Drop Dead Beautiful

  “You drink too much,” Ling scolded.

  “What now?” Alex Woods said, emerging from the shower, knotting a towel around his waist.

  “Last night you came home drunk,” Ling continued in a sanctimonious tone. “And you were driving, Alex, that’s extremely stupid. If you had been stopped and Breathalyzed, it could have turned out very badly.”

  Was his exquisitely beautiful Asian lawyer girlfriend calling him stupid?

  No. It wasn’t possible.

  Or was it? Because if it was, it was time for her to go. Nobody called Alex Woods stupid and got away with it. If she was working on one of his movies, he would fire her ass. But she wasn’t working on his movie, she was living in his architecturally modern beach house, sharing his oversized water bed, and sometimes driving his Porsche. Plenty of perks. More than enough. And he did not need criticism coming out of her perfectly formed mouth. Oh no. Her mouth was for other purposes.

  “What if you’d been arrested?” Ling droned on. “Then what, Alex? Headlines you do not care for. Publicity you hate.”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer,” he said, dropping his towel.

  “I’m sorry if you do not like to hear the truth,” Ling said, all pissy-faced. “But it is only for your own good.”

  Yeah. Sure.

  “Did you have your gun on you, Alex?” Ling continued. “Because I continually remind you that you do not have a license to carry a firearm, and were you stopped and the gun was found, that would constitute a far greater problem.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said impatiently. “I’m listening. Next time I go on a bender I’ll leave my gun at home. Does that make you happy?”

  “Yes, Alex, that makes me happy. Although why you need a gun at all—”

  “I get threats, Ling,” he said, reaching for his pants and pulling them on. “How many times I gotta tell you?”

  Over the years he’d grown to realize that there wasn’t a woman in existence who knew when to shut the fuck up. Except perhaps Lucky Santangelo. When it came to Lucky, she could talk all night and he’d listen to every word. But then, Lucky was unique, a one-of-a-kind woman who possessed the three B’s in abundance—Brains, Beauty, and Balls.

  Thinking about Lucky made him smile.

  “Why are you smiling, Alex, it is not funny,” Ling scolded, as if she were speaking to a naughty child.

  “Give it a rest,” he said. “I don’t want to hear it and I don’t have to hear it, so shut the fuck up.”

  “Do not speak to me like that,” Ling said, tilting her chin.

  Oh Jesus. She wasn’t his wife, why was she lecturing him as if she were?

  He stared at his five-feet-two-inches-tall girlfriend with the slim, toned body and ridiculously large fake tits—too big for her slender shape. Her tits had always bothered him. What was she thinking when she’d had them done? I want to be a lawyer, but maybe I’ll moonlight as a stripper on the side?

  It didn’t make sense.

  “I have a major fucking hangover,” he said, feeling the throb in his head. “So I suggest we drop this conversation before you get yourself in trouble.”

  “Very well, Alex,” she said, tight-lipped. “But I tell you only because I care.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he sighed.

  End of dialogue.

  Cut.

  Print.

  Chapter 18

  Hugging her father felt so damn good. Gino the survivor, a real character. Lately Lucky had come to the conclusion that the older she got, the more she understood him. Now she realized why he’d married her off at sixteen. He’d thought he was protecting her, saving her from her wild ways, and his mind was set that way because he’d been raised during a time when women were not considered smart, independent human beings; women were considered soft and obedient, they were supposed to get married, have kids, and shut the fuck up.

  Wow! What a shocker she must have been to him—a girl who craved freedom and power; a girl who was sexually free; a girl who did things her way and turned out to be exactly like Daddy.

  The two of them could laugh about it now, for Lucky considered Gino to be not just her father, but also her best friend. She loved hearing him reminisce about the early days when he was living on the streets of New York struggling to make a buck. He often spoke about the time he was involved with the very elegant and very married Clementine Duke, the nightclub he opened way back, his long stretch in prison, and the excitement and challenge of building his first hotel in Vegas.

  Oh yes, Gino had stories like nobody else.

  Her kids adored him and he them. Gino Junior called him Mister Cool, and Bobby had always looked up to him. Max—not so much. “He’s like major old,” Max always grumbled whenever Gino visited, as if being old was a bad thing. “Why do I have to kiss him every time I see him? He smells of fish, like a decrepit trout.”

  “Your grandfather believes in taking a lot of vitamins,” Lucky had explained. “Sometimes they leave an odor.”

  “It’s utterly gross!” Max would complain.

  Perhaps it’s just as well that Max is not here for dinner, Lucky thought, ushering Gino and Paige upstairs to their room. She gave Gino another hug, and left them to unpack.

  Downstairs Lennie was about to get to work on his script. “Good thing we made out before they got here,” he remarked.

  “Glad you’re pleased.”

  “And it wasn’t just sex, it was fantastic sex, an’ not even make-up sex!”

