Sometimes the memories were overwhelming, good and bad.
Picking up the house phone she called downstairs to Danny, her personal assistant. Danny was the eyes and ears on everything Vegas when she wasn’t in residence. He’d only worked for her a year, but he was quite possibly the best assistant she’d ever had. He was young, twenty-something. Gay, in a long-term relationship with Buff, his high-school buddy. And he was on top of everything. She trusted him implicitly.
‘Did Gino arrive yet?’ she asked.
‘He’s here,’ Danny responded. ‘Feisty as ever. I cannot believe how old that man is!’
Lucky smiled, thinking of her ninety-something father who never slowed down. ‘Yes, he’s remarkable, isn’t he?’ she said. Gino had his own suite at The Keys, and there was nothing he liked more than sitting in a lounge chair outside his private cabana at the pool watching all the pretty girls pass by. He had not acquired the nickname Gino the Ram for nothing. Over the years he’d certainly lived up to his reputation. Married to his fifth wife, Paige, a woman decades younger than him, Gino seemed to have more energy than anyone.
‘Is everything set for the board meeting on Friday?’ Lucky asked.
‘Of course,’ Danny replied. ‘It’s all in order.’
‘I think I’ve persuaded Alex Woods to come. Make sure he has the right accommodations. And arrange to have cars meet everyone at the airport.’
‘Got it, Lucky.’
‘Okay then,’ she said, tossing back her long jet-black hair. ‘I’m on my way to see Gino. We’ll talk later.’
* * *
The Malibu party started off slowly. A trickle of friends hanging out by the pool drinking beer and Coke from cans, laughing and talking and generally getting loose.
Max glanced around and wished that she had invited Ace. Maybe this would’ve been the night they’d consummated their relationship, shifting it to another level. Since she was about to be eighteen, wasn’t it time to do something about taking things all the way?
She took a quick peek at her watch, realized it was only just past eight, so if she called him now he could probably make it in a couple of hours. But then he’d be annoyed that she hadn’t told him about it before, so it was best to leave it alone.
Cookie was busy draping herself all over the deejay Harry had gotten. The guy was Latin and a major hottie straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. Maybe Frankie wouldn’t show, and Cookie would settle for this guy. He certainly knew his stuff – rocking everything from Usher to Drake to Miley to old 80’s soul and Beatles classics.
This is going to be a perfect evening, Max thought. A mellow way to celebrate turning eighteen. And after I’m eighteen, I’m moving to New York, far away from parental concerns. I’m going to be exactly like Bobby and make my own life.
Doing what?
I haven’t decided.
She darted inside the house to check that she’d locked up all the main rooms. She certainly didn’t want anyone coming into the house, Lucky would so not appreciate it.
Harry followed her, his spiked hair gelled higher than ever. ‘You gotta tell Cookie to lay off Paco,’ he said, sounding flustered. ‘She’s such a greedy bitch. If it’s got a dick, she wants it.’
‘Who’s Paco?’
Harry’s pale skin reddened. ‘The deejay.’
‘Why’d you want her to back off?’
‘’Cause I gotta wild hunch he’s gonna be way more into me than her,’ Harry said.
‘Oh crap!’ Max exclaimed, getting the message.
‘So do something about her,’ Harry pleaded.
‘I’ll try,’ Max promised. ‘But you know Cookie . . .’
Yes, everyone knew Cookie. If there was a party, she was there. If there was a hot guy, she was there. Cookie had lost her virginity to one of her famous father’s friends when she was fourteen, and she’d never looked back.
It kind of irked Max that she lurked so far behind in the sex stakes, but then again she didn’t want to give it up to just anyone. The first time had to be special, and she was making sure that it was.
* * *
Back in New York, Bobby stopped by his apartment, checked his email, took a shower, put on fresh clothes and headed for Mood.
It was past ten by the time he arrived, and the place was packed as usual. Wednesday nights were usually extra happening as it was guest deejay night, and everyone enjoyed the change of pace. His manager, Paulo, a suave Italian, assured him things were going well.
