Zeppo glared at her. He could make a good story out of almost anything except his humble beginnings, which he preferred to forget.
Cooper Turner saved the moment. "The two of 'em are in bed together, y'know," he announced with a nod of his head and a slight smile.
"What?" cried Abigaile and the rock star's wife in unison.
"Real y?" said Venus Maria, quite intrigued. Now that she thought about it, Cooper was probably right. He knew about such things.
"Who?" demanded Mickey.
"Andrew J. and Mona," Cooper said, grinning. "Don't be ridiculous!" exclaimed Abigaile.
"Abby, would I put you on?" Cooper teased. "They're making out. It's obvious."
Everybody started to talk at once.
Abigaile's dinner party was a success after al .
Lucky drove home slowly. "Home" was the rented hideout in the hil s where she had only Boogie for company.
She missed Lennie. She missed Bobby. She missed Gino.
She missed her life.
And then she remembered that Gino was in town, and it wasn't too late to cal him. Maybe he'd come over. She couldn't risk being seen out anywhere in case she ran into someone who knew her and would report to Lennie that she'd been spotted hanging out in L. A. Too bad. She felt like visiting a club and listening to some good soul music--
one of her passions in life.
What if she put on her disguise and sneaked into a club?
No way. She wasn't going to wear that godawful disguise any more than she had to. When al this was over--burn, baby, burn!
The house Boogie had rented for her was discreetly tucked away at the top of Doheny Drive. There was a drive-in garage with a door leading directly into the house. As she turned left and drew into the garage she had a sense of another car right behind her on the street, slowing down--
probably because she was making a left. Unless Abe had had someone fol ow her home. Why would he do a thing like that? Was she getting paranoid? Been reading too much Ed McBain, she thought with a laugh.
Boogie was in the kitchen flicking through car catalogs.
"Do me a favor, Boog. Drive down to Tower Records and buy me some sounds. I'm getting withdrawal symptoms!"
Boogie raised his lanky frame. "Sure. What do you want?"
"I'm in the mood for Luther, Bobby Womack, Teddy P., Marvin, and Isaac."
Boogie knew exactly who she meant. "No Bil ie Holiday?"
he asked.
"Only when Lennie's around," she replied with a wry grin.
Boogie hurried off. Lucky picked up the phone and cal ed Gino. There was no answer from his suite. She didn't leave a message.
Harry Browning sat in his car outside Lucky's rented house and waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for. In fact, he didn't know what he was doing at al . But whatever it was, he had a ful charge of excitement coursing through his body. This was the best he'd felt in years.
He'd been fol owing Luce al night. On impulse he'd trailed her from the studio. He'd always thought there was something odd about her and he was determined to find out more. Was he the only one to notice that she wore a wig? And when he'd screened the movie, she'd taken off her glasses and not replaced them with another pair. Also, her clothes were worth noting. They hung on her as if she was trying to hide beneath them. And who these days wore clothes like that? Especial y at her age--because she was quite a young woman, and if you looked closely, a goodlooking woman.
Harry Browning had not sat in a projection booth for thirty-three years screening every movie Panther had ever made without learning plenty about women's beauty.
And then there was the Sheila Hervey connection to consider. Luce claimed to be Sheila Hervey's niece. But Sheila had no living relatives other than her childless sister.
She'd told him enough times when she'd been after him to take her out on a date. Of course, that had been quite a few years back, but Harry Browning did not forget. He had an excel ent memory.
If Luce had left him alone he probably would have left her alone. But no. She'd invited him to dinner, and out of curiosity he'd gone, and that's about al he remembered.
He'd awoken in his . Own bed the next morning with a dry, parched mouth, a throbbing head, and an urge to wreak some kind of punishment on the woman who had lured him to start drinking again. Harry Browning had been dry for nineteen years. But he was an alcoholic al the same--you never stopped being an alcoholic.
He thought about having a drink now--a cold beer, or a glass of wine, maybe even a shot of scotch.
The thought tempted him, but he was determined never to give in to temptation again. Never.
