Undaunted, the reporter pressed on. "Lucky Santangelo--quite a woman. Is she in L. A.?"
"Ever thought of getting a tongue job?" Lennie asked sharply.
The woman was startled. "I beg your pardon?" "Y'know, a little snip at the end? Just to stop you asking those personal questions you've been told not to ask?"
Before she could respond,' Shorty Rawlings appeared, and Lennie stalked off without saying another word.
"Wel , real y!" the woman said, her face flushed, "did I hit a nerve?"
"I sure hope not," Shorty replied anxiously. This movie was giving him ulcers, what with Joey Firel o laying everything in sight; Grudge Freeport drinking himself into oblivion; Marisa Birch shacking up with her female stand-in as wel as with the producer; and Lennie Golden behaving like he didn't have to do publicity. And this was on home ground--Christ knows what they'd al be like on a five-week location in Acapulco.
Shorty frowned. Lennie Golden wasn't Nicholson or Redford, for crissakes. He was just the new schmuck on the lot with a couple of money-making movies behind him and no solid track record.
Shorty Rawlings was fifty-two years old; he'd seen them come and he'd seen them fade--real fast. Plenty of publicity kept you up there, and Lennie Golden better wise up.
Shorty threw his arm around the journalist's shoulder.
She was a tal woman with greasy hair and a bad nose job.
Probably a failed actress--Hol ywood was ful of 'em, and they al ended up doing something else. "C'mon, honey," he said expansively. "I'l buy you a drink." An' maybe you'l give me a blow job, he added silently. After al , this was Hol ywood, and the perks of the job were many.
"What's going on, man?" Joey Firel o caught him on the way back to his trailer.
Lennie shrugged noncommittal y. "Some stupid cow of a reporter."
"Fuck 'er," Joey said, cavalier as ever.
"No. You fuck her," Lennie retaliated.
Joey was not adverse to the idea. "What does she look like?"
Lennie couldn't help laughing. Joey would screw a table if it eyebal ed him nicely. "I'm going home," he said. "See you tomorrow."
"Home." Joey repeated home as if it were a dirty word.
"How about my party?"
"I told you, I can't make it."
"You're missin' out on a wild time."
Lennie was not into Joey's bad behavior. "I've had enough wild times to last me several lifetimes, thank you."
"You don't know what you're missing!"
"That's just it, Joey. I do."
He bumped into Cristi on the way to his car. She certainly was a prime California girl, al bronzed limbs, pale hair, and gleaming white teeth. He couldn't help noticing that her legs ended at her neck. "Good night, Mr. Golden,"
she said politely.
Mr. Golden! Was he that old?
Climbing into his Ferrari he realized he not only missed Lucky, he needed her. She'd promised to spend a couple of weeks at the Acapulco location, and he couldn't wait.
Being together. Wasn't that what marriage was supposed to be al about? For eighteen months they'd spent most of their time apart. O. K., so he'd known up front Lucky wasn't the kind of woman to drop everything just to be with him. She had a multibil ion-dol ar business to watch over, and a son and a father she liked to spend time with.
But somehow he'd always imagined he could handle it, that it wouldn't bother him. Lately he'd been realizing things weren't exactly turning out t_hat way. He'd been missing her plenty. And a more traditional marriage didn't seem like such a bad idea. He enjoyed being married. It gave him security and balance, made him feel centered in his life, for once. And after his crazy childhood he needed a stabilizing influence. He certainly hadn't found it with Olympia. Lucky was supposed to be it.
Maybe the time had come to think about having a kid of their own. A Golden kid--with Lucky's looks and his humor.
He'd mentioned it a couple of times, and Lucky had changed the subject before they'd real y had a chance to get. into it.
Yes, he decided, Acapulco was the time and the place.
And the more he thought about it the more he was sure.
Fun times in the Mexican sun, talk her into a baby, and after the movie was finished they'd spend a couple of weeks in Malibu with Brigette and Bobby, and then take the summer off and drift around Europe doing nothing.
He remembered the first time he and Lucky had made love. What a memory! It was a late afternoon in Saint-Tropez. Calm sea, deserted beach, balmy weather. Some great trip!
