Mickey Stol i liked to get laid on a regular basis. Warner satisfied him, but she had to be there when he needed her.
Sitting in his car he made a cal to Ford Werne. Ford had often mentioned in passing that he did not believe in having affairs, he believed in paying for it. Mickey had laughed in his face. "Paying for pussy? In this town?" he'd exclaimed.
"L. A. is free pussy heaven!" Ford had responded in a calm and sensible way. "You pay for it, Mickey, you know exactly what you're getting. They don't want a part in your movie.
They don't want a piece of your life. They don't want you to take them to Hawaii, give them head, and buy them dresses. They do what you want. It's the perfect situation.
Sex without guilt, served up exactly as you like it."
Mickey had visions of a Chicano hooker on the corner of Vermont and Sunset in a fake leather miniskirt, fluorescent tube top and ten-inch heels.
As if reading his mind, Ford had said, "And let me tel you something else. The girls I sleep with are far more beautiful than any transient date."
"Where do you find them?" Mickey had asked curiously.
"That's the great thing," Ford had replied. "I don't find them, Loretta does."
"Who's Loretta?"
"She's the greatest little madam in town. She has a house in the hil s and she hand-picks al her girls. They're only in action for a few months, and let me tel you this, they're gorgeous."
It sounded like a great deal for those who were interested.
After Ford had told him about it, Mickey heard the name Madame Loretta from a couple of other guys. He'd never given it a whirl because he'd always had Warner standing by. But today he needed action, and he needed it immediately.
When Ford came on the line he requested Madame Loretta's number.
Ford chuckled softly. "Coming around to my way of thinking?" he asked.
Mickey lowered his voice, even though he was sitting in his car where nobody could possibly hear him. "Is this woman discreet?"
Ford reassured him. "She gi'ies the word 'discreet' a whole new meaning. I'l cal her and tel her you're on your way."
"Do that," Mickey said. He didn't like asking anybody for a favor, but today he had no choice.
Madame Loretta greeted him like an oversolicitous Jewish mother. She was a plump woman with glowing skin and a warm smile. "Welcome, welcome," she beamed, leading him into a large living room overlooking the city view. "Can I get you a refreshment? Coffee, tea, a drink?"
"You know what I'm here for," Mickey said, getting right to the point.
Loretta smiled warmly. "Oh, yes, and you won't be disappointed. Now tel me, what are your preferences?"
Mickey cleared his throat. "Do you have any black girls?"
"I have a lovely black girl," Madame Loretta replied. "She's a col ege graduate, clean, works hard. You'l be very happy."
"Can I see her now?" Mickey asked.
Madame Loretta was not put out. "Give me five minutes,"
she said and left the room.
Mickey gazed out over the view. How simple it would be if he could have great sex with his wife. But there were too many hurdles to overcome with Abigaile. Too many conversations to survive before one could even think about sex, and in the end it was too much of a hassle.
Madame Loretta returned to the room and smiled reassuringly. "Yvette wil be here shortly."
"I'd like to see her first," Mickey said. "Before I make a decision."
Madame Loretta nodded knowingly. "I can assure you, you'l be very happy. I never. make a mistake."
Every evening Lucky tried to work out the tangled web of business deals going down at Panther Studios. She knew about the scam with the distribution overseas of the porno movies, but apparently Mickey had decided to make this Eddie's problem, not the studio's. His position was, Eddie had got them in, it was up to him to get them out.
It was quite obvious Eddie had been stealing al over, and that Mickey didn't care to bail him out. Then there was Harry Browning to deal with. What was he going to do? Was he planning to blow her cover before she was ready? She just had to wait and see. Boogie had hired a secretary to come to the house each night, sit in a room, and type out the transcripts of Mickey's taped conversations. They made interesting reading.
Working nine to five was an exhausting business. Kissing Mickey Stol i's ass every day for hours on end was depressing to say the least. Lucky wasn't used to being in a subservient position, and it didn't suit her.
