“Not your kind of place, huh?”
“Seems our choice is limited.”
He shrugged. “Don’t blame me.”
“Alex, when you know me better you’ll realize I always accept responsibility.”
“Former wild child straightens out. I like it.”
“Fuck you,” she said casually.
He looked her straight in the eye. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“You’d better leave me alone tonight, Alex. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”
And as she said it, it came to her. That’s exactly what she needed to do. Hurt someone the way Lennie had hurt her. It was bad enough that he’d gotten himself killed—but when he’d gone, he’d left enough evidence of infidelity to make her hate him forever. There was only one way to even the score.
They parked the car and entered the crowded bar. Big surprise—it was filled with men, most of them swigging bottled beer.
A harassed underage waitress in boots, a cowboy hat, and micro skirt darted about carrying a tray. She was topless, with small, droopy breasts and a lackluster smile. At one end of the bar was a circular platform where a large blond stripper undulated her out-of-shape body up and down a shiny pole wearing only a frayed pink G-string and fake silver cuff bracelets. Dolly Parton blared from the jukebox. Every time the stripper squatted down, rolls of excess flesh doubled over her stomach and hips.
“Lovely,” Lucky muttered, taking a seat at the bar while every guy in the place checked her out.
Alex slid on the stool beside her. He carried an unlicensed gun in his car; after taking a look around, he was sorry he hadn’t brought it in with him.
“Tequila,” Lucky said to the bartender, a gnarled old man with sunken cheeks and a permanent scowl. He ignored her, waiting for Alex to give him the order.
“Tequila for the lady,” Alex said, getting the picture. “And I’ll have a bourbon and water.”
“Make mine a double,” Lucky said, impatiently tapping her fingernails on the bar. The bartender shuffled off.
The big blond stripper reached the end of her act, snatched off her G-string, turned her back to the crowd, bent over, and shook her huge blob of an ass at the paying customers. There was a scattering of groans and catcalls.
“What a bunch of pathetic losers,” Lucky said, checking out the place. “I mean, take a look at these jerks—why aren’t they at home with their wives?”
“I didn’t promise you the Ritz in Paris,” Alex said. “And keep your voice down.”
“You didn’t promise me shit,” Lucky replied, the booze finally getting to her. “But, hey—we’re here, let’s make the most of it.”
The bartender returned with their drinks. Lucky downed her tequila in one shot. A John Travolta clone, perched on a stool on the other side of her, let loose an admiring whistle.
“Another one,” Lucky said.
“Are we ever gonna make it to your father’s?” Alex sighed, signaling the bartender.
“Tell me the truth,” Lucky said, swaying slightly on the rickety bar stool. “Is that the only reason you’re with me tonight? To meet Gino?”
“What do you think?”
“I think we’re together ’cause we both have a need for something different.” She fixed him with a long, knowing look. “Am I right?”
“Perceptive.”
“Oh, yeah, that I am. So fucking perceptive that I truly believed Lennie was faithful.”
“And he wasn’t?”
“Don’t wanna get into it,” she snapped, sorry she’d mentioned something so private.
A short man clad in a too tight leisure suit jumped up on stage. “Okay, folks,” he bellowed, his cheeks red from the effort. “Here’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for—the star of our show! Give her a great big hand—and we all know where!” Snicker, snicker. “Here she is—our special queen of the night—Driving Miss Daisy!”
An extremely ugly black woman with an incredible body hit the stage with a burst of unbridled energy. She was clad in a white fringed bra, bikini panties, and a peaked chauffeur’s cap. The Rolling Stones were on the jukebox and Driving Miss Daisy immediately began taking it off to the strains of “Honky Tonk Woman.” The audience went wild.
Alex considered her almost naked ebony flesh. “I should find a walk-on for her in Gangsters,” he mused. “She’s got quite a look.”
“Why not?” Lucky replied coolly. “What would your movie be without the obligatory strip scene?”
She had a smart answer for everything. “Hey, it’s what’s happening, Lucky,” he said, knowing she’d give him an argument.
