"Goddamn it!" he muttered. "Goddamn!"
Time to do away with the entertainment. Venus Maria entered the room, waving the girls out.
They picked up their things and exited quickly. "Hmmm."
Venus Maria stared mesmerizingly at her prisoner. "You've been a bad boy. Look at the mess you've made."
"Come here," he said desperately.
"Wait!" she commanded.
"Come here!" he insisted.
She walked slowly into the bathroom, came back with a fluffy white towel and wiped him clean.
"Not such a big shot on campus, after al ," she sighed.
"You're unbelievable!"
"I try to please."
"I want to fuck you."
"What else is new?"
"I want to--"
"What?"
"Spend more time with you."
"That's nice. How about your wife?"
"She's in New York."
"I know."
"Come here, Venus. Untie me. Al bets are off."
She glanced at her Cartier tank watch, a present from Martin the last time he was in town. "You have another thirty-five minutes to go."
"I want out."
"Pay me."
"No way."
"Then . . . stay where you are and keep quiet. A bet is a bet is a bet is a bet.
"I know what a bet is."
She had on denim cutoffs and a white T-shirt. Standing at the end of the bed she did a slow strip. Underneath she wore crotchless red lace panties and a cutout black leather bra--hooker gear designed to excite.
Stretching her arms into the air she grinned provocatively. "I think I'l go see Cooper," she said.
Martin broke the silk scarves in one bound and was on her like a randy New York tycoon.
"You're something else," he said.
"And so are you," she whispeted softly. "So are you."
Chapter 32
Harry Browning took his time deciding what he should do about Luce. He brooded about it on and off for a couple of weeks before approaching her. He couldn't help noticing her promotion. Al of a sudden this strange woman who'd entered the studio as Sheila Hervey's niece was suddenly ensconced as Mickey Stol i's personal secretary. And where was Olive? The rumor was she'd broken her leg and was not coming back for a while. How convenient.
Harry waited until Luce was sitting alone in the commissary one lunchtime and approached her.
She glanced up at him. "Hel o, Harry."
He sat down at her table without being invited. "What are you up to?" he demanded accusingly.
She started straight at him. Two more weeks to go and she was out of this charade. "I beg your pardon?" she said calmly.
He fiddled with his spectacles, took them off, cleaned them with a napkin, and put them on again. "What exactly are you up to?" he repeated excitedly. "I know it's something."
Lucky remained cool. "I'm not getting your drift." "I'm no fool," Harry Browning said agitatedly. "You lured me to your apartment, got me drunk, and tried to wheedle information out of me."
This was unexpected. Lucky wasn't sure how to play it. "I've no idea what you're talking about," she said at last. "I never lured you anywhere. You asked me out and I offered to cook you dinner. It's not my fault you hit the booze."
Harry narrowed his eyes beneath his wire-rimmed spectacles. He was unhappy with the way this was going.
He'd expected her to be more unsettled, not quite so in control. Determined to get to the point, he pressed on. "I know what you're up to," he said.
"If you know," she replied cool y, "how come you're asking me?"
This stumped Harry for a moment. He didn't like her attitude. He didn't like her. And he certainly didn't like the fact that she'd made him turn to the bottle again. "Does Mickey Stol i know who you are?" he demanded hotly.
"Who am I?" she replied, staring him down. "Who are you?"
he persisted. "Why don't you tel me? Or do I have to ask Mr. Stol i myself."
"What would you ask him exactly?"
"To investigate your background. I know that's a wig you're wearing. And you don't need glasses. I also know you visited Abe Panther the other night."
She stared him down. "Then perhaps you should ask Mr.
Panther what this is al about."
Harry lapsed into silence. Spotting a mark on the tablecloth, he went to work, rubbing vigorously with his napkin.
Lucky took a slow beat. "Whose side are you on. Harry?"
she asked, keeping an even tone.
"What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously. "You're wel aware of the kind of product this studio is turning out: You know how it used to be."
"It used to be great," he said vehemently.
Lucky nodded. "It can be great again, Harry. Just trust me."
