Chances

by Jackie Collins

  She did not love Elliott, but she certainly enjoyed the lifestyle.

  “Last roll,” said the photographer gaily. “Perhaps you can change into the Yves Saint Laurent. Would you mind awfully?”

  No, she wouldn’t mind awfully. She retired to the dressing room in the photographic studio accompanied by two dressers, a hairdresser, and a makeup artist. They fussed around her and helped her put on the dress.

  She watched her reflection in the mirror and marveled at what she saw. When had she changed from a nothing black whore to the elegant stylish creature she saw before her?

  With Bernard, of course. He had created her.

  “You look divine, darling,” cooed the hairdresser.

  She had to admit that she did. But it hadn’t been easy getting there.

  Lucky

  1966

  Four weeks had passed. The south of France was a distant memory. The Bel Air house was reality. The Bel Air prison, more like. Since returning, Lucky’s freedom had been limited. A housekeeper called Miss Drew appeared on the scene. She never let Lucky out of her sight.

  The rain-soaked night in France lingered in Lucky’s memory. The shock of Gino arriving, his face as angry as the thunderclouds. He had held her by the shoulders, his nails digging into her flesh, and without saying one word he had shaken her so hard that her teeth had actually rattled.

  It was all a nightmare. Olympia’s father emerging from the car and saying, “I knew it! I knew they would be here!” And the three of them standing in the rain, soaked to the skin, and Lucky wondering desperately how she could warn Olympia, who was probably in bed with Warris because that’s where they spent most of their time.

  Then into the house they had all marched, Gino gripping her by the arm as if frightened she would run off and Dimitri exclaiming in shocked tones, “My God! They’ve wrecked my sister’s home!”

  It was at this point that the storm had really erupted. Vivid streaks of lightning, great roars of thunder. And while Gino screamed at her, “How was Pippa Sanchez involved with you?” Dimitri flung open the double doors of the main bedroom, and there was Olympia exposed for all to see, naked, her rounded ass up in the air as she diligently bent down between Warris’s spread legs and gave him one of the best blow jobs he had ever experienced.

  There was a nasty silence, broken only by the slurping sounds Olympia made with her mouth.

  Dimitri did not hesitate. He moved forward and whacked her ass with all his might. It was unfortunate, that Warris had just begun to come, for as Olympia leaped up, yelling, “What’s going on?” Warris shot his sperm in a perfect arc all over Dimitri’s arm.

  “Christ!” screamed Dimitri.

  “Christ!” screamed Warris.

  The news of Pippa’s death brought a temporary lull in the proceedings. Warris had crumpled into a chair, his head in his hands. “My God! I don’t believe it.”

  “What was she doing here anyway?” Gino demanded.

  “She wasn’t here,” Warris mumbled. “She was just a friend of mine, she borrowed the car, that’s all.”

  The towering fury of the two men knew no bounds.

  “You get the hell out of this house,” roared Dimitri.

  “Fast,” added Gino, “while you’re still in one piece.”

  The rest was a blur of raised voices, Olympia hysterical, accusations all around, Warris being made to pack and leave, staggering out into the storm-ridden night clutching his two Gucci bags. And then another silent plane ride with her father, his face like granite. A plane ride that took them all the way to Los Angeles and the Bel Air house. No conversation. Why didn’t he talk to her? Why couldn’t they communicate?

  She wasn’t even punished. But it was punishment enough to be left alone, for the very next day Gino was gone, and she was left with Miss Drew, athletic thirtyish Miss Drew, who never moved from her side.

  She wondered what punishment Olympia had received. Probably just another school in another city. One day they would run out of cities for Olympia. When she tried to call her at one of her various homes, she found that all the numbers had been changed. “Your father does not wish you to communicate with Miss Stanislopoulos,” said Miss Drew primly. Obviously.

  She awoke on the day of her sixteenth birthday to find that Gino was back. Just like that, a smile on his face, a cup of coffee in his hand, he was sitting on the patio overlooking the swimming pool when she came down for breakfast.