“Maybe it is, but how come you moviemakers are so predictable? It’s always two actors sitting in a strip joint while the camera spends the entire scene zooming in for close-ups of the stripper’s tits and ass. When are you guys gonna realize those scenes have been done to death?”
“What is it with you? The first time we met all you could talk about was actors taking it off.”
“Did that offend you?”
“Women don’t want to see that. It’s a man’s world.”
“You’d like it to be a man’s world,” she said forcefully. “You’d like it to stay a man’s world. But women do what they want today, and women don’t mind taking a peek at naked guys. Why do you think Richard Gere is a star today? ’Cause he flashed his nuts in Looking for Mr. Goodbar, and women loved him for being so honest.”
Driving Miss Daisy did something obscene with the pole, causing quite a commotion among her audience. Several guys threw dollar bills onstage.
“A friend of mine was in the hospital and I took her Playgirl to read,” Lucky continued, getting into it. “Now, you’d think the nurses would’ve seen plenty of male equipment. But let me tell you—they went apeshit when they got a load of the guys in this magazine. They grabbed it, showed it to every other nurse on the floor. They were thrilled.”
He shook his head. “You don’t get it.”
She smiled, unperturbed. “No, Alex, you don’t get it.”
Driving Miss Daisy was divesting her clothes at a rapid pace. Flinging her bra into the audience, she twirled the two fringed pasties barely covering each erect nipple. Her bikini bottom was long gone, replaced by a hardly there G-string. Coated with a fine film of sweat, she moved like a sinewy gazelle.
“I wonder how she got here,” Lucky mused. “This seedy two-bit bar in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s my deal,” Alex said. “Finding out people’s stories.”
“Then writing about them and turning them into a movie.”
“Beats packing meat.”
Driving Miss Daisy squatted down, cleverly picking up dollar bills between her thighs. The John Travolta clone on Lucky’s left yelled his appreciation.
“Asshole,” Lucky muttered.
“From what I hear, yours is a pretty interesting story,” Alex ventured, curious to hear what she had to say.
“I told you—I was a wild child,” she said lightly. “I didn’t tell you about the guy I shot. Self-defense, of course.”
Jesus! She was a wild one. “No, you didn’t tell me that,” he said quietly.
“Enzio Bonnatti, he was the man responsible for killing my mother and brother, and, uh…there were a few other minor incidents along the way that made me who I am today.”
She was actually sitting there calmly telling him that she’d killed somebody. Perhaps they had more in common than he’d thought. He’d killed in Vietnam, only he’d had an excuse, it was called war.
He wondered if she suffered from the same nightmares that often crept up on him without warning. Middle of the night panic attacks.
“You’re a very unusual woman, Lucky,” he said, clearing his throat.
She watched him carefully for a moment. He didn’t know the half of it. Maybe she was talking too much; it might be prudent to change the subject before he got too intrigued. “And you, Alex? Ever been married?”
“N
o,” he said guardedly.
“Never?” She shook her head disbelievingly. “How old are you?”
“Forty-seven.”
“Hmm…that means you’re either very smart, or you have a fatal flaw.”
He picked up his drink. “What are you—a shrink?”
She regarded him steadily. “Guys who aren’t married by your age usually suffer from major hang-ups—otherwise some woman would’ve picked you off long ago.”
“There’s a simple answer. I’ve never met anybody I’d be prepared to spend the rest of my life with.”
“I’ve done it three times,” she said lightly. “It’s not so nerve-racking after the first time.”
“And the first time was…?”
“Craven Richmond. Senator Peter Richmond’s little boy. God, was he a moron! And I was stuck with him.” She laughed at the memory. “Gino married me off because he could. Peter owed him a favor.”
“Must’ve been some favor.”
“It was.”
“Do I get to hear about it?”
“Not until I know you better.”
“And after Craven?”
