‘Tell me about your mother,’ the Rolling Stone reporter asked.
Lennie had a mouthful of hamburger. He chewed slowly. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Well . . . your father was a comedian – you told me that. You don’t have any brothers or sisters. You arrived in New York at seventeen and we’ve got the story from there. But you never mention your mother. Is she still alive?’
How tempting to do away with Alice. Kill her off in print and never have to deal with her again. Alice would hardly stand for that. Now he was famous she found it perfectly acceptable to have a thirty-two-year-old son.
‘Yeah, she’s alive,’ he said.
‘How does she feel about your material? Your mother/son comedy routines hit a nerve in all of us. Does she love it? Get upset? What?’
Lennie hunched his shoulders. He had had enough of being interviewed. Who gave a shit what Alice thought. She had never offered an opinion. He had never asked. The only comment she had ever made about his act was that he should clean it up.
He grinned, stretched. ‘Hey – you wanna know stuff like that you’ll have to ask her.’ Quick glance at his watch. ‘I have to move it. See you later. You’ll be at the show, right?’
The reporter nodded, and clicked off a small tape recorder.
Lennie rose, winked at a hovering waitress who had asked for his autograph earlier, and strode out of the restaurant.
* * *
At three o’clock Olympia left the pool so she could begin readying herself for the evening ahead. Vitos was in his suite, stretched out on a slant board practising scales. ‘Oleeempeea!’ he exclaimed. ‘So lovleeee.’
‘Vitos,’ she said sharply. ‘I did not come to this tacky gambling palace in the sky to sit around. What’s happening?’
‘Tomorrow I weel know,’ Vitos said, sitting up with a big smile. He had told Olympia he needed certain papers from Spain. It was true. He had to get his annulment papers and nobody seemed able to locate them.
She picked a grape from a table laden with fruit, and pouted. ‘How long do we have to stay here?’ she asked.
‘One week.’
‘Thank God that’s all! This place sucks.’
* * *
Lennie wore a black leather jacket, tight black pants, a white shirt open at the neck with a narrow black leather tie, and white tennis shoes. His dirty blond hair was artfully tousled.
Jess stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You look gorgeous!’ she whispered. And then he was on. Deep breath.
Get the adrenalin pumping. Go for it!
Sitting in the audience Eden wondered if he would spot her. He could hardly help but do so. She was at the best table, centre front. She was with Paige and Ryder Wheeler. Quinn Leech, the director of the soon-to-be-movie, and his contemptuous plain girlfriend. Santino. Of course. And two of his Las Vegas acquaintances. ‘They could be investors,’ he had told her earlier. ‘Be nice to ’em.’
Both men were repellent. One short and squat with a wild abundance of hair sprouting from his ears, nose, neck, hands.
Eden got the creeps just looking at him. The other, big and paunchy, with small mean eyes and slicked back greasy hair. Neither had dates, whch meant that after cursory glances at Paige Wheeler (at forty plus, too old for their jaded tastes) and Quinn Leech’s girlfriend (too plain for their Playboy mentalities) they concentrated all their attentions on Eden.
She responded with frosty looks and flat conversation. Living with a man like Santino Bonnatti was bad enough. Why should she be nice to a couple of gorillas who only might invest in the movie? Santino didn’t need investors anyway, he had enough money to do it himself.
She stared at Lennie, centre stage. He looked great. Well, he always was a handsome son-of-a-bitch. Fortunately she knew she looked great too. A silver dress cut low and slinky. And she was wearing her ruby necklace and earrings – Santino’s gift. Her hair was parted in the middle, and brushed her shoulders – a pale curtain to frame her chiselled features.
When Santino had said they were going to Las Vegas for a few days she had been delighted. It was so boring sitting in the house on Blue Jay Way – a virtual prisoner. She couldn’t wait for the movie to start so she could get out and resume some kind of a normal life. When filming began Santino would just have to leave her alone. There would be costume fittings, script conferences, rehearsals – she hoped. Some directors liked to work with their actors for weeks before production began.
