Or would he? Knowing Gregory, he might be too cagey to do so – he was always so worried about his precious reputation.
But if her car was still outside the abandoned gas station, then Gregory would know for sure that something was wrong, and of course he’d report it; his conscience would force him to do so.
But what if whoever had her locked in the trunk of their car had stolen her Pontiac and driven it off? Then how would Gregory know she’d been taken?
Tears filled her eyes and began slowly sliding down her cheeks.
How would Gregory know? That was the question.
And who would rescue her?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Bobby
Surveying the club location at The Keys with M.J. and Lucky, Bobby experienced a full-on flash of triumph. Finally he would be taking the place over, changing the name to Mood, and creating the most successful late-night venue in Vegas. It was something he’d dreamed of doing ever since Lucky had built The Keys. He’d always nagged her about allowing him to get the club concession, but she’d resisted, saying he had to prove he could do it first. Well, he’d sure as hell proved it. After being open for almost three years, Mood in New York was raking in big bucks, and soon he’d be making a deal to open Mood in Miami, and now he had Vegas to look forward to.
“Y’know we’re gonna be making major changes,” he informed Lucky.
“Wow,” she drawled. “I’m so surprised.”
“You want our stamp on it, don’t you?” he said, noting that his mom never changed. With her long dark curls, deep olive skin, and blacker-than-night eyes she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And the smartest.
“That’s why I called you, Bobby.”
“No,” he argued. “You called me because I’m the only one you can trust not to set up my own deal on your premises.”
“Hardly true,” Lucky objected. “There are plenty of reputable club-owners I could’ve brought in. Rande Gerber, Brent Bolthouse—”
“Keep going, Mom,” he said confidently. “You know you need me.”
“I do?”
“Yeah – say it,” he urged. “Go on – say it.”
“I need you!” Lucky said in a mock-dramatic fashion. “You too, M.J.”
“Thanks, Mrs Gol—”
“Lucky.”
“Uh, thanks, Lucky,” M.J. muttered. Bobby’s incredible mom always managed to make him feel like a kid again.
“Do you realize, M.J., that I’ve known you and your family since you were twelve?” Lucky said, smiling at M.J. “Your father looked after Gino when he had that aneurism problem. And your mom is the most delightful woman.”
“Yeah, an’ I bet you didn’t know that M.J.’s still got a crush on you,” Bobby quipped. “Only now he has a girlfriend, so I gotta hunch you’re probably safe.”
“Who wants to be safe?” Lucky teased, mildly flirting.
M.J. glared at Bobby; he was beyond embarrassed. “Whyn’t you tell your mom who’s got a thing for you?” he said, frowning.
“And who would that be?” Lucky asked, faintly amused.
“Zeena,” M.J. blurted. “She’s got the hots for Bobby, big-time.”
Bobby threw M.J. a dirty look. “Bullshit,” he said.
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Lucky said, “because tomorrow night we’re seeing her show. I hear it’s amazing, so I got us all tickets.”
“Never mind about Zeena’s show,” Bobby said, determined to get off the subject of the predatory superstar. “Aren’t you interested in hearing what kind of changes I’m gonna make?”
“I have a strong suspicion I can guess,” Lucky said, smiling. “But go ahead – tell me anyway.”
Bobby launched into his plans for Mood in Vegas. He had many ideas, and the first order of business was to do away with the illuminated staircase, the indoor fountains and expensive art. His plan was to create a replica of Mood in New York. “It’s gotta have a cooler, more laid-back vibe,” he insisted. “Right now it’s screaming Vegas.”
“Business has always been good,” Lucky pointed out. “Getting people into the club was never the problem.”
“It’s not about how much money you rake in,” Bobby insisted. “It’s more about the crowd.”
“And the crowd should be?” Lucky questioned.
“No tourists – unless they’re young an’ way hot. No fat asses. Like I told you when you first opened – you gotta make the club a happening place for the locals to hang after they get off work. So . . . sexy girls in sexy outfits. Rich dudes with their Ferraris and Bentleys parked outside. Visiting celebs. Everyone with a cool attitude. That’s the vibe we’ll be going for.”
