"Why?" he asked, shrugging off his jacket. "Because it's your birthday," she said. "Had you forgotten?"
As a matter of fact he had. There was so much on his mind that the last thing he wanted to think about was getting a year older. He got off the bed and walked over to the mirror, peering at himself. "I guess I don't look too bad for nearly forty-six," he said, waiting for the compliment.
"You're a handsome man, Martin," Deena replied, coming up behind him. He'd always thrived on flattery.
He turned around and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "I've a few cal s to make,--he said. "I'l be in my study."
He left their bedroom and went downstairs. It was quite clear Deena had no idea anything was amiss. She obviously did not suspect this latest infidelity. He wondered how he was going to broach the subject of divorce if it ever came to that. Venus Maria had told him if he wanted to be with her he was going to have to think about being with her permanently. Otherwise it was goodbye.
Martin hadn't made up his mind yet. But it was a thought.
***
"One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." Venus Maria's personal trainer was a son of a bitch. He worked her like a dog.
"One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four." Sweat was pouring off her, yet he didn't quit. He kept making her do the excruciating exercises. Arms, legs, buttocks, stomach--
everything had to be toned. "I've had enough!" she gasped.
"You've had enough when I say you've had enough," replied her trainer. He was young and vigorous, with sleek muscles and an enthusiastic attitude. Had she not been involved with Martin she might have considered a fling.
At last he al owed her to stop. "You'l thank me when you're in the middle of your tour," he said. "Thanks," she replied breathlessly.
As soon as he left, she threw herself into the shower, washing her hair, watching the water trickle down her body.
Her firm, hard body. The famous Venus Maria body that turned so many people on. Martin had flown off to New York the night before. She knew she had him hooked. Al she had to do now was reel him in.
Ron appeared at her house for lunch. Her business manager had taken care of separating their financial interests. Ron had accepted it wel . Now he could buy his boyfriend Rodeo Drive if he so desired, and it wouldn't bother her one bit.
"Where's the Ken Dol ?" she asked mockingly. "I was under the distinct impression he never let you out of his sight."
"Now, now. Don't get bitchy," Ron retorted, heading straight for the kitchen. "Has Major Mogul returned to New York?"
"Yes, he has," she said, dancing along behind him, humming her latest recording.
"Did we have fun while he was here?" Ron asked, opening up the fridge and removing a bowl of tuna salad.
"We had a great time," Venus Maria replied, reaching for the lettuce and tomatoes, while Ron grabbed a fresh loaf of bread. Companionably they began to put together large sandwiches fil ed with tuna salad, lettuce, tomato, and avocado.
"This is a riot," Ron said, slicing tomatoes like an expert.
"We don't get to do this enough. I adore behaving like a normal person!"
Venus Maria agreed. "I sent the maid to the market. I wanted to thank you for helping me out the other night."
"My pleasure," Ron replied, "I enjoyed every delicious minute. Oh, and I have the most scandalous gossip."
"What?" she asked, stuffing a wedge of lettuce into her mouth.
"Your boss."
"I don't have a boss."
"Does the name Mickey Stol i mean anything to you?"
She laughed. "I don't regard Mickey as my boss." "Wel , anyway, my dear, Mr. Stol i himself turned up at the house of a certain very close friend of mine. Al bushy-tailed and eager for action."
"Who would that be?"
"Who do you think?"
Venus Maria almost choked. "Not Loretta?" she gasped.
"The very same. And guess what his preference is?"
"I can't wait to hear!"
"Ladies of a darker hue."
"Oh come on, you're kidding me."
"Would I kid the greatest kidder of al time?" Venus Maria grinned. She loved gossip as long as it wasn't about her.
"How do you know this?"
"Madame Loretta tel s me everything," Ron said proudly. "I am her confidant and friend."
"Obviously she doesn't know about your big mouth," Venus Maria teased.
"Mmm . . . look who's talking about a big mouth." "Abigaile would skin Mickey if she ever found out."