Fol owing Luce had turned out to be . Quite an evening.
First he'd trailed her to this house--the same house he was parked outside now. And when her car emerged, he'd fol owed her to Abe Panther's mansion on Mil er Drive. He knew it was Abe's residence for he'd spent numerous evenings there screening movies in Abe's private theater--
many years ago, but he was sure Abe Panther stil lived there. Harry knew, because every year he sent the great Mr.
Panther a Christmas card signed "Harry Browning--Your Loyal Employee."
And he was loyal, for it was old Abe himself who'd stopped them from firing him when he was caught drunk on the job one day. "Get yourself over to A. A., Harry," Abe had told him. "Take a couple of weeks off and come back a new man."
Harry Browning would never forget Abe Panther's kindness.
Luce stayed inside the Panther residence for two hours.
Harry had waited patiently on the street outside the fancy gates. When she left, he'd managed to catch a glimpse of her as she drove past his parked car.
Luce looked different, although he was sure it was her. The wig was gone. No glasses. Her mousy hair was now jet black and glossy.
That was al he could see.
He fol owed her back to the Doheny Drive house, and now he waited. Patiently. For Harry Browning was a patient man, and he knew he was on to something.
The only problem was--what?
Cooper Turner drove Venus Maria home. They laughed al the way.
Venus Maria: Did you see Abby's face when Andrew J.
yel ed the c word?
Cooper: Didja get a look at Ida when the wine hit?
Venus Maria: I thought she was going to come! Cooper: First time in twenty years!
Venus Maria: Thirty!
Cooper: Forty!
Venus Maria: Fifty!
Cooper: A hundred!
Venus Maria: And Zeppo, when Abby threw the Brooklyn fish-cart shit at him?
Cooper: He turned red.
Venus Maria: Purple!
Cooper: Orange!
They were laughing so much he had to pul his black Mercedes over to the side of the street.
They were alone in the car. No entourage, no crew, no acquaintances, no paparazzi.
He was drawn to her, even though he knew instinctively she would turn him down.
Leaning across the seat, he kissed her, and for a moment she responded. Soft lips, wet lips, and a sweet pointed tongue that darted into his mouth for a second, and then withdrew as if she suddenly realized what she was doing.
"Cooper!" she scolded, cross with him and fil ed with guilt because she'd almost settled back to enjoy it.
"Can I help it?" he said, feeling an immediate hard-on in spite of her withdrawal.
"We're friends, remember?" she reminded him. "Everybody thinks we're In bed together," he reasoned.
"Martin doesn't."
Oh, yeah, Martin. Why oh why had he ever introduced her to Martin Swanson?
Chapter 26
On Wednesday Olive cal ed and said, "The job is yours."
"Fantastic!" exclaimed Lucky. "He's approved your trip?"
"He certainly has," Olive replied, sounding delighted.
"Come over to our office after lunch and I'l introduce you to Mr. Stol i. After you've met him I can go over his daily routine with you. He's very particula
r."
"What did you tel him about me?"
"That you're discreet, trustworthy, and a fine worker. He says he'l take my word on it, so don't let me down, Luce."
"I won't, Olive."
"Are you sure this is going to be al right with Mr. Stone?"
Olive fussed, hoping she was doing the right thing.
"Positive. He leaves on vacation tomorrow," Lucky assured her.
"Very wel . You'l watch me al day tomorrow and take over on Friday. Does that suit you?"
"Yes, it suits me fine."
And indeed it did. In the heart of Mickey's office she would be able to find out everything there was to know.
"Herman, you're out of here," she said as soon as she put the phone down. "I just got promoted!"
Herman was impressed. He was also relieved. Now he could play golf without interruptions and forget about Panther Studios for a while.
"I'l cal you when it's time for you to come back," she told him. "In the meantime, why don't you put in an order to have this office painted? It's an absolute dump."
"You do it," he said. "You're my secretary."
A show of bal s--albeit tired and old--but refreshing.
"I wil ," she said. "And I'l order a new air-conditioning unit.
You're living in the Middle Ages over here. Have you seen Mickey Stol i's office?"