Goddamn it! The memory was making him horny. He screeched the Ferrari to a stop at a red light, suddenly craving a cold shower.
"Hi!" A girl in a white convertible pul ed alongside him.
She wore a purple tank top and matching visor.
Before he could decide whether he knew her or not, she solved his problem. "I looQve your movies," she purred.
"You're s000 funny and s000 sexy."
If he'd wanted to he could have hit on her with no trouble.
She was certainly pretty enough.
But those days were over. He was a happily married man with an incredible wife and a baby on the way. Wel . . .
almost.
Flashing her a smile, he muttered a quick "Thanks," and without a second thought floored the Ferrari, making a fast, clean getaway.
Chapter 8
Back in New York, Lucky made her decision. She would do it. Goddamn it, if that was the only way she could get Panther Studios, she would do it! Go in undercover and find out everything Abe Panther wanted to know. In fact, while she wasn't about to tel Abe so, she was beginning to think it was a great idea. This way, when she took over the studio she'd know everything. A great advantage.
Immediately after the meeting with Abe, she'd caught a plane back to New York. Morton Sharkey had
accompanied her in the limousine on the drive to LAX. He'd talked al the way, tel ing her how ridiculous Abe's idea was, how it would never work, how it was quite obvious that Abe Panther was final y getting senile.
Morton couldn't help but notice her silence. "You're not actual y thinking of doing it?" he'd asked incredulously.
She'd smiled a slow inscrutable smile. "I'l let you know, Morton."
Now she was ready to tel him Yes, we're going for it.
Natural y, Mr. Morton Sharkey would throw a fit, lawyers were always creating problems, studying every legal angle, pointing out the pitfal s.
So what? Lucky Santangelo did what she wanted. And this caper was just the kind of adventure she craved. She was already thinking of ways to change her appearance so no one would recognize her. As Gino's daughter, the widow of Dimitri Stanislopoulos, and Lennie Golden's wife, she'd had her photograph in the newspapers from time to time, but not that often. And she'd never cooperated with the press--there were no official posed pictures, only random paparazzi shots.
A wig would take care of her hair. And glasses for her eyes. Dowdy clothes and a subservient attitude. This was going to be fun! Six weeks of play-acting and then Panther Studios would be hers.
The only catch: How was she supposed to take six weeks off from normal life? How was she going to explain it to Lennie?
First she decided to confide in Gino.
The Santangelos: black-eyed Gino and his wild daughter. They'd been through a lot together--more than most families in ten lifetimes. Lucky loved him with a fierce and enduring passion.
She cal ed, saying she had to see him urgently. They usual y dined several times a month. Unfortunately she'd had to cancel their last dinner because she'd been in L. A.
"Paige is in town," Gino said, over the phone. "Can't it wait?"
Lucky was insistent. "Urgent means urgent." "And Paige in town means an old man's feelin' pretty damn good."
"So feel good later. This can't wait."
"Lucky, Lucky, you're a difficult woman." "So what else is new?"
"Hey--how about I bring Paige with me?" he suggested.
Lucky sto
od firm. "Absolutely not."
She wasn't being possessive, but the last thing she needed was Paige Wheeler knowing what she planned.
Who could guess what kind of mouth the woman had?
She was, after al , married to a Hol ywood producer.
One word in the wrong direction could blow the whole setup.
Lucky was determined to make sure nothing went wrong. Acquiring Panther Studios was al -important to her.
There could be no tripping up along the way.
They met at a smal Italian restaurant on Lexington.
Father and daughter. Lucky, dark haired, black-eyed, and exotical y beautiful. Gino, stil walking with a swagger, a certain energy and cockiness about him that belied his years.
The man's stil got it, Lucky thought admiringly as he approached their table. He real y must have been something when he was young.
She'd heard enough stories about him from Uncle Costa, her father's dearest and oldest friend. Costa Zennocotti, who'd once been Gino's lawyer, was now a retired and respectable old gentleman living in Miami.
