Fifteen minutes later they arrived at his house.
“Down the street?” she questioned with an arched eyebrow.
“We share an ocean,” he said, grinning, ridiculously happy to see her.
She got out of her car, checking out his house from the outside. “Hmm…very nice,” she said, admiring the clean architectural lines.
“I built it,” he said.
“In your spare time?”
“Very funny.”
They walked toward the house. “Aren’t you about to begin shooting?” she asked.
“Next week.”
“And you’re wandering around Malibu trying to kill yourself in front of my car.”
“Unfinished business plays on my mind.” He regarded her silently for a moment. “I had to see you, Lucky.”
“So you’re seeing me,” she said, trying to avoid direct eye contact.
He opened the front door and led her inside.
She stood in the enormous, soaring hallway with the huge skylights and let out a long, low whistle. “Magnificent,” she said admiringly. “And I thought all you could do was direct.”
“This house is very special to me,” he said, gesturing around the open space. “Very private. I never bring anyone here.”
Lucky walked through the hallway, into the living room, and out onto the terrace. “Breathtaking,” she exclaimed. “My house is a shack compared to this.” She turned to him with a smile. “Wanna sell?”
He smiled back at her. “Nope.”
“Don’t blame you.”
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Water.”
“With Scotch?”
“Water,” she repeated, remembering their last encounter.
He went into the house and fixed himself a vodka and her a glass of ice-cold Perrier. When he returned outside, she was sitting down. “I’m pleased you came,” he said, handing her the drink.
“I guess you’re right, Alex,” she said thoughtfully. “We are unfinished business.”
“Glad you realize it.”
“Y’know,” she said reflectively, “if we do continue to see each other as friends, you have to respect the way I feel.”
“I can do that.”
“It’ll be a long time before I’m over Lennie.”
“That’s understandable.”
“The truth is—I really regret what happened between us the other night.”
“Was it that bad?” he asked ruefully.
“You know what I mean, Alex. It was hot and exciting and we were both in the mood. But my reasons for doing it were wrong. I can’t forget Lennie that quickly.”
“What you’re saying is—if I play the good friend role and stay around long enough, things could change?”
“I have no idea what the future will bring, Alex.”
They held a long, intimate look. “I was upset to hear about your father,” he said, breaking the silence. “What happened?”
“I’m in the process of finding out,” she said. “It’s more complicated than I thought.”
“Is he doing okay?”
“Gino’s strong. He’ll recover.”
He felt totally at ease having her in his house. “How about staying for dinner?” he suggested. “My cook’ll fix us anything you like. We can sit out here—watch the sunset….”
“Sounds tempting, only I’m busy tonight,” she said, standing up.
Hey, he wanted to say, so am I, but I’m prepared to break my date.
Then he started thinking—was she seeing someone else? Did he have competition?
“I have to get back,” she said.
He had a sudden insane desire to take her in his arms, hold her, and kiss her. He’d never felt like this about any woman. Before Lucky, he’d considered they were only there to put a smile on his face. Now he had this juvenile crush.
She walked inside. “By the way,” she said over her shoulder, “anything going on at my studio I should know about?”
He liked the way she still called it her studio. The woman had a no-defeat attitude he truly admired.
“I haven’t met Donna Landsman yet,” he said, following her into the house. “I have that pleasure in store tonight.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Didn’t you just invite me to dinner?”
“Hey—come with me.”
“Where?”
“Mickey Stolli’s having a dinner for Donna at his house.”
“Jesus!” Lucky said. “Trust Mickey to be right in there, kissing ass.”
“So like I said—come with me.”
Lucky considered the possibilities. Face-to-face with Donna Landsman in a social situation. Donna unaware that she knew her true identity. Mickey would shit himself if she turned up at his house. It was a tempting prospect. “Who else is going?”
“I can have my secretary find out.” Now it was his turn to look at her quizzically. “I thought you had other plans.”
“I can always change my mind.”
So can I, he thought. Once more, Tin Lee would be left at the altar. “So,” he said, “dinner here, watching the sunset, wasn’t good enough. But you’ll consider coming to Mickey’s?”
She laughed. “The only reason I might consider it is because I wouldn’t mind sitting across the table from Donna Landsman—seeing what she has to say. And as for Mickey—well, he and I are deadly enemies. Just to see his face when I walk in…the kicker being he can’t do a damn thing about it because I’ll be with you.”
“You know, Lucky, you have a way of making a guy feel really good about himself. First of all, you sleep with me, then tell me it doesn’t mean anything. Now you’ll go to a dinner party with me only to get back at the people who’re there. Thanks, babe, my ego’s in overdrive.”
“You want me to come or not?”
His eyes met hers. There was electricity in the air. “Yeah, I want you to come.”
“Then call me in half an hour.” She laughed softly. “I promise I’ll take the call.”
He walked her out to her car. She got in her red Ferrari and drove home.
Things were shaping up.
