She was too out of it to understand what she was getting into. Besides, it seemed like the right thing to do, for Carlo was constantly telling her that he loved her more than any man had ever loved her before, so why shouldn’t they be married?
After the brief ceremony they’d stayed in Rome only one night, then they’d set off on a honeymoon trip around Europe.
When they’d arrived at the first hotel, Carlo had handed her one of her chequebooks, instructing her to pre-sign dozens of cheques. ‘I’m waiting for some money from England,’ he’d said vaguely. ‘In the meantime . . .’
She didn’t care, money meant nothing to her.
A week later Carlo informed her that he thought it was best if she gave up her modelling career. She agreed readily. Who gave a damn about work? All she cared about was getting high.
One night in Paris they bumped into Kyra Kattleman at a disco. ‘Oh my God!’ Kyra squeaked, in her incongruous baby voice. ‘I hardly recognized you, Brig. You must’ve lost thirty pounds.’
‘This is my husband,’ Brigette said, a blank expression on her face. ‘Count Carlo Vittorio Vitti.’
‘I know you!’ Kyra exclaimed. ‘You’re the guy from the restaurant in London. You two got married! Way cool. Are you doing the Paris shows this year?’
Brigette had shaken her head. ‘Not me. I’ve given up working.’
‘Wow!’ Kyra exclaimed. ‘Maybe that’s what I should do.’
After a while, Carlo decided they should go to America and meet with her lawyers. ‘I must see exactly how your money is handled,’ he told her. ‘How do we know they’re looking after it properly? I am the only one who has your best interests at heart, Brigette, the only person you can trust. All your life you’ve had people leeching off you. Now I will oversee everything.’
‘My lawyers handle my trust and all of my investments,’ she’d said. ‘I’m sure they do a good job.’
‘It might be prudent for you to give me power of attorney,’ he’d suggested. ‘That way I can make sure nobody steals from you.’
So far New York had been a nightmare. Her team of lawyers were concerned and angry that Carlo was attempting to interfere and take over. They’d tried to pull her aside and warn her that giving any kind of control to her husband was not a good idea. But Carlo had made sure they did not get her alone for more than a few brief moments.
‘I liked it better in Europe,’ she complained to Carlo, ‘where people left us alone.’
‘I know, cara,’ he answered, in one of his caring moods, ‘but we must get this settled so you and I can enjoy our lives. I was thinking that we should buy a house outside Rome. You could live there quietly with the baby, while I travel and take care of business. Would that please you, my sweet?’
As long as I have what I need every day, she wanted to say. But she didn’t. She merely smiled, high as usual.
Sometimes she thought about the moment she’d told him she was pregnant. At first he’d been furious. ‘Whose baby is it?’ he’d demanded. ‘What bastard did this to you? Slut! Whore! Who did you sleep with?’
‘It’s your baby, Carlo,’ she’d assured him. ‘I haven’t slept with anyone else. It happened that night in New York.’
When he’d realized she was speaking the truth, he was pleased. ‘It had better be a boy,’ he kept on repeating. ‘A boy who looks like me.’
Doctors were not on her agenda. She was scared to have the test that would tell her the sex of the baby. She was also smart enough to know that doctors would try to stop the drugs that allowed her to get through each day.
Carlo had found a doctor in New York who did not ask awkward questions. They went to see him together and, after examining her, the doctor warned her that she had to give up drugs, otherwise her baby would be born addicted.
‘Oh, yes, Doctor,’ she’d lied sweetly. ‘I intend to.’
‘I can help you,’ he’d said. ‘There’s a methadone programme we can put you on. You have to do this, Brigette.’
‘I’ll be back,’ she’d said. ‘Maybe then.’
‘You’ve got to get off that shit soon,’ Carlo had said, when they left the man’s office. ‘It would not do for our baby to be born addicted.’
‘You got me on it,’ she’d pointed out. ‘I don’t want to stop.’
‘Of course not,’ he’d spat in disgust. ‘Because deep down you’re a drug whore – exactly like your mother.’
She knew she should never have confided in him about Olympia, but in moments of intimacy she’d told him everything because when he was in a loving mood there was no one as sweet as her Carlo.
