Lucky

  ‘Do you like me?’ Tim Wealth asked.

  Brigette didn’t know what to say. Roberto sat at the kitchen counter slopping chocolate ice cream all over himself, and Tim was asking her the most important question of her life. I don’t like you, I love you, she wanted to shout out loud, but maybe it was a bit too soon. After all, he hadn’t mentioned love to her.

  ‘You know I do,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t do the things we do with anyone else. I more than like you.’ Hint, hint, maybe he would take it.

  ‘I like you too,’ he said, very seriously. ‘But I know something about you that’s bothering me.’

  ‘What?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘More ice cream,’ demanded Roberto.

  Oh God! She could smack the dumb little geek!

  Tim moved to the fridge and took out another carton, which he placed in front of the child.

  Brigette fidgeted impatiently, and waited to find out what it was that bothered him.

  He did not keep her in suspense. ‘I know how old you are,’ he said.

  She felt herself begin to blush. ‘I’m eighteen,’ she bluffed.

  ‘You’re fourteen,’ he countered.

  ‘I’m not,’ she lied desperately, feeling humiliated.

  ‘You are,’ he said grimly. ‘And have you got any idea what that makes me guilty of?’

  ‘What?’ Her tone was sulky.

  ‘Statutory rape.’

  The only sound in the room was Roberto slurping his ice cream. Brigette wished he wasn’t there. She wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Tim Wealth was just about to tell her he couldn’t see her any more and she wanted to die.

  ‘How did you find out?’ she muttered, red-faced.

  ‘You’re not exactly a state secret,’ he said. ‘I was reading about your grandfather and his will.’

  ‘It’s all lies.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘My mother says that everything the newspapers print is lies.’

  ‘Maybe so. But I checked, little girl, and you are fourteen. Your fifteenth birthday isn’t until December.’

  ‘Happy birthday to me,’ she mumbled.

  Roberto had spotted a television in the corner of the one-room apartment. ‘Wanta watch,’ he said, pointing.

  Brigette flopped on the end of the couch that converted into Tim’s bed.

  Tim switched on the television for Roberto, and the child climbed down from the counter, took his carton of ice cream, and sat on the floor a few inches in front of it, totally absorbed.

  ‘I don’t want to be fourteen,’ Brigette sulked. ‘I hate it. I really hate it!’ Tears filled her big blue eyes. ‘And now you hate me too.’

  ‘No I don’t,’ Tim said soothingly, putting his arm around her.

  ‘Yes you do,’ she whimpered.

  ‘No I don’t. But we’ve got a big problem, and you have to help me find a solution.’

  She wished Roberto wasn’t there. He was getting on her nerves just being in the same room.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said truculently. ‘I’m going back to school in Switzerland in a week, so I won’t be such a big problem any more.’

  ‘Do you want to go?’ he asked quickly. ‘Or would you like to stay with me?’

  The possibility of staying with him had never even entered her mind. But now he’d mentioned it, it was exactly what she’d like to do.

  ‘How can I do that?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘Listen to me, little girl, and listen carefully. I’ve got a plan.’

  Chapter One-Hundred-Seventeen

  Paige Wheeler called home at five-thirty. An urgent business trip to San Francisco had come up – she wouldn’t return until the next day.

  ‘Aren’t you even going to pick up an overnight bag?’ Ryder asked.

  She explained about the Arab client with the private plane impatiently waiting to leave.

  Ryder understood. Business was business.

  Gino called the rented Beverly Hills house. There was nobody home, just the answering machine.

  ‘This is an adventure,’ Paige purred, with a wicked smile. ‘I haven’t had an adventure in a long time.’ She lay back on the bed and stretched contentedly. ‘You’re so persuasive, Gino.’

  ‘Story of my life,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve had it pretty easy when it comes to gettin’ my own way.’

  ‘I bet!’

  * * *

  Lennie worked on a new script all afternoon. He finished the half bottle of vodka, put Bruce Springsteen on the stereo, and watched the sunset from his Hollywood apartment with the unmade bed and thick layers of dust.

