"What are you doing?" he demanded.
"Watching gorgeous Tony Danza and having a great time," she replied, happily munching chocolate. "How was Gino? Did you give him my love?"
"I sure did. He was sorry you couldn't make it. I told him if you left the house you'd frighten women and horses! He understood."
She pul ed a pil ow from behind her and threw it at him.
"I don't look that bad."
"You look sensational, babe."
"Babe?" she questioned, smiling. "Has Gino been teaching you a new vocabulary?"
He loosened his tie as he approached the bed. "Gino's been teaching me that the secret of staying young is maintaining a constant hard-on. How about that?" "Steven!
You're beginning to sound like Jerry!" "Wanna feel what I got for you?"
Mary Lou began to giggle. "I love it when you talk dirty!
It's so un-you."
"Hey, who's talking dirty? I'm just trying to get you horny."
"Try some butter pecan ice cream and mucho chocolate. That's my big turn-on. Sorry, sweetheart. I promise I'l make it up to you the day I leave the hospital."
"Yeah, yeah." He strol ed into the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the way. "You know, I almost told Gino about the Deena Swanson deal," he cal ed out. "I hope you didn't," Mary Lou replied disapprovingly.
"No. I kept it to myself."
"Good thing. You're a lawyer, Steven. You're supposed to be able to keep your client's secrets. Remember?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Sometimes Mary Lou felt twenty years older than Steven instead of its being the other way around. She knew the Deena Swanson situation was worrying him, but why couldn't he relax about it like Jerry? It was no big deal. It was just some rich woman showing off and paying for the privilege.
Steven had to learn to lighten up. When they had the baby, she would teach him. Oh, how she would teach him!
Paige Wheeler had not turned Gino down. But she had not said yes to his proposal either.
"Your kids are grown, the time has come," he'd told her.
"This once-in-a-while shit don't work for me no more."
Paige had studied the huge diamond ring he'd presented her with. She'd tried it on and admired the way it sparkled on her finger. "I can't live in New York," she'd stated.
"No problem. We'l live wherever you want. Tahiti, Tokyo--
you name it."
She'd returned the ring to its box and reluctantly handed it to him. "Give me some time, and I'l give you an answer."
"Do I pay for the ring?" he'd joked.
"Make a deposit," she'd joked back.
Now two weeks had passed and no word. Gino tried to pretend he didn't care, but there was no mistaking it--he did. Getting old did nothing to diminish the strength of his feelings. He might be seventy-something, but he certainly wasn't dead yet, although he had a few aches and pains--
more than a few, but complaining had never been his style.
He'd had some life. Yeah! A real adventure. And goddamn it, he had no regrets. Gino Santangelo had managed to live every minute of it. Now al he wanted to do was settle down with Paige and live quietly ever after. Lucky had cal ed him the night before. She was his daughter al right. Ready to try anything. He recognized so much of himself in her.
"What have I let myself in for?" she wailed over the phone.
"I'm finding out nothing. I need action!" They'd talked awhile.
She'd told him about Olive, Mickey Stol i's English secretary, Harry, the projectionist, and no-bal s Stone--her nickname for Herman.
"Get friendly with the projectionist," Gino had advised. "He'l know a lot more than you think."
"How come?"
" 'Cause he's always around, y'know? He's in that smal dark room where nobody sees him. And I can bet you he sees everything."
"You may be right," Lucky had replied slowly.
"Sure I'm right, kid. When I was datin' that movie star, Marabel e Blue, she made it her business to get friendly with the little guys. That way she al ways had a bead on what the big guys were gonna do next. Capisce?"
"Capisce."
He wondered how Lucky was making out her second day on the job. Maybe he'd fly out to California and see for himself. Or maybe the real reason he wanted to visit L. A.
was to force an answer out of Paige.
Whatever . . . a trip to the Coast wasn't such a bad idea. He had his routine, but routines could become boring.
