Lucky

  ‘The best you ever had, baby!’ Quinn boasted.

  He lived in the Hollywood Hills on Laurel Canyon. A black leather house in a jungle of plants.

  He drank Chivas Regal from the bottle, ripped off his clothes – requested that she strip very, very slowly, and then couldn’t get it up.

  He suggested an alternative, a black hi-tech vibrator kept lovingly in a black leather case. And the company of his resident girlfriend who was asleep upstairs.

  ‘Count me out,’ said an offended Eden, and called a cab.

  When she left he was snoring on the couch. She couldn’t understand why she had chosen him over Vitos.

  Zeko was waiting for her when she arrived home. ‘The boss is gonna bust ya ass,’ he crowed, rubbing his bald head.

  ‘Only if you tell him,’ she said shortly. ‘And if you tell him, I shall be forced to mention how you crouch out in the bushes watching me, and jerking off when I bathe and dress.’

  Her threat worked. Zeko never said a word.

  When Santino appeared at the house the next day Eden told him she had stayed for dinner at Chasens.

  ‘Why’d’ya do that?’ he demanded, a muscle in his cheek twitching uncontrollably. ‘When I told ya not to.’

  ‘For you,’ she replied calmly – thinking to herself that if the sonofabitch didn’t come through with the movie soon, she was leaving. ‘It would have looked bad if I’d left. As if we didn’t care.’

  Santino’s eyes bulged angrily. ‘When I tell ya to do some-thin’ – ya do it, get me? Whaddya think ya are, a partner?’

  ‘Quinn Leech told me there’s been a rewrite, and that the film is now called The Singer,’ she said tightly.

  ‘He told ya that, did he?’

  ‘Yes he did.’

  ‘Friggin’ asshole. He’s got a big mouth.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She glared at him accusingly.

  ‘I gotta keep tellin’ ya every little thing?’

  ‘Rewriting the film and giving it a new title are hardly little things.’

  Santino paced the room. ‘Dumb cooze,’ he spat. ‘I need naggin’ – I can get it at home. I come over here t’relax.’

  Eden was not sure how far she could push it. But she had caught him off guard, so why not go all the way? ‘I want to see the new script,’ she said insistently. ‘I want to see what’s happened to my part. You promised me this was my film, my vehicle. Quinn Leech doesn’t even know I’m supposed to be the star.’

  His first blow struck her on the cheek.

  ‘You bas—’ she began.

  His second blow knocked her to the ground. ‘Doncha go givin’ me orders,’ he growled. ‘I told ya to shift your ass outta there last night. But no, y’couldn’t do that. Y’had t’stay around askin’ questions – makin’ me look like some stupid shithead with a ball breakin’ girlfriend. Y’do that again an’ ya out.’

  She began to cry, more out of frustration and anger than anything else. ‘Maybe that’s what I want,’ she sobbed. ‘To get away from you.’

  He glared at her with small mean eyes. ‘When I’m ready,’ he said slowly. ‘Only when I’m ready.’

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Dimitri was planning a party. A big one. Lucky didn’t know if it was out of a sense of guilt or what, but there was no deterring him from celebrating her birthday in style. She decided there was nothing to do except go along with it, and then she would leave. Gino had already arranged for a cable to summon him to New York for a business meeting.

  ‘You’ll come with me,’ he told Lucky. ‘You can say we have to meet with lawyers on Vegas stuff.’

  She wanted to get away. It was bad enough before, but now, with the added complication of Lennie, it was impossible. Why weren’t things simple anymore? Why did she look at Lennie and want to fly? Why did she look at him five minutes later and never want to set eyes on him again? She didn’t understand what was going on. Lennie Golden was not her type. It was just sex. And yet . . .

  She thought about Marco, they had spent one glorious unforgettable night together. Then he was gunned down. She never wanted to experience that kind of heartbreak and loss again.

  Lennie belonged to Olympia anyway. Plump, petulant Olympia, who treated her as if she was one of Dimitri’s temporary girlfriends instead of his wife. She had tried to talk to her in private. Olympia brushed her aside with a caustic, ‘How would you feel if I went to bed with your father?’

  Lucky had to admit the idea was repellent.