Bobby did the rounds, stopping by tables, buying people drinks, complimenting the women. He wasn’t crazy about playing genial host, but he did it because he knew it was good for business.
Martin Constantine – the real-estate mogul – insisted that he join him and his wife, Nona, for a glass of champagne. At one time Bobby had considered asking Martin if he’d be interested in investing in future clubs, but then he’d decided against it, because Martin wouldn’t simply put up the money, he was the kind of man who’d expect to be involved.
Nona was not her normal flirty self. Bobby was relieved. He’d never quite figured out how to deal with the horny wives of rich men, and it was surprising how many came onto him. Horny wives were a business hazard he tried to avoid.
After having a quick drink with Martin and Nona, he moved on to sit with Charlie Dollar and Cooper Turner – two old Hollywood stalwarts who still attracted a parade of beautiful girls. There was something about weathered movie stars that prevented them from being perceived as dirty old men. It was the Jack Nicholson/Al Pacino syndrome.
After a while Paulo approached and whispered discreetly in his ear that Zeena, the outrageous superstar, was requesting his presence at her table.
Ah, Zeena! They’d had a few run-ins, the last one in Vegas where she’d unexpectedly appeared in his shower and given him head, later practically announcing it on stage in the middle of her concert, this all happening while he was on his first date with Denver. Not easy explaining that little incident to Denver; it had gotten them off to a rocky start. But fortunately everything had worked out, and the last thing he needed was Zeena screwing things up again.
He instructed Paulo to make sure there was no one taking any photos in the club – had to watch out for cell phones – then reluctantly he made his way over to Zeena’s table, where she was holding court with her usual entourage of hangers-on, and her latest boyfriend, an emaciated English actor famous for playing a blood-crazed vampire on TV.
Zeena was her usual over-the-top self – half Brazilian, half Native American, her exotic beauty could be quite mesmerizing.
‘Bobbee,’ she purred in her low-down husky voice. ‘Zeena hasn’t seen you for too long. Where has my Bobbee been?’
He stared into her cat-like eyes and realized that the crush he’d once had on her was long gone. ‘Around,’ he said casually, shaking the hand of her pale-faced boyfriend.
‘Maybe Zeena should come visit you,’ Zeena suggested. ‘You like?’
Vampire boyfriend spoke up. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘He wouldn’t like, and neither would I.’
At last! Zeena had finally hooked up with someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up to her.
Bobby laughed, easing the sudden tension. ‘Zeena, always the joker,’ he said smoothly, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. ‘I’m sending your table more champagne. Enjoy.’
And before she could respond with another unwelcome come-on, he was on his way to the next booth where Adrian Brody and his friend, Dieter Abt, were ensconced with a group of beautiful models, male and female.
A fast escape. The best kind.
* * *
‘Y’know,’ Lucky said affectionately, ‘if I didn’t know any better I would swear you weren’t a day over seventy. You’re amazing!’
Gino roared with laughter. Remarkably he still had all his teeth, and although his hair was grey, it was still there. Age had not bowed him. ‘I’m in my nineties, kiddo,’ he said. ‘Outlived ’em all. An’ I don’t regret a minute o
f the life I lived. ’Cept maybe when you an’ me wasn’t talkin’.’
‘Well, that didn’t last, did it?’ she said, remembering their many famous fights over the years.
‘Naw. Knew it wouldn’t,’ Gino answered, grinning. ‘You’re easy.’
‘Sure I am,’ Lucky replied sarcastically.
They were sitting together in Lucky’s favourite restaurant at The Keys, a small cosy Italian place tucked away in a corner spot, aptly called Gino’s. The restaurant served all the food Gino loved. Meatballs with garlic and a rich tomato sauce. Penne pasta. Tasty veal chops with roasted Tuscany potatoes and myriad vegetables. Plus an assortment of pizzas named after various members of the Santangelo family.
Paige had elected not to join them, claiming she was tired, but Lucky knew it was because Paige was smart enough to know they enjoyed spending time together, just the two of them.
‘How’s little Max?’ Gino wanted to know. ‘Still plannin’ her escape?’
‘Oh yes,’ Lucky said ruefully. ‘There’s no stopping that one.’