Herman shook his head. "No."
"You'd have a shit fit. It's a palace."
It bothered Herman that he was getting used to her language.
Olive greeted Lucky excitedly. "You'l use my desk. I'l explain the phone system to you. And then we'l have to go over Mr. Stol i's personal requirements."
Personal requirements? A blow job every hour, or two blondes for breakfast? Lucky couldn't help smiling.
Olive took this to be enthusiasm for the job. "Don't be too good at taking care of Mr. Stol i," she admonished, wagging a warning finger. "It's only for a few days, and then I'l be back."
Meeting Mickey Stol i for the first time was interesting. He sat behind his desk, king of his kingdom, bald, tan, and rude.
Proudly Olive led Lucky into his domain. "This is Luce, the assistant I told you about," she said in a reverent voice.
Mickey was going over some papers. He didn't bother looking up, merely waving a hand in the air. "Yeah, yeah,"
he said.
Lucky noticed an unruly clump of black hair growing wild on the back of his hand. If only it could be transplanted to the top of his head, it might be the start of something big.
"She'l be taking over on Friday," Olive said.
His private line rang and he picked it up. "Wil ya get outta here," he said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.
"Thank you, Mr. Stol i." Olive almost curtsied. Get outta here and she gave him a thank you and a bob? Something was wrong somewhere. Olive needed a refresher course in self-respect.
"Sometimes Mr. Stol i has too much work to cope with,"
Olive explained. "You'l get used to his moods. He doesn't mean any harm."
That night Lucky dined with Gino. She went to his hotel in ful disguise and broke him up. "You're unbelievable, kid,"
he said, starting to laugh. "You shoulda been an actress."
"Would you have recognized me?" she chal enged. "I'm your father."
"That wasn't the question." She flopped into a chair, pul ing her wig off and throwing it across the room.
He looked at her quizzical y. "I guess I'd have to say no."
She laughed. "There's something very potent about changing one's identity. I'd probably have made an excel ent spy."
"You'd have made an excel ent whatever you wanted to."
"Thanks," she said, pleased.
They ordered room service. Thick juicy steaks, old-fashioned mashed potatoes, and buttery corn on the cob.
While they ate they talked. Gino told her al about his run-in with Paige's husband.
"I went over to the house an' met him. Funny thing --turns out he knows al about me and Paige."
Lucky leaned forward anxiously. "Yes? Does that mean I'm going to be a bridesmaid?"
"It don't mean nothin', kid. He tel s me Paige can do what she wants. If she fancies a divorce, he'l give it to her. Only there's one problem."
"What's that?"
"She's never asked."
"Oh. Not so good."
"Then Paige comes home, sees me in her house an' nearly passes out. By this time Ryder an' me, we're gettin' along like old pals. The lady ain't thril ed."
"What happened then?", "Ryder asks me to stay for dinner.
I say no. Paige looks uncomfortable an' I split. Since then I haven't heard a whisper from either of 'em." He chewed on a corncob. "I'm on my way back to New York tomorrow. I'm gonna start datin' again."
"Dating! C'mon, Gino, I know you're a miracle--but you're also seventy-nine years old!"
"Do I look it?" he demanded.
"No."
"Do I act it?"
"Wel . . . no," she admitted.
"So what the hel , kid. I wanna find me a wife." They grinned at each other, Lucky and her old man. They were a matched pair.
Leslie Kane was too pretty and too fresh-looking to be an ex-hooker. But that's exactly what she was. Leslie had long wavy red hair that hung below her creamy white shoulders, widely spaced eyes, a pert nose, and ful , luscious lips. She was tal and wil owy, with rounded breasts, a tiny waist, and extra-long legs.
She and Eddie had been married for one year. Before that she'd been a cal girl for eleven months.
Leslie was crazy about Eddie, and Eddie was crazy about Leslie. They'd met at the car wash on Santa Monica Boulevard, and by the time they'd both fol owed the progress of their cars through the system, they'd decided it was love.
