‘So are you. Does that make you a terrible person?’
‘Lucky, Dimitri Stanislopoulos is a father figure. Don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve—’
‘Fuck you – Costa.’ Her black eyes blazed with anger. ‘I expected a lecture from Gino, but I don’t have to take this crap from you. I am nearly thirty years old. Will everyone stop telling me what to do.’
She stormed from the table.
* * *
Paige Wheeler had this little trick of holding him inside her like a vice. ‘I used to go with a snatch quack,’ she informed Gino when he asked her where she’d learnt it.
‘A what?’
‘A gynaecologist. He taught me everything I know. The man was an expert. Well, he was looking at it all day, I guess he picked up a thing or two.’
Gino liked her little trick. It meant he could go for as long as he wanted, and then she would take over, holding him, keeping him hard, until he was ready to make it again. Gino never liked to rush. He genuinely loved pleasing women. It gave him a real charge to observe their abandonment and pure lustful pleasure. That’s why marriage to Susan was such a deep disappointment. Paige was right, Susan did not like sex. Why hadn’t he noticed the signals before marrying her? Now he was stuck in a marriage he really didn’t want.
Every day he thought about getting out, calling Lucky and saying, ‘Hey – kid. I was wrong. Let’s go take over Atlantic City, an’ build our own hotel. Let’s set the fuckin’ world on fire!’
It wasn’t as simple as that. Susan never set a foot wrong. She was solicitous and attentive. She watched his diet. Made sure he exercised. Had the cook prepare all his favourite meals.
And she looked good, too. Attractive, groomed, gowned to perfection. They attended all the best social events, including every A-rated party.
Apart from sex, Susan was the perfect wife. She was also suffocatingly boring.
He hated Beverly Hills. He hated the whole phony social bit. He hated the A-parties filled with senile geriatrics. Same people. Same conversation. Same fucking bullshit.
Gino Santangelo wanted out. He just had to figure a way to do it.
* * *
‘Oh hi, Susan,’ Lucky said. She would have to get stuck with Grace Kelly. ‘Is Gino around?’
‘Are you here? In California?’
No. I’m at the North fucking pole. Where does it sound like I’m calling from? ‘Yes. As a matter of fact I am.’
‘How nice.’
‘Isn’t it.’ Beat of three. ‘Can I speak to Gino?’
‘Sorry, dear. He’s out.’
‘Will he be back soon?’
‘One never knows with Gino.’
‘Very true.’ At least she knew that much about him.
‘I’ll call back later.’
‘Good.’
Sure. You’re really pleased I’m here. Not even a ‘Where are you staying?’ Or, ‘We must get together.’
She prowled the bungalow. Roberto was out with CeeCee by the pool. She didn’t know where Costa was. She didn’t care.
Oh yes she did. He was concerned about her. How could she fault him for that? Dimitri was thirty-five years older than her. Costa would just have to see them together, and then he would realize the relationship worked.
* * *
Paige dressed. She wore delightfully whorish clothes and drove a gold Porsche, which Ryder had bought her for Christmas. Sometimes Gino puzzled about Susan’s friendship with her. She was so unlike Susan’s other friends – the polished Hollywood wives with their designer clothes, flawless face lifts, and narrow code of ethics.
‘Susie likes me because I’m outrageous and fun,’ Paige confided. She didn’t add that Susan liked her because they had been having a hot and heavy affair for several years.
Paige realized she might be playing a dangerous game, bedding both the wife and the husband. She wouldn’t mind giving up Susan. But Gino was irresistible, and great in bed.
It seemed unlikely they would confide in each other, so she saw no pressing reason to surrender either.
‘Tomorrow,’ Gino said. ‘Same place. Same time.’
‘Impossible. I promised Ryder I would go with him to Las Vegas. He has to entertain one of his investors.’
Gino threw her an incredulous look. ‘You’re goin’ to Vegas an’ you didn’t tell me? You gotta be kiddin’. I used to own that friggin’ town. I coulda got you the finest reservations, the best tables, anything you wanted.’