"Can you imagine what Abigaile must be like between the sheets?" Ron mused. "A laugh a minute, no doubt. The poor man probably has to get his R and R elsewhere. Not to mention a blow job." He strol ed over to the fridge and took out a can of 7-Up. "By the way, have you heard from Emilio since you chucked him out?"
"Why?" Venus Maria frowned. "Should I have?" "He wasn't exactly thril ed about you forcing him to leave. I have a feeling we might be reading your secrets somewhere."
Venus didn't care to be reminded of her erstwhile houseguest. Her brother was a big boy. He could look after himself. She refused to feel responsible for him. "Don't start that again," she groaned. "Emilio wouldn't do that to me. I'm paying his rent, for God's sake."
"Hmm . . . if they offered him enough money, Emilio would probably do anything."
Venus Maria placed her hands on her hips. "What could he possibly tel them that the great unwashed doesn't already know?"
"About Major Mogul."
"He doesn't know about Martin."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." She grinned confidently. "Anyway, I'm not exactly shivering waiting to find out what Emilio has to say about me. He's a deadhead. A loser."
"Emilio is your brother, dear. Speak kindly." "He's stil a loser, and you know it."
"Is Mr. New York hooked?" Ron inquired, raising an eyebrow.
She smiled. "Martin's a very special man, and we have a very special relationship."
"Ah, yes," agreed Ron. "And thank God the newspapers don't know about it, or even Emilio. Because if they did, Martin would real y be in deep shit, and he'd take it out on you."
"I was very careful when Emilio was around," she assured him. "He knows nothing."
Ron nodded wisely. "Keep it that way."
Emilio Sierra and one of the editors of Truth and Fact met at Cafe Roma on Canon Drive. Emilio had dressed for the part. He wore an off-white jacket, white chinos, a cream shirt, and several heavy fake gold chains around his thick neck. His hair was slicked back. Unfortunately he was thirty pounds overweight, which rather spoiled the effect.
Dennis Wal a, the Australian reporter sent to meet him, slumped at a corner table slurping beer. He was a big man, also overweight, in his early forties, with bloodshot eyes, bags under them, and a ruddy complexion.
Emilio stood at the door to the restaurant and surveyed the room.
Dennis spotted him, thought he might be the so-cal ed brother, and waved a copy of Truth and Fact in the air.
Emilio swaggered over to his table.
"Hel o, mate," Dennis said with a strong Australian accent.
Emilio sat down. "Truth and Fact?" he questioned. "The very same," Dennis replied, thinking to himself this guy must be a real dolt if he had to ask. "And you're Emilio Sierra?"
Emilio's brown eyes darted around the restaurant. He spotted two women he fancied. They were expensively dressed and obviously out on a shopping spree. Dennis caught him watching. "Nice class of tarts in here," he said.
"Wouldn't mind zipping up the back skirt of that one, eh?"
Emilio licked his lips. "I got a hot story to sel ," he announced.
"Wel , mate, that's exactly why we're here," Dennis said cheerful y, downing another healthy slug of beer. He peered across the table at Emilio. "You don't look like your sister, do you?"
"There's a certain family resemblance," Emilio replied proudly, almost preening but managing to control himself.
"Are the two of you f
riendly?" Dennis probed.
"Of course we are," Emilio snapped. He hadn't planned on enduring a third degree. "Why wouldn't we be?"
"Don't get shirty with me, mate. You're here to sel her dirty little secrets, aren't you?"
"I'm here to make money," Emilio corrected, as if that made everything al right.
"Aren't we al ," replied Dennis sagely.
One of the expensive-looking women got up and walked outside.
Emilio whistled softly as she passed his table. "These Beverly Hil s women," he mumbled under his breath.
"I know what y'mean, mate," agreed Dennis. "They'l get you hotter than a hamburger on a barbecue."
Two bikers swaggered into the restaurant. Emilio thought he recognized one of them as being a famous actor. He decided he should get himself some biker gear; it would look good on him. He should also lose a few pounds. But who had the time? And who could make the effort? Venus Maria had her own personal trainer; it was al right for her, she could afford those kinds of luxuries. Besides, she had an investment in her body. She made money from it.
He decided she wasn't so different from a hooker, in a way.