Sometimes it was healthy to shake things up. There was nothing wrong with surprising Paige on her own territory.
Reaching for the phone, he cal ed his travel agent. Gino never had been good at sitting stil and waiting.
"Didja score?"
"Did I what?"
Joey leaned closer. "Didja score with Cristi? Miss legs-up-to-her-eyebal s."
"C mon, Joey."
"I'm serious, man."
"Get real. I went home to my wife."
"Lucky ain't here."
"She flew in for the weekend."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Ya missed out."
"On what?"
"Cristi's a trip."
Lennie gave a weary sigh. "Let's get this straight. I am not in the bal park for any trips. I'm married and I like it. Can that fact penetrate what I laughingly refer to as your brain?"
Joey shrugged. "What the cow don't know, the bul don't tel her."
Lennie shook his head in amazement. "You have no idea what being with one woman is al about, do you?"
Joey mock-shuddered. "Don't ever let me in on it, it's too frightening!"
They were on the private Panther plane en route to Acapulco. Attractive flight attendants served drinks, while Marisa Birch sucked up the attention of her producer boyfriend, Ned Magnus. Grudge Freeport and Shorty Rawlings also formed an admiring audience. The three men al had a hot nut for her.
"You want to talk frightening--how about shacking up with that?" Lennie nodded down the aisle toward the amazonian Marisa. "She could crush Schwarzenegger with those knockers!"
"Maybe I should go for it," Joey mused.
"Maybe you wouldn't have a chance. She's screwing for a part, and the part she's screwing for is definitely not yours, Romeo."
"If she saw it, she'd want it," Joey boasted. "They al do.
Joey Senior gets 'em every time!"
Lennie sighed. "You got anything else to talk about?"
"Not real y," Joey said with a casual shrug.
There were press waiting at Acapulco airport, and more at the hotel. Lennie hated it. He couldn't get off on the attention anymore, although in the early days it had been a kick. He didn't enjoy smiling for photographers and making nice for the assorted journalists. In his next contract he was going to insist on a no publicity clause.
What did it al mean anyway, this celebrity crap?
Sometimes he thought about taking al this stardom shit and shoving it. So he was having a terrible time on Macho Man--so fucking what? It was only a movie.
Marisa Birch reveled in the attention. She gave herself to the photographers. She gave them her eyes and her teeth and her hair. She gave them her forty-inch silicone breasts barely covered by a thin silk top, nipples erect, thrusting their way into the public's consciousness.
Ned Magnus gazed lustful y on from the sidelines.
Mister producer. Mister married man. Mister asshole.
Lennie had met his wife, Anna, a tight-lipped Wasp with an anorexic body and a penchant for good causes.
Thankful y, Lennie thought about Lucky. He couldn't imagine being with anyone else. She was the best, everything he'd ever wanted. And soon she would be pregnant with his baby and they'd be a real family.
He made a decision. After this film he was going to take a year off. Relax and do nothing except be with Lucky. And if Panther Studios sued him, let them. He deserved the time with his wife. Since their marriage they'd both done nothing but work. It was getting to be too much.
As soon as Lucky arrived in Acapulco he planned to tel her. He could convince her. He knew she'd understand.
One year. No responsibilities. No work. No nothing. Yeah!
Chapter 14
Deena Swanson and her husband, Martin, were one of the most sought after couples in New York. They had what everyone else seemed to lust after--money, position, power, good looks, and invitations to every major event and party in town Deena, with her ice-cold appearance, trademark pale red bobbed hair, frosty blue eyes and famousfor-being-famous demeanor, created envy in other women, and a certain kind of desire in men. She was so cool she was hot. The Grace Kel y syndrome. Rip off the Chanel suit, the lace teddy, the silk panties, and crack the zero-temperature facade.
Everyone thought Martin must be a fortunate man, for surely, between the satin sheets, Deena was an untamed tigress, enough to make any man crazy with her passion.
And Martin must be something too. The manly profile, ready smile, toned body, and charimatic charm.
