"Can we get to the point?" Lucky asked politely. "How come you snuck in out of nowhere an'
grabbed the key job around here?" Brenda stared at her accusingly.
What the hel , Lucky thought, would it hurt if she jumped out of character--just this once? The temptation was too much.
"I slept with the boss," she answered, straight-faced. And made her exit.
Brenda and Talon Nails were speechless.
As usual, Abigaile insisted that Tabitha accompany her when she went to visit her grandfather. Natural y Tabitha complained. But Abigaile was having none of it. "You'l come with me and like it," she insisted firmly.
"I'l come with you, but I won't like it," Tabitha retorted with a sulky glare.
"Young lady," Abigaile said grandly, "it's about time you learned to treat me with respect. I do not appreciate your attitude."
"Please!" Tabitha said in disgust. "Don't start playing Mommy with me now. It's a little late." Abigaile glared at the girl. Thirteen years old, and with a smarter mouth than her father.
Inga was as pleased to see them as they were to be there.
"Come in," she said haughtily and stalked away, leaving them to fend for themselves.
They found old Abe out on the patio, surrounded by newspapers, magazines, and a blaring television. Dutiful y Abigaile kissed him on the cheek. Dutiful y Tabitha fol owed suit.
"Another month zip by already?" Abe asked, squinting against the bright sun.
"I beg your pardon," said Abigaile.
"Another month," repeated Abe. "You only come every four weeks. I bet Mickey says the same thing!" He cackled at his own ribald joke.
Tabitha sneaked a smile. The thought of her mother coming was ludicrous. In fact, the thought of either of her parents having sex was the funniest notion she'd ever heard of.
Abigaile dusted off a patio chair with a tissue and sat down. "How are you feeling, Grandpa?" she asked solicitously.
Abe's canny old eyes crinkled. "Why? Whattaya care?" he asked suspiciously.
"Don't be sil y, Grandpa. How come you're always so abrasive with me?"
" 'Cause I cal s it the way I sees it, girlie."
"I'm sorry you feel that way," Abigaile replied primly, smoothing down the skirt of her Adolfo suit. "Now, Grandfather, there's something I wish to discuss with you."
"Go on," Abe said. "Shoot." He winked at Tabitha, who giggled.
"Wel --" Abigaile plunged ahead, deciding to ignore his irascible attitude--"you're not getting any younger."
Abe chortled with laughter. "Zippo--the girl's developin'
brains. I'm not gettin' any younger. Eighty-eight years old and she final y realizes it!"
Abigaile took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.
She'd told Mickey he should come with her. Selfish as usual, he'd refused. Gamely she pressed on. "Um, what would you say if I told you that Mickey could possibly sel the studio?"
Tabitha picked up on that. "What do you wanna sel the studio for? It's Daddy's," she said sulkily. "He's gotta keep it. I wanna have my sweet sixteen there." "Shhhh," scolded Abigaile.
"I'm not gonna shhhh," Tabitha retorted. "You told me I had to come with you, so why do I have to shhhh?"
Abigaile fixed her daughter with a look. "Wil you kindly be quiet." Her tone would have quieted the Russian army.
Abe cackled again. "Why would I wanna sel my studio?"
"Because," Abigaile replied in a cool, reasonable voice,
"we can get an excel ent price for it."
"Who's the 'we'?"
"Inga and you," Abigaile replied quickly. "And me. And of course, Tabitha."
Abe rose from his chair. "Big fat news," he said. "I could've had a hundred buyers for Panther if I'd've wanted to sel it."
"Then why didn't you?" Abigaile asked tartly.
" 'Cause I didn't want to. An' if I did, it'd be none of your business, girlie." Without a backward glance he marched into the house.
Abigaile didn't feel like fol owing him. She'd always been in awe of her grandfather, and now that he was a very old man she stil felt uncomfortable in his presence.
"Can we go home now?" whined Tabitha.
Abigaile stood up. "Yes," she said tightly. "Let's do that."
Venus Maria strol ed into Mickey's office at four o'clock. As she passed by Lucky's desk, she smiled and said, "Hi, howya doing?"
As soon as Mickey's door closed Lucky put on her earphones to listen in.
Venus Maria didn't play polite games. She got straight to the point. "I hate this script, Mickey," she said. "I hate it with a passion, and there's no way I'm doing it unless it's completely rewritten. Right now the script tel s the story from a man's point of view. You promised me this was about a strong woman. A survivor. In this piece of crap she's just another victim. And I'm not playing victims."
"Aw, c'mon, baby, this is a great role for any actress,"
Mickey said in his most charming voice. "An Oscar-winning role."
"Don't snow me with that tired old bul shit you hand to al the other actresses around here, and I use the word loosely,"
Venus Maria said sharply. "A rewrite or I'm out of this project. And another thing--" Cunt! "What?"