“Okay, guys,” Lucky said, readily agreeing. “I think I get the picture.”
“You do?” Bobby said, surprised that she wasn’t putting up a fight about the changes he intended to make.
“Sure I do, so how about we go work out a deal? Then we can relax and have some fun.”
Bobby grinned. “You got my attention.”
* * *
Later it was his half-sister, Max, who really got his attention. She came to his room at The Keys, surprising him, hammered on the door and burst inside.
He hadn’t seen Max in a few months, and at the age of seventeen she’d blossomed into a total beauty – but she still hadn’t lost her wild streak. Max was the mirror-image of Lucky at the same age. Tall and lithe with a mass of unruly black curls, sun-burnished olive skin, full lips and plenty of attitude. The only difference was their eyes. Lucky’s were dark and intense, Max’s were a brilliant emerald-green.
The moment he opened the door, she threw herself at him, wrapping her long legs around his waist and hugging him tight.
“Whoa!” he said, laughing as he attempted to disentangle himself. “Not appropriate, you’re way too old.”
“Ha!” Max exploded with a wild giggle. “I flew here for the day just to see you. The least I expect is a decent greeting.”
“Brat!” he said affectionately.
“Womanizer!” she responded, green eyes sparkling. “You’re like so totally lame, Bobby. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I had to hear it from Mom. So I jumped on a plane, an’ here I am.”
“Nice to see you too,” he said, still laughing.
“But I love you anyway, big bro,” she added with an infectious grin.
“You love me, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Nice to know.”
“And you love me, right?”
“Sometimes,” he teased. “When you’re not pissing me off.”
“C’mon, Bobby,” she said, mock-frowning. “Stop jerking me around.”
“Who’s jerking you around?”
“You! You! You!” she yelled.
“Calm down.”
“Where’s M.J.?” she asked, switching moods and opening the mini-bar. “I’m supposed to haul his rockin’ ass back to L.A.”
“An’ why’s that?”
“’Cause my b.f.f., Cookie, is desperado to jump his sexy bones.”
“Your friend Cookie is way too young to jump anyone’s bones.”
“Pul-ease!” Max said, rolling her eyes. “What century were you born?”
“S’great to see you too, kiddo,” Bobby said, grinning. “Still with the same smart mouth.”
“Anyone ever tell you you’re beginning to sound like Grandfather Gino?” she offered, extracting a packet of M&Ms from the mini-bar.
“An’ that’s a bad thing?”
“Here’s the deal Bobby,” she sighed, stuffing a handful of M&Ms into her mouth. “I think it’s way time I came to New York an’ moved in with you. Cool plan?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not a plan at all.”
“Why?” she demanded. “You just announced that you loved me. And I’d behave myself. Honestly, Bobby – you can do your thing an’ I’ll do mine.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “Does that mean I have your per
mission?”
“Ha! Ha! Please, Bobby?”
“Sorry. The answer is no.”
“Why? Why? Why?”
“’Cause you’ve got to go to college,” he lectured. “You know that’s what Lucky and Lennie are expecting you to do.”
“Not gonna do that,” she said stubbornly.
“And your reason is?”
“’Cause Mom didn’t go, an’ then you went for two minutes an’ like immediately dropped out. So why have I gotta suffer? It’s not fair.”
“A proper education means a lot, Max.”
“Crap!” she muttered, flinging herself down on the couch, long bronzed legs stretched out in the shortest of skirts.
“No,” he said crisply. “Fact of life.”
“Man!” she complained. “You’re getting as lame as Mom. I guess I’ll havta take off on my own with no help from you.”
“And go where?”
“You’ll see,” she said airily. “No college for this girl. I crave adventure with a capital A. And for your information, nobody – an’ I mean nobody – can stop me.”
Bobby shook his head. He felt sorry for Lucky and Lennie – they had big trouble on their hands.
“What kind of adventures did you have in mind?” he asked.
