He caught her checking him out. She quickly glanced away.
"So, and how does Mrs. Stol i want to look today?" he asked, tossing back his mane of enviable blond hair.
"Do your best," she replied shortly.
"I always do, dear, I always do."
Boogie was a whiz at getting fast information. By the time Lucky returned from the screening there was a message waiting for her to cal him.
Herman was slumped behind his desk. He had left the screening twenty minutes into the picture, muttering to himself.
Lucky was certainly no prude, and she abhorred any kind of censorship, but Motherfaker had managed to offend almost everyone. Every other word was "motherfucker," the violence was relentless and mostly pointless, and women were portrayed as either whores or dumb victims.
Johnny Romano had written, executive-produced, and starred in this piece of crap. Some message he was putting out there.
"Does Abe know what kind of sexist violent junk this studio is making?" Lucky demanded.
Herman shrugged hopelessly. "A Johnny Romano film makes money," he said.
"So does a thousand-dol ar-a-night hooker, but that doesn't mean you have to fuck her, does it?"
Herman pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up.
"I'm leaving."
And don't bother coming back, she wanted to say. Stay at home, Herman. Grow roses and play golf. Home is where you belong.
"Don't forget you'l be taking a vacation next week," she reminded him.
He nodded and walked slowly from the office--a tired old man being dragged reluctantly into the present.
For a moment Lucky almost felt sorry for him. But then she thought, what the hel --he was being paid a fat paycheck to sit on his can and do exactly nothing. The least he could have done was view the product once in a while.
Boogie answered her cal immediately. "What's up?" she asked. "Can it wait, or should I hear it now?"
"You're right, as usual," Boogie said admiringly. "You should be at the racetrack picking horses." "Give me the story," Lucky said impatiently, cradling the phone under her chin while she reached for a cigarette.
"Kathleen Le Paul," Boogie announced, "alias Cathy Paulson, alias Candy Ganini. Thirty-four years old. She started out as a sixteen-year-old stripper, married 'a hood, became a cal girl, then started to run dope across borders for anyone who'd pay enough. Arrested in 1980 for transporting drugs. She had three bags of cocaine stuffed up her snatch."
"That's pleasant!"
"Did time, came out, married a smal -time agent, had a child, then went back to her old ways. She's now the Los Angeles girlfriend of Colombian drug lord Umberto Castel i, and one of the chief suppliers of the show-biz community.
They trust her. She dresses in designer clothes."
"I noticed," Lucky said dryly.
"Anything else?" Boogie asked.
"What color panties does she wear?"
"Blue. Pink on Tuesdays."
"Fun--nee."
"Incidental y, your fatheris here."
Lucky was surprised. "Gino's in L. A.?"
"At the Wilshire. He wants you to have dinner with him tonight."
"I can't do that, Boog. Tonight is Abe Panther time, I'm going up to his house. Cal Gino and tel him I'l be in touch tomorrow. Oh, and run a fast check on Eddie Kane, he's senior vice president of distribution at Panther. I want to know it al ."
"You got it."
She thought about Bobby and missed him like crazy. "Did you cal London?" she asked anxiously. "Bobby's fine," he assured her.
"And my office?"
"Running smoothly."
She sighed. "I guess I'm not missed."
"You're always missed."
"Thanks, Boog."
She hung up the phone and contemplated this latest information. So Eddie Kane was a cokehead, and who else had the same little habit?
A cocaine high was expensive to support. Exactly what other scams was Eddie Kane into?
In the executive dining room Susie Rush laid her delicate white hand over Mickey Stol i's not so delicate hairy fist and said, "Next time we lunch, we should do it at my place."
She fluttered her eyelids at him, a flirtatious gesture he did not appreciate. This broad had been coming on to him for weeks, and he couldn't quite figure out how to handle it.
She was a major Panther star, and a major pain in the ass.
He had no desire to fuck her. But the problem was, how to get out of it graceful y? Because as each day passed, Ms.
Rush was making her intentions undeniably clear.
"Susie, my pet," he said, clearing his throat, "if I ever had lunch at your place it would be al over." "What do you mean, Mickey?" she asked, girlishly innocent, knowing perfectly wel what he meant.