  There was so much she wanted to ask him. How had he found her in France? What did he think? Was he glad to have her back?

  “Hi, daddy,” she said tentatively.

  He threw her a great big smile. “I solved our problem, sweetheart.”

  Our problem? What was our problem? Another school? If it was, she would just take off again.

  “You got a pretty dress?” he inquired.

  Showed how well he knew her. She hated dresses, never wore them. “Why?” she queried suspiciously.

  “’Cause I’m takin’ you on a little trip, want you to meet some friends of mine.”

  “Where?”

  “Vegas. For the big charity evenin’ I’m giving Mrs. Peter Richmond at my hotel.”

  “Vegas?” Lucky glowed. Las Vegas was somewhere she had always wanted to visit. “Really?”

  “Sure. We’ll hop a plane ’bout one o’clock. Go pack a bag.”

  She couldn’t believe her luck. “Honestly?”

  He laughed. “Yeh, honestly. And pack somethin’ decent—I don’t want to see those crummy jeans and that old work shirt you live in.”

  “Sure thing.” She raced up to her room and inspected the contents of her closet. Marco was in Vegas. Had to find something sensational to wear.

  Miss Drew came to the door and peered in, smiling thinly. “I understand you’ll be off for a few days.”

  A few days! Wow! It was getting better and better. “Yeh,” she said, “Gino—er, daddy’s taking me to Las Vegas with him.”

  “How nice.”

  “You bet!”

  “Happy birthday, kid.” Gino clinked champagne glasses with her and handed her a small package.

  Suddenly it was like everything in her life was going right. She was sixteen, she was sitting in the Mirage Hotel in Las Vegas next to her father, and he was paying attention to her. Marco sat across from them, dark broody Marco, even better-looking than she remembered him. The only drag was the way she looked. But if it made Gino happy…

  Upon their arrival in Las Vegas he had insisted that she visit the hotel beauty parlor to get her hair fixed. The woman in the salon had rigid instructions from her father on how she should look. Neat groomed curls. Horrible! Gino said she looked lovely.

  He had personally picked out a dress for her. Pink. Frilled at the neck and the hem. The most revolting dress she had ever seen. Ugh! Gino said she looked lovely.

  Feverishly she tore at the small package and then gasped when she opened the velvet-lined box. Diamond ear studs! Impulsively she threw her arms around her father and hugged him tight.

  Laughingly, he pushed her away.

  It was like all her dreams were coming true at once. She was so happy she could burst.

  Marco said, “Those are some earrings.”

  Proudly she held them up to her ears.

  “Go put them on an’ take a look, the ladies’ room is in back,” Gino said, smiling.

  She rushed off.

  “You told her yet?” Marco asked, watching her departing figure.

  “Not yet. I’ll get around to it.”

  “How do you think she’ll take it?”

  Gino leaned back in his chair, his black eyes suddenly bleak. “I don’t particularly care. It’s for her own good. One day she’ll thank me.”

  Marco nodded, unsure. “I guess.”

  Gino’s voice was hard. “I know.”

  Betty Richmond was dressed and ready. Her husband, Peter, was still fiddling around at the mirror.

  “Do hurry,” she scolded. “You know I
hate to be late. Especially for my evening.”

  “Gino Santangelo’s evening, you mean.”

  “My evening.”

  Peter fixed his tie and grimaced. “You know how the old saying goes. Lie down with dirt and you get up covered in it. That, my sweetheart, is what is going to happen to us.”

  “You should know, Peter, you’ve been lying down with dirt all your life,” Betty replied acidly. “If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be in this position.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake—”

  “Come on. I refuse to be late.”

  In the ladies’ room Lucky studied her diamond earrings. They were stunning. She picked up a brush and attacked her hair, managing to make it a little less neat, but there was nothing much she could do about her dress—more’s the pity. She made a face at her reflection, then grinned impudently and stuck out her tongue. So what? Surely Marco had the sense to see beneath some cruddy dress?

  She hurried back to the table, which had filled up somewhat.