“Oh, y’know,” she answered vaguely. “Screwing a lot of guys – my choice. Kind of living on the edge.”
“The edge of what?” he asked, trying not to laugh.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” she said, throwing him a dirty look. “I’m my own person, I’m not Lucky’s little girl or your baby sister or Lennie Golden’s kid. I’m me.”
“Nobody’s arguing with that sentiment.”
“Cool, ’cause I’m totally unique, and I plan on doing my own thing.”
“And when’s this gonna happen?”
“Sooner than anyone thinks,” she said mysteriously.
“Yeah?”
“Bet on it, big brother,” she said, green eyes flashing danger signals.
“Now you sound like Lucky.”
“An’ that’s a bad thing?” she said, mimicking him.
“C’mon, baby sis,” he said, reaching for her hands and pulling her off the couch. “We got a big dinner to get to. Brigette and her new friend, M.J. and his girl. So you’d better behave yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to talk about your future later.”
“Believe me, Bobby,” she threatened. “we will. And I’m gonna win on this one – you’ll see.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Annabelle
“Pack everything up and have it all put into storage,” Annabelle instructed Lupe. “I’m too upset to deal with anything now – I’ll get into it another time.”
“Yes, Miss Anna,” Lupe said obediently. Somehow she’d never been able to master saying Annabelle’s full name. “Miss Gemma’s jewelry,” she added, full of concern. “What I do with it?”
Annabelle presumed that all of her mother’s expensive jewelry was secure at the bank or tucked away in a safe hidden in the house. Frankly she didn’t care. Gemma’s jewelry wasn’t to her taste.
“Leave it,” she answered vaguely. “I’ll go through it tomorrow.”
Right now she was anxious to get out of there. Being back in the house was a total downer – it was making her feel physically sick. All the bad memories of her teenage years had come flooding back with a vengeance. She needed to escape from her childhood home and do something to take her mind off the upcoming funeral.
By the time she got downstairs, Megan was standing just inside the front door. “Denver sent me,” Megan announced. “Your housekeeper let me in. I’m Megan, and I’m here to help out.”
Annabelle took a quick look around; fortunately Ralph was nowhere in sight.
“Come,” she said, quickly sizing the girl up and deciding that she seemed a likely candidate for a fun day of retail activity. “We’re going shopping.”
* * *
Frankie made sure he was seated at a prime table near the pool where he could see everyone. It occurred to him that he could’ve ordered lunch in the cabana, but an excellent table right at the front was more impressive. Besides, who needed to be hidden away? Frankie had an urge to be seen.
He’d already spied a girl so perfect for their L.A. operation were they to get it off the ground. She was tall and stacked, with a kick-ass body that reminded him of Ursula Andress stepping out of the sea in an early Bond movie – a movie he’d watched on TV countless times. He could easily recall getting off on the fact that Bond was such a bad-ass – his kind of guy. And as for Ursula . . . well, she was the fantasy woman who’d guided him through many a lonely teenage night. He’d experienced his first orgasm with the delectable Ursula.
The girl in question was with a decrepit old dude who looked about ready to croak any minute. The dude had white hair – surprisingly a full head of it – and a shaggy white beard. The girl wore a bikini so small that she might as well not have bothered. Occasionally Frankie caught her glancing in his direction. He sensed she was dying to get laid – the old fart did not look capable of managing a sneeze, let alone anything else. Frankie had his card at the ready should she come over.
Rick Greco arrived ten minutes late wearing all white. “Thought you mentioned we were meeting in the Polo Lounge,” he said, obviously put out. “I was waiting around upstairs.”
“Nope,” Frankie answered, not getting up, a power move. “It was always by the pool. I’m a New Yorker, gotta catch the rays.”
“Yeah,” Rick said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “How about our weather? This is December. Not bad, huh?”
“That’s exactly why I wouldn’t mind movin’ here,” Frankie allowed, chewing on a breadstick.
“Really?”
“I get off on the climate,” Frankie said. “Not t’mention the scenery,” he added, indicating the girl in the bikini who was now sitting by the edge of the pool, dangling her long legs in the water.