"I mean I couldn't stop myself from jumpin' your gorgeous bones, an' that wouldn't be right, would it?" Susie giggled.
"Why not?" she asked, a coquettish tilt to her head.
He couldn't help noticing the fine network of lines around her watery blue eyes, and the two deeper furrows between her brows. This broad was no longer in the first flush--it was miraculous what a great lighting cameraman could do.
"We're both married, Susie. Gotta remember that," Mickey said, trying to sound sincere.
She rubbed her fingers lightly across his clenched fist.
"You're tense, Mickey. Relax, it's only little me."
This had gone far enough--better snap this back onto a business level. "I'm very married, Susie," he reminded her.
And then, just to keep her in a good mood, "If I wasn't, who knows. . . ."
Susie patted his fist and withdrew her hand. "Do you know something, Mickey?"
"What?"
"In spite of your fierce reputation, you real y are a very sweet and loyal man." She honored him with a sugary smile.
Mickey Stol i had been cal ed a lot of things in his life.
"Sweet" and "loyal" were a definite first. He sincerely hoped nobody was eavesdropping. Sweet and loyal could blow his entire reputation.
"Let's talk about the script," he said, firmly changing the subject. *
"Which script?" Susie replied,. delicately picking the leaves off an artichoke and dipping them in a buttery sauce.
"Sunshine."
"I don't want to do Sunshine," Susie replied, getting quite snappish. "If you ever listened to me, you'd be aware I have no intention of doing Sunshine." She paused for dramatic effect. "I wish to play the lead in Bombshel ."
Mickey laughed. A mistake.
Susie glared. "What's so funny?"
He recovered quickly. "Nothing's funny. Venus Maria is set for Bombshel ."
"She hasn't signed."
"She wil ."
Susie's eyes hardened. "I want a shot at that role, Mickey.
And I wil not be happy if I don't get it." He put on his best jerk-off voice. "C'mon, pet. What are we talkin' here?
Bombshel is al wrong for you, it's not your image. The public wouldn't want to see you in it. You're Susie Rush, America's sweetheart. Stick to type. Right now you're queen of the box office."
Not strictly true. Her last film had been a disappointment, making a mere 60 mil ion, as opposed to breaking the 100
mil ion mark, a goal her movies usual y achieved.
"I need a change of pace," Susie said, al business...
Where was the hand-holding of ten minutes ago? Mickey thought sourly, realizing this whole come-on for the last few weeks didn't mean shit. She had no wish to get into his pants, she merely wanted to get into his movie.
He sighed wearily. They were al the same, these actresses. Big star or minor player, they'd al drop their panties for the right role.
Everyone knew Bombshel was his special project, a script developed and written from an idea he'd suggested, a movie he was going to personal y produce. Bombshel --the true, shocking story of a Hol ywood sex symbol. He could see the bil board on Sunset now --preferably the one overlooking Spago. And wit
h Venus Maria in the lead role it was a movie that couldn't miss. Venus Maria was the hottest actress in America. She had a fascinating chameleon quality, a new open sexuality that seemed to turn everyone on. Little girls copied what she wore. Big girls admired her feisty style of sticking her tongue out at convention. And al males, whether sixteen or sixty, felt the musky heat she exuded. Most of al she was now. A true woman of the moment.
"Wel ?" demanded a pursed-lipped Susie, obviously waiting for some comment on her desire to star in his movie.
"You're not right for it," Mickey repeated. "I'm prepared to test," Susie said stubbornly. Mickey shook his head.
She glared at him. Hel hath no fury like an actress scorned.
"I'm wil ing to test and you're saying no?" "Honey, I wouldn't put you through it. Venus Maria is set. It's a done deal."
"She's too cheap-looking--tod obvious."
Mickey was smart enough to make no comment when one woman was putting down another. Dealing with Abigaile had taught him that. He shrugged noncommittal y.
Susie sighed, a deeply put-upon type of sigh, and played her trump card. "Zeppo White has a script he wants me to read for Orpheus. I hardly wish to be disloyal, but I guess I'l take a little peek. What do you think?"
