‘Fuck you, asshole.’
Ryder beamed. ‘Come by the set sometime. It beats a game of tennis any day.’
Chapter One-Hundred-Two
Coffee was served in fine china teacups with large ungainly spoons. Carrie decided she would buy him a set of delicate silver spoons for Christmas, but knowing Fred Lester, he probably wouldn’t use them.
Fred cleared his throat for the second time, and stroked the palm of his hand across his bald pate.
Carrie crossed and uncrossed her legs. She still had beautiful legs, the wrinkles of time had not reached them – yet. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she was dismayed to notice age catching up with her. But she was alive, so surely she was one of the lucky ones? She often wondered about the companions of her youth, the hookers and the strippers, the pimps and the con-men. Were they still around today? She sincerely doubted it. Life was harsh back then, and only the fittest survived.
‘Your book is a gem,’ Fred Lester said at last. ‘A shining piece of honesty in a dishonest world.’
‘Thank you,’ Carrie murmured gratefully. Fred’s comment was the first reaction she had received on her book. She still had not mentioned it to Steven.
Fred placed the tips of his fingers together and made a funnel. He gazed across the room, not meeting Carrie’s eyes.
‘There might be legal problems with some of the names you’ve used. It may not be possible to . . . uh . . . use all the real names.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘Especially Freddy Lester.’
She laughed with him. ‘I never told you this, but his name brought me to you.’
He studied his fingernails. ‘Did it?’
‘Absolutely. You see when I finally told Steven the truth, he became obsessed with finding out who his real father was. Gino Santangelo or Freddy Lester.’
‘Did you go to Gino Santangelo?’
‘Almost. We flew to California, but something stopped Steven from pursuing the search. Thank God.’
It was raining on the streets of New York, and the relentless drops pounded on the office window.
‘How many Freddy Lesters did you find?’ Fred asked. ‘And what eliminated me?’
She sipped her coffee. It was strong and hot. ‘Why?’ she joked. ‘Are you telling me it was you?’
There was a moment of silence before Fred’s hearty laugh filled the room. ‘I wish,’ he said.
‘No you don’t.’ Her tone was suddenly harsh. ‘That man was an animal, with no regard for anyone except himself.’ Her voice shook. ‘He raped me. Even if I was once a whore I had some rights, didn’t I?’
He calmed her. ‘Of course you did, my dear. Of course you did.’
She arose and walked to the window. ‘I still remember,’ she said bitterly, ‘the pain I had to endure.’ She stared unseeingly at the stream of traffic crawling along the rain-soaked streets below. ‘I was alone, with no money, no job, and a baby growing inside me. There was no other way. I had to go back to the only profession I knew to make a living. I had no choice. He gave me no choice.’
Fred rose and stood behind her. ‘You have a fine son. Out of the pain came some good.’
She had never thought of it that way before. She nodded wearily, and was assailed by a flash of doubt. ‘Steven doesn’t know about the book. I don’t want to upset him.’
‘If your life upsets him, surely that’s his problem.’
‘I know. But—’
‘Would you like me to tell him?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s my responsibility. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.’
‘Maybe I should be with you.’
There was something in his tone that alerted her. She moved from the window and stared at him. Slowly realization dawned. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ she whispered at last. ‘It is you. And that’s why you’re paying half a million dollars. Guilt money. It is you!’
‘Yes,’ he said, and a heavy weight fell from his shoulders.
Chapter One-Hundred-Three
‘Hi,’ said Brigette chirpily, trying to conceal the shock she felt on seeing the size of her mother.
‘You’re all grown up!’ Olympia exclaimed. ‘Oh God! You make me feel so old. Which I’m not,’ she added quickly.
‘Why didn’t you come to grandpoppa’s funeral?’ Brigette asked accusingly, not wasting any time.
‘I hate funerals,’ Olympia said petulantly.
‘Your mother was sick,’ Lennie cut in.
‘She looks fine to me,’ said Brigette, cobalt blue eyes shining.