Were the truth to be made public, sad to say, a different story lay beneath the glossy exterior of the very visible Swansons. Deena loved her handsome husband and was prepared to do anything he wanted. But Martin enjoyed sleeping only with star achievers, and famous as his wife might be, she was famous only because of him, and as far as he was concerned that didn't count. Besides, everyone knew Deena was merely a figurehead. She didn't design the jeans she lent her name to, or create the perfume that bore her signature.
When Martin married her he thought she showed terrific potential. Deena had arrived in New York from her native Hol and a few years previously and soon became a partner in a smal interior design firm that seemed to be going places. She was beautiful, smart, and appeared to be everything Martin was looking for in the woman who was going to be his wife. His own career was taking off, lifting him above his wildest expectations, and it was time to connect with the perfect partner.
On their honeymoon in a secluded vil a in Barbados, Deena had told him that as soon as they got back to New York she was leaving her job.
"You can't do that," Martin had objected strongly. "You're a ful partner. They need you there."
"Wel , actual y," she confessed, "I'm more an employee.
They used my image as one of the partners because it seemed to be good for business. You don't mind if I leave, do you?"
Yes, he did mind. Deena was not the woman he'd thought she was. And discreet inquiries revealed she didn't come from one of the wealthiest families in Amsterdam. Her father, it turned out, was an innkeeper. And her mother worked at the American Embassy as a translator.
Furthermore, Deena was six years older than she'd told him, making her only two years younger than him, instead of the eight years he'd believed.
Martin Z. Swanson was not a happy man when he discovered al this information. He angrily confronted his bride. She nodded, perfectly composed. "Yes, it's true. But what does it matter? Besides, if I can fool a smart man like you, then I can certainly fool the rest of the world, making me the perfect wife for you, don't you think?"
She happened to be right. The image was there--why care about the past?
So the Swansons embarked on married life, both determined to reach the top. Deena became pregnant twice and miscarried on both occasions. After the second time, Martin took his first mistress, a Tony Award-winning stage actress with a jutting lower lip and insatiable sexual appetite. The important thing was, she was famous, extremely talented, and her achievements real y turned Martin on in a big way. After the actress came a prima bal erina. And then a voluptuous blond author who wrote about sex and had topped The New York Times best-sel er list several times. The author was fol owed by a female racing-car driver, and then a particularly skil ed lawyer. By this time, Deena had grown used to Martin's indiscretions.
She didn't like it, but what could she do? Divorce was not even a consideration. She was Mrs. Martin Z. Swanson for life, and let no one forget it. Especial y her erring husband.
When Deena decided to parlay her social celebrity into real bucks, Martin was unimpressed. After she showed him how much money her various products were making, he was stil unmoved. "Money is not talent," he said flatly.
"Ah, but that's al you've got--money," she answered triumphantly.
"The truth is, I'm closer to real talent than you'l ever be," he replied.
"If you think sleeping with sluts is being close to real talent, then you're deluding yourself."
Martin had an infuriating, self-satisfied smirk. "Try it. You'l Martin had an infuriating, self-satisfied smirk. "Try it. You'l see," he said.
She tried it. She had an affair with a sleek black soul singer. Naked, he was the most magnificent man she'd ever seen. But he wasn't Martin, and although the affair satisfied her physical y, it wasn't enough, so she dropped him.
Just in time, for when Martin found out he was truly furious.
"If you wish to stay married to me, you'l never sleep around again," he warned her. "You are my wife, Deena. Do you understand me? My wife. And you wil not make me out to be a fool."
She stared at him angrily. "And you're my husband. Yet you expect me to accept your screwing around without question. I'm only doing what you do al the time. Why do you object?"
"Because you're a woman. And for a woman it's not the same. No more affairs.".
"What am I supposed to do? You never sleep with me," she cried. "I'm hardly going to become a nun." So they struck a bargain. Every Sunday night Martin would take care of his husbandly duties. And in return Deena would remain the faithful wife.