They were both hawking sex.
There was nothing wrong with his sel ing her secrets, he thought self-righteously. Why shouldn't he? He was her brother, after al , and she treated him like a leper. Putting him out of her house. Sticking him in some crummy apartment while she lived in luxury. Giving him a station wagon to drive. A station wagon! He should be sitting proud in the latest Porsche, or a Ferrari at least. As her brother he had a certain standard to adhere to. People expected things.
"Wel ," Dennis said, leaning back and belching not so discreetly, "what have you got to tel me about your sister that we don't already know?"
Emilio glanced around. He wasn't sure he liked this man with the exceptional y loud mouth. Couldn't he be a little more discreet and talk in a quieter tone?
Emilio leaned close. "I don't think this is the place."
"Listen, we're not taking it any further than this until you tel me what you got for me," Dennis said loudly. "How do I even know you're her brother? Do you have any proof?"
Emilio had been expecting questions. He fished out his driving license and handed it over.
Dennis checked it out. "O. K., so your name is Sierra. Big pickings. What does that prove?"
Emilio dived into his pocket again and came up with a picture of him and Venus Maria taken in Brooklyn in the early days. He thrust it at Dennis. "See?"
Dennis glanced at the photo and then at Emilio. "O. K., O.
K., I believe you."
"If I tel you what I know," Emilio said craftily, "how much wil you pay me?"
Dennis sighed wearily. It always got down to money. He was used to dealing with relatives of the stars. They al thought they'd been given a bad deal. This one was no different, and he'd get his bucks as long as he had something worthwhile to sel .
"It depends on what you got," Dennis said.
"She's sleeping with a married man," Emilio blurted out.
"How much is that worth?"
"Who?" Dennis asked.
"Big time," Emilio said, lowering his voice. "Real big time.
When I tel you it'l blow you away. You'l sel more copies of your magazine than you've ever sold before."
"Sounds good t'me," Dennis said, picking his teeth with the corner of a pack of book matches.
Emilio was getting into it. "More than good," he promised.
Dennis was intrigued. "So who is it?"
Emilio backed off. "I'm not givin' out his name til we fix a price an' I get a check."
"We'l have to work this one out," Dennis said. "No name, no loot."
Emilio scowled.
"Come up with a name that means something, an' if it's worth anything to us we'l give you a fair amount of moola.
But you have to substantiate whatever you tel us. Do you understand what that means?"
Emilio glared at him. "What do you think I am, an idiot?"
Yes, Dennis wanted to reply, but he kept quiet. This had the smel of a good story. And there was nothing Truth and Fact liked better than a headline-busting, sex-fil ed, superstar-and-married-man good story.
Scandal. That was the name of the game. And nobody capitalized on scandal better than Truth and Fact.
Chapter 36
Lucky cal ed Abe and told him that Harry Browning had been to see her and had his suspicions.
Abe was silent for a moment before saying, "Sure, I remember Harry. The man's a drunk. You be careful of him."
"Thanks a lot. What shal I do? We don't want news of our deal leaking, do we?"
"You're not throwin' him out of a job when you take over, are you?" Abe asked.
"There's a lot of people I'l fire," she replied. "So far he's not one of them."
"Good," Abe said. "Leave it to me, girlie. I'l handle it."
"Thanks."
"I've got t'go now. My granddaughter's payin' me a duty visit."
Lucky knew what the visit was al about. Listening in on Mickey's conversations, she'd discovered the reason he'd met with Martin Swanson. The New York tycoon was interested in buying or gaining control of a movie studio, and from Mickey's conversation with Ford Werne, whom he'd later confided in, it seemed one of the studios Martin was interested in was Panther.
"I'm gonna get Abigaile to sit down with her grandfather.
See if the old man shows any interest in sel ing out," Mickey had said to Ford. "When she speaks to him, she won't tel him what they're wil ing to pay. She'l suggest he makes an agreement with me, then I'l sel the studio. That way I can get myself a cushy management deal and I'l be here forever. And so wil you, Ford. You and I work wel together."