  It did not escape her attention that Olympia flirted outrageously with Gino at every given opportunity. He appeared not to notice.

  The yacht sailed for Cannes, where the party was to take place. Lucky lay out by the pool watching CeeCee teach Roberto to swim. Brigette kept jumping in and splashing him in the face. CeeCee told her off, and the child yelled insults. ‘Dirty black pig,’ she chanted. ‘Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’

  Lucky jumped up and whacked the little girl on the bottom.

  Brigette looked at her for one horrified moment, and then burst into loud, phony tears.

  ‘Cut it out, kid,’ said Lucky. ‘You don’t have an audience.’

  Brigette stopped crying abruptly. ‘I hate dirty black people,’ she said spitefully.

  ‘Why?’ asked Lucky calmly.

  ‘Because, because, because . . .’ She screwed up her pretty little face. ‘. . . because mama does!’ she ended triumphantly.

  ‘Not a good enough reason.’

  The child stuck a thumb into her mouth.

  ‘You’re too old for that!’ Lucky exclaimed.

  ‘I’m not! I can do what I want.’

  ‘Dirty baby pig!’ Lucky chanted jokingly. ‘Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’

  Brigette scowled. ‘I hate you,’ she said.

  ‘No you don’t’, replied Lucky briskly. ‘You simply do not understand me.’

  Brigette retreated to the other end of the pool, where Nanny Mabel sat knitting.

  ‘Spoilt brat!’ muttered CeeCee.

  ‘Neglected brat, more like,’ observed Lucky. ‘I have not seen her mother pay one bit of attention to her. She just pats her occasionally like a puppy. The kid is screaming out for attention.’

  ‘I’ll give her attention,’ grumbled the usually smiling CeeCee. ‘I’ll whip her butt!’

  ‘I already did. It won’t make any difference. She needs love.’

  For a moment Lucky recalled her own childhood. She knew what it was like to be alone and unloved.

  She had survived. No analysts for Lucky Santangelo – but she could see if Brigette didn’t get help, the kid was in trouble.

  Lennie appeared at lunchtime. They scorched each other with searing looks, but Olympia was right behind him. It was as if she sensed the electricity in the air and was not about to let it spark. She threw Lucky a vague hello, blew a kiss in Brigette’s direction, and headed for the upper deck. ‘Come on,’ she called to Lennie.

  ‘I’m taking a swim before lunch,’ he said.

  ‘Take it afterwards,’ she ordered impatiently.

  ‘I’m taking it now.’

  ‘Oh, very well. Hurry up.’ She vanished from sight.

  He looked at Lucky. ‘How are you today?’

  She returned his gaze and was almost lost in his lazy green eyes. ‘I’m okay.’

  He quickly checked out the pool activity. Two nannies and two kids.

  ‘I think I miss you,’ he said, very quietly.

  Brigette clambered from the pool and ran over to him. She flung her wet body possessively against his. ‘Do you like black people?’ she asked loudly.

  CeeCee glared at her.

  Lennie assessed the situation at a glance. ‘I like green people, orange people, fat people, thin people. Sure I like black people. How about you?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Her mouth drooped. She had hoped he would take her side. ‘Can you swim underwater? Can you teach me?’ she begged.

  He glanced at Lucky. She was playing with Roberto in the
shallow end. ‘Come on, pretty girl’, he said, swinging Brigette in the air. ‘I’ll teach you to be a fish. How’s that?’

  She squealed with excitement, wriggled free and jumped into the pool with a splash. ‘Hurry up!’ she commanded. ‘Hurryup! Hurryup!’

  He made a racing dive from the side, churned the length underwater, and surfaced next to Brigette. She climbed aboard his shoulders giggling, and he transported her around the pool.

  ‘Me!’ yelled Roberto. ‘Me! Me!’

  Lennie dropped Brigette off and placed Roberto on his back.

  ‘Careful!’ Lucky admonished.

  ‘Hey, lady,’ he winked. ‘I’m an expert with kids.’

  She met his eyes and warmth flowed between them.

  For once Lucky felt unsure about what was happening. Her thing with Lennie was sex – pure sex. And yet why did she thrill to see him? Why was she shivering – ever so slightly?