‘So tell her,’ said Lennie gently. ‘She’s had skin grafts and plastic surgery and God knows what. Tell your mother she looks pretty again.’
‘You do look pretty, mama,’ said Brigette reluctantly. ‘Did anyone call me?’
‘Who were you expecting?’ Olympia asked, hating the fact that her daughter looked so mature and well developed for a fourteen year old.
‘I have friends here,’ Brigette said vaguely. ‘Like from school and stuff.’
‘Good,’ said Olympia.
‘Great,’ said Lennie.
‘We have to go to New York,’ Olympia said quickly. ‘Alice is going to come here and stay with you.’
‘Who?’
‘Alice. You remember her. Lennie’s mother. You used to adore her.’
Brigette yawned and stretched. ‘Oh, yeah.’ That old bat, she thought. Well, I’ll certainly get as much freedom as I want with her around. ‘How long will you be gone, mama?’ she asked innocently.
‘Just as long as it takes,’ said Olympia. And she added silently to herself – Just as long as it takes me to make sure that bitch, Lucky, gets no more than she deserves. Which, if I have anything to do with it – is nothing.
* * *
Tim Wealth moved out on his lover the day he started shooting Ryder Wheeler’s movie, Heat. He moved out because his lover was beginning to treat him like something less than dog shit, and who needed it? The man was only a lousy movie producer, not the second coming of Clark Gable.
Tim was working again, he could pay his own bills, and while starring in Heat was hardly the lead in Gatsby, it was still a hot movie. In every way.
The first day on the set he came face to face with his co-star. He took one look and double-taked. Eden Antonio.
‘Do you know each other?’ asked Ryder, noting Tim’s expression.
‘No,’ said Eden turning away.
Lying bitch, thought Tim. But then she had always been a liar, and a bitch.
* * *
Tim Wealth arrived in New York from Detroit at the age of nineteen. He quite expected theatre doors to open up for him. He was an actor, and a good one. The only doors which opened up were the doors of cars cruising Times Square looking for a fast score. He became a male hustler – not from choice – but because it paid well and enabled him to attend acting classes during the day.
One of the other students was a girl named Eden. She was the most beautiful female he had ever seen. Not only was she beautiful, but she was sophisticated and worldly – and just listening to her talk was a thrill. He hung on her every word, for Eden was classy and stylish – all the things lacking in Tim’s life.
Occasionally they got to do scenes together. She wasn’t a very good actress, but her exotic beauty compensated. Even though she was several years older than him, they became good friends, and even though he knew she was living with a guy, they became lovers.
One day she arrived in class with a determined look on her face. ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’ve had it with this town. I want to head for L.A. and break into movies. Why don’t we go together?’
‘What about your boyfriend?’ he asked.
‘What about him?’ she replied.
Once they decided to do it, she left all the arrangements to him. He had managed to save some money – the one good thing about hustling was that it paid well – cash – no taxes. And Eden expected him to pay for everything. Which he did.
Two
first-class tickets. ‘I want to do it properly,’ Eden said.
Reservations in the Beverly Hilton.
Several new outfits for Eden to storm the casting agents with.
Four weeks into hotel life and no jobs, Tim realized he was busted out.
‘Too bad,’ said Eden, and moved out of his life one L.A. rainy morning when he was away from the room buying the trades, leaving him with a three thousand dollar hotel tab, and no way of paying it.
He was devastated. But it gave him a fast education on classy stylish women.
He skipped without settling the bill, and resumed the only sure way of making a living he knew.
Hustling Santa Monica Boulevard was not that different from Times Square.
Aged twenty-one, he was picked up one day by a well-known male super-star, whose private life was firmly in the closet. The man was married with children, but that didn’t stop him from setting Tim up in an apartment with a generous clothes allowance and all expenses paid. The arrangement suited Tim fine, it kept him off the streets, allowed him to entertain girls when his benefactor wasn’t around, and concentrate on his acting studies.
His diligence paid off, and in 1980 he landed the lead role in a movie, much to his boyfriend’s chagrin. They parted company acrimoniously.