It was also depressing not to know where Lennie was.
Boogie was working on tracking him down.
In London, Bobby whined on the phone. It was unlike him.
"Mommy, Mommy, when are you coming? I haven't seen you for ages. Where are you?"
"Don't worry, we'l al be together soon, sweetheart," she assured him, feeling ful of guilt.
And then she remembered she hadn't cal ed Brigette since she'd started this caper. Quickly she placed a cal to the boarding school Brigette attended. A secretary informed her the school was closed for the summer and Brigette had returned to New York and her grandmother.
"Freedom," Lucky whispered to herself. "I need my freedom."
Chapter 34
Nona Webster belonged to a crazy family. Brigette had never met anybody quite like them before. Effie, Nona's mother, was an extraordinary-looking woman. No more than five feet tal , and bone-thin, she had hair even redder than her daughter's, worn in a strange cockatoo style with a renegade clump of bril iant green at the front. Her makeup was bright and unusual, and her clothes reflected the image of a woman who'd never accepted convention.
On the other hand, Yul Webster, Effie's husband, was a very proper-looking man. Tal and imposing, he wore Savile Row suits, silk shirts, and handmade shoes, and his only concessions to his wife's outlandish taste were his ties, which were designed by Effie and made up special y for him. Yul's ties featured hand-painted naked women, birds in flight, airplanes landing--any subject that took Effie's fancy. And he wore them with panache.
"My parents are slightly weird," Nona warned her before they arrived in New York--an understatement to say the least.
Weird they might be, but warm and friendly they certainly were. They welcomed Brigette into their home as if she were a member of the family.
"They take drugs," Nona confessed rather sheepishly. "I've learned to ignore it. Actual y, it's only a little snort of recreational coke here and there, and they're into grass.
You know what it is, they're kind of bogged down in that whole sixties thing. Just pretend you don't notice, and if they offer you anything, say no."
Brigette understood. "I went through my drug stage when I was fourteen," she explained.
Nona nodded. "Another coincidence. So did I." "Karma."
"Definitely." Warmly Nona took her friend's arm. "Y'know, I real y feel comfortable with you," she confided: "We're so alike."
"Alike--but different."
"You know what I mean," Nona said.
The Websters' New York penthouse was a splash of color from the moment you entered. They'd settled on a startling array of modern furniture. The wal s were painted black and covered with contemporary art. Their paintings made a striking statement.
Every week they threw an enormous party attended by an army of beautiful and talented people.
"A few months ago Venus Maria was here," Nona confided.
"She's the best. I got to stare at her al night!"
Brigette was impressed. "Amazing!" she said.
"Absolutely," agreed Nona. "I love meeting interesting people, don't you?"
"Where's your brother?" Brigette asked curiously. "Don't worry, he'l turn up. Whenever he needs money he's here."
Nona nodded wisely. "That's his thing--getting money out of anyone he can."
"What's his name?"
"Paul," Nona replied. "They must have been having a normal day when they named him."
Brigette picked up a framed photo from the piano and studied
it. "Is this him?" she asked. "Handsome, isn't he?"
Nona said.
"Not bad,", Brigette lied. She thought he was gorgeous.
"What does he do?"
"He's an artist. Unsuccessful. Paints bloody great canvases of naked people. If he asks you to pose for him, say no."
"Right--like I'd say yes!"
"We're going to have a terrific summer.-- Nona sighed happily. "I have a feeling, don't you?" Brigette nodded.
Deena Swanson and Effie Webster were best friends. An odd coupling, but one that seemed to work. They'd actual y been friends for many years since Deena first came to America. They'd met when Effie had visited the showroom where Deena worked and picked out several pieces of furniture.
When Deena began dating Martin Swanson, Effie had immediately suggested she should think very seriously about marrying him. "Darling, the man is going places,"
Effie had assured her. "And methinks you should go right along with him."