  “You’re such a romantic.”

  “I try.”

  “Try harder,” Lucky quipped.

  A short while later Bobby and Brigette arrived.

  Is it possible that this tall handsome guy is my son? Lucky thought proudly. Wow, I must’ve done something right.

  “Where’s Max?” Bobby asked, exchanging a series of playful punches with Gino Junior, who was excited to see his big brother.

  “She went to a party up in Big Bear,” Lucky explained. “She’ll be back in time for Gino’s celebration.”

  “Great,” Bobby complained, pulling a face. “I come into town and she takes off. I gotta have a serious talk with that girl.”

  “I wish somebody would,” Lucky muttered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she’s exactly like her mom was when Lucky was her age,” Lennie interjected.

  “Who’s exactly like their mom?” Brigette asked, entering the house, followed by a red-faced driver attempting to balance several large Fendi bags.

  “There you are,” Lennie said, grabbing her in a bear hug. “How’s my girl?”

  Brigette smiled. She had special feelings for Lennie, who’d once been married to her mother, Olympia. Lennie had always treated her with kindness, unlike so many other people she’d had to deal with. “I’m doing okay, Lennie.”

  “You look fantastic,” he said, thinking how fresh and pretty she was for a girl who’d been through so much.

  “Max is on the missing list,” Bobby announced. “She took off to some party,” he added, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe that his half-sister hadn’t stayed around to greet him. “How about that? Wait till I get hold of her, she’s in for major punishment.”

  “You can phone her later,” Lucky said. “Lay a guilt trip on her, especially as she left without saying good-bye this morning.”

  “Bad little girl,” Bobby said. “Hey, Mom, you’re looking as beautiful as ever.”

  “Thanks, Bobby, you always know what to say.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank the good genes you got from your old man. Is Gino here yet? Can’t wait to see him.”

  “They arrived ten minutes ago, they’re settling in.”

  “We could’ve all stayed at a hotel,” Bobby said. “Wouldn’t that’ve been easier for you?”

  “Not at all,” Lucky replied. “In case you haven’t noticed, this house is huge—there’s plenty of room for everyone. Besides, us all being here together is kind of nice. We should
make the most of it.”

  “How soon do you get your Malibu house back?”

  “Another couple of months. But it’s not so bad, ’cause Lennie’s going to be shooting his movie in Canada, and I’ll be spending most of my time in Vegas.”

  “Oh yeah!” Bobby said enthusiastically. “The Keys. Can we talk about me opening a club there?”

  “We already have a club, Bobby. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have my club. It’s taken off big time.”

  “I’ll keep you in mind if we decide to open another one. Maybe sometime in the future if you’re really serious.”

  “It’s great to have connections,” Bobby muttered. “Gets me exactly nowhere.”

  “Who’s coming tonight?” Brigette asked.

  “Family only,” Lucky replied. “I’m cooking pasta, so you’d all better be ravenously hungry, or else.”

  “Did you invite Venus?” Bobby ventured.

  “Still got a crush?” Lennie interjected with a sly grin. “ ’Cause if you do, I hear she’s into younger men.”

  “Be quiet,” Lucky said, trying not to smile. “Bobby never had a crush, did you?”

  “No way,” Bobby said, a touch too emphatically.

  “She’ll be at the party Sunday,” Lucky offered. “You can catch up then.”

  “The Santangelo clan,” Brigette said with a sunny smile. “I’m so glad I’m part of it.”

  “And we’re glad to have you,” Lucky said warmly.

  “Yeah,” Lennie agreed. “Especially without some deadbeat trailing along behind you.”

  “Hey, don’t be so hard on her,” Bobby objected. “That’s my niece you’re talking to, and she’s one hot number.”

  “Thanks, Uncle,” Brigette said, still smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  “Okay,” Lucky said. “Why don’t I take you upstairs to your rooms, and you can unpack?”

  “Great idea,” Bobby said. “Then later we’ll talk about my future club in your hotel. It’s not like I come cheap, y’know, you’ll have to pay for the privilege.”

  “Really?” Lucky drawled. “Can’t wait to negotiate with you, Bobby. I’m sure you’re a regular hard-ass.”

  “I want to be around for that meeting,” Lennie said, joining in.

  “I’ll make sure you are,” Bobby said, full of confidence.

  “Yes, Lennie,” Lucky said. “You can take notes, see who wins.”

  “I think I already know the answer to that one,” Lennie said, grinning.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Bobby responded. “I’m a Santangelo crossed with a Stanislopolous. That means you can never count me out.”

  Big Bear was unfamiliar territory to Max. She drove around getting lost, stopping to ask directions to Kmart, which turned out to be on the main street.

  All of a sudden she was nervous. How would she recognize Grant? How would he recognize her? Had she mentioned what car she was driving? She must have told him she had a BMW—then again, maybe she hadn’t.

