “Where’s Lucky?” She sighed, fanning herself with the back of her hand.

  “Who?” questioned Pippa sharply.

  “Lucky. My friend.”

  Of course! It had to be! It was! She had known the face was familiar. Gino’s face. Gino Santangelo! And the girl must be his daughter—had to be. How many girls called Lucky were there in the world? Pippa could remember quite clearly taking the solid-gold brush and comb set The Boy had bought for Gino’s baby and having it inscribed Lucky Santangelo. Fifteen years ago. Jesus God! Warris thought he was falling into something with the Stanislopoulos girl. Little did he know….

  Pippa beamed. “Warris,” she said brightly, “let’s celebrate. Order champagne. I think tonight is going to turn out to be a very important night for all of us.”

  Gino

  1966

  His daughter had been missing four days and Gino was burning up with fury. He had visited the school she had absconded from, read her notes, threatened the headmistress, returned to New York, and waited for news.

  In the house in Bel Air, his people waited for Lucky to turn up. When it became obvious that she wasn’t going to, Gino started his own detective work. He went back to the school with Costa and questioned the girls in her class, finding out nothing. The headmistress was furious. She told him frostily that she thought they should call in the police. It took Costa two hours to convince her this wouldn’t help matters, plus a healthy donation toward the school’s new building fund.

  Gino then tracked down the mother of Lucky’s best friend, Olympia, who assured him that her daughter was studiously studying Russian in Paris and knew nothing about Lucky’s disappearance.

  Next he called up Dario at his school in the hope that his son might know something, but he drew another blank.

  Dario replaced the receiver after his father’s call and decided that it was incredibly exciting news. Why hadn’t he thought about running away? He hated school; it just got worse every day. If only he knew where Lucky had run to, he could join her. But no—he didn’t have any idea where she’d gone. Sulkily he returned to class.

  His art teacher, Eric, said, “Everything all right, Dario?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  One of the boys sitting behind him mimicked “Yes, sir” and snickered.

  Dario ignored him. He had developed a healthy disregard for anything the other boys did. He had found that a cold unemotional attitude toward everything gave him a slight edge. It was better than reacting and getting into fights all the time.

  The art teacher approached his desk and surveyed his charcoal sketch of a swimmer. “Hmmm,” he murmured. “Not bad, Dario, not bad at all. Stay behind after class. I want to talk to you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gino imagined all sorts of things. He imagined Lucky hitching her way to California in her tight faded jeans and clinging T-shirt. He imagined some clown of a truck driver giving her a lift. He imagined the struggle, the rape, his daughter’s lifeless body being thrown from the truck into a ditch.

  She was only fifteen years old. A baby. If any bastard had so much as touched her…

  Jennifer and Costa stayed with him constantl
y, Jennifer fussing around, making sure that he ate, reassuring him of Lucky’s safety. “She’s like you, Gino, dear. She can look after herself.”

  “She’s a child, Jen.”

  “Oh, no. She’s all grown up. I can feel that she’s all right. I know it.”

  Gino frowned and decided that he should speak to Olympia Stanislopoulos himself, make sure that she hadn’t heard from Lucky.

  Olympia’s mother had departed on a cruise, but a secretary was able to give him the girl’s number in Paris. He tried it for a day, getting no reply. Finally he tracked her father down in Athens. He was not pleased about being interrupted in the middle of a meeting. “Olympia is most definitely in Paris taking a language course,” he said shortly. “I’ll contact her and have her phone you.”

  “Thank you,” Gino said, equally brusque. “The sooner the better.”

  Eric, the art teacher, said, “I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to fit in here. You’re very… different.”

  “Yes, I am,” Dario replied defiantly. “I’m not like those other little creeps.”

  “I know. I can see that. You’re more… sensitive. Intelligent.”

  Dario had never thought of himself as either sensitive or intelligent. “Yes,” he agreed quickly, “I guess I am.”