  Christ! He felt terrific. Better than he had in a long time. And the material he had written was good, sharp-edged and full of caustic wit. He was on a roll after being blocked for months.

  He was going to be free again.

  No more mansions and servants.

  No more Olympia.

  It was as if he were starting over, and there was nobody to think about but himself.

  Of course, he was rich in his own right now. He was hot. A movie star.

  Shit! He was just a comic who got the right breaks at the right time. No movie star, he.

  There were things to be settled. Before Olympia returned to L.A. he had to collect his personal possessions from Bel Air. Clear out his study, take only what he had paid for. And then he would have to explain to Alice. She was up at the mansion looking after Brigette. Gently he would give the two of them the news. Brigette was basically a good kid – if she wanted to keep in contact, he’d be happy. She didn’t have much of a life. Being stuck with Olympia for a mother was no smooth ride.

  Tomorrow he would deal with them.

  Tonight he would enjoy himself.

  With that thought in mind he called Jess, and asked her if she wanted to go with him to Foxies.

  She was leaving on an early morning plane to spend the weekend with Matt, but she jumped at his offer, anxious to hear everything.

  ‘Pick me up around eight,’ he said. ‘I’m the guy without a car.’

  ‘You’ve got four cars, Lennie,’ she pointed out.

  ‘Not any more,’ he said, without one note of regret.

  * * *

  The moment the Rolls-Royce pulled into the driveway of the Bel Air house, CeeCee leaped out.

  ‘You’ll break your neck, dear,’ warned Alice.

  CeeCee moved fast. It was past six. If Lucky ever found out she had left Roberto for this length of time she would be furious, and rightly so. CeeCee knew she was trusted implicitly, and she was very proud of that fact.

  ‘Roberto,’ she called, as she rushed into the house, trailed by Alice and Claudio – who seemed to have taken up residence. ‘Roberto!’

  No response.

  ‘They’re probably up in Brigette’s room,’ said Alice, leading Claudio into one of the vast living rooms.

  CeeCee hurried up the majestic marble staircase, along a never-ending hallway. The house was ridiculously large. Six families could live in it and never bump into each other.

  ‘Roberto,’ she called out anxiously.

  Brigette’s room was empty. There were clothes and records and magazines scattered everywhere. But no Brigette and no Roberto.

  CeeCee wished the bad feelings would leave her. They were getting worse every moment. Without a doubt she knew something was wrong.

  ‘Roberto!’ she shouted loudly. ‘Roberto. Where are you? ROBERTO!’

  They searched the house, Alice complaining every inch of the way.

  Two Mexican maids, who spoke very little English, professed to know nothing. Then a third maid appeared and mumbled something about a taxi.

  ‘Did Brigette go in the taxi with Roberto?’ CeeCee demanded, spacing her words to make sure the woman understood.

  ‘Si, si,’ the woman nodded.

  ‘All this fuss.’ Alice shook her head wisely. ‘When Brigette realized we were late, she decided to take Roberto home.’

  A phone call to th
e rented house received no reply.

  ‘Gino’s taken them out for dinner,’ Alice suggested.

  CeeCee nodded, hoping this was so. But the bad feelings would not leave her, and until they did, she could not be sure about anything.

  Chapter One-Hundred-Eighteen

  The paparazzi sprang into action when Olympia Stanislopoulos put in an appearance at Studio 54 in New York. She emerged from a sleek grey limousine with black tinted windows, a bountiful princess.

  She wore a huge sable coat over her ample figure, and her long blonde hair flowed across her shoulders.

  Accompanying her was a short snappish hairdresser – male – dressed from head to toe in studded leather; a black secretary – female – who was six feet tall; and a long-haired make-up artist – transvestite.

  Olympia beamed at the paparazzi. ‘Hi, guys.’ Her voice was slurred, and the pupils of her blue eyes piercing pinpoints of light. She draped herself provocatively against the front of her limo. ‘Wanna take my picture?’

  Flashbulbs exploded as they jostled for position. Olympia Stanislopoulos looked like a pretty blonde baby elephant. These photos would front-page world wide.