  He wasn’t even her type. He wasn’t Marco. His hair was dirty blond, his looks more Redford than Pacino. His eyes were green – killer green.

  She watched him play with the kids. They screamed with laughter as he shared his attention between them. Roberto giggled uncontrollably as Lennie tossed him in the air.

  Dimitri, Lucky noticed, had little time to play with his son. Plenty of time for Madame Fern though.

  She frowned. Of all the mistakes she had made in her life, marrying Dimitri was probably the biggest.

  * * *

  The night of the party was perfect. A clear sky filled with stars, no breeze, no humidity. The yacht, decorated with a thousand fairy lights, looked incredible. Round tables festooned with fresh flowers were set on the lower deck for a hundred guests, and on the upper deck a five piece combo played romantic ballads and soft rock.

  Ceremoniously Dimitri presented Lucky with her birthday present just before the outside guests were due to arrive. A square leather box lined with plush velvet. A Van Cleef and Arpel insignia. And in the middle of the box a magnificent necklace of perfect diamonds and glittering emeralds set in white gold, with matching pendant earrings.

  ‘Gorgeous,’ purred the Contessa, who knew a thing or two about jewels.

  ‘So lovely!’ sighed Susan, thinking Gino’s gifts seemed paltry by comparison.

  ‘Wowee! Heavy duty!’ from Fluff.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Lucky exclaimed, lifting the necklace from the box. ‘Thank you, darling.’ She kissed Dimitri chastely on the cheek. He smiled at the assorted gathering.

  Francesca glared.

  Olympia pouted.

  Then there were other presents to open. A pair of heavy silver frames from the Contessa and Saud. A solid gold travelling clock from Jenkins and Fluff. An ugly silk shirt from the Ferns – several sizes too large. Nothing from Olympia. A cashmere sweater from Susan, and a small leather box from Gino. ‘Somethin’ I picked out – on my own,’ he said in an embarrassed voice. ‘If y’don’t like it, y’don’t have to wear it.’

  She opened the box slowly. Gino hadn’t remembered her birthday in years. Inside was a pavé diamond panther brooch studded with cabochon rubies and emeralds. It was the most exquisite piece of jewellery she had ever seen. Totally original, and absolutely her style. ‘I love it,’ she said softly, thrilled that he had chosen it himself. ‘It’s just great! I really love it!’ She grabbed him in a hug.

  ‘I love you, kid,’ he said, very quietly. ‘Happy birthday.’

  Soon the outside guests began to arrive, most of them bearing gifts which were placed in a huge pile to be opened later.

  Lucky was wearing a scarlet silk jersey dress which skimmed her body to the ground, and was slit at the front. She put on her new necklace and earrings, and pinned the panther brooch to the flimsy material. She looked darkly exotic with her hair piled on top of her head and a deep suntan. She circled the party. She played the role. She was Mrs Stanislopoulos to the hilt – aware it was only a temporary position.

  Lennie hung back and watched. The fantasy had become a reality, and she was under his skin with a vengeance.

  He caught up with her at the bar, and eased himself between a boring conversation she was having with a soignée blonde in a million dollars’ worth of diamonds. ‘I miss you,’ he whispered.

  She felt a shiver of anticipation. The blonde moved off.

  ‘I’m horny, lonely and screwed up,’ he continued. ‘And this you are not going to believe, but I think I’m in love.’

  She kept her tone light. ‘Anyone I know?’

  He touched her arm. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Married,’ she replied flatly. ‘And so are you.’

  ‘I’m leaving Olympia,’ he said quickly. ‘As soon as I get back. How about you and Dimitri?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? You are going to divorce him, aren’t you?’

  She resented the question. What business was it of his? ‘I don’t think I mentioned I was planning on doing any such thing,’ she said coldly.

  He touched her necklace contemptuously. ‘I guess that kind of little bauble would make it difficult to come up with an answer.’

  She was suddenly furious. ‘Are you implying I’m staying with him for his money?’

  ‘Give me a better reason.’

  ‘Fuck you!’ she exploded.

  He wanted to defuse her anger, ‘I wish you would.’

  She refused to become any further involved. ‘Get lost, asshole.’

  Olympia walked into their conversation. Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts bulging from a low-cut yellow dress which made her look like an over-ripe banana. She was also stoned – but not mellow. And drunk – but not happy.