Now they were preparing to go out to dinner with Fredo, something she had no desire to do. She fumbled through her closet, muttering to herself. She hated it when Carlo was mad at her. All she asked for was peace and harmony and to be left alone. And to have her drugs.
After a while she pulled out a simple black Calvin Klein dress and a tuxedo jacket that hid her slightly protruding stomach. She changed quickly, pinning up her long blonde hair and adding jet drop earrings. The result was stunning.
When she returned to the living room, Carlo grunted his approval. ‘That’s better,’ he said.
Fredo met them at Coco Pazzo with red roses and champagne on ice. He was with Lina’s favourite model, Didi, who stared at Brigette rudely and said, ‘What in hell happened to you? You’re positively skinny!’
Fredo gave Didi a sharp nudge in the ribs, and she shut up. He, too, was wondering what had happened to the once glowing Brigette. She was pale and agitated and far too thin. She was still a knock-out, but in a different way.
Whereas Carlo, in an expensive Brioni suit with flashing gold and sapphire cufflinks that matched his piercing blue eyes, was even more handsome, if that was possible.
Fredo was not happy. Brigette was a true prize in every way, and somehow or other Carlo had won her. Fredo remembered going over to Lina’s apartment the morning after the dinner they’d all had together. Brigette had accused Carlo of rape. Now she was married to him. It didn’t make sense.
He wondered what Lina had to say about it, and if she’d seen them together.
As the evening progressed, Fredo noticed that Brigette did not seem like her normal self. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn she was on drugs. But no, not Brigette – the girl he knew wouldn’t so much as pop an aspirin.
After dinner he suggested they all go on to a club. Carlo said no, explaining that they were leaving for LA in the morning and had to be up early. Brigette said nothing, her expression dreamy.
‘Have you seen Lina?’ Fredo asked.
‘Haven’t had time to call her,’ Brigette answered vaguely. And that was that.
The next morning they were on a plane to LA. Brigette leafed through a copy of Vanity Fair. Her latest fear was facing Lucky.
‘Who is this Lucky woman anyway?’ Carlo said irritably. ‘She’s not your mother or a blood relative. Why are you so influenced by her?’
‘She’s my godmother,’ Brigette answered, watching the pretty stewardess flirt with Carlo as she leaned over and served him another drink. ‘Lucky was married to my grandfather.’
‘Ha!’ Carlo said. ‘She must be some gold-digger.’
‘She’s not,’ Brigette said simply. ‘Lucky’s wonderful. I’m sure you’ll get along with her.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Carlo said ominously.
She didn’t like his tone. It would be impossible if he started trouble with Lucky, she simply couldn’t stand it. ‘Lucky’s very smart, Carlo,’ she said, ‘so please, don’t upset her.’
‘Are you telling me not to upset her?’ he said imperiously. ‘I suggest you tell her not to upset me, otherwise I will make sure that you never see her again.’
Brigette was silent. She’d learned that when Carlo had a certain look in his eye, it was best to stay quiet.
* * *
Shooting a movie with Charlie Dollar was like one long enjoyable party. Lina
could not get over how much fun it was. She’d had two acting jobs before, both of them absolutely boring. Now here was Charlie, racing around the set, laughing, joking, encouraging everyone to do their best work. And when the cameras started to roll, his performance was so right-on that the entire crew was totally mesmerized. Charlie Dollar always delivered.
‘How was Africa?’ she asked, one day between takes.
He threw her one of his famous quizzical looks. ‘You’re asking me?’
She rubbed the tip of her nose and laughed. ‘I might be black, but we’re not all out of Africa. I’m from London, as a matter of fact. The Elephant and Castle, if that means anything to you.’
‘I got a yen for English girls,’ Charlie ruminated, with a beatific smile. ‘Spent several months in London making a flick. Hung my hat at Tramp every night. Had myself many a page-three beauty.’
‘I’d hardly call ’em beauties,’ Lina snorted. ‘More like scrubbers.’
‘Scrubbers?’ Charlie said, with a wild chuckle. ‘Now that’s a word.’
‘It’s what we call ’em.’