"What if he doesn't want to sel ?" Ford had asked. "Then I got a new plan. There's another studio my connection is considering. If he buys, I'm there." "What about Panther?
You'd walk away?" "Hey," Mickey had said, "a deal is a deal is a deal. I treat the old man as good as he treats me, an' he's not treating me so good."
"You'd real y go?"
"Do rabbits fuck? But only if the deal is right, Ford. It al comes down to the deal."
The more Lucky listened to Mickey, the more she realized that here was a man with no conscience. His life consisted of business, his mistress, and brief trips home--although in the last couple of days he seemed to have added Madame Loretta to that list.
Boogie had found out Madame Loretta was the biggest madam in town, running a high class brothel high in the Hol ywood Hil s, supplying beautiful young girls to the rich executives who could afford the exorbitant prices.
Obviously Warner was not doing her job. Mickey was restless.
Olive returned to Los Angeles and managed to hobble into the studio on crutches.
Mickey, ever sympathetic, emerged from his office, glared at her, and said accusingly, "How could you do this to me?"
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stol i," Olive apologized, as if she could have helped it. She would have kissed his feet if she'd felt it would do any good.
Mickey merely continued to glare at her and stomped back into his office.
"What happened with your fiance? Did everything work out?" Lucky felt obliged to ask.
Sadly Olive shook her head. "It's not to be," she said, crestfal en. "I shouldn't have gone."
"Bad break," Lucky said, trying to look suitably sympathetic.
"These things happen." Olive glanced around the office, checking to make sure everything was in place. "How are you managing?"
"Fine," Lucky said careful y.
"Hmmm . . ." Olive didn't seem pleased. She'd rather hoped things would fal to pieces without her conscientious touch. "Mr. Stol i isn't an easy man." "I'm glad to say you taught me wel . I seem to be making him happy."
Olive looked even more displeased. "I should be back in about six weeks," she said waspishly. "When my cast is off."
"Excel ent." Lucky tried to make her feel good. "Everyone misses you."
Olive 'brightened. "What about Mr. Stone? Aren't you supposed to be working for him again?"
"I discussed it with Mr. Stol i. He thought it best if I stayed here. Mr. Stone doesn't mind. He's extending his vacation."
After more smal talk, Olive final y left the office. Later, Lucky observed her having lunch in the commissary with Harry Browning. She hoped Abe had already talked to Harry and warned him not to open his mouth.
With only another week to go, Lucky felt she was coming to the end of a long-term prison sentence. It seemed amazing to her that some people actual y led their lives like this. Day in, day out, being bossed around by a crude, irascible boss. Taking shit from al the people who visited his office.
Putting up with rude sexist comments from the men. And this was while she'd made herself look as unattractive as possible. God knows what the other girls had to put up with-the secretaries in their miniskirts and low-cut blouses and long blond hair.
Hmm ... maybe they loved it. Maybe they'd been brainwashed into thinking getting hit on by randy married men was a compliment.
Eddie Kane hadn't been in for over a week. Lucky decided to pay a visit to Brenda and Talon Nails, his two faithful secretaries who stood. guard downstairs, and find out what was going on.
Now that she was official y known as Mickey Stol i's personal assistant, most of the other secretaries in the building knew who she was.
Brenda, as usual, was perusing magazines, while Talon Nails sat in the corner making personal phone cal s.
"Is Mr. Kane around?" Lucky asked. "We haven't seen him in a while. Mr. Stol i was asking."
"He's sick," Brenda volunteered.
"Flu," Talon Nails added, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with her hand.
Lucky wondered if he'd had the crap beaten out of him by Carlos Bonnatti's boys or if this was merely an interim period while he struggled to get his act together and come up with a mil ion bucks.
"Perhaps you can let our office know when he returns,"
Lucky said, al business.
Brenda put down her magazine. She had a snippy expression on her face. "May I ask you something?" Talon Nails hung up the phone and shot Brenda a warning look.
"What?" asked Lucky.
"We were wondering," said Brenda bel igerently. "She was wondering," interjected Talon Nails. "Bul !" Brenda said sharply. "You were wondering just as much as I was."