She welcomed him back into her bed with every trick she could think of. Not that Martin was such a great lover. He did not believe in foreplay unless it was for himself. And his action was short, sharp, and clinical.
Deena comforted herself with the thought that at least he was in her bed again, and wasn't that what real y mattered?
Although Deena had no love for the women her husband slept with, she couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit sorry for them. Anyone who knew Martin at al was ful y aware his work came first. The man had an insatiable lust for more money and power. He also enjoyed the headlines on the financial pages.
Over the last few years the name Swanson was everywhere. There was a Swanson Sports Stadium, a chain of Swanson shopping mal s, Swanson Publishing, and in development there was a new luxury automobile to be named "the Swanson."
Yes, Martin got off on seeing his name in print, but only in a positive way. He abhorred scandal and gossip, regarding them as a major embarrassment. When the newspaper columns hinted at some of his affairs, he was furious, and since they couldn't prove anything, he immediately threatened legal action.
The press had learned to leave the great Martin Swanson alone unless they had something positive to write, or could prove his infidelities.
One of these days, Deena was sure Martin would tire of being unfaithful, and then he would be al hers. No more talented whores. No more superachievers. She couldn't wait.
And then along came The Bitch, and Deena knew her almost perfect existence was seriously threatened. At first she didn't take the intrusion of another mistress as anything more than a passing fling. They came, they went, and usual y a month or two was enough to rid Martin of his newfound passion.
But this latest one was different. This one was here to stay, and Deena recognized her as putting the great Swanson marriage at risk.
She'd thought of many ways to handle it. Perhaps pay her off--no good, because The Bitch made megabucks and had no need of anyone's money.
Threaten her with physical violence. No good either, because she'd merely run to Martin for protection.
Kil her.
Extreme, but if she became too much of a threat--the only answer.
Deena had thought about this solution for many months. At first the idea of hiring a professional had seemed best.
There were men for hire, and she knew of acquaintances who could probably arrange a contact. But t
he risk involved was extreme. And how convoluted did the trail have to be before it led back to her?
She was also opening herself up to lifelong blackmail, and that would never do. There was no way she could al ow her position to be jeopardized.
There was only one answer. If she wanted The Bitch dead, she was going to have to do it herself. Once she reached that momentous conclusion she felt secure.
But there remained three big questions.
How?
Where?
When?
The how was easy. Growing up in Hol and, she'd always been exceptional y close to her father, a handsome man, with two passions in life--hunting and fishing. He'd taught his only daughter to do both, and she'd learned wel . Very wel . Deena was a crack shot. She knew about guns.
Disposing of The Bitch with a single bul et through the head would be simple.
The where was another question. It al depended on timing.
And the when was entirely in Martin's hands, for if he stopped seeing The Bitch, none of the above would have to take place.
Unfortunately, Deena did not think this would happen. Her instincts told her that eventual y Martin was going to come to her for a divorce, and if and when that day ever arrived, she was ready to put her plan into operation.
She had already taken out insurance. Jerry Myer-son's firm was one of the best. But the real reason she'd chosen them was because of Steven Berkeley and his reputation as being the finest defense attorney in town. If and when she was ever forced to act, she had a plan. Of course, she had no intention of getting caught. But events took strange turns, and Deena wished to be ful y prepared.
She knew one thing for sure, and one thing only.. Nobody was going to take Martin away from her. Absolutely nobody.
Chapter 15
For some time Harry Browning had been considering inviting Olive Watson, Mr. Stol i's English secretary --or personal assistant as she referred to herself--out. Not exactly on a date--more like an evening of shared companionship, although he certainly had every intention of picking up the check should they go to a restaurant. He'd been thinking about this for eight months--ever since Olive had wished him a happy birthday on his big day. However, these things could not be rushed, so it was quite a disappointment when she'd announced, calmly and cool y, that she was engaged.
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