Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

  “Is it the children? Has something happened?” she asked, imagining the worst.

  “No, no…they’re fine. It’s business,” Kyoko said, his usual calmness ruffled. “Please, Lucky, come with me right now.”

  “Anything you need my help with?” Charlie offered. “’Cause you know I’m your resident movie icon in shining armor.”

  Lucky stood up. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  She followed Kyoko from the restaurant, waiting until they were outside before she turned on him. “What the hell is going on?”

  “There’s a woman in your office. She refuses to go.”

  “What woman?”

  “I don’t know. Morton Sharkey’s with her. They walked right past me into your private office. They wouldn’t stop.”

  Lucky felt a shiver of apprehension. She’d suspected Morton was up to something, she’d sensed it the other day. But what?

  They walked across the lot without speaking. She entered Kyoko’s office and strode through it into hers. Sitting behind her desk was a woman in a Chanel suit. Hovering nearby was an uncomfortable-looking Morton Sharkey.

  “You’d better have a good explanation for this,” Lucky said, her voice full of steel. “A very good explanation.”

  Donna swung around in Lucky’s chair, locking eyes with the enemy. “I’m Donna Landsman, the new owner of Panther Studios,” she said, her voice even colder than Lucky’s. “And you, my dear, are fired.”

  “What?” Lucky gasped.

  “I’m taking over as of now,” Donna said, satisfied to note that not a flicker of recognition had crossed Lucky’s face. “You have thirty minutes to clear out your personal possessions and get off the lot.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Lucky said, angrily turning to Morton.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s true, Lucky,” he said in a strained voice. “Mrs. Landsman has gained control of fifty-five percent of Panther stock. This gives her a controlling interest.”

  “It’s not possible,” Lucky said, in shock.

  “Oh, yes.” Donna gloated, savoring the moment. “It’s very possible. And, I can assure you, it’s done.”

  An icy calm came over Lucky. She was under attack, had to get a grip, find out exactly how this had happened. “Did you know about this, Morton?” she asked, her voice a tight coil of anger about to erupt.

  He couldn’t look at her. “I…heard something was going on.”

  Lucky’s black eyes were suddenly deadly. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Morton. You knew. You had to know, there’s no way this could have happened without you.”

  “Lucky, I—”

  Her heart was beating so fast she thought it might explode. “I bet you even helped her. Didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU, MORTON?”

  He shrugged helplessly. “Lucky…I had no choice.”

  “No choice? NO FUCKING CHOICE?” She was well aware she was screaming, but it was impossible to stop herself. “How can you stand here and say that to me? Have you no shame, you double-dealing hypocrite?”

  “This is no time for name-calling,” Morton muttered, truly ashamed but caught in a trap from which there was no escape.

  “Oh, isn’t it?” she said furiously. “Whatever happened here, Morton, you’re responsible. You were the one who put together the stock deal for me. You brought in all the investors and told me I never had to worry. Now this woman marches in and informs me she has control of my studio.” She turned on Donna. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

  “Unbecoming language for a supposedly smart businesswoman,” Donna said cuttingly, relishing every second of her triumph.

  Lucky was enraged. “I need to see proof of this.”

  “I have all the papers here,” Morton replied, handing them to her. She flicked through them.

  “You still own forty percent—”

  “You set me up,” she interrupted violently. “Nobody could have done it except you.”

  “The board called an emergency meeting and made a decision that your services as head of the studio are no longer required,” Morton stated. “You will, of course, be paid off on your contract.”

  “Paid off?” she said incredulously. “They’re paying me off? Don’t any of you get it? This is my studio. Everything that’s going on here now is because I turned it around.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about the studio, dear,” Donna said patronizingly. “I’m bringing Mickey Stolli back to run it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding?” Lucky exploded. “Mickey Stolli ran this studio into the ground.”

  “He’s thrilled to be returning,” Donna said, still savoring Lucky’s fury.

  “Why are you doing this?” Lucky demanded, shaking with anger. “WHY?”

  Donna consulted her watch. “Ten minutes have passed. That leaves you exactly twenty more minutes to collect your personal belongings and vacate this office. I wouldn’t want to have you thrown off the lot.”

  “Fuck you,” Lucky said, her black eyes filled with rage. “Whoever you are. Fuck you. Because I’m going to get this studio back. Don’t you doubt it for one minute. In fact, you can bet on it!”

  27

  “YOU’RE LATE,” MICHEL GUY SAID STERNLY. “BY about eight weeks.”

  “Excuse me?” Brigette replied; this was not the greeting she’d expected.

  “You were supposed to be here two months ago, remember? When I met you at Effie’s party, I told you to come and see me the next day.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her quizzically. “Y’know, an invitation from me is considered a big deal in this town.”

  “The reason I didn’t take you up on your offer,” Brigette said, “was that my stepfather died. I went to L.A. for the funeral.”

  “I’m sorry,” Michel said. “I didn’t know.”

  “Anyway, I’m back now.”

  “Yes,” Nona said, joining in. “She’s back, and I’m her manager.”

