Double Lucky

  “I think you’ve lost the paparazzi,” she said breathlessly. “I think they’re history.”

  “You just gotta have the moves,” Billy boasted, making a sharp left turn toward Paradise Cove. “I want you to go to the ladies’ room an’ put on your disguise.”

  “That’s a bit pointless, isn’t it, since everyone will still recognize you?”

  “Not unless I want ’em to,” Billy said. “I got the kinda face that blends in.”

  “No you don’t,” she said, laughing.

  “Yes, I do,” he insisted.

  “How about the woman who came up to you in Geoffrey’s? It wasn’t me she recognized, it was you.”

  “I have that effect on women,” he joked. “If they look me in the eyes, they got me.”

  “You can be such a punk.”

  “Think so?”

  “Apparently Alex does.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “’Cause he complained about you to Lucky.”

  “Oh, that’s great. What did he say?”

  “He thinks all your success has gone to your head.”

  “Maybe Alex should move with the times,” Billy said irritably. “I’m not about to be his puppet an’ jump every time he tells me to. I have my own ideas. I’m gonna direct one of these days.”

  “I’m sure you will.”

  “I know I will.”

  The rest of the day was equally blissful. They’d walked along the beach holding hands, fooled around on the sand, and paddled in the surf. It had been a long time since she’d felt so totally carefree—that is, until the paparazzi discovered them again, and then it was over.

  On the ride home she said, “I think I’ll stay at your house tonight.”

  “That’ll be a first,” Billy shouted, roaring down the fast lane. “You’ve never wanted to stay there before.”

  “Tonight I do,” she answered, hugging him even tighter.

  Arriving back at Billy’s, they discovered Kev stretched out on the couch with a bottle of beer in one hand and a carton of popcorn in the other. He was busy watching motor racing on TV.

  “Venus,” he exclaimed, abruptly sitting up and brushing popcorn off his jeans.

  “Kev,” she responded. “How’s it hangin’?”

  “No complaints,” he said, hurriedly getting off the couch.

  Billy threw him a look. Kev was no slouch in the getting-the-hint department. “Guess we won’t be watchin’ the game tonight,” he said.

  “That’s right,” Billy replied.

  “Okay,” Kev said, sliding toward the door. “Think I’ll be movin’ on.”

  “See ya, dude,” Billy said. “Come to the location Monday.”

  “I’ll do that,” Kev replied, and then he was gone.

  “Doesn’t it bother you, him coming and going as he pleases?” Venus asked once Kev had left.

  “’Course not,” Billy said, grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Kev’s like my brother.”

  “We could be making love, and he could walk right in on us.”

  “Lucky him.”

  “Seriously, Billy.”

  “Stop bitchin’ and come over here, babe,” Billy said affectionately, dropping down onto the still warm couch and holding out his arms.

  So she did, and everything was great.

  * * *

  Sunday morning they awoke late, read the papers, and lounged around the house. Billy put on college football, while Venus attempted to make scrambled eggs in the kitchen. She hadn’t cooked in a while, and they turned out mushy, but at least she’d tried.

  “Do we have to go to that party tonight?” Billy asked, trying to pretend he was enjoying the eggs. “I’m not in a party mood, and I have a real early call tomorrow.”

  “Yes, we have to go,” Venus said. “It’s for Lucky’s father, and since she’s my best friend, I can’t not go. Anyway, Gino’s a great character.”

  “He is?”

  “You’ve met him, haven’t you?”

  “I might’ve, but that would’ve bin a few years ago when we were making Seduction.”

  “Then tonight you’ll see him again,” she said, standing up and ruffling his hair. “Here’s a thought—how about developing a movie about Gino’s life? It would make quite a story. Way back his nickname was Gino the Ram—seems he was quite a stud in his day.”

  “Would I get to play Gino?” Billy asked, stifling a yawn.

  “Are you five-foot-eight, dark-haired, and an Italian American?” Venus said, smiling.

  “No, but I’m a stud, aren’t I?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Well…”

  “Billy, this party is important to me. Don’t give me a hard time.”

  “Okay, babe, we’ll go.”

  She hugged him. “That’s my Billy.”

  Later, when it was time for her to go home and get ready for the party, she’d called a cab, taken it to the Beverly Hills Hotel, then waited five minutes before coming out and getting in her car.

  Fooling the paparazzi was a full-time job.

  * * *

  Ling wasn’t talking to Alex, and he didn’t give a shit. She was annoyed that he’d gone to Vegas without her. It didn’t seem to matter that he’d come back the same night—she was in full nagging mode.

  “You know, Ling, I don’t need this,” he said, giving her a warning look as he walked into his study overlooking the ocean. “I got work to do.”

  “I don’t need it either,” she responded, following him. “You’re very cold toward me, Alex. You never pay any attention to me. I sit in your house all day—”

  “Don’t give me that,” he interrupted. “You’re a lawyer. You go to work.”

  “And then I come home and cook dinner and you’re never here. You show up anytime you want, usually drunk.”

  “Then why do you stay?”

  “Because”—her voice quavered—“I love you, Alex.”

  Love. The L word. Christ! What had he done to deserve this?