‘Just like you, Lucky, huh?’ Gino said, nodding at the memories.
‘I hope not. I was a wild one.’
‘You still are, kiddo, you still are.’
‘Thanks, Gino, but I don’t know about that.’
‘Yeah, well, I do. You inherited the Santangelo balls, that’s what makes you such a winner. An’ you gotta teach Max how t’deal.’
‘She’s pretty smart, Gino.’
‘Not as smart as you when you were her age—’
‘There’s plenty of time for her to learn,’ Lucky interrupted.
‘Time goes quickly, kiddo, you’d be surprised.’
‘Not for you it doesn’t.’
‘Y’know,’ he said, lowering his gruff voice, ‘if ya wanna know what goes on in my head, I’m gonna tell ya – I got this thought goin’ on that I’m only thirty.’ A big grin spread across his face. ‘How’s about that?’
‘Right,’ Lucky retorted. ‘And I’m sixteen, getting my ass married off to some dumb Senator’s son ’cause my daddy thought it would control me. Lotsa luck with that.’
‘Here she goes,’ Gino groaned. ‘Always dredgin’ up the past.’
‘Just f-ing with you, Gino,’ she said lightly. ‘Nothing I like better than watching you squirm.’
And once again she smiled, realizing there was nothing more satisfying than spending time with her father, for who knew how long he’d be around.
* * *
Willow Price and her posse of nubile young women – all various shades of blonde and bubbly – decided they would like to go clubbing. And since Billy had nothing better to do after buying them all dinner at an expensive restaurant, he thought he might as well tag along. After all, his image was out of control and he kind of liked it. Leaving the restaurant with the darling of the tabs, Willow Price, and her blonde entourage, guaranteed a major media blitz, and since Venus had been seen out and about with her young co-star and the grizzled old director of her current movie, it was only fitting that he do the same.
Also, Venus’s lawyer had informed his lawyer that she intended to keep their Vegas apartment in The Keys, and since he’d paid for half, that had really pissed him off. He’d told his lawyer to fight her on that one. Screw Venus. Screw the big superstar who thought she could get anything she wanted.
Think again, sweetheart. He might be thirteen years younger than his soon-to-be ex, but he was no pushover.
Willow clung onto his arm for the sake of the paparazzi. The photographers descended like a pack of rabid dogs, screaming both their names, while the other unknown blondes hovered and giggled, and flashed their tits and long legs emerging from tight micro skirts, thrilled to be a part of such mayhem.
‘If you’re a very, very well-behaved boy,’ Willow whispered in his ear, pouting innocently for the cameras, ‘I’ll let you watch me lick pussy later.’
He contemplated the future scenario she had in mind. Watching was not his thing. If he wasn’t a participant, he wasn’t interested.
‘That’s all right,’ he mumbled. ‘Whyn’t we get in the car an’ stop by River?’
‘Oh yes,’ Willow purred. ‘I’d like that.’
One last pose for the cameras, and they were on their way.
Chapter Fifteen
Three hours into what seemed like an under the radar mellow party, chaos reigned. Max couldn’t figure out how it had happened. From the maybe seventy or eighty people they’d expected, others were pouring in at an alarming rate. Carloads of teenagers she didn’t know, didn’t want to know, and could do nothing about. And not only teenagers, but a bunch of dirty old men – probably agents or producers – in their flashy Porsches and Bentleys, not to mention flocks of random girls in backless, almost frontless, tiny outfits.
Several people brought booze with them. A boy in a Batman outfit dragged in a keg. Two girls came armed with a Margarita machine. Some people were smoking weed, others snorting cocaine. A whole bunch of naked men and women were frolicking in the pool, while others were making out on the patio. It was insanity. And neither Cookie nor Harry were any help. Harry had affixed himself to Paco, the deejay, and refused to move, while Cookie was snorting and drinking and having herself a fine old time. They were both stoned. Both feeling no pain.
Max rarely drank, and she didn’t do drugs. Apparently she was the only one.
People were finding their way into the house. They’d already taken over the living room, and a drunken group of girls were attempting to break the lock on Lucky and Lennie’s bedroom door.