He was indignant. "Why should I trust somebody who tried to get me drunk?"
"I had no idea you had a . . . problem.--
He jumped on that one. "Did Mr. Panther tel you?"
"Abe Panther never mentioned you."
She wasn't sure whether he believed her or not. But she decided she wasn't hanging around to find out. She got up from the table and prepared to leave. "Harry," she said,
"you'd be doing me an enormous favor if you didn't tel anybody what's going on." "I'l do what I like," he said curtly.
"In two weeks' time," she said slowly, "everything wil be clear."
"I'l do what I like," he repeated. "You'd better be careful. I'm watching you."
Hurrying back to the office, she thought about things.
Another week working for Mickey Stol i. Another week closer to the end of this charade. And what had she discovered? That most people were stealing. That there were a lot of petty scams going on. And that men in the film business used women as commodities.
When she took over, Mickey Stol i was out, and so were most of his little band of merry men. She already had her lawyer, Morton Sharkey, preparing a list of suitable replacements.
"Let's bring some women executives aboard," she'd suggested, and Morton had agreed. Already he was coming up with suggestions, . although there weren't that many women executives to choose from.
In the meantime, Lennie was stil on the missing list.
Nobody seemed to know his whereabouts.
She knew why he was doing it. Lennie had this childish habit of retaliating with more of the same. She'd done it to him, so he figured he'd pay her back.
She real y couldn't blame him, because if the situation were reversed, she'd probably behave in exactly the same way.
Her conversation with Harry Browning had been disturbing.
What exactly did he know? Maybe she should have stayed and talked to him some more. But the quickest way out of a difficult situation seemed to be retreat.
She made it back to the office five minutes before Mickey.
He returned from his lunch early and shut himself away, tel ing Lucky that when Leslie Kane arrived she was to keep her waiting. "And if Eddie cal s," he added, "don't let him know his wife's here."
Lucky had realized from Mickey's previous conversation and meeting with Eddie that they were indeed into some distribution scam with certain underworld figures. She'd instructed Boogie to investigate, and Boogie had come up with the news that Eddie Kane was dealing with Carlos Bonnatti.
It was a strange and unwelcome coincidence. Carlos, the scumbag brother of Santino, and son of Enzio. The Bonnattis had always been enemies of the Santangelos.
Their feud went back to the good old Vegas days. And now that Santino and Enzio were deceased, it was Carlos who control ed the family drug and porno empire.
It's weird, Lucky thought, how the Bonnattis stayed connected to her life. She would be more than happy if she never had to hear the name again.
From what Boogie was able to find out, Eddie Kane had made an arrangement with the Bonnatti organization to distribute the Bonnatti porno films in Europe, hiding them along with legitimate Panther product. If Lucky rea
d Mickey correctly, he was anxious to get out of the deal, and wisely so, for Lucky knew it was a big mistake to fuck with the Bonnattis.
Leslie Kane turned up promptly at three o'clock. She gave Lucky a friendly smile. "I'm here to see Mr. Stol i," she said brightly. "My name is Leslie Kane. I have an appointment."
Lucky was surprised. She hadn't realized Eddie was married to such a fresh-looking beauty. "He's expecting you. Take a seat, I'l let him know you're here."
Leslie sat down, picked up a copy of People magazine and leafed through it. After a moment she put the magazine down. "I'm not too early, am I?" she asked anxiously.
Lucky glanced up. "You're exactly on time. Your appointment is for three."
Leslie nodded thankful y. "That's right."
Mickey kept her waiting twenty-five minutes. He didn't come to his office door to greet her. Lucky had noticed he only made that meaningful move for major stars. As soon as Leslie entered his office, Lucky put on her miniature headphones, activated the tape machine, and began picking up every word.
"Sit down, sit down," Mickey said, gesturing at Leslie.
She sat in a chair opposite him, ful of rapt attention. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Stol i?"
He cleared his throat and shuffled some papers around his desk. "Uh . . . y'can cal me Mickey." Leslie, the wide-eyed beauty, gazed at him. "Thank you."