  “I’m sorry, Ling,” he said, not really sorry at all. “This isn’t working out for me.”

  “And don’t think I don’t know why,” Ling said spitefully. “It’s because of Lucky, isn’t it? Every time you see her you’re like a different person. You turn into a puppy dog. If you had a tail it would wag.”

  “Quit saying such ridiculous crap,” he said, sitting down in front of his computer.

  “I can see it, and I’m sure everyone else can too,” Ling insisted. “Especially Lennie.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  “Look in the mirror, Alex. Look in the mirror and see a man who’s in love with another man’s wife.”

  “What do you want from me, Ling?” he said, losing his temper. “I’m not about to marry you. I’m not about to commit to a long-term relationship. What the fuck do you want from me?”

  “Nothing,” she said sulkily.

  “Okay, now we’ve established that, are you staying or going?”

  “I’ll stay,” she said. “Because I know you’ll realize in time that I am the right woman for you.”

  Why was it so damned difficult getting a woman to leave?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Sunday morning Internet Freak unlocked the door and entered the room where Max had spent a second miserable night with her ankle shackled to the leg of the bed.

  Her clever plan of instant freedom had not worked. Yesterday, when he’d returned with a bottle of disinfectant, she’d been all primed and ready to kick him in the balls and make a swift run for it. Unfortunately he’d turned out to be stronger than she’d thought. The moment she’d attempted to jump him, he’d grabbed her arms in a steel lock behind her back, and forced her onto the bed.

  She was shocked at his strength. Shocked and horrified. Was he going to rape her? Was that why he’d kidnapped her?

  But no, he didn’t attempt that. He’d shackled her ankle again, informed her he was most disappointed that she was not to be trusted, and storm
ed out of the room, not returning until now.

  “Call your mother and leave a message,” he said, thrusting her cell phone into her hands.

  “What’m I supposed to say?” she muttered, glaring at him.

  “Tell her you’re with friends and you’ve decided to stay longer.”

  “You must be like super crazy!” she yelled, still desperately trying to bury her fear. “I keep on telling you—my mom’s expecting me home today for a big party. If I don’t get there she’ll have everyone out looking for me, and believe me, when she finds out what you’ve done, you’ll be major sorry. Nobody messes with my mom. Nobody. She kills people who do.”

  Henry shoved the phone into her hands. “Do it,” he said. “People keep leaving you messages wondering why you’re not calling them back.”

  “My friends have probably gone to the cops already,” she said, sure that Cookie and Harry must be freaking out because they hadn’t heard from her.

  “Why would they do that?”

  “’Cause you’re holding me here, a prisoner.”

  “They don’t know that.”

  “Oh yes they do! You’re screwed, mister.”

  “That’s why you’ll make a call, to put everyone’s mind at rest,” he said, determined to ignore her rudeness because he was sure that deep down she couldn’t possibly mean it.

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “Give me something to eat and I’ll make the call.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes,” she said sulkily, thinking that perhaps there was a way to convey that she was in serious trouble.

  Henry nodded and shuffled his feet. His original plan had been to get back at Lucky Santangelo, but plans change, and now he wanted to make Maria see just how good he could be for her. Why not? He had plenty of money, or at least he would have when his mother died, which hopefully might be soon. He was not a gambler or a cheat. He was a nice guy. A regular guy. He was the same person she’d corresponded with online and liked enough to meet.

  The truth was he was enamored with this girl. Right now she was all that mattered to him, and given more time he was certain he could convince her to like him back.

  “I’ll get you something to eat,” he said. “Then you’ll make the call?”

  She nodded.

  He left the room thinking that his immediate problem was what to do about Ace. Since locking him in the outhouse, he had not ventured back. He was hoping that when he finally opened the door the boy would be in too weak a state to attack him.

  How long could someone live without food and water?

  It wouldn’t be his fault if Ace expired in there. That would not be murder. That would just be unfortunate.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  “She’s sixteen,” Lucky pointed out. “Sixteen, Lennie. She should have some sense of responsibility.”

  “How responsible were you at sixteen?” Lennie questioned.

  Sometimes Lennie drove her crazy with his laid-back attitude. “I was fucking married for chrissakes,” she pointed out. “It’s Sunday, and there’s absolutely no excuse for her not returning our calls. You’ve left two messages. I’ve left three. She ran out of here without saying good-bye, and I don’t mind telling you I’m major pissed.”

  “No? Really?” he said in a lightly mocking tone. “Whyn’t you tell me how you really feel?”

  “Don’t do this, Lennie,” she warned, flashing him a deadly look. “Do not piss me off even more.”

  “Listen,” he said encouragingly. “Max will be home in time for Gino’s party, so try and hold off the big mother/daughter fight until tomorrow.”

  “What fight?” Bobby asked, bouncing into the room.

  “Your little sister,” Lucky said.

  “Yeah, what about my little sister?”

  “We haven’t been able to reach her,” Lucky said, fuming. “And if she doesn’t get home in time for Gino’s party, that’s it—she’s grounded for the rest of the year.”