  Marco appeared to have vanished. Squeezing into her place next to Gino, she recognized a few famous faces. There were also several other couples, elderly and affluent—diamonds and jewels dripping off the women, cigars sticking from the men’s mouths. Across the room she thought she recognized Elvis Presley and Tom Jones and Tina Turner and Raquel Welch. Too much! “This is incredible!” she whispered to Gino.

  “Good,” he replied easily. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

  Senator Richmond and his wife were making an entrance. Lucky had seen their pictures in the popular magazines on many occasions. The Senator was always doing something active—playing polo, canoeing, powerboat racing. He was suntanned and healthy looking. So was his wife.

  As they approached, Gino stood and introduced her. “This is my daughter, Lucky,” he said proudly. The Senator gave her a firm handshake, while Mrs. Richmond inspected her from head to toe. Then some tall freak stepped into the picture. “And this is Craven Richmond,” Gino added. “He’ll look after you tonight.”

  Before she had time to figure out what was happening, Gino moved out from the table and Craven Richmond slid into his place.

  “Aren’t you going to sit here, daddy?” she managed, sounding like a fool.

  “I’ll see you later, kid. Have a good time.”

  She should have known it was all too good to be true.

  The evening turned out to be a drag. Sitting through a whole bevy of elderly talent, one eye on Gino—who sat at the center table with all the really important people—and one eye on the lookout for Marco, who never reappeared. And who could blame him? The show was the pits. No rock stars, no decent music, just a series of old superstars who Lucky couldn’t care less about but who sent the audience into a paroxysm of applause.

  And Craven Richmond by her side. Attentive, polite, BOR…. ING! He was the kind of guy she and Olympia had lots of names for—Jerk—Creep—Square.

  After the show there was a private party hosted by Gino. She couldn’t shake Craven, she couldn’t get near Gino, and when she saw Marco he was deep in conversation with a girl she could easily kill. All she wanted was to get out of there. “I’m tired,” she told Craven.

  “So am I,” he agreed.

  “I think I’ll go to bed then.”

  “Let me walk you to the elevator.”

  Let me walk you to the elevator! She wanted to scream!

  He escorted her to the elevator. “How about a game of tennis in the morning?” he asked politely.

  “I don’t know what time I’ll be getting up.”

  “I’ll call you at ten. We can arrange a time then.”

  “Gee, I… er…” She couldn’t come up with an excuse.

  Craven bent down and kissed her chastely on the cheek.

  He was tall. A real freak. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t worry, everything will be just fine.”

  She stepped in the elevator and quickly pressed the close button. What a jerko! And what did he mean, Don’t worry, everything will be fine? Idiot, She hoped she would never have to spend another evening with him again.

  Up in her room in Gino’s private suite, she couldn’t wait to wriggle out of the horrible pink dress. She kicked it in a corner of the bathroom and strode around in just bikini pants. She never bothered with a bra—she didn’t have enough up top, and she hated the confining feel of it. She stared at herself in the mirrored bar and practiced a little walk-around like the showgirls she had watched earlier. It amused her, and she started to giggle. Fancy strutting your stuff for a living. What happened when your stuff started to go off?

  She rummaged in her bag and came up with a pair of dirty white jeans and a T-shirt, which she quickly put on. It was only twelve thirty, this was her first night in Las Vegas, and her birthday. She had no intention of going to bed—not yet, anyway.

  She took a twenty-dollar bill from the dresser in Gino’s room, shoved a couple of pillows under the covers on her bed to make it look like she was sleeping there, pocketed the key to the suite, and set off.

  At 2:15 A.M. Gino kissed Betty Richmond on both cheeks, shook Peter Richmond by the hand, and said, “I’m for bed.”

  “It was a wonderful wonderful evening,” Betty said, glowing with energy.

  “It certainly was,” agreed Peter, clapping Gino on the shoulder. “Surpassed everyone’s expectations.”

  “Yeh,” agreed Gino modestly. “I guess everyone had a good time.”