  Crap! This was nerve-racking, and she was not feeling as cool about it as she’d thought she would. What if she hated him? What if he was a major jerk? Or even worse—a major perv like Cookie had suggested he might be?

  Oh great! This could end up being a no-win situation.

  Desperate to find a bathroom and dying of thirst, she parked her car, hurriedly glanced around the parking lot, and went inside the store thinking that maybe Grant was already there, looking for her.

  She spotted a lanky-looking guy in a Lakers sweatshirt and faded Levi’s lounging near the check-out. He didn’t seem to be buying anything, and even though he looked nothing like the photo Grant had posted, she wondered if it could possibly be him. After walking by him a couple of times she finally swooped in for an approach. “You wouldn’t be Grant, would you?” she asked, giving him the green-eyed stare that most boys seemed to find irresistible—most boys except Donny, the cheater, and he’d turned out to be the biggest asswipe ever.

  The lounger checked her out. He saw an incredibly pretty girl with clouds of dark curls and a killer bod. “That a new pickup line?” he said, looking her up and down.

  “Excuse me?” she said, frowning.

  “You trying to pick me up?” he repeated, groping in his Levi’s for a stick of gum.

  “No,” she said defensively. “If I was trying to pick you up, you’d know it.”

  “Would I?” he said, peeling off the gum wrapper.

  “Bet on it,” she answered, using one of her mom’s favorite sayings.

  Crumpling the wrapper, he tossed it on the ground. “I’m not Grant,” he said. “Who is he anyway?”

  “My friend.”

  “Some friend,” he said derisively. “You’re not even sure what the dude looks like.”

  She shrugged, attempting to appear casual. “I wondered if you were him, that’s all.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay,” she said, irritated. “I so get it.”

  “Right.”

  “Yes, right.”

  Boys! They were like such a major pain. This one couldn’t have been more than eighteen, so he obviously wasn’t Grant, although she had to admit he was a real hottie, even if he was wearing a Lakers sweatshirt and she was a Clippers fan.

  She wandered off, trying to remember whether Grant had said she should wait in her car or not. After a few minutes she glanced at her watch. It was almost one. Crap! Why hadn’t they fixed a time? She’d snuck out of the house early in case Lucky changed her mind, and now here she was wandering around a dumb-ass Kmart wasting precious time, because all they had together was two days.

  Hmm … two days with a perfect stranger.

  And what if he wasn’t perfect? What if he was some looney dork she hated on sight?

  Oh no, that couldn’t happen, she’d informed Cookie and Harry she was going to have sex with her Internet dude. But what if she hated him?

  Grant was twenty-two. She’d told him she was eighteen. He’d probably expect her to be experienced—especially as she’d said she’d recently broken up with her boyfriend. It was one thing communicating with someone via the Internet, but actually meeting them was way different.

  Oh double crap! This was turning out to be so not such a clever idea. She’d embarked on this adventure full of bravado. Now all that bravado was beginning to crumble.

  Maybe she should make a run for it and drive home before Grant appeared.

  But how could she? Losing face with Cookie and Harry was definitely not on her agenda.

  She had to go through with it and that, unfortunately, was that.

  Chapter 19

  Getting bored easily was a state of mind, and Anthony Bonar often found himself in that state of mind. He craved action at all times, and after a long meeting with Renee he did not feel like sitting alone with her and Susie for dinner. Susie was a pain in the ass. There was something about her he didn’t like and he had a strong hunch the feeling was mutual. He needed some excitement. He was in the mood for a one-night stand—a girl who was sexier than Emmanuelle and more exciting than Carlita. His two mistresses were adequate, but occasionally he desired a new body to play with. Tonight he decided that body should be black.

  His requirements were specific. She had to be a knockout, in her twenties, not a whore, and smart.

  He informed Renee of his requirements. She nodded, as if finding such a girl was no problem.

  He retired to his suite, took a nap, and when he awoke there was a message from Renee that she’d found just the girl for him.

  Renee never disappointed.

  He joined Renee and Susie for dinner in one of the hotel’s restaurants. Susie was a fragile blonde in her forties with birdlike features and a slight facial tic. Her famous country singer husband, Cyrus, had choked to death on a chicken bone six months after their wedding, which was fortunate for Susie, who’d always preferred female company. A year after Cyrus’s demise she’d met Renee and true love had blo
omed. Anthony was uneasy in their company—the whole dyke thing disturbed him.

  The girl Renee had set him up with was half Ethiopian and half Portuguese. She was twenty-nine, six feet tall, and striking in a regal ethnic way. Her name was Tasmin, and according to Renee, she was not a whore, although Anthony wasn’t too sure about that. He trusted Renee— but not completely. How had she come up with this exotic creature on such short notice if the girl wasn’t a professional?