  “I’m kinda pissed at her too,” Bobby remarked. “I was looking forward to us hanging out. Max is the best.”

  “She’s not the best at all,” Lucky said sharply. “She’s a brat.”

  “No way, Mom.”

  “She is, Bobby,” Lucky insisted. “You don’t have to live with her. Everything I say she turns into an argument.”

  “I know I keep repeating myself,” Lennie said. “But face it, Lucky, she’s exactly like you were at her age. The kid’s a rebel, does things her way. You should understand that better than anyone.”

  “Oh God,” Lucky said, shaking her head. “You two, one look at a pretty face and that’s it, you both turn to mush.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Bobby said. “That’s why we’ve always done exactly what you want us to do. And talking about that—what do you want us to do today? There’s people everywhere, so is there anything I can do to help with the party?”

  “Yes—stay out of the way.”

  “Is that it?”

  “I don’t know, Bobby, I’m so mad right now.”

  “I could take everyone out to lunch.”

  “Great idea. Take them to the Hotel Bel-Air and get a table on the patio. Gino will like that.”

  “Here’s a thought,” Lennie said.

  “What?” Lucky sighed.

  “If you’re so upset with Max, call her girlfriend Cookie, the one she was going to Big Bear with. When she answers, have her put Max on.”

  “Are you saying that Max is purposely avoiding speaking to us?” Lucky said, frowning.

  “You know your daughter, she’s not into lectures.”

  “I don’t have Cookie’s phone number.”

  “Isn’t her father that soul singer, Gerald M.?” Bobby inquired. “I can get you his number from our computer at the club—everybody who’s anybody’s listed. One call and the number’s yours.”

  “Do it,” Lucky said. “Before I run out of patience.”

  “When you speak to Max, no fighting,” Lennie said. “Just make sure she’ll be back in time for the party.”

  “Any other instructions?” Lucky asked, shooting him an “I do not appreciate being told what to do” look.

  “Y’know, on second thought, I should be the one to call Cookie,” Lennie decided. “Go get the number, Bobby.”

  “Like I don’t have enough with the hotel opening and the party for Gino,” Lucky grumbled as Bobby left the room. “This is a joke. I’m wiped out.”

  “Who was it that insisted on flying to Vegas yesterday?” Lennie said. “I think that might’ve been you. You should’ve had Mooney bring you the checks.”

  “There was a whole stack of them.”

  “What happened to the woman from the bank who was supposed to cosign?”

  “Who the fuck knows?—Mooney’s trying to locate her. I refuse to deal with that bank again. I instructed Mooney to switch our accounts.”

  “That’s pretty harsh, isn’t it?”

  “No. If the woman can’t be bothered to cosign the checks, I refuse to keep someone so unreliable around. We’re a huge account, she should be more responsible.”

  Bobby returned with Gerald M.’s private number.

  Lucky started to punch the number into her cell phone. Lennie grabbed it from her. “I said I’ll do it.”

  The phone rang. Finally somebody picked up. “Gerald?”

  “Who’s askin’?”

  “Lennie Golden, Max’s dad.”

  “Great t’hear from you, Lennie,” Gerald said, sounding stoned. “How ya doin’, man?”

  “Not bad,” Lennie responded. “I need Cookie’s cell phone number.”

  “How’s that?”

  “The girls are in Big Bear and Max is having a problem with her phone, so we thought we’d reach her on Cookie’s.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Gerald M. said. “Cookie can give it to you herself, she’s standing right here.”

  “She is?” Lennie said.

  “Cookie,” Gerald M. called out. “Baby girl, get over here.
”

  Lennie turned to Lucky. “Cookie’s in L.A.,” he said. “She’s coming to the phone.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lucky said, snatching the phone out of his hand. “Cookie?”

  “Oh, uh, hi, Mrs. Golden.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m, uh, at my dad’s house.”

  “I thought you were going to a party in Big Bear with Max.”

  “Uh, y-yes,” Cookie stammered. “Well, um … I was like there, but then I had to get back early.”

  “Didn’t you and Max drive up to Big Bear together?”

  “No, we, um … took separate cars, so, uh … that’s why I’m like home, ’cause I had my own car.”

  “Cookie,” Lucky said, smelling trouble, “what is going on?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Golden,” Cookie said, brimming with fake innocence.

  “Whose party was it?” Lucky demanded.

  “Um, this friend of mine. Like she’s this girl I know.”

  “Give me the house phone number.”

  “The party was on Saturday, it’s way over.”

  “I understand that, but I’d like to speak to your friend’s mother.”

  “You can’t do that, they’ve flown back to Aspen.”

  “Back to Aspen,” Lucky repeated. “Y’know, Cookie, do me a favor, get your ass in your car and drive over here. I need to talk to you face-to-face.”

  “But Mrs. Golden—”

  “Cookie, this is not up for discussion. Do it, and do it now.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  On the way over to the Santangelo/Golden house, Cookie frantically punched out Harry’s number. He finally answered after three attempts.

  “Where have you been?” she screeched. “I’m in major crap city.”

  “With my dad,” Harry answered. “We’re on a TV set. The reception on my phone sucks.”

  “Did you reach Max yet?”