  ‘Where’s Lennie?’ one of the photographers shouted.

  Olympia frowned. ‘Lennie?’ she asked, as if she honestly didn’t know what they were talking about. ‘Lennie who?’

  A spiffy young girl, camera at the ready and shorthand going on in her head, made a good guess and said, ‘Is it true you two have split?’

  Olympia wrapped her sable a round her bulk and headed for the entrance of the club. ‘Lennie Golden,’ she announced grandly, ‘is a lousy husband – correction – was a lousy husband – and a lousy lay. Print that.’

  She swept inside, followed closely by her adoring entourage.

  * * *

  The Santangelo casino sparkled with activity. Lucky was all packed and ready to leave. She planned to drive to New York, spend the night at The Pierre, and catch the early flight to L.A.

  Before leaving, she strolled through the casino. It always gave her a thrill to know she had created such excitement.

  Vitos Felicidade was headlining, and the crowds were pouring out of the Diamond Room, having just sat through his first show. The women were all a-flutter, clutching programmes with Vitos’ picture on the front and chattering about how gorgeous and virile he was.

  They should only know! Lucky had spent one night in his company. He had achieved a two-minute erection and poured out all his troubles. She felt sorry for him. They had not consummated the act, merely talked the night away.

  She waved to one of her pit bosses and pointed out a dealer getting too friendly with a plump brunette at a blackjack table. A stickman at the crap table called out a winner, and the crowd cheered. Two hookers careened past in low-cut clinging dresses discussing a tight-fisted john.

  Lucky’s dark eyes swept the room. Everything was going smoothly. She was satisfied.

  * * *

  ‘’Ello, ’ello, ’ello. It’s Tubs in full bloom, ain’t it?’

  Olympia peered at the skinny figure standing before her in the noisy club. Lately she was having a little trouble focusing. ‘Hello,’ she said vaguely.

  ‘It’s me, yer silly bint. Flash.’

  ‘I loooove your work,’ sighed the transvestite, leaning forward.

  ‘So do l’, agreed the hairdresser, not to be left out.

  ‘Piss off, yer two old queens,’ Flash said good-naturedly. He sat down beside Olympia, who finally realized it was him.

  ‘Yer lookin’ all right,’ Flash said, peering at her face. ‘Bit of added flesh, but yer really got it together, din’t you?’

  ‘I feel sensational.’

  He slipped his hand beneath folds of sable and squeezed her waist. ‘I always liked fat chicks. Turns me on, y’know what I mean?’

  ‘I am not fat. Merely a few pounds overweight.’

  ‘And some.’

  ‘Where do you get your scarves? I looooove your scarves’, crooned the transvestite, stroking the stream of dirty white silk hanging around Flash’s neck.

  Flash grimaced. ‘Ere, leave it out, will ya. What kinda bums yer travellin’ with, Tubs?’

  She had him fully in focus now. Flash. Rock Star. Lover. Prick.

  ‘You treated me like nothing when I really needed you,’ she steamed, staring at his pock-marked face. ‘And from what I hear, things are not too good for you lately. What a shame,’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘I told yer,’ he said slyly. ‘I just wasn’t inter fuckin’ disfigurements. But yer lookin’ good now, Tubs. Just like new.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked grandly.

  ‘Whatever he wants – give it to him!’ shrieked the hairdresser.

  ‘Ooooh yes,’ sighed the transvestite. ‘Sooo macho!’

  ‘Just bein’ friendly,’ Flash said.

  ‘You’ve never been friendly in your life,’ Olympia pointed out.

  He stuck his tongue in her ear. ‘Wanna fly?’ he whispered.

  His breath was tinged with garlic and tobacco. His clothes smelled of old smoke. His teeth, when he opened his mouth, were as rotten as ever.

  She remembered old times. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.

  Why not one more fling with a faded rock star?

  Chapter One-Hundred-Nineteen

  All her life Brigette had been waiting for something wonderful to happen. She had grown up in a world of thoughtless adults who gave her a superabundance of material possessions, but nothing much else. When she was little she could get everyone’s attention by screaming, and she would carefully pick her moments. It infuriated her mother who was so pretty . . . always dressed up in furs and jewels with her blonde hair curling softly around her face. But her mother was always busy with her latest boyfriend. Forever distracted by other people.