Naturally Santino had not given her any notice. ‘We’re goin’ to Vegas,’ he announced, and an hour later they were on their way, by car, with Zeko driving. It would have been nice if she’d had time to go to the hairdressers, get her nails done, maybe do some shopping.
But no. Santino did things his way. Eden had learned to go along with it.
Once they arrived, Santino settled her in a suite at the Sands Hotel, with Zeko in attendance, then he left, returning an hour later. ‘Get dressed,’ he said, ‘We’re goin’ to an openin’.’
‘What opening?’ she asked.
‘That Spanish singing pimp – Vitos somethin’. Here.’ He thrust a wad of bills in her hand. ‘Go an’ buy somethin’ that’ll give me a stiff prick. Take Zeko.’
She had no idea Lennie Golden was sharing the bill with Vitos Felicidade. It wasn’t until they were driving up to the Magiriano that she saw the huge billboards.
Paige leaned across the table and whispered something.
Eden didn’t hear her. ‘What?’
‘Hot, isn’t he?’ repeated Paige. ‘Reminds me of a horny Redford with a touch of Newman’s heat.’
It occurred to Eden that nobody knew about her three-year affair with Lennie Golden. For some obscure reason she found that aggravating. He hadn’t even mentioned her in the People article – just vaguely stated that he’d dated a lot of models in New York.
Wasn’t she part of his past? A big part.
It infuriated her to think he had made it first. She should be the one getting all the attention. She should be on the cover of People.
Paige was obviously waiting for an answer to her comment. ‘Not bad,’ she managed.
‘Not bad!’ exclaimed Paige. ‘He is hot, honey. When I say someone’s hot you’d better believe it.’
Eden quite liked Paige Wheeler, although she hadn’t spent much time with her. A couple of dinners, two or three lunches with Santino’s permission. Paige was fun. She enjoyed life, and it came across. Oh! Wouldn’t it be interesting to see her face if she confided just how hot Lennie Golden really was!
And she missed him.
For a moment.
Only for a moment.
And only in bed.
* * *
The audience loved him. They were the real power who could make or break a star.
He knew he had them the minute he walked on stage. He could feel the vibes – feel that they wanted to share this evening’s success with him.
His humour was deadpan, ironic, cutting.
They went for it immediately, picking up on every little nuance.
He told truths. It broke them up.
He trashed television. They loved it.
He started on family relationships. People were crying with mirth.
He hit his stride. Confident, in charge, his timing impeccable.
And then he saw her.
Chapter Fifty
‘Where the hell do you think it’s getting you?’ Jerry Myerson shouted. Steven and he stood at opposite ends of the living room in Jerry’s New York townhouse. They were both angry. Steven, because he wished Jerry would butt out. And Jerry, because when he was a very young man he had once harboured a secret crush on Carrie, and he hated to see what this was doing to her.
Steven gestured impatiently. ‘I’ll let you know when I get results.’
‘And when will that be?’ Jerry asked sarcastically.
‘Don’t you think I wish I knew?’ Steven turned his back and stared out of the window at the snarled
traffic on 54th Street. A cab driver was making obscene signals at the driver of a large delivery truck blocking traffic. Soon a fist fight would erupt.
‘The best thing you can do is get back to work,’ Jerry stated bluntly. ‘I’ve told you there’s a job for you with my firm any time you like.’
Steven turned around. ‘That’s what I want to do. And as soon as this thing is settled that’s what I will do.’
‘Good. Then you can pay me back the money I’ve loaned you.’
Steven’s eyes blazed. ‘Are you worried about your money, Jerry?’
‘No. Asshole. I’m worried about you and your state of mind.’
They argued some more, but both of them knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Steven had something to do. Nothing was going to stop him.
The next day Jerry took Carrie to lunch at Le Cirque. She looked tired, but she was pleased to see him and hugged him tightly. He was the only other person to know the truth about her past, and he seemed to understand a lot better than Steven.