46
BEING THE MAJORITY SHAREHOLDER OF A BIG Hollywood studio was far more rewarding than Donna Landsman had imagined. The day her takeover of Panther Studios was announced in the trades, she’d received flowers from dozens of people she didn’t know—including several movie stars, and many important executives in the film industry.
Donna had never met anyone famous in her life, so when Abigaile Stolli called, informing her she’d like to throw a dinner party in her honor, Donna was delighted—especially when Abigaile revealed the stellar guest list. It was an impressive lineup.
Donna had her secretary call to get Santo invited. When she told him, he immediately sulked. “Don’t wanna go,” he complained.
“Of course, you do,” she replied in her I’m taking no nonsense from you voice. “You’ll meet all those famous people. They might do you some good in the future, connections are everything.”
On reflection, he’d decided it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. At least he’d get a decent meal for a change. He hated his mother’s cooking, and the cook she employed was even worse. The old bag made nothing but dried-up pasta and unappetizing tomato sauce with dull salads. Hint, hint—his mother wanted him to lose weight. Well, screw her, before all the dieting and plastic surgery she was no beauty. He remembered when she was his father’s wife—the old Donatella. It was like that woman had died and this over-made-up cow had come to take her place.
“Is George going?” he asked.
“Of course he is,” Donna replied. “I wish you’d try to get along with George. You make no attempt.”
“Maybe if he stopped pretending like he’s my father,” Santo said with a surly glare. “The way he acts sucks.”
“George has never tried to take the place of your father,” Donna admonished.
“Yes, he has,” Santo mumbled. “He’s always on m
y case.”
He knew George had disapproved when she’d informed him about the Ferrari, he’d heard them screaming from his room. Well, Donna was screaming—George never raised his voice. Donna, of courses had won.
Santo considered George to be an ineffectual worm. Donna kicked him around good. Santo couldn’t understand why she kept him when it was quite obvious she’d be better off divorcing the spineless creep. Maybe if she was going to meet movie stars, she’d find somebody she liked better. Arnold Schwarzenegger or Sylvester Stallone. Yeah! That was the ticket! A stepfather he could respect.
“You have to wear a suit and a tie,” Donna informed him.
“Why? Are we going to church?” Santo replied with a rude smirk.
“It’s only proper,” Donna said, concerned about her own outfit. She was not used to mixing with movie stars, it made her feel insecure.
Santo was aware he could get away with almost anything, but tonight he knew she’d force him to put on a dumb suit. He went to his room and sulked. Didn’t she realize he looked even fatter in the one suit he possessed?
Locking his bedroom door, he crossed the room and opened his closet. Hidden in the back was the shotgun he’d recently purchased from the movie star’s son at school. Yeah! He’d gotten himself a shotgun and two boxes of bullets. Shit! Talk about a power trip! Anytime he wanted, he could blow them both away.
Donna first.
George second.
POW! Just like that.
The fact that he owned the gun made him so psyched that he decided to write another letter to Venus. In his mind, they were getting closer every day, bonding, exactly like people in love should.
He imagined her reading his letters, wondering who he was, wishing and hoping they’d meet soon and be together forever.
He’d started delivering his letters personally—choosing the early hours of the morning to do so. He’d creep down the hillside above her estate, and force his way through the brush with not much effort. Then he’d scale the wall and deliver his latest offering. The stupid guard was always asleep. Her security sucked, big-time.
He had a favorite routine. Write Venus a letter. Jerk off.
Write another one. Jerk off again.
Life wasn’t so bad after all.
Venus had the best day doing nothing. In the afternoon, Ron came over and sat by the pool with her. She’d noticed that lately he was spending more and more time at her house.
“Have you and Anthony closed the deal yet?” she inquired with a mischievous smile.
“Don’t ask things like that,” Ron replied testily. “You’re just a nasty, curious, little girl.”
“Why? ’Cause I want you to move out of that mausoleum you’re living in?”
“No, because it’s none of your business.”
“I tell you all about Rodriguez,” she said, sipping a Diet Coke through a straw.
“Where is he today?”
“Driving me crazy. I mean, he’s under the false impression that he and I are a couple. He thinks that after a few great lays, we’re Mr. and Mrs. America. Poor Anthony’s running interference on the phone.”
“I notice you’ve hired a new guard.”
“Yeah, that other one was a moron. Every time I came home, there was somebody else waiting in my house. This one seems more together. I’m hoping he can catch the crazy who keeps on hand-delivering letters to my house.”
“What letters?”
“Didn’t I tell you? I’ve been receiving porno crap from some nutcase who thinks we’re gonna be married and run off into the sunset. I mean this guy is really out there.”
“I presume you’ve handed them over to the authorities?”
She removed her sunglasses and threw her head back, catching rays. “I will when I get around to it. Anthony’s keeping a file.”
“It only takes one deranged fan to shoot a bullet into you.”
“Thanks, Ron. That’s very encouraging. You’ve made me feel much safer!”
Late in the afternoon, after Ron had left, Anthony buzzed to inform her that Rodriguez was at the front door, practically in tears.
“Okay,” she said, relenting. “Send him over to the house.”