  Brigette had loved spoiling her mother’s perfect day. It always made Olympia so mad when she screamed and yelled, but at least it forced her to notice she had a daughter.

  For the last few years Brigette hadn’t cared whether she noticed or not. And when her mother was in the plane crash, she had been secretly pleased. If Olympia had died, she wouldn’t have to force her to notice any more.

  However, Olympia didn’t die. She just got fat. And Brigette grew up. And learned there was more to life than grabbing mama’s attention.

  Now Tim Wealth had entered her life. And Brigette knew the wonderful moment she had been waiting for had finally arrived. Forget school and lessons and everything else. Tim Wealth was her future. Tim Wealth wanted to be with her forever. He explained his plan while she listened responsively, and Roberto stuck his hand in the empty ice cream carton and edged closer and closer to the television until he was only inches away.

  Tim kept on emphasizing the fact that she was only fourteen. ‘If you were eighteen we’d have no problem,’ he explained patiently. ‘We could skip off to Nevada or somewhere, get married, and there’s nothing anyone could do about it. But because you’re under age, we’ve got to go into hiding. And to do that we need plenty of money. And to do it successfully, I’m talking a lot of bread. Multi bucks.’

  ‘I’m very rich,’ Brigette announced matter-of-factly. ‘My grandfather just left me a fortune.’

  ‘Sure. But it’s all tied up until you’re eighteen or twenty-one. Something like that, huh?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s still mine.’

  ‘I know that and you know that, but try telling them.’ He paused, and reeled her in nice and easy. ‘I want to be with you all the time, little girl. You’re very very special, and I don’t want to risk losing you. Understand?’

  She nodded, enthralled. Every dream she had ever had was coming true.

  Tim roamed the room, balling his fists, talking fast, getting her involved and enthusiastic. ‘Whether your mother cares about you or not she’d try to split us up,’ he said. ‘And so would Lennie Golden. And Lucky. They’d all say you’re too young. We’d have no chance. They
’d lock you up somewhere and we’d never see each other again.’

  ‘I’d escape,’ Brigette said fiercely.

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t want to put you in that position,’ he said quickly. ‘We’ve got to strike before they do.’

  She was completely caught up in what he was saying. ‘Yes, yes,’ she agreed, blue eyes shining brightly.

  ‘This is what we have to do,’ he said, keeping his voice low and moving very close to her. ‘We have to get your money from them. It’s your money, and you’re entitled to every red cent.’

  She nodded excitedly.

  ‘But they’re not going to want to give it to you,’ Tim continued. ‘So we’ve got to trick ’em.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘By playing a game.’

  ‘What game?’

  ‘Let’s call it kidnap and ransom.’

  She shivered. ‘Is it dangerous?’

  He laughed. ‘Would I involve you in anything dangerous? You’ve got to trust me.’

  ‘What about him?’

  They both turned to stare at Roberto.

  ‘He’s a bonus,’ Tim said. ‘Kind of like insurance to make sure they pay up quickly. Like tomorrow.’

  Brigette felt a twinge of conscience – only a twinge.

  ‘After they’ve paid, they’ll get both of you back,’ Tim continued.

  ‘I’m not going back!’ Brigette wailed.

  ‘Only for a couple of days while I get our escape organized,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Then you meet me at a pre-arranged spot, and we skip. In the meantime you describe your kidnappers as a couple of Mexicans who kept you in Santa Monica – make up whatever you like.’

  ‘Hmmm . . . and how do I explain taking Bobby off in a cab?’

  ‘You got an urgent phone call. A message from your mother to meet you and bring the boy.’

  She giggled. ‘You’ve thought of everything.’

  ‘I sure have.’ God! She was naive. Couldn’t she see the scam he was pulling? By the time she realized he wasn’t going to meet her he’d be long gone with Eden, and she’d be sent back to Switzerland in disgrace.