‘He’s taking me to see the retired doctor tomorrow,’ she said wearily. ‘Who knows? Maybe the face will fit the name.’
‘I hope so,’ Jerry said. ‘For both your sakes.’
She toyed with her martini glass, and lowered her eyes. ‘Jerry,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I just don’t know what to do any more. When I’m with Steven I feel he hates me. It’s as if he’s put a steel cage around himself, and there’s no penetrating it. I only did what any mother would have done – I protected him from the truth.’
‘I know,’ said Jerry sympathetically. ‘You can’t blame yourself. He’s caught up in an identity crisis. There’s only one way he can work it out, and that’s by himself. It’s not just you – neither of us can help him.’
‘I’m glad you understand.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’
‘Thank you, Jerry.’ She put her hand over his and squeezed. ‘And how’s everything with you?’
He grinned. ‘I am managing to stay single in spite of overwhelming odds. It’s not easy being rich, straight and successful in New York. The ladies go right for the good old wedding ring.’
Carrie smiled and felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.
* * *
Fredd Lesster, M.D. lived halfway between New York and Philadelphia. He turned out to be eighty-five years old and half Lebanese. One glance was enough to rule him out.
Steven, once again borrowing Jerry’s Porsche, drove Carrie back to the city in silence. She was staying in a friend’s apartment. Her friend had gone to Europe for six months, and it seemed more sensible to be there than at her house on Fire Island.
‘Why don’t you come up? I’ll fix you some eggs or something,’ she offered.
He shook his head.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, he looked so miserable. Why couldn’t he just accept things the way they were?
‘I’m sorry about today,’ he said, staring straight ahead. ‘It was a wasted trip.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes it does. It won’t happen again.’
She wondered if that meant he was giving up on Freddy Lester. Maybe he didn’t need him after all. Maybe Gino Santangelo was his father. Steven knew where Gino was. Why didn’t he just fly to California and persuade him to take a blood test?
She almost laughed aloud. Gino Santangelo would never remember her. He would think Steven was a mad man, a mental patient. He would spit in his face.
‘What now?’ she asked quietly.
Steven leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘I’ll speak to you in a day or so,’ he said brusquely.
Thank you very much. Shall I just put my life on hold while I wait for your next move?
‘Goodnight,’ she said, getting out of Jerry’s car.
He roared off into the night with not a backward glance. He didn’t even bother to see she got into the building safely. So much for love and concern, of which he had once had an abundance. He made her very sad.
She couldn’t sleep, and sat for a while by the window watching night-time shadows and listening to the perpetual whine of the police sirens. Memories invaded her head, and when she did finally fall asleep, it was an uneasy rest.
Chapter Fifty-One
Susan was no slouch when it came to doing things her way. Within three-quarters of an hour she had phoned April Crawford and pleaded a dreadful migraine; phoned Chasens and ordered a supply of their wonderful chili; applied an understated make-up, and dressed in a simple peach caftan. When Lucky and Costa arrived she was ready.
Gino was also ready. He was delighted to be greeting the daughter he found he had really missed. ‘Kid!’ He threw open his arms.
‘Daddy!’ She fell into them. Too bad if he didn’t like the title, she felt like using it for once.
Susan smiled graciously at Costa. ‘Welcome. Do come in.’
They all trooped into the house. A casual Californian four million dollar mansion. Nothing pretentious.
‘Well, well, well,’ exclaimed Gino, surveying Lucky with a grin. ‘Lookin’ as good as ever.’ He turned to Costa, poked him playfully around the middle. ‘An’ you my friend, gettin’ a little gutty. Too much home cookin’, huh? Too many Miami widows handin’ you somethin’ hot?’
‘Yes,’ Lucky joined in. ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your weight, Costa. They’re turning you into a fatso!’
They all roared with laughter, except Susan, who failed to see the humour in someone not watching their diet. She was meticulous about everything she put into her mouth, which was one of the reasons she had stopped performing fellatio on Gino a month after marrying him. He hadn’t been pleased, but too bad, there was nothing he could do about it.