Paige applied a bright red lipstick to her full lips. ‘Ryder spent his erstwhile youth ferrying young ladies to Vegas for dirty weekends. I don’t think he’d appreciate any suggestions about where we should stay and what we should do.’
Gino shrugged. ‘You’re missin’ out. There’s only one way t’go to Vegas, an’ that’s with me.’
‘Would we take your wife and my husband, or leave them behind?’
He ignored the dig. ‘When d’you get back?’ he asked.
‘Wednesday.’
‘We’ll meet Thursday. Same place. Same time.’
‘I can’t. I’m working.’
‘So cancel.’
‘I’m doing a Bel Air estate for a bi-sexual movie star and he’s very demanding.’
He grabbed her around the waist and rocked against her.
‘So am I.’
She laughed. God! He must have been the horniest man alive when he was young. As it was, he was sexier and had more staying power than a lot of men half his age.
‘Yes, I know. That’s why I need a few days off from your amorous attentions.’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Who else’re you screwin’?’
She fluffed out her frizzed hair. ‘Whoever drops their pants for me. Just like you.’
He grinned. ‘You’re some broad. You don’t jump. I like that.’
‘Thank you. I do love compliments.’
* * *
Rodeo Drive was not her scene, but Lucky gave it a shot anyway. She wandered into Lina Lee and bought a deep purple leather jacket with huge shoulders. She studied the windows of Fred the jewellers, and then strolled down the street to Giorgio’s, where she purchased several drop-dead dresses. Shopping was not one of her great passions, she preferred to live in jeans and shirts, but occasionally she indulged. She loved extravagant outfits. The way rock stars dressed appealed to her. They had a certain style, a freedom, a knockout approach. Recently she had watched Flash on television. He wore black leather, trailing white scarves, and gold earrings. He looked sensational.
Dimitri had mentioned that Olympia was living with Flash. What a couple they must be!
Lucky was quite looking forward to seeing her again. Growing up she had had no other girlfriends. Only Olympia, and for a while, they had been so very close . . .
What if Olympia was furious that she’d married Dimitri? What if—
Oh shit. She hated playing ‘what if. It was a stupid game. When Dimitri returned from his business trip they would announce their marriage. Olympia would either like it or not. Whatever.
* * *
‘Lucky telephoned you,’ Susan said.
Gino had been home for an hour. ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ he asked angrily.
Susan gestured vaguely. ‘I didn’t think it was important.’
Did she say?’
‘Did she say what?’
He tried to hold his temper. ‘Whether it was important or not?’
‘No.’
He started toward his study. ‘She’s not in New York,’ Susan added.
‘Where is she?’
‘I think she said something about being out here.’
‘What’s her number?’
‘I don’t know.’
Now he was really furious. ‘Why didn’t you get it?’
Two bright red spots appeared on Susan’s porcelain cheeks. ‘I’m not your secretary, Gino.’
‘Then don’t take my friggin’ calls.’
He stamped into his study. Lucky
was in town and he didn’t know where to reach her. What was the matter with his wife?
* * *
Lucky apologized to Costa when she returned from her shopping trip. He hugged her and told her he was only concerned for her well being. They sat in the Polo Lounge and she started to confide in him about her plans.
He watched her intently. She was so like her father. Ah . . . he could remember the good old days as if they were only last week. Gino – with the same enthusiasm and bright-eyed optimism. They were both go-getters. Only Lucky had grabbed what she had wanted in a man’s world. It wasn’t easy. Being married to a man as rich and powerful as Dimitri Stanislopoulos could only help.
At five o’clock Lucky looked at her watch and said, ‘Let’s call Gino.’ A waiter brought a phone to their table, and she requested the number. A maid answered. ‘Mr Santangelo,’ Lucky said.
‘One moment, please.’
She held her breath. It was several months since they had spoken. She loved him. She hated him. Goddamn it, she missed him.
His greeting was deceptively casual. ‘Hey – kid.’