  Up in his suite he took off his jacket, loosened his tie, poured himself a brandy, and sat for a while on his terrace staring out at the twinkling neon-lit strip. It had been a successful evening. Everything had gone according to plan.

  He was disappointed that Lucky had left early without so much as a good night. Funny kid. Probably tired out with all the excitement. He had watched her exit with Craven and approached the boy when he returned five minutes later. “Lucky all right?”

  “Oh, yes sir, she was just tired.”

  “Don’t call me sir, makes me feel a hundred.”

  “Sorry, sir—er, Mr. Santangelo.”

  “Gino.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Quietly Gino went to her room and peered around the door. She was asleep. A good place to be. He went to his own room, stripped off his clothes, and fell into bed. Within minutes he too was asleep.

  “You little cocktease!” The man’s voice was filled with fury. “Now either you’re gonna put out or I’m gonna make you. Get it, cunt?”

  The man had her pinned against the brick wall of the parking lot at the Mirage. Her own fault. She had met him at some seedy joint, and they had spent a couple of hours together playing the slots and cruising the string of cheap bars and gambling halls in the downtown area, where she had won herself two hundred dollars. By the time he offered to drive her to her hotel, they were old friends. He had parked in back and they had begun to neck. She didn’t object to that. He looked like Marco. He was fun to be with. And she hadn’t indulged in Almost for simply ages.

  When things got too hot and heavy in the car, she jumped out. He followed, pinning her against the wall.

  His fly was already undone and he was pressing his distended penis against her leg. One of his hands roamed roughly under her T-shirt, the other ripped at the fastening on her jeans.

  “Will you stop it?” she muttered through gritted teeth. She wasn’t frightened, just mad as hell.

  “Listen, cunt, no way are you gettin’ me all hot an’ bothered an’ leavin’ me with a stiff prick. No fuckin’ way.”

  His hand ripped at her jeans, tearing them down. And then his fingers were diving between her legs, pushing and probing.

  Her timing was off—too much cheap wine. She should have moved earlier. Summoning all her strength, she gave him the famous Santangelo knee, smashing into his balls as hard as she could.

  He let out a strangled cry of pain and released her.

  She ran, almost tripping, hauling up her jeans, dodging swiftly in and out of pa
rked cars. Stupid jerk. If he had been nice about things, she would have bent her head to him, allowed him to do the same to her.

  It was four o’clock in the morning, but as she rounded the corner to the front of the hotel she could see it was still all happening: cars arriving, others leaving, drunken revelers spilling out, counting their winnings or bemoaning their losses.

  She fastened her jeans properly. The zipper worked, but the top button was gone. Quickly she pulled her T-shirt down to cover the damage and slid through the entrance, skirting the casino section of the lobby, hugging the walls and heading purposefully for the elevators in back.

  “Lucky?”

  She kept moving.

  “Lucky.” The voice, closer now, was accompanied by a hand on her shoulder.

  She turned, wide-eyed and innocent. It was Marco. The real Marco, not some carbon-copy bum. “Oh!” She gave a sigh of relief, “It’s you!”

  He was looking at her strangely. “What are you doing?”

  “I… couldn’t sleep. Took a walk.”

  “Where did you take a walk?” The smell of stale wine was coming off her in waves.

  She shrugged vaguely. “Just around.”

  “Does Gino know you’re out?”

  “He’s asleep,” she said, taking a chance that he was. “I didn’t want to disturb him.”

  “Baby, if he knew you were out you’d disturb him, all right.”

  The way he said “baby” made her shiver. “I’m hungry,” she said impulsively. “Is there anywhere I can get a sandwich?”

  “I’ll have one sent up to you.”

  She gave him a bold look. “I don’t feel like going up yet.”

  He scratched his chin and thought about what to do. If Gino woke up and found her gone he would hit the ceiling. Where had she been anyway? She looked like she’d been in a dog fight. “O.K., we’ll get you a sandwich. Come along.” He took her to the coffeeshop, settled her in a booth, summoned the waitress, and told her he’d be back in a minute.

  Then he did the right thing. He phoned Gino and told him.