Panicked, Max thought about anonymously calling the cops and complaining about the noise, but that wouldn’t help considering they might file a report of a disturbance and then Lucky or Lennie would find out. Not a smart move.
What was she supposed to do to stop the invasion?
Lucky would go totally apeshit if she ever found out what was going on. Max knew she’d be grounded for weeks, maybe even months. Life as she knew it would be over.
Although wait a minute, she thought. I’m about to turn eighteen, they can’t ground me.
Or can they?
What they could do is cut off her allowance and not pay for her ticket to New York and the six months’ rent on an apartment Lucky had promised her as a birthday present.
Pulling herself together she confronted the girls trying to force their way into Lucky’s bedroom.
They told her to screw off.
She yelled back at them that it was her house and they could screw off or she’d call the cops and accuse them of trespassing.
They retaliated with a few obscene gestures and insults, then staggered off.
Max wished that she had invited Ace – he’d know what to do. She didn’t. As far as she was concerned, her party had turned into an uncontrollable nightmare, and she was totally helpless to do anything about it.
Lucky would know how to handle it. Lucky knew how to handle anything.
Damnit. Why couldn’t she be more like her mom in situations such as this?
* * *
The insistent buzz of his doorbell awoke Bobby with a sudden start. Groping for his watch, he noted it was 4 a.m.
Goddamnit! Who was outside his apartment at four in the morning? And what the fuck was his doorman doing that he allowed someone to come up unannounced?
Muttering to himself, he rolled out of bed and headed for the door in nothing but his Calvins.
Then he stopped. Dead still. There was only one person who would have the balls to come calling at this time. Zeena.
Of course!
The doorbell continued to ring, and he stood silently in his hallway trying to figure out his next move.
Then it occurred to him that there was only one answer, and that was to do absolutely nothing and hope the predatory superstar would slink away into the night. It wasn’t the first time she’d turned up at his apartment at some unearthly hour. She was one hell of a persistent woman who, when she want
ed something, expected to get it. And tonight she obviously wanted him.
They had a history. Once upon a time he’d harboured a slight crush. She’d turned up at his New York apartment and they’d gone at it like a couple of wild things. One time was enough. Crush over. But the unfortunate thing was that she’d continued to pursue him, culminating in the embarrassing shower scene on the night of his first date with Denver. That was some memory. She’d broken into his Vegas hotel room, stripped off and entered into his shower uninvited.
He’d had no contact with her since, and tonight he’d been pleased to note she was with her latest conquest.
Apparently her latest conquest wasn’t enough to satisfy Zeena, for now she was on his doorstep.
And what was he supposed to do about that?
Exactly nothing.
* * *
‘Who wants to come to a party in Malibu?’ Frankie asked Billy, Willow and their assorted hangers-on.
‘Whose party?’ Billy wanted to know.
‘Does anyone care?’ Willow retorted, always up for a fun time. ‘It’ll be our party when we get there, no doubt about that.’
They’d all been hanging out in the club for a while, during which time Frankie had presented them with primo weed and made sure all their drinks were comp’d. Willow’s scatty girlfriends were dancing on the tables to Katy Perry, while Willow watched them cavorting, a secret smile playing around her glossy lips as she anticipated the scene that would take place later.
Billy sat back, downing a vodka or two. He looked bored. He was bored. The session with the girl he’d picked up on Melrose had not satisfied him. Momentarily – yes. But somehow he craved more than a fast blow-job beside his pool. Lately he’d been thinking that it might be refreshing to find someone he could conduct an actual conversation with.
Willow was certainly not that person, nor were her band of nubile groupies. But that’s what he seemed to be stuck with – for now.
Meanwhile Frankie was buzzing. Having celebrities in his club was a plus, especially as he got off on spending time with anyone famous. Celebrities validated his existence.
Cookie had phoned several times asking when he was getting to the Malibu party. The last time she’d called he’d assured her he was on the way, and since Cookie was his pathway to bigger and better, he wasn’t about to let her down. Arriving with Willow and Billy – two of the hottest stars around – would definitely impress her.