“Dimitri Stanislopoulos, a man old enough to be my father.” She paused for a moment. “Actually, he was the father of my best friend, Olympia.” She giggled, recalling her juvenile delinquent past. “We were two little bad girls who ran away from school together.”
“You must’ve really been something.”
“Oh, yeah! I gave jailbait a whole new meaning.”
“I bet you did.”
“Anyway, while I was married to Dimitri, I caught him in bed with Francesca Fern—the opera singer. She was a rival of Maria Callas’s, and very demanding. He didn’t want to leave me, but, boy, he sure wanted to fuck the life out of her.”
“The man was obviously insane.”
“After Dimitri, there was Lennie.” She stopped speaking, her eyes clouding over. “Lennie was my soul mate,” she said at last. “We were everything to each other. I loved him so much.” She gazed deeply into Alex’s eyes. “Have you ever felt that kind of connection with another person?”
“No,” he said, wishing he could say he had.
“It’s the greatest feeling,” she said wistfully. “There’s this incredible chemistry….”
“It must have been hard for you, Lucky,” he interrupted. “The accident…losing Lennie…”
“Some things are meant to be,” she said, abruptly reaching for her drink. “I haven’t told anyone this, Alex, but I found out Lennie was screwing around. There were photos in his hotel room with a blond draped all over him. Nude pictures of her stashed in the bedside drawer. He was obviously with her the night before I arrived. I don’t know why he didn’t cover his tracks—he must’ve thought the maid would clear everything up while he was at the airport.” She took a long, deep breath. “Anyway, it’s been hard, because, uh…I believe in fidelity. You know, screw around all you want when you’re single, but when you marry somebody—well…for me that’s the ultimate commitment.”
“Ah…” Alex sighed. “She has old-fashioned values.”
“What’s wrong with that?” she responded vehemently, sorry she’d revealed so much of herself. “I find it crazy that we live in a country where everybody says it’s okay if a guy goes out and gets laid because he’s a guy. It’s not okay with me. I loved Lennie, and he let me down. That’s not playing fair.” She stopped talking and lit another cigarette, angry with herself for becoming so emotional. “I’m getting maudlin,” she said, making a rapid recovery. “Let’s have one more drink.”
“You’re almost blasted, Lucky.”
She looked at him coolly. “Sometimes you just gotta blow it out, Alex.” She clicked her fingers—summoning the bartender. The old man shuffled over. She waved a twenty-dollar bill under his nose. “Give this to Driving Miss Daisy. Tell her we’d like her to join us, and bring me another double.”
“What are you doing?” Alex said, creasing his forehead.
“I’m curious to know how this ugly woman with this amazing body ended up here, stripping for a living. Aren’t you?”
“I’m more interested in meeting Gino.”
“We’ll get there. Don’t worry.”
The John Travolta clone leaned into their conversation. He wore a yellow shirt and mud-brown pants. His hair was long and greasy. “You-all from L.A.?” he asked, rubbing the tip of his nose with a dirty fingernail.
“Now what makes you think that?” Lucky said, tilting her head.
He placed his bottle of beer on the bar, suggestively fingering the wet rim. “’Cause you sure don’t look like you’re from these parts.”
“Aw, shucks,” Lucky drawled, almost flirting. “And I was hoping I’d fit right in.”
The young guy guffawed. “Name’s Jed. This here’s the hottest place around,” he boasted. “You picked good.”
“Really?” Lucky said, her dark eyes drawing him in.
Jed leaned closer, leering at her. “You one of them Hollywood actresses?”
Alex could smell the dumb jerk’s hard-on. “She’s with me,” he interrupted. “And we’re not looking to have a third party join us.” So keep it in your pants, shithead, and get the fuck away.
“No offense,” Jed said, backing off. “Just bein’ friendly.”
“Lucky,” Alex said in a low voice, “I’m not interested in getting into a fight, so do me a favor and stop encouraging the local talent.”
She regarded him mockingly. “Thought you might get off taking a walk on the wild side, Alex. Isn’t the wild side your territory?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m considerably outnumbered.”