Leslie had told Eddie she was a secretary, which was true in a way, because she'd started out as a secretary, and some of the men she serviced liked her to dress up as one, although black leather and schoolgirl outfits were much more popular.
Eddie had told her he was head of distribution at Panther Studios, and Leslie, who had no ambition to be an actress, thought, "Hmmm, this is the guy for me."
And so true love blossomed.
Eddie gave up seeing a wel -known television actress, who was not pleased.
Leslie gave up her apartment and her profession. They were married in Marina Del Rey on a friend's boat.
Married life was good. They both enjoyed being in a formal relationship. It made a change. Eddie had always been a chaser. He liked women, they liked him. And being in the film business he'd found there was never a shortage of new talent. After meeting Leslie he had no desire to chase anymore. Not only was she gorgeous, she also kept him more than busy in the bedroom. "Where'd you learn al this stuff?" he'd asked her with a quizzical grin, "Cosmopolitan,"
she'd replied, straight-faced. And he'd believed her.
Leslie had never been a street hooker. She'd arrived in L.
A. at eighteen, found a job on Rodeo Drive in one of the fancy dress stores, and there she'd been discovered by a certain Madame Loretta, who'd set her up in an apartment; Maclaine Loretta was a short, squat woman who'd come to America from her native Czechoslovakia many years earlier. She specialized in discovering beautiful, fresh young girls. She specialized in supplying top-of-the-line beauties to the Hol ywood stars, executives, and moguls who came her way. She made her girls feel special and at al times beautiful. And they, in turn, made her clients very satisfied indeed. Leslie was no exception.
When Leslie told Madame Loretta she wished to get married, nobody could have been happier. The old madam invited her to tea in her hil side house and regaled her with a few facts of life. "There are three ways to keep a man,"
she informed Leslie, wagging a chubby finger in her face.
"Three golden rules you must always remember. Rule one: Find something about your man that you think is the most wonderful thing in the world and tel him about it constantly.
Maybe it's his
eyes, his hair, his ass. Whatever it is, make sure he knows you love it. Rule two: When you're in bed together, tel him he's the most sensational lover you've ever had. And rule three: Whatever he says, be amazed at his knowledge. Look at him with adoration and assure him it's the cleverest thing you've ever heard anybody say."
Madame Loretta nodded knowingly. "With these three rules," she said, "you'l never go wrong."
Leslie listened and learned wel . She knew how to please in more ways than one, and Eddie was very receptive to her charms.
Leslie was happy--but the one fear she did have was that someday they would come across one of her previous clients and she would be exposed. She knew Eddie would never accept her past if he found out the truth, and it frightened her. At parties her wide eyes scanned the room, ever watchful. In restaurants she was always on the lookout.
How many clients had she serviced in eleven months? It was impossible to remember.
Leslie knew her husband had a cocaine habit. She chose to ignore it. If a little snort of white powder made him feel good, who was she to argue?
She'd tried it once and hadn't liked it. Too comfortable. Too dangerous. She had a past to watch out for; it wouldn't do to put it at risk.
Lately Eddie had been jumpy and nervous. He snapped at her for no reason. He got up at four o'clock in the morning and wandered around the house. He took a double shot of vodka with his morning orange juice.
Leslie couldn't help worrying. Maybe he'd found out and was getting ready to tel her it was al over. What would she do? What could she do? She had no desire to return to hooking. She couldn't go home to Florida, because she'd skipped with a thousand bucks of her stepfather's money. If Eddie wanted out of their marriage, her life was finished.
"Honey, is something bothering you?" she asked him one day, touching the back of his neck, ruffling his longish hair just the way she knew he liked it.
"Nothin', baby," he said, jumping up and pacing around the room. "Nothin' that a mil ion bucks an' a little cooperation from Mickey Stol i can't fix."
Lucky started her position as Mickey Stol i's temporary assistant at seven-thirty on Friday morning. She knew he arrived in his office punctual y at seven forty-five, and she wanted to be there waiting for him. The faint smel of Olive lingered in the air: a crisp English toilet water, peppermint lozenges, and a smal azalea plant.