‘What’ll you have to drink?’ Gino asked, putting one arm around Lucky and the other around Costa as he guided them toward the bar.
‘Pernod on the rocks,’ requested Lucky.
‘Something soft,’ said Costa.
‘Something soft! The story of your life!’ joked Gino, preparing to fix the drinks.
‘Hans will do that, dear,’ intoned Susan smoothly, gliding over.
‘Forget it. I’ll do it,’ replied Gino, already putting chunks of ice in the glasses.
Susan motioned Hans, the houseman, away. Then she turned to Lucky with a pleasant smile. ‘And how are you, my dear? It’s been quite some time.’
Phony broad, thought Lucky. You haven’t changed. Still doing your Grace Kelly number.
‘I’m in good shape, Susan.’ Ha! Wait until she hears I’ve married Dimitri Stanislopoulos. She’ll wet her panties!
‘You certainly look very well,’ said Susan. ‘A touch tired, but I expect it’s the time difference. I’m always wretched when I do that trip. Three hours difference may not seem a lot, but believe me—’
‘Hey – Gino,’ Lucky said, ignoring her. ‘You missing Vegas yet?’
He grinned. ‘Are you?’
‘Me? I’ve got a lot of other things to keep me busy.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like Atlantic City. I’m going in, before it’s too late.’
‘You are?’
‘Why not? It’s what I want. And now I’ve got the financing.’
‘Yeh?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Who from?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
Susan’s smile was fixed. She had no idea what they were talking about. ‘I’ve ordered chili from Chasens, she announced. ‘I do hope you both like chili, but Gino gave me such short notice. I really—’
‘Why can’t you tell me now?’ demanded Gino, following Lucky’s lead and ignoring Susan.
‘Because,’ she replied, ‘it’s a long story.’
‘I got all night.’
Her black eyes gleamed. ‘Why are you so anxious to know? You want to come in with me?’
‘Hey’ – he laughed. ‘I know what your game is. You don’t have all the money, and you want me in
for a slice of the action. Right?’
‘Wrong.’
‘Yeh?’
‘Yeh. I am finally building my hotel. I don’t need any . partners.’
‘And how have you managed that?’
‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’
‘I’ll know ’cos you’re gonna tell me.’
‘Yeh? Don’t bet on it.’
They were both smiling broadly, playing games, batting words back and forth just like they used to when things were good and togetherness was the name of the game.
‘Dinner will be here in a minute,’ Susan said stiffly.
‘Did I hear you mention chili?’ Costa asked politely.
‘Yes,’ Susan replied, favouring him with a glance, and not particularly liking what she saw. Why did Gino have to burden her with his dull friends as well as his difficult daughter?
‘Perhaps – if it’s no trouble – I could have something else,’ Costa requested quietly. ‘A can of soup, some eggs.’ He patted his stomach. ‘Chili’s too spicy for me. Doctor’s orders.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Susan said frigidly. Gino and Lucky had moved to the end of the bar and were deep in conversation. Gino was withdrawing from her, she had sensed it for months. Now, seeing him talking to his daughter, so animated and alive, she realized she had better be careful, it was possible she could lose him. And she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
Quickly she moved to his side and took his arm proprietorially. ‘Now, Lucky, we want to hear all about what you’ve been doing, dear. Everything.’ Her voice was honey, her tight smile, sugar. ‘You know, this household really misses you. We miss her, Gino, don’t we darling?’
* * *
Gino insisted that dinner be served in the kitchen. ‘It’s chili for crissake. Whatta ’ya wanna make a big deal for?’
So dinner in the kitchen it was, much to the servants’ annoyance. The kitchen was their domain, they did not appreciate being banished.
Susan kept her smile in place all night, but it wasn’t easy. Gino, Lucky and Costa formed a group. All Gino wanted to talk about was the good old New York days, and Costa was the perfect foil, Lucky the perfect listener.