“Oh…sooo sorry.” She held her empty glass toward the bartender. “Set me up again.”
“Jesus Christ!” Alex muttered. “Whaddya have—a hollow leg?”
“Something like that.”
“I’m going to the john,” he said curtly. “Try to stay out of trouble. When I get back, we’re taking off.”
She mock-saluted. “Yes, sir!”
The moment Alex was out of sight, the local stud returned to the business of picking her up.
“Didn’t mean no offense,” he said, sliding nearer.
“None taken,” Lucky responded, noticing he had no side teeth. It did not add to his sex appeal.
“Would that be your husband?” Jed said, gesturing to Alex’s seat.
“No. That would not be my husband,” she said, amused.
“Then mebbe I kin buy you a beer.”
“I’m drinking tequila.”
“I kin go for that.” He signaled the bartender. “Put the lady’s drink on my tab.”
The bartender was a man who sensed trouble long before it happened. “Not a good idea, Jed,” he said warningly.
“The guy she’s with ain’t her husband,” Jed explained, like that took care of everything.
“Still not a good idea.”
Jed stood up, red in the face. “I’m fuckin’ buyin’ her a drink,” he said, angrily slamming the bar with his fist.
“Christ!” grunted the bartender, disgusted.
“Let’s not make this a major incident,” Lucky said, staring at the crusty old man.
“You people should stay where you belong,” the bartender growled, glaring at her. “Comin’ in here as if y’own t’place. Drinkin’ tequila like you’re some kinda man.”
“Screw you,” Lucky said, starting to lose her temper.
Jed grabbed her arm. “Better not insult t’old bastard. C’mon, I’ll take you somewhere else.”
She shook her arm loose. The booze was clouding her judgment. Alex was right, encouraging the local talent was not a good idea.
Jed went for her arm again. She slapped his bony hand away.
“What’s your freakin’ problem, lady?” Jed exploded.
“Don’t touch me, asshole,” she warned fiercely, her black eyes suddenly deadly.
His face reddened even more. “Wha
ddaya call me, bitch?”
Alex chose that exact moment to return from the men’s room.
18
“YOUR FANS, THEY MUST DRIVE YOU CRAZY,” Rodriguez remarked, lazily stroking Venus’s platinum hair as they sat, naked, in her outside Jacuzzi, the city lights spread out beneath them like a shimmering blanket of rare jewels.
“Sometimes,” she said thoughtfully. “When I’m out in public, and they try to touch me. You never know if they’ve got a knife or a gun. You can never tell if they’re the maniac who’s going to get you.”
“Is that why you have a guard at your house?”
“Protection is necessary. Think about it—everything we do today needs some kind of protection.”
“Like sex.”
“Exactly. You told me you hate wearing a condom. Well, I hate having to live my life with guards. Sadly, these are things we’re forced to do.”
“Rodriguez does not have any disease.”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
“Then we throw away the condoms?”
“No. We do not.”
“Why, my beauty?”
“Get an AIDS test and we’ll see.”
He touched her breasts with his fingertips, rubbing insistently.
She shivered as her nipples became erect. Tonight he’d been better than the two previous times. Tonight he’d made her moan with pleasure. As a reward, she was allowing him to stay awhile.
He reached for the bottle of champagne perched on the side of the Jacuzzi and held it to her lips. She allowed the golden liquid to trickle down her throat.
“Aren’t you having any?” she asked, slowly licking her lips.
“I’ll show you how Rodriguez drinks champagne,” he said, boldly picking her up and placing her on the edge of the Jacuzzi.
“What are you doing?” she objected, but not too strenuously.
“Silence, my lovely,” he murmured, spreading her legs and caressing the soft inner part of her thighs. Then he took the champagne bottle and tipped the bubbly liquid over her pubic area. “This is how Rodriguez drinks champagne,” he said, lapping the liquid from between her legs, continuing to work his smooth Latin tongue until once more she sighed with pleasure and decided that maybe Rodriguez was a keeper after all.