Mickey wondered where Eddie had stumbled upon this Iowa beauty queen. She stil had corn in her hair. "Honey,"
he said, "we got ourselves a problem." "What's that, Mr.
Stol i?" she asked, ful of concern. "I mean . . . Mickey."
Oh, God! He'd found out about her past!
"Your husband is a jerk," Mickey said flatly. "I've tried to help him. God knows I've tried. Over the years I've given him jobs an' he's screwed up. I've given him help, an' he's thrown it back in my face. And now he's got us into a mess I refuse to take responsibility for."
Leslie lowered her eyes. She had long, sweeping lashes.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, ful of relief that this meeting wasn't about her.
"It's not your fault," said Mickey, wondering what she was like in bed.
"Then why am I here?" she asked, frowning slightly.
Mickey chewed the end of his pen. "You're here because Eddie's in trouble," he said. "And this time / can't help him."
"What kind of trouble?" she asked, sweeping lashes going into overdrive.
"A mil ion big ones."
Leslie felt a flutter in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't taken Eddie seriously when a couple of weeks ago she'd asked him if something was bothering him and he'd replied, "Nothing that a mil ion bucks and a little cooperation from Mickey Stol i can't fix."
"What can I do?" she asked earnestly, leaning forward.
"You'd better get Eddie to dig into his pockets and come up with the money," Mickey said harshly, " 'cause if he doesn't, he's gonna find himself wearing cement boots on the wrong end of Santa Monica Pier."
"Mr. Stol i . . . uh, Mickey . . . Eddie did mention this to me a couple of weeks ago. I thought he was joking."
"You go into business, you take the consequences. Eddie put together a deal. He brought it to me. And then he cheated me and his other partners, and now he's got to pay the price. He tel s me he has no money. What's he done with it, Leslie, spent it on you?"
She sat up straighter in her chair. "No, certainly not."
"That's good, because he's going to need it and I can't help him. If he thinks I'm bailing him out yet again--I ain't doing it.
He's on his own and he'd better pay up or he's in over the top." Mickey picked up a script and began to flip through it.
"That's al ," he said brusquely.
The meeting was over.
Leslie got up to leave. "I'l do what I can," she murmured.
She had a pair of legs on her that could strangle a giraffe!
"You'd better," he said gruffly.
"I wil ," she assured him earnestly.
"Oh," Mickey added, "and do yourself another favor. Get that asshole husband of yours into drug rehab. He's snorting his life away. I hope he hasn't got you doing the same thing."
She was indignant. "I don't touch drugs."
"Make sure you stick to that."
Leslie rushed out of the office.
Lucky watched her on her way. Mickey Stol i was a mean bastard. What did he expect a young girl like Leslie to do about the mess Eddie had gotten them into?
Mickey left his office soon after. "I'm going out," he said, on his way to the door.
Lucky knew better than to ask where. When he wanted to reveal his destination he did so. She figured another visit to Warner was about to take place.
"What time can I expect you back, Mr. Stol i?" she asked politely. This perfect-secretary shit was driving her nuts!
"Expect me when you see me."
"And how shal I handle your afternoon appointments?"
"Cancel 'em."
Fuck you, asshole. "Yes, Mr. Stol i."
It was surprising that people were prepared to do business with Mickey at al . He cared about nobody except himself.
Twenty minutes after he left the building, Venus Maria appeared in the office. She wandered in wearing torn jeans, an oversize T-shirt, sneakers, and a Lakers basebal cap.
At first Lucky thought she was a messenger. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"I need five minutes of Mickey's time," Venus Maria said.
"A mere five minutes so I can tel him what I think, an' then I'm outta here."
Lucky recognized her voice. "I'm sorry, he's not in his office."
"Shit!" Venus Maria exclaimed. "I real y needed to talk to him today."
"Is there something I can tel him?"
Venus Maria threw a script onto Lucky's desk. "Yeah. Tel Mr. S. this script stinks. He promised me a strong woman, and natural y he's come up with the usual dumb bimbo victim. There's no way I'm playing this sexist crap."
Lucky picked up the offending script. It was Bombshel , Mickey's pet project.