Rodriguez burst through the front door carrying flowers. “Have I offended you, my princess?” he asked, liquid eyes full of love.
“No, Rodriguez,” she said firmly. “Only you must realize we’re not living together. We’re not even girlfriend/boyfriend. I need my space.”
“What are we then?” he asked, looking hurt.
“You’re my masseur,” she said, deciding to go the honest route. “And I pay you for your services.”
He was crestfallen. “Is that all I am?” he asked mournfully.
She figured it was better to let him down sooner than later. “Yes, Rodriguez, that’s all you are.”
She knew she probably sounded cold and unfeeling, but surely it was best to end it this way before he got too caught up in the whole scene?
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you,” he said tightly.
“That’s okay,” she said, glancing at her watch. It was around five. “Do you have time to give me a massage now?” she asked, attempting to soften the blow.
“Of course,” he said stiffly.
“I’ll meet you in there.”
She went upstairs, took a shower, wrapped a towel around herself toga style, and strolled into the massage room.
Rodriguez had changed into white cotton chinos and a short-sleeved T-shirt—his working clothes.
She observed, as she always did, that he was incredibly good-looking. Maybe someone would discover him and make him into a star.
She got onto the table, lying on her stomach. Rodriguez whisked the towel from under her. She didn’t have any false modesty—he’d seen it all, and then some.
“Use the lemon oil today,” she suggested. “I love the smell.”
“Certainly,” Rodriguez replied obligingly, pouring a small puddle of oil in the center of her back and rubbing it in with his firm fingers. He began humming a Latin song under his breath. A good sign; at least she hadn’t broken his heart.
She closed her eyes and let go, thinking about Cooper. The other night he’d been so convincing in his quest to win her back. “I’ve changed,” he’d told her. “We can get back together any time you say. I’ll never stray again, it’s not worth it.”
Sure, Coop, she’d thought. You’ve been doing it for thirty years. Why would you change for me?
Fortunately, she was not naive.
Rodriguez’s hands were on her ass, kneading, moving in circles, creeping closer and closer to the crack.
“Rodriguez,” she murmured sleepily. “Remember, this is a business arrangement. I can’t be your girlfriend.”
“I understand,” he said, hands still working it, spreading the cheeks of her ass.
“No, don’t do that,” she said not too convincingly.
“In Argentina,” he said, “when a woman says no…sometimes it is safe to assume she means yes.”
She felt the tip of his insistent tongue.
Oh, God! One more time. After that she would never encourage him again.
47
“HE’S HERE,” BOOGIE SAID.
“How did you get him to come back?” Lucky said.
“He tried to skip town. I persuaded him not to.”
“Does he have an answer for us?”
“Listen for yourself.”
She followed Boogie to the garage. Same scenario. There was Sami the Mutt trapped in a chair, red-rimmed eyes darting furtively around the closed space like a trapped animal searching for a way out.
This time she carried her own gun—a small silver automatic she’d owned for several years. She had no intention of using it on this pathetic excuse for a man. However, there was nothing wrong with scaring the crap out of him. He’d shot her father, narrowly missing little Maria by inches. His intention had been to kill Gino for money. If it had happened, she’d have blo
wn him away without another thought—this worthless piece of human excrement.
She stood in front of him, casually holding her gun down in front of her so he couldn’t miss seeing it. “Do you have a name for me, Sami?” she asked, her voice echoing around the empty garage. “I hope you do, because today I’m not in the mood to fuck around.”
Sami glanced first at the gun, then over at Boogie, who’d propped himself against the wall. “Go ahead,” Boogie said easily. “Tell her.”
“John Fardo, he hired me,” Sami mumbled, sweat bubbling on his forehead.
“Tell her who that is,” Boogie encouraged.
“John’s a limo driver. One of his clients had him set up the job.”
“What client?” Lucky asked, her black eyes deadly and watchful.
“Dunno,” Sami said in a strained voice. “John works at Galaxy Star Limo—it’s on Sepulveda.” Sweat dripped down his ratlike face as he squirmed in the chair. “You gonna let me go now?”
“Get this piece of shit out of here, Boogie,” she said, walking to the door. “And make sure he takes the money he was paid and gives it all to charity. Every cent.”
She returned to the house, thinking that they didn’t make hit men like they used to. Fortunately for Gino, Sami the Mutt was a blundering amateur with no balls.
She sat in the den, dialed information, and got the number of the limo company. Then she called them. “You have a John Fardo working there,” she said, very businesslike. “He usually drives Mrs. Landsman…Mrs. Donna Landsman…is that correct?”
The receptionist asked her to hold a moment, came back, and said, “That’s right, ma’am.”
“Fine. I need to contact Mrs. Landsman later. Will John be driving her tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am. He drives her every night.”
Big surprise.
Alex was delighted when Lucky called and said she could make it. He told her he’d pick her up at seven, then immediately tried reaching Tin Lee to cancel. She wasn’t home.
This made him very nervous, as Tin Lee knew the dinner was at Mickey Stolli’s. He phoned Lili at home.