  ‘You two really seem to have hit it off,’ she slurred. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Nothing much,’ Lennie said.

  ‘She called you an asshole,’ Olympia’s small eyes glinted with jealousy. ‘It must have been something.’

  ‘I told her a bad joke.’

  ‘All your jokes are bad.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘You’re a lousy comedian. You ever seen him do anything, Lucky? He stinks.’ She giggled.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ for some unknown reason Lucky found herself springing to his defence. ‘I’ve seen Lennie on stage and I think he’s brilliantly innovative.’

  ‘Where have you seen him?’ Olympia demanded hotly.

  ‘I owned a hotel in Vegas once, the Magiriano. Lennie appeared in the lounge.’

  ‘So you two met before?’

  They both replied at once.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucky.

  ‘Not really,’ said Lennie.

  ‘What did you do, screw each other?’ Olympia sneered with drunken insight.

  ‘You’re bombed,’ Lennie said quickly, putting his arm around her shoulders.

  She shrugged him away. ‘Don’t give me that solicitous husband crap just because I hit pay dirt. You probably did screw her. I understand if it wore pants and moved she fucked it.’

  ‘I thought that was you,’ said Lucky icily.

  ‘I never had to search it out,’ claimed Olympia. ‘I can remember when you and I were in the South of France – on the run from school. Nobody even looked at you. You couldn’t find a boyfriend if you stood on your head.’

  ‘I didn’t know you two were at school together,’ Lennie said, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Shut up, asshole,’ Olympia said fiercely. ‘I am allowed to call you asshole, aren’t I?’ she added sarcastically. ‘Or is that a privilege reserved only for little Lucky Saint?’

  He fixed her with a look which said more than words, and walked away.

  ‘Well?’ Olympia demanded belligerently of Lucky. ‘Did you fuck him?’

  ‘Hey,’ Lucky replied coolly. ‘If I had, I wouldn’t tell you. And if I hadn’t, the same applies.’ She turned her back and vanished into the heat of the party.

  ‘Uptight bitch!’ Olympia screa
med after her. ‘I know all about you. I know where you’re coming from. Don’t think you fool me with your airs and graces. You’re street scum, just like your gangster father!’

  ‘Olympia!’ A harsh voice, a heavy hand. ‘Do not disgrace yourself this way. Go to your stateroom until you are fit to be seen.’ Dimitri’s face was a thunder mask. He summoned a servant. ‘Take Miss Stanislopoulos to her room. Feed her coffee until she is sober. I will not tolerate this behaviour.’

  Olympia went meekly. She needed more than a joint and a few glasses of champagne – she needed cocaine and she needed it badly.

  Chapter Seventy-Eight

  It was hot in New York, the streets were awash with tourists, and the residents only survived because of air-conditioning. The offices of Myerson, Laker, and Brandon were on Park Avenue in a ritzy building. Steven was appointed a large corner office with all home comforts. A fridge, a television and video recorder, a stereo set, and a tape machine. ‘Why not be able to relax?’ Jerry said affably. ‘I think a good working environment makes for good workers.’ His own office was more like an apartment, with a small seductive bedroom leading off it in case he wished to spend the night.

  ‘You know Jerry,’ Sam Laker, one of the partners confided. ‘He wants it just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’ Steven inquired.

  Sam winked knowingly. ‘In case he needs to entertain a client.’

  Steven reflected on how different it was to the working space he was used to as an assistant D.A. Well, things were different now. He was in business to make money, just like Jerry. To hell with being a do-gooder.

  His first client was Mary-Lou Moore. She was prettier than she appeared to be on television. She had waist length black hair, widely spaced brown eyes, and a devastating smile. She travelled with an entourage that consisted of her mother, her aunt – who was also her manager – and her boyfriend, a white kid with frizzy hair and a tendency to pop bubble gum.

  After an initial chat Steven got the distinct impression Mary-Lou would have nothing to say while her entourage was present.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Mary-Lou alone,’ he said formally.

  The mother looked at the aunt. The aunt looked at the boyfriend. They all looked at Mary-Lou, who nodded her permission. When they had all departed, Steven said, ‘Tell me about it.’