"I'l be happy to tel him," she said.
Venus Maria threw herself into a chair. "It's not your fault.
Jesus! When are these dumb jerks ever gonna learn?"
Here was a woman after Lucky's own heart. "Are you not doing it because of the way it's written?" she ventured.
"You can bet your ass I'm not," Venus Maria replied vehemently. "I only do things I believe in."
"That's the right attitude," Lucky encouraged, forgetting her role for a moment.
Venus Maria glanced at her. "It's nice to know you agree.
Al girls together, huh?"
"It's about time somebody stood up to these . . producers."
"Hey, you'd better not let your boss hear you talk that way."
She looked around. "Where's the English angel?"
"Olive's on sick leave. She broke her leg."
Venus Maria stifled a laugh. "What did Mickey do, kick her out of the office?"
Not wanting to blow her cover, Lucky didn't respond, although she realized here was a woman she could get along with just fine.
Venus Maria stood up, yawned, and stretched. "Wel , I guess it's back to the grind. I'm on the set if he dares talk to me. He can cal me in my dressing room or at home later.
Just tel him this is not the story line we discussed. The woman in this script is a victim, and this baby ain't playing no victims."
Lucky was delighted. Venus Maria had a big future at Panther. She would make sure of that.
Chapter 33
Eddie was pacing restlessly around the house when Leslie arrived home. He hadn't been to the studio for three days.
He looked haggard, there were bags under his eyes, and the beginnings of a ful beard. "Where have you been?" he demanded, staring at her accusingly.
Leslie wasn't sure whether she was supposed to tel him she'd been summoned to visit Mickey or not. She decided honesty was the best way to handle this. "Um . . . I went to see Mickey
Stol i," she said, taking off her jacket.
Eddie immediately exploded. "What the fuck did you go see him for?"
"Because he asked me to," she explained patiently. "And if he asked you to give him a blow job, you'd do that, too, huh?"
She walked into the kitchen. "Eddie, don't be sil y."
"Quit talkin' to me like I'm a schmuck, O. K.? You go see Mickey an' you don't even tel me about it. Then you come back here an' try to put me down. What's the game, Leslie?"
She looked at him with wide eyes. "We're in trouble, Eddie, aren't we?"
"Trouble?" he snorted. "What kind of trouble are we in, honey?"
She picked up the kettle and began fil ing it with water.
"Mickey says we're in trouble. He says you owe a lot of money."
Eddie paced up and down. "Oh, he says I owe money, does he? Wel let me tel you this, baby. The studio owes money. They're responsible. He's in this as much as I am.
And there's no way he's getting out."
"Mickey says you owe a mil ion dol ars."
Eddie snapped. "Why is he bringing you into it?" Leslie shook her head. "Maybe he thinks I can help."
Eddie laughed mirthlessly. "Help? You? Who's he kidding?"
Leslie looked at him with a hurt expression. "Maybe I can,"
she said defensively.
"Come on, baby, it's a mil ion bucks we're talkin' here, not ten cents. Wise up."
"What are you going to do?"
Eddie shook his head. "I haven't figured it out yet. gut whatever it is, Mickey's gonna to be on for the ride. Panther can pay without blinkin'--why should / take the fal ?"
"Eddie," Leslie said tentatively, "Mickey says you've got a drug problem. He says you should do something about it."
Eddie exploded. "What's his friggin' game? It's none of his goddamn business what I've got. So I do a little coke occasional y. Big fucking deal."
"More than occasional y."
"Hey, hey, hey, who am I married to, Mother Teresa?"
"I only want to help you."
"I'l tel you how to help me, baby. Just shut the fuck up and leave me alone, O. K.?"
Leslie nodded miserably. "O. K."
Warner was not at home. Mickey couldn't believe he'd driven al the way to her apartment to find she wasn't there.
They'd arranged the rendezvous on the phone the previous day, and it wasn't like Warner to break a date. He rang the doorbel , and then in frustration kicked the door a few times before angrily making his way down to the underground garage. Climbing into his Porsche, he revved the engine.
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