  “I knew that,” Eric said quietly. “I sensed it the first time I saw you.”

  Suddenly he felt uncomfortable. Eric was staring at him in a very strange way.

  “You’re like me,” Eric continued. “I was… different at school. The boys hated me because I liked art… good books… the finer things in life…”

  “Really?” He tried to look interested, but he was beginning to get bored with Eric and the story of his life.

  “Perhaps you’d like to spend a weekend at my place,” Eric said casually. “I’ve noticed you never go home on weekends. We could have a good time; you’d enjoy yourself.”

  Dario considered the possibility of enjoying himself with Eric. The man was twenty-four if he was a day. He had sandy-colored hair, a stocky build, and watery gray eyes. “What’d we do?” he asked carefully.

  “Whatever you’d like to do. Go to the movies, bowling, swimming, eat plenty of good food. What do you say?”

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Why not?”

  Eric smiled. “Why not indeed? Only it must be our secret. We mustn’t tell a soul. School rules and all that.”

  Dario grinned. Suddenly he felt important and liked. It wasn’t every boy in the class whom Eric was inviting for the weekend.

  It took Dimitri Stanislopoulos exactly twenty-four hours to call Gino back. “We have a problem,” he said tightly. Suddenly it was we.

  “Yes?”

  “Olympia has left Paris. Taken one of my cars and gone.”

  “Ahhh….” Gino sighed, feeling immediately better. At least he knew Lucky was with a friend.

  “She’s a very strong-minded girl,” Dimitri said wearily. “Uncontrollable I suppose you could say. Also easily influenced. I expect together with your daughter, Lucky—”

  “Have any idea where they could be?”

  “No idea at all. But I have put an immediate report out on the car. It shouldn’t take long to find them.”

  “I hope not. If your wife hadn’t been so insistent about Olympia being in Paris—”

  “My wife believes what she’s told. I wish that you had contacted me sooner.”

  “Yeh. So do I.”

  They finished the conversation, agreeing to meet in Paris the following day.

  “You’d better come with me, Jen,” Gino pleaded. “I can’t handle her alone.”

  “You must? Jennifer replied. “She’s your daughter. You have to develop a closeness before it’s too late. Now’s the time. Talk to her, get to know her, find out why she did it.”

  He would try. After he had beaten the living shit out of her, he would try.

  Lucky

  1966

  How had Pippa Sanchez become a part of their lives? The previous evening she had dumped the Bolivian jeweler, collected a small bag from her hotel, and squeezed in the Mercedes all the way to the villa. “You don’t mind?” she had said sweetly to Olympia. “Just until we finish our business.”

  “Sure,” Olympia agreed.

  Now it was morning, and Lucky stood in the kitchen glaring at her friend. “Whyn’t we take off?” she demanded. “This whole scene is becoming boring. I thought we were going to have fun.”

  “I am having fun,” Olympia insisted. “Warris is a terrific guy.”

  “Yeh. So how about the Mexican firecracker? How come she’s moved in?”

  “Only for a couple of nights. They have business together.”

  “Well, I don’t like her. She keeps on giving me the creepy fish eye.”

  “Maybe she wants you!” Olympia giggled.

  “Maybe you can shove this whole gig up your ass!” Lucky stormed. “I’m taking off.”

  “With what? You’ve got no car, no bread, no nothin’!”

  “That’s right, remind me.”

  “Aw, c’mon, what you need is a fella. Tonight we’ll find you one.”

  “I found one last night, but what happened? No room in the car to bring him here—according to darling Warris.”

  “Tonight’ll be different,” Olympia assured. “Find one you like and I promise we’ll get him here—somehow.”

  Lucky was placated. “O.K.”

  The two girls walked out into the sunlight. Warris was sprawled beside the pool; next to him Pippa displayed her beautifully oiled body on a sun bed. “Very nice house,” she purred. “How long have you girls lived here?”

  “A while,” Lucky replied cagily.

  “No school?” Pippa inquired.