‘And it means?’
‘Some cheapo bimbo babe who’ll flash her tits an’ sleep with anybody.’
‘You wouldn’t be calling me anybody, would you?’
Lina wagged a long finger at him. ‘You’d better watch out, Charlie. Those little dolly birds’ll sell their story to a newspaper soon as look at you!’
‘Thanks for the warning. In the future I’ll make sure I give them something juicy to write about.’
On the days that Dahlia visited the set, Charlie acted like a different person. It was as if one moment he was a naughty schoolboy up to no good, and then Mommy arrived, and he immediately turned into the opposite.
‘Gee!’ Lina exclaimed, after one of Dahlia’s surprise appearances. ‘Has she got your balls in a vice! Must be dead painful.’
‘Dahlia’s a lady,’ Charlie said sonorously. ‘And a talented one at that.’
‘Do you two fuck?’ Lina asked boldly.
‘We did,’ Charlie said. ‘Hence, our son, Sport. However, now I have too much respect for Dahlia to give her the old one two three.’
‘Oh, I see. You got a Madonna-complex thing going, huh?’
‘You think you’re very smart, Lina, don’t you?’
‘I am smart.’
‘I suppose you are,’ Charlie said, nodding to himself. ‘You agree with my shrink. According to him, there is absolutely nothing wrong with a healthy Madonna complex. Y’ see, my dear little English girl, I can’t get it up for somebody I respect.’
‘Guess that says a lot about me,’ Lina said, getting in a quick dig.
‘We did the dirty deed once,’ Charlie said. ‘And please take note that I have not invited you into my trailer since we’ve been shooting.’
‘Oooh, should I be insulted?’ she drawled sarcastically.
‘Depends on your insult threshold.’
‘I was going to ask you,’ Lina said, changing track. ‘Lucky’s throwing a party for her goddaughter, Brigette, my friend. Can you take me?’
‘If Dahlia’s out of town.’
‘The party’s in two days’.’
‘Hmm . . . I do believe Dahlia will be visiting her father on location in Arizona at that time.’
‘How convenient,’ Lina said, well pleased. ‘So now you’ve got no excuse.’
Charlie executed an extravagant bow. ‘Delighted, my dear.’
Chapter Fifty-Four
When Price returned from several weeks on the road and discovered that his son had been arrested and actually spent the night in juvenile hall, he flew into a foul rage.
‘What the fuck am I payin’ you a retainer for?’ he yelled at his lawyer, as he paced furiously around his living room. ‘How come nobody contacted me? Why did you allow my son to spend the night locked up? You should’ve sprung him immediately.’
‘They couldn’t set bail until the next morning,’ Howard explained, trying to placate one of his most high-profile clients. ‘Teddy had to appear before a judge and, believe me, it wasn’t easy springing him without you there. I had to call in some very big favours.’
‘What the fuck is this anyway?’ Price steamed, getting even angrier. ‘I wanna know why they arrested him.’ An ominous pause, then, ‘Could it be ’cause he happens t’ be black?’
‘Calm down, Price,’ Howard said, using his best soothing voice. ‘The cops have an idea it was Teddy’s jeep used in the Mary Lou Berkeley shooting.’
‘What kind of bullshit is that?’ Price yelled. ‘That murder happened months ago.’
‘There’s a girl involved, too,’ Howard continued. ‘The daughter of your housekeeper.’
‘Mila?’
‘Yes. She was arrested with Teddy. Since she’s eighteen they took her to jail. It seems Lennie Golden identified her as the shooter, but she’s telling the cops it was Teddy who did it. And here’s the bad news. Apparently he used your gun.’
Price’s eyes bulged. ‘My fucking gun?’ he said, outraged.
‘I suggest you check out where you keep it, see if it’s still there.’
‘My fucking gun?’ Price repeated. ‘Man, this is some bad joke.’ He marched over to the bar and poured himself a hefty shot of Scotch. ‘Where’s Teddy now?’
‘Out, in your custody. I figured school’s the safest place for him to be – so that’s where he is. I instructed him to continue to conduct his life as if nothing is happening.’