Smash reviews and good box office led to exactly nothing. The rejected super-star had clout, and he used it to make sure Tim Wealth’s career went right down the toilet.
Which is where it stayed until the offer of the Ryder Wheeler flick came his way. ‘It’s kinda close to the bone,’ his agent warned him. ‘But it’s gonna be done with class and plenty of the green stuff.’
Tim said yes. He had nothing to lose – only his modesty, and that had never counted for much. The script read porno. But with Ryder Wheeler in charge Tim hoped it would be something more. He had once had a taste of stardom, he was desperately hungry for more.
* * *
Eden Antonio. She was as hot as the movie. Icy cool was how Tim would describe the lady. He had never forgotten her. But now he was older, and a hell of a lot wiser. There was no way Eden could walk all over him this time around.
She radiated style and sex, even though her figure bordered on the anorexic. Kind of a strange choice for the leading lady in a flick that promised to reveal a lot of flesh.
‘It’s okay,’ the make-up man told him. ‘The rest of the bunnies make Dolly Parton look like she got steamrolled!’ Tim couldn’t wait.
Tits and fags. The story of his life.
He never had been able to choose.
Now they were shooting the movie, and he was glad he’d said yes. Hell, if Richard Gere could show it all, why couldn’t he? Although he was doing a lot more than just showing it.
Ryder Wheeler said that the kind of film they were doing was the movie of the future. ‘The public wants t’see it all,’ he assured his actors. ‘Today it’s you – tomorrow it’ll be Burt Reynolds and Jessica Lange.’
Tim had his doubts. But at least – true to his agent’s words – everything was being done with class and money.
The first time they found themselves alone together Eden said, ‘So you didn’t make it either, huh?’
‘You’re one ace bitch,’ he replied.
‘One of my main attractions,’ she retorted.
They were in her dressing room. He kicked the door shut, and had her for old time’s sake.
‘My boyfriend will kill you for this,’ she whispered. ‘If he ever finds out.’
‘Are you going to tell him?’
That throaty, husky laugh. ‘What do you think?’
The second week on the set Tim met ‘the money man’, Santino Bonnatti. He strutted around like he owned the world and everyone in it. He quite obviously owned Eden – whom he affectionately called ‘cunt’ in front of the entire crew.
‘Your boyfriend?’ Tim asked unnecessarily.
‘Unfortunately,’ she replied.
On the screen together they created sparks. Eden Antonio and Tim Wealth. And they hadn’t even gotten to any of the hot stuff yet.
Ryder knew it immediately he saw the first dailies. He called Paige and told her to get right over to the screening room.
She saw Tim and Eden together and agreed with him at once.
‘We’ve got to keep this film at a level,’ Ryder said. ‘I want it to be a Last Tango of the eighties – not a return of Deep Throat.’
‘You have no problem with that, do you?’ asked Paige.
‘I have no problem, but Bonnatti will give me a hard time. Wait and see.’
Sure enough, several weeks into shooting, Santino demanded more. ‘I want more tits. I want more ass. I want more sucking and I want more fucking.’
‘Don’t hang back,’ Ryder urged. ‘Tell me what’s on your mind.’
Santino glared. He was putting up money for porno, and all he was getting were long shots and clever lighting and artistic shit.
‘Do it,’ he warned. ‘Or get your ass off my movie.’
Two days later Ryder Wheeler did exactly that.
Tim Wealth and Eden Antonio were appalled. Especially when Santino brought in a well-known sleaze director who lost no time in going right for the bone – in more ways than one.
Between set-ups, when Santino wasn’t hovering, and the ever-present Zeko was chasing extras, Tim consoled Eden in the privacy of one or the other’s dressing rooms. They came together urgently. Eden, nervous and edgy and hungry. Tim, surprised that he could summon up feelings he thought were long dead.
It didn’t take long before Santino became suspicious. He watched them in front of the camera and didn’t mind what went on – because he was in control and Eden was his property. But off camera he didn’t even want them to speak.