  “You?” Michel said, barely concealing his surprise.

  “Yes, me,” Nona answered defiantly. “We could have gone to any of the top agencies, but Brigette wants you to represent her. I guess she gets off on your accent.”

  Michel Guy’s faded blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “This is a new way of persuading an agent to sign you,” he said. “I thought Brigette was the one looking for representation, and I was the one supposed to be doing her the big favor.”

  “Things have changed,” Nona said. “Brigette has a fantastic deal pending.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Will you represent me?” Brigette asked, fixing him with her blue eyes.

  “I was considering it,” Michel replied slowly. “Although first, I must see how you are in front of the camera. And, Brigette,” he added, “models don’t need managers, not until they’re superstars.”

  “I plan on being much more than just a model,” she replied confidently.

  “It takes time to build a name for yourself,” Michel pointed out.

  “We know that,” Nona interrupted. “The thing is, we’re coming to you with a fantastic shot at an immediate score.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans want Brigette to be their new spokesmodel.”

  Michel nodded, thinking fast. So that’s why Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans had not signed the deal with Robertson and Nature—both girls his clients.

  “When did this happen?” he asked, doodling on a yellow desk pad.

  “Luke Kasway photographed her before she went to L.A. The ad agency saw the photos and they’re crazy for her.”

  Michel knew Robertson would be furious if he signed Brigette to the agency. So what? With Michel, money always came first. He addressed his next words to Brigette. “If this is true, I will make you the best deal in the business.”

  “That’s what I want,” Brigette said determinedly.

  “We’re on our way to see Aurora at MONDO,” Nona offered. “I figured if we told her about the jeans thing, she may want to put Brigette on the cover
.”

  “No, no, no!” Michel said, almost shouting. “You don’t do that. I do that. And this is how I do it. I throw a dinner party at my apartment. We invite Aurora, her husband, and several other interesting guests. During the course of the evening, I let it drop to Aurora that both Allure and Glamour are vying with each other to get Brigette on their cover because of the new deal that will make her bigger than any of the Guess girls. I can assure you—the next day Aurora will come to us begging for Brigette to appear on her cover first.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Brigette said, smiling broadly.

  “Ah!” Michel tapped his head. “The brain must always be working.” His crinkly blue eyes met hers. “Am I not right, ma cherié?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said enthusiastically, quite impressed with him. “Absolutely.”

  “What’s your background?” Alex asked. “Where are you from?”

  Venus realized that Alex Woods obviously didn’t know too much about her. What the hell—she’d go along with the game, humor the big filmmaker. “I’m originally a Brooklyn girl,” she said amiably. “Gotta hunch half of Hollywood started off there.”

  “Not me,” Alex replied. “I’m a local boy.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Venus said, flirting ever so slightly. “You can’t possibly be from Los Angeles. Nobody’s a native.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m surprised,” she said. “Your work has such a New York edge.”

  “I spent a lot of time in New York,” he said. “But let’s not get off track here, I’m supposed to be interviewing you.”

  “It’s not exactly an interview, Alex. I came in to see you because you’ve written a sensational script, and I want to play Lola. I know I can do an incredible job.”

  “You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve accomplished a lot.” She threw in some flattery to soften him up. “Kind of like you.”

  He looked amused. “You don’t have to sell yourself. I know who you are.”

  “That’s a relief!” she said mockingly, convinced he had no idea who she was.

  He stood up. “Well, now we’ve got that straight, will you excuse me for a moment, I gotta use the john.”

  Oh, God, she thought. He’s a coke snorter. Can’t even hold out for five minutes.

  “Sure,” she said offhandedly. “Why should I mind? I’ve already spent the last hour hanging out here.”

  “Be understanding,” he said, flashing the grin. “Nature’s screaming.” He went in the bathroom, closed the door, and immediately buzzed France.

  “Yes, Alex?” she said.

  “Flowers,” he said. “Lucky Santangelo. Make certain the florist puts together something very special. Roses, in fact, lots of them.”

  “How much do you want to spend?”

  “Be sure it’s a big deal. In fact—make it six dozen red roses. Have them delivered to her house this afternoon so they’re waiting for her when she gets home.”

  “What should the note say?” asked France. “The usual?”

  “No, not the usual, France,” he said, irritated. “I’ll write my own card.”

  “How about Tin Lee?”

  “What?”

  “Flowers because you stood her up?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He returned to his office, where Venus was lolling on the couch in a typical Lola pose. “Hi’ya, baby,” she said, winking suggestively. “Wanna slide in beside me?”

  It was a line from the script and she delivered it with a great deal of relish.

  “We can’t afford you,” Alex said.

  “I know, you overshot your wad on Johnny Romano.”

  “I don’t usually work with stars.”

  “I don’t usually work with star directors who’ve hardly heard of me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Venus sat up straight. “Admit it, Alex, you don’t know anything about me.”

  “I’m not into gossip.”

  “Oh,” she said crossly. “Is that what you think I’m about?”

  “No. I didn’t say that. C’mon, Venus, tell me more about yourself. You’re from Brooklyn…what kind of family?”