I think you're a blackmailing cunt. "Go ahead if it makes you happy, Susie. But I'd stil like you to think about doing Sunshine."
A phony smile. "Thank you, darling, I knew you wouldn't mind."
Olive cal ed Lucky three times during the afternoon. The first time she thanked her for listening to her problems over lunch. The second time she informed her she'd made a decision--she was definitely going to broach the subject of Luce's taking over for her a couple of days the fol owing week while she visited her fiance in Boston. The third time she sounded dispirited. "Mr. Stol i's in a dreadful mood,"
she said. "I daren't mention my plans until he calms down."
"What's the matter with him?" Lucky asked curiously.
"It's Susie Rush," Olive confided in a low voice. "She's refusing to commit to the film Mr. Stol i wants her to do next." Olive's voice got even lower. "And she's threatening to move over to Orpheus."
"Real y?"
"He's very upset. Not a word to anyone, Luce." "Wouldn't dream. Of it."
"I must go now. I have to send champagne over to his wife."
"Can't she cal the liquor store?"
Olive snorted derisively. "Three dozen bottles of Cristal. If she gets it from the studio she doesn't have to pay."
Another petty scam. "Real y?"
"Oh, dear," Olive fretted, "I shouldn't have told you that."
"Don't worry. Who am I going to tel ?"
"Thank you, Luce. You're a good friend for putting up with al my carrying on. Perhaps we can lunch again tomorrow."
"I'd like that," Lucky said agreeably.
Shortly after Olive's final cal , she took off. The heat was unbearable in the stuffy little office, and she couldn't wait to strip off her dreary clothes, dump the wig and glasses, and return to her real self.
Harry Browning was in the parking lot.
Harry Browning was watching her.
Chapter 21
Virginia Venus Maria Sierra stared at her reflection in the mirrored wal of her al -white gym next to her al -white bedroom in her Hol ywood Hil s home. She was on her Stairmaster, a lethal machine that simulated climbing stairs. Clad in pale blue sweats, a headband holding back her platinum-blond hair, she worked diligently.
Stereo speakers cleverly concealed in the ceiling entertained her with the latest Eurythmics. Much as she admired Annie Lennox, she wasn't real y listening --she had other things on her mind.
Like Ron.
Like Emilio--one of her brothers.
Like Cooper.
And like this stupid dinner party at the Stol is' she'd rashly agreed to attend tonight.
Oh, God! How she hated Hol ywood dinner parties. They were such pretentious affairs. And she'd have to make nice to the Stol is--especial y Mickey, Mr. Mogul himself.
She and Ron had christened Mickey Stol i "Mr. Mogul" the moment they'd met him. He was the perfect Hol ywood studio-head prototype. Central Casting couldn't do better.
He had the mogul look. The mogul voice. And the mogul bul shit charm.
She suspected the charm lasted only as long as one was hot.
Venus Maria was no fool. She was savvy and street smart.
She even kept a watchful eye on her money--no smooth-talking "I'l just take twenty percent of your income" business manager for her. She knew where every dol ar went and signed al her own checks, along with Ron. Early on, she and Ron had formed a company together. They'd cal ed it MARO Productions, and they were fifty-fifty partners. At the time it had seemed like a wonderful idea. Two best friends, joined forever. Now Ron had acquired a new busybody boyfriend, and Ken--that was his name--was pissing Venus Maria off.
Not that she was jealous. Lord knows Ron had gone through enough different boyfriends since they'd arrived in Hol ywood three years ago. But this one was definitely a pumped-up pain in the butt. A handsome (if you enjoyed the pumped-up pain in the butt. A handsome (if you enjoyed the I've-got-a-hot-poker-up-my-asslook), know-al male model.
Behind his back she cal ed him the Ken Dol . He was twenty-eight and acted as if he were fifty.
Ron was in love. Ron was buying the Ken Dol suits and jackets and paintings and sculptures and jewelry, and final y--a Mercedes. A fucking Mercedes for crissakes! She didn't even have a Mercedes.