  “We’re finished with school,” Olympia said, plumping herself down on Warris’s stomach.

  “You’re heavy!” he objected.

  “You didn’t say that last night.” She giggled.

  “Things were harder then!”

  Lucky dived into the pool, a fast racing dive which took her three quarters of the way through the water. A lizard scurried up the side of the pool, its scaly body glinting in the hot sun.

  “Oooh!” Olympia squealed. “I hate creepy crawlies!”

  “They can’t hurt you,” Pippa explained.

  “No, only frighten the shit out of you.” Warris laughed.

  “Iknow,” Pippa said. “How about having a party here tonight?”

  “A party?” Olympia asked. “But we don’t know anybody.”

  “I do,” Pippa told her. “I know everyone. All the fun people.”

  Olympia’s eyes lit up. “Do you?”

  “Of course. I even know a group of musicians who’ll play for nothing—just drink and food and a good time.”

  “Sounds great, but where do we get the drink and food? I’m a bit pushed for cash at the moment… waiting for my allowance to come through.”

  Pippa leaped up. “Don’t worry about a thing. Leave everything to me. Can I take the car?”

  “Certainly. But—”

  Pippa grinned. “I’ll arrange the party. You lie in the sun.” She slipped an orange beach dress over her bikini. “See you later.”

  “Wow.” Olympia giggled. “She sure is one terrific lady.”

  Warris pulled at the top of her bikini and sprung a breast free. “So are you, my sweet, so are you.”

  Olympia’s eyes skimmed appreciatively over his brief white bikini pants. “Show me what you got for a little girl.”

  He stood up and took her by the hand. “I’ll do better than that, I’ll show you what I got for a big girl. Come inside with me.”

  Lucky was oblivious to everything. She was swimming lengths, churning up and down the pool like an automaton.

  Pippa drove the white Mercedes down the winding narrow road fast. She hummed softly to herself. Life was good. It had not taken her long to get her beady eyes on things. The girls were runaways, any idiot could tell that. No mo
ney. No plans. A house that obviously wasn’t theirs half covered in dust sheets. Yes, they were runaways, all right. From school… from home. Someone must be missing them.

  Gino Santangelo. The very thought of his name brought a shiver to her spine. Was he looking for his daughter? It was a probability. And if he was, who better than Pippa Sanchez to tell him where he could find her?

  He would be grateful. Perhaps grateful enough to finance her movie….

  She smiled, felt briefly sorry for Warris, then decided that not confiding in him was the only way. After all, he was more interested in catching the Stanislopoulos girl, and who could blame him?

  Pippa’s smile broadened. How easy it was. I’ll arrange a party. Can I take your car? Now they were all trapped up at the villa with no means of escape. And instead of arranging a party, she was going to arrange for Gino Santangelo to fly in from wherever he was, and she was going to lead him—personally—to Lucky. It couldn’t be more perfect!

  She turned the volume up on the car radio and put her foot down hard on the accelerator.

  Now, what actor would be right for the Gino Santangelo role? Marlon Brando? Tony Curtis? Paul Newman? How great to have power over casting. Yes. Marlon would be perfect, just the right blend of sexiness and toughness. Just the right…

  The corner took her by surprise. It was a hairpin bend and she was driving much too fast. The English tourists in the lumbering hired Citroen were too far in the middle of the road anyway.

  The Mercedes and the Citroën met head on. The thundering crash could be heard for miles.

  Pippa Sanchez died instantly. Her dreams intact.

  Gino

  1966

  Gino flew into Paris alone. Reports from Vegas were that Mrs. Peter Richmond was making unprecedented demands. She had departed the day after Gino, leaving Craven there to implement her instructions about the forthcoming gala evening. Her phone calls from Washington were hourly.

  “It’s crazy,” Marco told him on the telephone. “She wants half the guests to have comp suites for the night. She wants special food, flower arrangements like you wouldn’t believe! The evening will cost us a fuckin’ fortune!”