  “What is this? My biography?”

  “Why’re you getting so uptight?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then go ahead, tell me.”

  She plunged into a shortened version of her life story. “Hmm…let me see,” she said. “Well, my father was a charming Italian chauvinist. My mom died when I was quite young. I had four older brothers, so I became their caretaker—y’know, washing, cleaning, cooking them pasta, all that housewife crap. Boy, did they get a shock when I took off with my best friend, Ron Machio. We were out for adventure—a couple of desperados—so we hitched our way to L.A. where I did everything from performing in underground clubs to nude modeling for an art class. Then I met a record producer who decided to record me. Ron put together my video. It was so outrageous that I was like…y’know, an instant hit.”

  “It certainly got you where you wanted to be.”

  “The top, Alex,” she said very seriously. “That’s where I wanted to be. And that’s exactly where I am now.”

  “So why are you coming to see me about a cameo role?”

  There was a determined thrust to her jaw. “Because I need to prove that I can act. That I’m not some freako sex machine who can’t cut it on the big screen. The critics hate me. I’ve made four movies, and each time they’ve shredded my ass.”

  Alex said, “They do that to me all the time.”

  “They don’t pull you to pieces physically, calling you everything from a sex machine to a vulgar, untalented whore!”

  “I’ve been called a lot of names in my life,” Alex said with a wry smile. “But vulgar, untalented whore ain’t one of ’em.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Ignore the critics. I do.”

  “It’s not that easy—but I manage. I have this huge army of loyal fans, and in their eyes I’m always the best. They’re my silent support group.”

  “You want to read a scene for me?” Alex said; it was possible that she did indeed have potential, and he liked her.

  “I’m kind of insulted you’re forcing me to read,” she said, determined to let him know how she felt.

  “I don’t know your work, Venus,” he explained. “I haven’t seen any of your movies. And if what you’re telling me about the reviews is true, I’d be insane if I didn’t ask you to read.”

  She nodded, stood up, and wandered over to the window. “I’ll do it if you read with me,” she said, turning to face him.

  “My casting people are waiting to join us. Lindy will read with you, she’s good.”

  “I’m sure she is, but she’s not a man,” Venus said determinedly. “I need interaction, sexual tension. I gotta get it going here, Alex.”

  He studied her, drawn to the vulnerable streak he sensed beneath the high gloss. If he could only capture that quality on film, she’d be a perfect Lola. “What scene do you want to read?” he asked.

  “I’ll take a shot at the one where Lola has the breakdown, where she’s really in trouble and doesn’t know who’s gonna help her out.”

  Alex picked the script up off his desk. “Good choice,” he said. “Okay, Venus, go ahead and convince me.”

  28

  SURFACING FROM YET ANOTHER NIGHTMARE, Lennie imagined he heard a noise that was different from every other sound he knew so well. He thought he heard a woman laughing.

  He sat up straight, desperately straining to hear.

  Nothing—except the relentless pounding of the sea.

  He had no idea of time. From the light filtering down into the cave, he assumed it was early morning.

  He stood up, stretching his aching bones. Recently he’d started working out, which wasn’t easy with his ankle chained. The challenge was not to lose any more of his physical strength.

  He’d also realized it was importa
nt to give himself a reason for living, so he now followed a stringent routine he forced himself to adhere to.

  With order, there was hope.

  Without, there was nothing.

  Today was one of those days he simply couldn’t get it together. Instead, he sat back down on the makeshift wooden bed and began thinking about the time he and Lucky first met in Vegas. He’d been performing at her hotel as a stand-up. She’d come along, fired him, then tried to lure him into bed. He smiled at the memories.

  A year later they’d bumped into each other when he was married to Olympia and she was married to Dimitri. One look and they’d both known that this time they were never going to be parted.

  His wonderful, stubborn, beautiful Lucky.

  What he wouldn’t give to be with her now.

  He wondered what she was doing. Had his kidnappers contacted her? Was the ransom demand so big that she wasn’t able to pay it?

  Not possible. He knew his Lucky. She would find a way to pay it even if it was a billion dollars.

  He heard the noise again—a woman’s soft laugh. This time he was certain he wasn’t imagining it.

  “Is anybody there?” he yelled out. “Anybody around?” The echo of his voice came back at him. Apart from that, there was the usual silence.

  Was his mind playing cruel tricks on him? Perhaps he was truly going crazy.

  If only he could get this goddamn shackle off his foot. His ankle was raw from trying.

  He fell back on the so-called bed, throwing his arms across his face, covering his eyes. Despair enveloped him like a heavy cloak of unremitting gloom.

  Lucky, Lucky, Lucky. Ah…my sweetheart…why aren’t you saving me?

  He drifted back into a light sleep, imagining he was driving a speedboat on the sea—a fast boat carving its way through the heavy waves, heading for freedom.

  A girlish shriek jolted him awake. He sat up abruptly. Hovering in the entrance to the cave stood a young woman in her early twenties, with clouds of curly brown hair and a Madonna-like face.