‘Hey – Gino.’
‘Where are you?’
‘L.A.’
‘Where?’
‘The Beverly Hills Hotel.’
‘So, you don’t let anyone know you’re comin’?’
‘Why? Would you have sent a brass band to the airport?’
‘Smart mouth.’
She sensed a warmth that had been missing. She knew him well enough. He was genuinely delighted to hear from her. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you,’ she said quickly.
‘Y’know I don’t like surprises.’
‘This one you’ll like, love.’
‘Yeh?’
‘Yeh.’
‘How y’bin, kid?’
‘Pretty good. And you?’
‘Makin’ out.’
‘Costa’s with me.’
‘Costa! Jeez! Whyn’t you both come over?’
‘We’d love to.’
* * *
Susan was sitting at her dressing table removing the day’s make-up with cold cream.
Gino bounced in. ‘Lucky an’ Costa are comin’ for dinner. Tell the cook.’
‘We’re eating out tonight,’ she informed him.
‘Change it.’
‘I can’t do that. We’re going to a sit-down dinner for twenty at April Crawford’s.’
‘Call her. Tell the old bag we can’t make it.’
Susan continued to tissue off her make-up. ‘April Crawford is not an old bag,’ she said calmly. ‘April Crawford is a fine and respected actress, a real movie star of the old school. We can’t possibly cancel, it’s her birthday.’ She crumpled the used tissue and leaned back. ‘I wrote this engagement in your appointment book three weeks ago. It’s on your desk.’
‘Hey – my daughter’s in town. She’s comin’ over. That’s what we’re doin’ tonight.’
‘Is that the same daughter you haven’t heard from in months? The same daughter who never calls or writes?’
He didn’t need Susan’s criticism of Lucky. His eyes were hard. ‘Hey – big mouth,’ he said. ‘You go to April Crawford’s. I’ll stay here. Tell the cook to fix something.’
A moment’s pause. Susan knew exactly how far she could go. She got up, went to him, and placed an affectionate kiss on his cheek. ‘Sorry, darling,’ she whispered. ‘I wouldn’t think of going without you. I’ll have cook prepare something delicious. Of course we must be here for Lucky and Costa. Excuse my sarcasm, it’s just that sometimes I get so . . . hurt for you. A proper daughter would – oh, forget I said anything.’
‘Yeh. Why don’t I just forget it.’
Chapter Forty-Nine
Dinner was a noisy affair which took place in the Rio restaurant at the hotel. There was Lennie, high on too many shots of vodka. There was Isaac and Irena. There was the Rolling Stone reporter with a young female photographer mysteriously known as Mouth. There was Matt, with an attractive thirtyish divorcee. And there was Jess. Alone. Sober. And suffering from a double dose of anger.
First, she was angry because Matt had a date.
Second, she was angry at herself for being angry.
‘Why don’t you loosen up?’ Lennie hissed. ‘You’re acting like an old maid at a wedding.’
‘Why don’t you butt out?’ Jess suggested.
Mouth busied herself with a string of cameras. She was intelligently pretty, with spiked hair, sharp eyes, and pointed breasts, bra-less beneath a loose T-shirt.
Isaac and Lennie swapped stories, while Irena listened admiringly.
Matt’s date looked out of place in a cocktail dress and mink wrap.
The Rolling Stone reporter watched everyone and everything.
Matt played genial host.
Jess tried to be pleasant, and did not succeed.
From the restaurant they all went up to Lennie’s suite. Isaac produced some good grass which made Matt uncomfortable and he left, his date hanging onto his arm.
Everyone turned on except Jess. She wasn’t in the mood.
They played music, drank a little, smoked a little. And later Lennie found out why the photographer was nicknamed Mouth. She left his suite at five in the morning with a smile and some great photos.
He couldn’t sleep. Went down to the pool and did laps. Walked outside the hotel and inspected his billboard. LENNIE GOLDEN. In twenty-foot letters. LENNIE GOLDEN. Thousands of twinkling lights. It felt unreal. He handed a passing drunk ten bucks for luck, and breakfasted in the coffee shop. It was too early for the fans. Only a few diehard all-night gamblers and some ragged-looking hookers.