‘Have the press gotten hold of this?’ Price demanded.
‘Not yet,’ Howard replied, wondering if Price was going to offer him a drink. Not that he wanted one, but it was damn bad manners not to make the offer. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’
‘Jesus!’ Price said, slamming his glass down on the coffee table. ‘I go away for a few fuckin’ weeks, and come back to this shit storm. Who’d believe it?’
‘Believe it,’ Howard said. ‘In my opinion they have a case.’
‘Yeah? What kinda case?’
‘Lennie Golden came up with the licence plate of the jeep. It’s Teddy’s jeep, no doubt about it.’
‘Then it must’ve bin stolen.’
‘Unfortunately not. The description of the two perpetrators matches Mila and Teddy. Besides, she’s talking.’
‘Who’s talkin’?’
‘Mila. As I mentioned before, she’s told the police Teddy did it. She’s also said that he forced her along for the ride. Oh, yes, and she’s accusing him of plying her with drugs and raping her.’
‘Rape? Are you shittin’ me?’
‘This is most unfortunate, Price,’ Howard continued. ‘When the tabloids get hold of it, you won’t like it.’
‘What does Teddy say?’
‘That it was all her.’
‘Shit!’ Price exclaimed. ‘Where is the bitch?’
‘I told you, she’s in jail. I didn’t imagine you’d want me posting her bail, considering what’s going on.’
‘Right,’ Price said, thinking of Irena and what must be going through her head. She hadn’t mentioned a word to him when he’d gotten home an hour ago. She’d merely said his lawyer had to see him immediately, so he’d instructed her to call Howard and tell him to get over to the house. Now this.
‘What’s the plan?’ he said.
‘I’ve already arranged an appointment with one of the best criminal defence attorneys in the state,’ Howard said. ‘He’s prepared to meet with you and Teddy tomorrow. I figured that would give you a chance to talk to Teddy first, hear his side of it.’
‘Can’t wait to do that,’ Price fumed. ‘I don’t get it – I gave the dumb shit everythin’ I never had, an’ what does he do? Pisses all over me. Like I need this.’
‘I have a suggestion,’ Howard said.
‘What?’
‘Bring his mother in on this as soon as possible. When we go before a jury it’ll mean a lot. A boy with a concerned mother sitting in court is a more sympathetic figure
than one without.’
‘You gotta be taggin’ my ass!’ Price yelled. ‘Ginee’s an out-and-out coke whore.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘What the fuck does that matter?’
‘Maybe she’s straightened out.’
‘Not Ginee,’ he said grimly.
‘So we’ll clean up her image for the occasion,’ Howard said. ‘Dress her in sensible clothes. Pull her hair back, instruct her not to wear makeup.’
‘Ha!’ Price exclaimed. ‘Ginee wouldn’t go t’ the fuckin’ john without stickin’ on false eyelashes. Besides, she don’t give a shit about Teddy. She hasn’t seen him in years.’
‘We’ll see what your criminal attorney has to say. In the meantime I recommend that you start thinking about it.’
‘Maybe you should start thinking about this,’ Price said, almost spitting his fury. ‘Your job is gettin’ my boy off, an’ keepin’ the press outta my goddamn face.’
As soon as Howard left, Price summoned Irena into the living room. They exchanged a long, silent look.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he said, at last.
Irena’s expression was pure stone. ‘I don’t understand what is going on,’ she said. ‘Mila is in jail – I must have money to bail her out.’
‘Have you heard what she’s saying?’
‘Nobody’s told me anything.’
‘She’s tellin’ anyone who’ll listen that Teddy shot the woman.’
‘This is difficult to believe,’ Irena said.
‘Then why the fuck believe it?’ Price shouted. ‘The witness says it was Mila who pulled the trigger. You understand what I’m tellin’ you? She had the fuckin’ gun, an’ she shot Mary Lou Berkeley.’ A vein throbbed in his temple. ‘Now she’s tryin’ t’ shift the blame to Teddy.’
‘Mila doesn’t own a gun,’ Irena said.
‘Nor does Teddy,’ Price shouted. ‘But I do. And, according to your fuckin’ kid, it’s my gun they used.’