Ah . . . when Costa got to talking about the old days it was a treat. To hear Costa tel it there'd never been anyone quite like Gino the Ram. What a nickname! Lucky couldn't help smiling.
"What are you grinnin' at?" Gino demanded, sitting down and winking at their regular waitress--a big, surly woman who saved al her good moods for Gino. "I was reflecting on your lurid past."
"Sweetheart, you don't know nothin'."
"Bul . . . shit."
"My daughter, the lady."
"Just what you wanted, huh?"
Their eyes met, ful of warmth. Gino summoned the waitress and ordered his favorite red wine and hot crusty bread to be brought to their table immediately. "It's on the way," the waitress said triumphantly. He pinched her big ass, making her day. "What a girl!" And then he turned his ful attention to Lucky.
"How's Bobby? An' more important--when am I gonna see him?"
Gino was crazy about his grandchild, and never stopped complaining about the boy's being educated in England.
"Bobby is fine," Lucky replied. "I speak to him every day. Natural y he sends you his love. You're his favorite, as if you don't know."
"The kid would be better off in New York," Gino grumbled. "He's an American, he should be here. What's he gonna learn in one of them fancy-shmancy English schools?"
She did not feel the time was right to remind her father that Bobby was half Greek. "Manners," she said.
"Ha!" Gino snorted his amusement. "I sent you to Switzerland to learn manners, an' look what happened to you!"
"Yeah, look what happened to me. I real y bummed out, didn't I?"
The waitress poured a drop of wine for Gino to taste.
He sipped, nodded. "You're one hel of a Santangelo," he said, facing his daughter. "You got my street smarts, your mother's class, and you're a looker on top of it al . We did O. K. by you, kiddo, huh?"
"Thanks a - lot. Don't I get any credit?" Lucky asked good-naturedly.
"It's al in the genes, kid.:"
"Sure."
Gino's eyes scanned the restaurant as he drank his wine and tore jnto the freshly baked bread. "So," he said slowly, "tel me, what's so important that I had to leave Paige? She thinks I got another broad stashed away."
"At your age?" Lucky asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
"Listen, kid. Age has nothin' t'do with nothin'. Just remember that. In your head you're always whatever age you wanna be--an' I'm stickin' to forty-five. Capisce?"
My father is a remarkable man, Lucky thought. He's probably going to die on the job--humping his way to heaven!
"You're grinnin' again," Gino said. "What's up? Are you pregnant? You an' Lennie hit the old jackpot, huh? Is that what you got to tel me?"
"No way!"
"O. K., O. K., so don't get excited. It's about time Bobby had a brother or sister. I'm only askin'." "Why is it that whenever a woman has a secret, every man in the world natural y assumes she's pregnant?"
"So stab me in the back. I came up with a bad guess."
Taking a deep breath she made her announcement.
"I'm going to buy a movie studio."
"You're gonna do what?"
"I'm buying Panther Studios," Lucky continued excitedly.
"The studio that has Lennie tied to a three-picture deal."
Her eyes sparkled. "You see, the truth is he's hating every minute of the movie he's shooting now. He wants out, and I'm going to arrange it. Not out--but control. Al the control he wants! Isn't it a sensational idea? I own the studio, and he gets his freedom."
"Slow down, kid. An' correct me if I'm readin' you wrong.
But the thought here seems to be that you're gonna buy a film studio just 'cause your old man is not havin' a day at the beach. Am I hittin' it straight on?"
"You got it!" Lucky was on a rol . She felt the adrenaline coursing through her body. Tel ing Gino was a kick. When she'd financed and built the Magiriano Hotel in Vegas by herself, and her father had seen the results, it had been a real triumph. Somehow, purchasing a movie studio was even more of a thril .
Gino laughed derisively. "What the hel do you know about makin' movies?" he asked.
"What did you know about running a hotel when you put up the Mirage in 1902?" Lucky countered. "It was 1951, smart ass, an' I knew plenty."
"Like what?" she chal enged.
"Like more than you know about the goddamn picture business."
"What I don't know I'l find out. I plan to surround myself with professionals. If you look around at some of the jerks in charge of major studios you can see it's no big chal enge.