‘You’ve got to get away from him,’ Tim cautioned.
‘I know,’ Eden agreed.
Tim Wealth couldn’t figure out why he was getting involved. Shoot the flick and run. Santino Bonnatti was bad news. The serious kind.
‘If I came up with a big score we could go to Mexico and hide out,’ Tim suggested.
Eden nodded. Where was Tim Wealth going to come up with enough money to assure their safe flight?
That evening he dug in his suitcase – the one he had carried to Atlantic City on his last trip with his lover. Scrunched in one corner was a slip of paper. On it was written Brigette Stanislopoulos and a phone number.
Tim did not hesitate.
Chapter One-Hundred-Four
Brigette was bored. Being stuck in the Bel Air mansion for weeks with an army of servants and crazy Alice for company was the pits. She had come to visit her mother and Lennie, and practically the moment she arrived they had raced off to New York with hardly a hello/goodbye. Wow – they really wanted to see her, didn’t they?
She amused herself for a while by going through Olympia’s closet, all of her drawers, and her desk. Then she explored Lennie’s study, but he had a habit of locking things up – so she didn’t get very far in there.
Alice said, ‘Do you want to go to Disneyland, dear?’
Disneyland! Brigette gave her a filthy look.
Alice got the message. Disneyland was out. Instead they went to an X-rated movie on Hollywood Boulevard, and later cruised along in the back of Olympia’s white Rolls Royce with a uniformed chauffeur at the wheel, watching the hookers parade Sunset.
Brigette was fascinated. ‘Do they really get paid for it?’ she inquired, filled with curiosity.
‘Naturellement, ma cherie,’ replied Alice. She had been picking up French phrases from a well-developed foreign midget she had met in a bar. His name was Claudio, and he came from circus stock.
‘What do they do?’ demanded Brigette.
‘What don’t they do’, replied Alice mysteriously. ‘Ooh la la!’
They returned to the mansion and played cards. Every day Brigette waited for the phone to ring, because she was quite sure Tim Wealth would call. While Alice wondered if she dare invite
Claudio to the house. Lennie had been very specific with his instructions. ‘I don’t want any of your friends here, male, female, straight or gay. Not one of them.’
Poor little Claudio. He was gentle and quiet. And certainly very sexy for a small person. Surely Lennie would not bar Claudio from coming to the house?
‘I’m bummed out,’ Brigette complained constantly. ‘Can’t we do something funky for a change? Don’t you know any people?’
Alice did not understand what either bummed out or funky meant – both sounded rude to her. She sighed. Youngsters today were different. Brigette seemed such an advanced teenager. Or maybe she was normal. On impulse she phoned Claudio and invited him over.
‘I’ve got a friend coming,’ she informed Brigette.
‘Nice for them,’ the girl muttered.
‘He’ll take us out.’ Alice nodded to herself. She had had enough of playing baby-sitter. When Lennie had called and asked her to stay she had been thrilled. She wanted to be close to her famous son, not cut out of his life forever. But keeping an eye on a restless fourteen-year-old was not exactly what she’d had in mind. Claudio would definitely liven things up.
‘It’ll be nice to see someone,’ grumbled Brigette. She was pissed at Tim Wealth. Weeks had passed and he hadn’t even called. Soon she would have to leave L.A. and return to school. Who did he think he was?
‘Yes,’ Alice mused happily. ‘We’ll have ourselves some fun with Claudio.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Brigette.
Alice simpered coyly. ‘We’ll get down and get funky!’
Brigette giggled. Alice always made her laugh with her birdlike movements, dyed hair and rouged cheeks. ‘Right on, grandma!’
The smile vanished from Alice’s face. ‘Don’t call me that, dear. It makes me feel ancient.’
* * *
In New York the battle was on. Dimitri Stanislopoulos’ will was a lengthy and complicated document. To everyone’s surprise he left the bulk of his money, business interests and estates to Lucky – to be held in trust for Roberto until he reached twenty-five.