Angrily her legs worked the Stairmaster. She'd made up her mind she had to split the partnership, and although she realized it was the only sane thing to do, it stil hurt. Ron was her family, her spiritual brother, and she loved him. But she couldn't sit back and al ow him to spend her money on some loser he had a hot nut for.
She'd turned to Cooper Turner for advice. "Do it," he'd advised her. "It's a foolish arrangement anyway. He makes plenty, it's not like you're leaving him with nothing."
This was true. Ron was an extremely successful choreographer, very much in demand since he'd done al the dance routines for Danceflash, a smash hit sleeper movie. And he always choreographed the top videos, including al of hers. So it wasn't like he was broke. He'd have plenty of money, and if he wanted to spend it on the Ken Dol , that was his prerogative. As long as it was his money buying the presents, there would be no need for her to be angry.
Now al she had to do was tel him.
Next problem. Her brother Emilio had turned up at her front door uninvited and unannounced. "I've come out to Hol ywood t'be a star, just like you, little sis."
Little sis! Was this the same Emilio who used to scream at her al the time? The brother who used to whack her across the face if his Saturday night date shirt wasn't pressed exactly the way he liked? The very Emilio who'd cal ed her ratface in front of his friends and repeatedly told her she was the ugliest, shittiest little turd he'd ever seen?
Yes, it was the same Emilio. Thirty years old and too fat to be anything but a slob.
"Get out of my face," she'd told him. "Go home. I can't help you."
He'd shoved his way inside her house, checked it out, settled down in front of the big-screen T. V., and said, "I'l only stay a few days, just til I get a job, little sis."
Big chance of that. Five weeks later he was stil comfortably ensconced in front of her television with no intention of moving.
Another situation she was going to have to deal with.
One thing Venus Maria hated was confrontations. She wasn't good when it came to a showdown. Ever since she was a little girl she'd wanted to run away and not face up to conflict. It was a weakness she was working on.
Fortunately the movie with Cooper was going wel . She liked herself in the dailies; she looked better than she had in her other two films. The acting classes she'd taken had helped, and her new worked-out, worked-on body was a definite improvement.
It was a chal enge to be up there on the-screen with Cooper Turner. She
clearly remembered--although she hadn't told Cooper because he was sensitive about his age--the first time she'd ever seen him. Her mother was alive then, and Venus Maria had been about eleven. Her mother was a big fan and had taken her to see Cooper in one of his early movies.
Venus had thought he was sexy even then. That night she'd ended up playing doctor with herself under the bedcovers.
Cooper would enjoy that part, but she wasn't about to give him the pleasure.
Right now Cooper was being too dictatorial for his own good. He thought he knew everything, but professional y Venus Maria had an instinctive knack of sensing exactly what move to make next, and nobody could alter that--not even Cooper Turner.
"Tone it down," he kept on advising her about her performance. "You're too stylized. Wear less makeup.
Darken your hair. Don't come on so strong." She had the savvy not to listen. She knew the way she was playing the role was right. And if al went according to plan--her plan--
she would steal the film. Cooper was not happy. They fought a lot. Venus Maria was wise for her years; she understood him very wel . He was an aging matinee idol who didn't enjoy getting older. At forty-five he was twenty years older than she, and on screen it showed. Consciously or subconsciously he was trying to dilute her impact. Too bad. She knew the Venus Maria her fans were expecting to see, and she refused to let them down. Not at this stage of her career.
Finishing her workout, she jumped off the machine, stripped off her sweaty exercise clothes, and stood under an icy shower for a good ten minutes. Cold water toned the skin. And after it was toned, she lathered on a Clarins body lotion, making sure she covered every inch of valuable flesh.
As she was doing this, the door to her private bathroom was rudely flung open, and there stood Emilio. She was stark naked, with one leg up on a stool, as she diligently applied the creamy lotion.
"Oh, wow. 'Scuse me!" exclaimed Emilio, eyes taking in every inch of little sis.
Venus Maria did not move. She refused to give him the satisfaction of grabbing for a towel and covering herself.
Instead she glared at him, a put-down, menacing glare.
"Get the fuck out," she said coldly.
He thought about a smart reply, decided against it, checked out pussy and tits and everything else he could lay his eyes on, then backed slowly from the doorway.
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