Panther is coasting along on cheap exploitation flicks and stars' ego trips. I'm going to turn the studio around and make it hot again."
Gino shrugged, sipped more wine, and shook his head.
"Yeah, you're my daughter, al right. You're a Santangelo."
With a smile she charmed him. "Was there ever any question?"
Three hours later they'd finished two bottles of wine; eaten a mound of spaghetti and clam sauce; dal ied with a dish of homemade pastries; and were now on hot, whiskey-laced Irish coffees.
"Cholesterol heaven!" Lucky murmured happily. "Are you sure you're supposed to do this at your age?"
He winked. "I'm forty-five, remember?"
She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. "I do love you, Gino . . . uh . . . Daddy." It was only on very special occasions she cal ed him Daddy.
Basking in her affection, he said, "It's mutual, kid. You never doubted it, didja?"
Yes, lots of times, she wanted to say. When Mommy was murdered and you withdrew from your children. And how about the time you paid to marry me off to Senator Richmond's dumb son when I was only sixteen? And shutting me out of the family business. And treating me like women were an inferior specie's. And marrying that Beverly Hil s bitch Susan Martino, and almost adopting her scuzzy, ful y grown children. . . .
Oh, yes, there were plenty of bad memories. But now things couldn't be better. They were a team. And somehow she knew it would never change.
Chapter 9
You've been edgy for the last three days," Mary Lou said, massaging Steven's left foot. "What is it, honey? Are you ever going to tel me, or have I just got to carry on tiptoeing around your bad mood like a zombie?"
Steven roused himself from Johnny Carson's
monologue. "What bad mood are you talking about?" Mary Lou dropped his foot and let out an exasperated sigh.
"Either you're going to tel me or you're not. Obviously you're not, so quit with the short answers and long silences, otherwise I am out of here." She raised her voice. "You hear me, Steven? O--U--T."
He looked faintly amused. "Where would you go?" "Go?
Me? I'm a star, honey, I can go where I want. So there!"
Lazily he reached for her. "With that big bel y?" She pul ed away. "Don't try and sweet-talk me now. You're too late."
His hands found
their. way to her swol en breasts, where they lingered.
She didn't move. A good sign. Maybe he could shortstop a fight and get lost in her warmth. He needed comforting and nurturing, not a damned argument.
"Steven," she murmured in a low voice that was neither denial nor acceptance.
With practiced ease he continued to fondle her breasts, springing one of them free from the confines of a lacy nightgown, and bending his head to play smal circling games with his tongue.
"Steven Berkeley," she sighed breathlessly, "I real y hate you."
There was no more talking after that. Two years of marriage and they were both stil hopelessly turned on by each other.
On television Johnny Carson continued to entertain. In the Berkeley household no one was watching. The next morning Mary Lou was up first. She showered, dressed in a sensible track suit, and sat on the side of the bed waiting for Steven to wake up.
He rol ed into consciousness, foggily aware it was Saturday, his favorite day.
As soon as he opened his eyes Mary Lou pounced.
"About time, lover-boy," she said matter-of-factly. "Now let's continue that conversation we never finished last night."
Piece by piece she dragged it out of him until eventual y he confided the whole story to her. What else could he do?
She was relentless when it came to extracting information.
He told her about Deena Swanson and their bizarre meeting. And then he told her about Jerry--the fool --who'd laughed the whole thing off and claimed they were dealing with a crazy woman, and no way was he handing back a mil ion bucks retainer--no damn way. "Perhaps she is crazy," Mary Lou mused. "She must be, to even tel you she's considering murdering someone. I'm sure she's putting you on."
"Great. Just great. You're sure she's putting us on,"
Steven replied sarcastical y, jumping out of bed. "That solves everything. Now I can go about my business with a clear conscience." He stalked into the bathroom. "Let's not worry about the poor victim, huh?" he cal ed over his shoulder.
"There is no victim," Mary Lou pointed out sensibly.
"Yet," Steven replied ominously.
"And there won't be."
He was aggravated. "For crissakes, Mary Lou. Don't come off as if yOu know what the hel you're talking about."
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