Deena didn't need much persuading. She thought Martin was attractive and kil er-sharp. Definitely a man on his way to the top.
Martin and Yul did not get along quite so wel . Yul found Martin boring. "The man has an ego the size of the Empire State Building," he told Effie.
"As long as it's only his ego, darling!" she replied gaily.
When Martin started to sleep around, the first person Deena confided in was Effie. "What shal I do?" she'd wailed.
"Ignore it," Effie had advised. "Most men play--it's their damn libido! If you take no notice they soon get bored and come home to Momma. After al , a lay is a lay, but a wife is a lifetime commitment. The very thought of the alimony involved drives them straight back into your arms."
"How about Yul?" Deena wanted to know.
"I couldn't care less," Effie had replied briskly. "As long as he comes home."
"But you would care if it interfered with your marriage."
Quite firmly Effie had said, "'Nothing wil ever interfere with my marriage."
Effie Webster obviously adored her only daughter. She took both Brigette and Nona to Saks, and then on to Trump Tower, where they shopped until they couldn't carry any more bags.
Anything Nona asked for, her mother bought her. "I told you," Nona whispered to Brigette. "They spend everything they make. My parents are crazy!"
After shopping, Effie took them to lunch at the Russian Tea Room, where they spotted Rudolf Nureyev and Paul Newman lunching at different tables.
"What do you get up to when you're in town with your grandmother?" Nona asked, wolfing delicious blinis.
Brigette grimaced. "Charlotte's real y boring. She never takes me anywhere."
"What was your mother like when she was alive?" "Wel ,"
Brigette replied slowly, thinking about it. "She was kind of fun. At least we did things. We were always flying off to stay with my grandfather on his island. Or to the fashion shows in Paris. We used to travel al over the world. It was exciting."
"You must miss her," Nona said sympathetical y, touching her friend's arm.
Brigette nodded sadly. "Yes, I do," she replied, realizing for the first time that she did miss Olympia very much indeed.
Nona's brother, Paul, turned up on Sunday wearing dirty jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, a black T-shirt, and a distressed-leather motorcycle jacket. * He was thin and intense looking, and he did not have the family red hair. His hair was long and dark, and worn in a tight ponytail. His eyes were covered by dark shades. Nona greeted him brightly.
"I'm here for money," he announced.
"The story of your life." Nona sighed. "Don't I at least get a greeting? A kiss? A hug? Anything?" "You got bucks, you get a greeting."
"Thanks a lot! It's so nice to find al this brotherly love flowing in my direction."
Paul threw himself into a chair, removed his dark shades, and stared straight at Brigette. "Who's this?" he asked rudely.
"The one girl you can't resist," Nona replied. "Too young,"
said Paul.
"Uh-uh." Nona shook her head. "Wait until you hear what she's got that you want."
"Too young," Paul repeated.
Brigette was not sure she was enjoying this conversation.
Who did this idiot think he was?
"This is my new best friend, Brigette," Nona said, introducing her at last.
"Hiya, Brigette," Paul said casual y. "Stanislopoulos," Nona added.
Paul raised an eyebrow. "As in the?" he questioned, brightening considerably.
Nona grinned triumphantly. "You've got it." Paul's stare intensified. "I'd like to ask for your hand in marriage," he said, staring at Brigette.
She went along with the game. "Too late. You're much too old for me."
Nona laughed delightedly.
"How about a second chance?" Paul begged.
"I told you, didn't I?" Nona said. "Money. That's al this stinker cares about. He doesn't have a heart, he has a cash register!"
"Is there anything else?" Paul asked, checking Brigette out.
Effie entered the room dressed from head to toe in flaming orange.
"You look like a mynah bird who just got a nasty shock,"
Paul remarked. "What is that outfit?"
Effie smiled. Obviously the Websters were used to Paul and took no notice of his rudeness. "That's no way to ask for money," she admonished, shaking a finger at him.
"Naughty, naughty."