Opening night tonight. Sharing the limelight with Vitos Felicidade. He wasn’t nervous. Performing never gave him the jitters. In fact being on stage, communicating with an audience, was the only place he felt really secure and in charge. When he was a kid at school he could grab attention any time he wanted by telling dirty jokes – the dirtier the better. Jess used to feed him material. Jess had the filthiest mouth of anyone he knew. He loved her. She was his only real family. Count Alice out.
He finished breakfast and returned to his suite. He had a busy schedule. There was an early morning rehearsal. Lunch with the Rolling Stone reporter for an ‘in depth’ talk. Two scripts of The Springs to check out. And another photo session with Mouth.
He was sorry he’d allowed her to do the things to him she did so well. Jesus! If he was a female he’d have the reputation of being the easiest lay in town. What he really needed with a woman was a solid relationship. He’d had it with one-night stands. How about someone to care for him and share his success? Someone who didn’t just jump into bed with him because he had some half-assed name.
Eden.
Fuck Eden.
Wouldn’t you just love to?
No.
For a moment she was on his mind.
But only for a moment.
Things were getting better.
* * *
Olympia was bored. Acutely. She had come to Vegas to spite Flash and marry Vitos. But Vitos seemed more concerned with his stupid opening night, rehearsing, and constantly gargling with some disgusting honey concoction. Now she was stuck out by the pool with a disapproving nanny and a truculent daughter, and she had nothing to do except sulk.
Clad in a white one-piece swimsuit, with rolls of excess flesh peeping out everywhere, she lay on a striped chaise under a protective umbrella. She had purchased piles of magazines, but watching the passing parade was definitely more interesting. It had been a long time since Olympia had sat beside a public swimming pool. She could have stayed upstairs on her private terrace, but it was so hot, and besides, Brigette had asked her to come with her to the pool, and it was one of Olympia’s ‘I am a perfect mother’ days.
‘Let’s take a swim, mama,’ Brigette suggested. She was a lovely-looking little girl. It was a shame her personality did not match her looks.
‘Not right now, dear,’ said
Olympia. ‘I need to rest. Nanny will take you.’
Nanny Mabel, awkward in an old-fashioned bathing suit, glared at her boss.
Olympia was oblivious to the baleful stare. She was too busy eyeing the bikini clad lifeguards whose bulging crotches received her full attention.
* * *
Lunchtime. And Lennie was safely settled with the Rolling Stone reporter.
Walking through the lobby, Jess bumped into Matt.
‘How’s everything?’ he asked.
She smiled brightly. ‘Fine.’
‘Nothing you need?’
‘Can’t think of anything.’
‘Is Lennie happy?’
‘He seems to be.’
‘What time did the party end?’
It slipped out before she could help it. ‘I thought you were the one having a party.’
He laughed easily, and referred to his date of the night before. ‘Tina’s an old friend.’
Again she couldn’t help herself. ‘Old being the operative word.’
He laughed again. ‘How about a snack?’ He took her arm, assuming she would say yes.
‘I’m too busy.’
‘You’ve got to eat.’
‘I’ll have something sent up. I have calls coming in from LA.’
‘Diligent lady.’
‘I enjoy my work.’
‘You’ve certainly done all right for Lennie.’
‘He would have done it without me. He’s brilliant. You should have spotted that when you first had him here.’
Matt frowned. Sure Lennie Golden was good. But why did Jess gleam when she talked about him? Why did her whole face light up?
She was sleeping with him. He knew it for sure. And that meant he, Matt Traynor, didn’t stand a chance.
He had known it all along. When she had left Vegas with Lennie he knew it. That’s why he’d never pursued her.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you need?’
‘Nothing.’
He’s not interested in me any more, she thought. He couldn’t give a damn.
Why should she care?
She only knew she did.
* * *