“You can do a lot better than her,” Rick said with a ribald chuckle. “You’ve already seen the pussy that hangs at my club.”
“Right on!” Frankie said.
“But let’s not forget you’ve got a girlfriend, right?” Rick reminded him.
“Yeah, Annabelle,” Frankie said, signaling for the waiter – a man he’d handsomely tipped earlier to make sure he got nonstop service. “But I’m here to tell you, Rick, my lady is very understanding; she’s into lettin’ me do my own thing.”
“Now that’s the kind of girlfriend to have,” Rick said, rubbing his palms together.
“You got that right,” Frankie agreed, ordering himself a Mimosa, while Rick settled for a vodka on the rocks.
He’s a daytime drinker, Frankie thought. All the easier to manipulate. I’m gonna make my mark with this one. I’m gonna take over this freaking town. Everyone’s gonna know who Frankie Romano is.
* * *
Annabelle had a satisfying time spending the day shopping with Megan. They hit all the best places – including Annabelle’s favorite, Fred Segal, and Megan’s not-to-be-missed Kitson on Robertson Boulevard. Then they covered all the large department stores – Neiman Marcus, Barneys, and Sak’s, ending up at Maxfield on Melrose Avenue, where Annabelle dropped a cool eight thousand on a couple of hot outfits.
By the time she’d said goodbye to Megan and got back to the hotel, she was loaded down with shopping bags and feeling pretty damned pleased with herself. Shopping always gave her an incredible high.
Frankie had his coke. She had her black Amex. A fair exchange.
She was about to phone Janey, to check that everything was running smoothly, when the hotel spa called the suite to remind her of her afternoon appointment.
Abandoning her call to Janey, she took off, quite prepared to be deliciously pampered.
* * *
In the middle of lunch Frankie received a call from Bobby. “’Scuse me,” he said to Rick as he turned away to take the call.
&nb
sp; “Guess where we are,” Bobby said, sounding hyper.
“Atlantic City, gettin’ it on with my waitress,” Frankie joked. “What was her name again?”
“No man, we’re in Vegas,” Bobby said, laughing.
“You gotta be shittin’ me.”
“I’m here with M.J. and his girlfriend.”
“M.J. has a girlfriend?” Frankie said, surprised. “What’s she like?”
“Young, black and pretty. He’s in love.”
Frankie wasn’t interested in hearing about M.J.’s love-life, he had bigger things on his mind. “How come you’re here?” he said. “I just saw you in New York, didn’t look like you were goin’ anywhere.”
“Got a call from Lucky asking if we wanted to take over the club concession at The Keys.”
“That’s some surprise, but it’s what you always wanted, right?”
“Sure is. And I was thinkin’ that you an’ Annabelle might be up to takin’ a twenty-four-hour Vegas break. I’ll send the plane for you.”
“You’re finally using your plane?” Frankie said, shocked that Bobby was doing so. “What’s got into you?”
“I needed to get here fast.”
“Jeez,” Frankie said, mind racing as usual. “Vegas sounds like a plan.”
“Doesn’t it.”
“Yeah, but the drag is we gotta be here for the funeral on Thursday.”
“No problem. We’ll all fly back to L.A. together early Thursday. Lennie’s away, so Lucky’s asked me to escort her.”
“Lucky’s goin’ to the funeral?”
“It seems Gemma did a couple of movies for Panther when Lucky ran the studio. She liked her.”
“I’ll talk to Annabelle,” Frankie said, all revved up. “But you can bet your ass I’ll be there, with or without her.”
“Then I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements. Check in with me later.”
“For sure,” Frankie said, snapping his phone shut.
Rick was looking at him expectantly.
“My best friend, Bobby Santangelo,” Frankie explained, keeping it casual while thinking that Bobby couldn’t have called at a better time. Rick was already impressed, so this should nudge him right over the edge. “He’s . . . uh . . . sending his plane to fly me to Vegas.”
Poor Little Bitch Girl Page 20