"How come everybody is under the impression I only come here for money?" Paul complained. "Because it's true,"
Nona said.
Watching this family scene, Brigette decided that even though he was exceptional y rude, Paul Webster was perhaps the best-looking man she'd ever seen.
But Brigette knew what handsome meant. It meant danger, excitement, and then even more danger.
She was wise enough to steer clear.
There were times in life to get away, and this was one of them. Lennie rented a loft in the Vil age and holed up. As long as he had instant coffee, a bottle of scotch, and plenty of yel ow legal pads, he was happy.
Walking out on the movie was the best move he'd ever made. Compromise and Lennie Golden did not mix. He needed to be creative, and sometimes the pressures of stardom stifled the creative spirit.
Not to mention Lucky's pissing off to Japan.
He'd had the "movie-star-in-a-bad-film" trip, and now it was time to get back to work.
It occurred to him if he wanted a successful movie he'd better sit down and write it himself. And being alone was exactly what he needed.
He was wel aware that his agent and manager were probably frantical y searching for him. But he also knew he was not in the mood to be bothered, so he covered his tracks, making a large cash withdrawal at his bank and not writing any more checks.
The only person he phoned was Jess.
"Listen," he told her, "I've got to be by myself for a while. If Lucky cal s, tel her you've heard from me and I'm fine, nothing else."
Jess replied they were both playing games and should grow up.
"This isn't a revenge move," he explained patiently.
"Lucky's in Japan. When she gets back, I'l see her. Right now she doesn't want me to contact her. So I won't. That's not playing games."
"Oh, c'mon," Jess said disgustedly. "You're worse than a couple of kids."
"Whatever," he replied. "I'l cal you in a week." He hung up.
Lennie enjoyed solitary confinement. It gave him the freedom he required. From early in the morning until late at night he sat at a large table by the window and wrote.
Writing made him feel good. It released the pressure.
When he wasn't writing he thought about Lucky and tried to figure out what was real y going on between them. She worked in New York. He worked in L. A. And in between they saw each other for brief spel s. Oh, yes. The sex was great. Sure. Why not? But great sex wasn't enough. He wanted more.
The thoughts he'd had about taking a year off were getting stronger. If they didn't do it,
he had a bad feeling their marriage was going to fal apart. It wasn't what he wanted.
He kept on writing and found his script turning into the story of their life together.
Right now he didn't know the ending. He only hoped it would be a happy one.
Chapter 35
When Martin Swanson arrived back in New York from the Coast, Deena greeted him like a dutiful wife, even though she feared the worst. Each time he went away she feared the worst. Was Martin getting ready to tel her their marriage was over?
"How was L. A.?" she asked, as soon as he walked into their bedroom.
"Hot," he replied, loosening his tie.
"And business? Did we get a studio?"
Using the word "we" was an important part of the strategy she'd decided to employ. Martin wasn't getting any help from her. If he wanted a divorce he was going to have to tel her himself.
"Stil negotiating," he said. "But it looks like we're going to take over Orpheus."
"Weren't you interested in Panther?"
Martin sat down on the edge of the bed. "I met with Mickey Stol i. He doesn't seem to have any say in the matter. The studio stil belongs to Abe Panther, and apparently he doesn't want to sel . Although Mickey promised he'd have his wife talk to the old man--she's Abe's granddaughter."
"What's Mickey Stol i like?" Deena asked, moving on to the interested wife role.
"A Hol ywood type," Martin replied, yawning. "Ful of ideas.
He's made Panther into a money-
making machine. They produce a lot of movies nobody's ever heard of."
"What kind of movies?"
"You know the sort of thing," Martin replied offhandedly.
"Tits and ass."
"That's nice," Deena said, thinking to herself--your girlfriend would fit nicely into that kind of film. "Who else did you see while you were out there?" "The usual."
Deena imagined The Bitch must be putting on the pressure by now. Martin didn't give a hint of trouble. "The Websters are throwing a party in your honor next week," she said.
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