"The only way I'l take my clothes off is when the actor playing opposite me strips off too."
Mickey sounded disgusted. "Wake up, baby. Broads don't want to see naked guys on the screen. They're not interested in seeing some poor schmuck with his schnickel hanging out."
"That's where you're wrong," Venus said forceful y. "That's exactly what they want to see."
He looked offended. "Maybe you do."
"No, not just me. Women get off on seeing guys with it al hanging out. And the reason we don't see it is because men run the film industry, and men can't handle the competition, so they don't want us getting an eyeful. I'm tel ing you, Mickey, I'm not walking around the screen bare-assed if my leading man is clothed. No fucking way."
"You're a demanding broad," Mickey griped. "Yeah," Venus Maria agreed. "And I'm in the fortunate position of being able to demand whatever I want. Are we making contact here?"
He stood up from behind his desk. "You need a rewrite, you got a rewrite, O. K.?"
"Good. And if I do decide to sign for this movie, I also want co-star and director approval."
This broad was driving him crazy with her demands. "You got it. It's in your contract already."
"I haven't signed a contract for this film yet." * "It's in your old contract."
"That doesn't mean anything, and you know it. It has to be in this contract. In writing. And I'm not signing until I've seen the rewrite. Am I coming across loud and clear?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said disgustedly.
Venus Maria left his office without another word. She stopped at Lucky's desk, "Tel me," she said, "how can you work for such a jerk and stay sane?" Lucky laughed. "It's not easy."
As soon as Venus Maria left, Mickey came running out, screaming and yel ing.
"Who the fuck does that dumb broad think she is?
Actresses! They're al the same. You make 'em a star, an'
they think they did it on their own without any goddamn help.
If that bimbo didn't have a studio behind her, and a good director, and a great lighting cameraman, she'd be checking out dog meat in Safeway. Actresses!"
He didn't like actresses. He didn't like actors. Who did he like?
"I'm out of here," he said gruffly.
She knew better than to ask where he was going.
Ten minutes after Mickey left, Johnny Romano made an unscheduled entrance, swaggering his way into the office, macho to the core.
"Hel o, beautiful," he said. "Is the big man around?"
Johnny's faithful entourage hovered two steps behind him.
"Mr. Stol i had to go out," Lucky said.
"Shame," exclaimed Johnny. "I thought I'd visit him.
Celebrate."
"What are you celebrating, Mr. Romano?" she
asked politely.
"My movie, sweet stuff. It opens this week. Don't you keep up around here? Motherfaker's gonna make this studio the biggest bucks it's ever seen." He leaned across her desk, his handsome, arrogant face insolently close to hers. "You know what a mother-faker is, beautiful?"
Yeah, you, asshole, she replied silently.
"Wel , do you?" he demanded.
She shook her head.
Johnny Romano laughed.
His entourage laughed.
They waited for her to laugh.
Lucky stared at him blankly.
"Hey, lady," Johnny said, leaning even closer. "Lighten up.
You're way too serious. Working for Mickey is a tough business, huh? You want my autograph?"
On my butt, Lucky thought.
Without waiting for a reply, Johnny snapped his fingers.
One of his entourage stepped forward with a signed photo.
"Hey, I'm gonna make your day an' personalize it," Johnny said magnanimously. "Gimme your name, baby."
"Luce," she muttered.
* "Lucy. To Lucy. I'm gonna write 'To Lucy,' " Johnny said, scrawling an il egible "To Lucy" on the picture. "Love and heart, Johnny Romano" was already stamped on.
He handed her the signed picture with a flourish. "Tel the man I was here," he said. "An' enjoy yourself, you hear?
Johnny Romano, he say so."
Big fucking deal!
Suddenly Lucky knew what Mickey meant. Actors! You could have 'em!
When she took over, things were going to be different around here.
Chapter 37
The telephone woke Gino at three in the morning. "We're having a baby," Steven said urgently. "Can you get over to the hospital?"
Gino groped for his clothes. "We're having a baby," he repeated delightedly.
"Mary Lou's in the delivery room now," Steven said, sounding stressed.
"I'm on my way," Gino assured him.
"Where's Lucky?"
"I'l try and contact her."
"She should be here with us," Steven said. "Mary Lou's asking for her."
Gino was elated. Much to his aggravation, Bobby lived in England and he hardly ever saw him. Now Steven and Mary Lou were presenting him with another grandchild. It was an exciting moment.
Hurriedly pul ing on his clothes, he cal ed down to the doorman and ordered a cab. Then he rushed out of his apartment.
Steven was pacing the floor of the hospital when he arrived.
Gino patted him on the shoulder. "You gotta calm down.
Take a seat. This happens every day, y'know." "Not to me,"
Steven said grimly.
"Shouldn't you be in there with her?"
"She doesn't want me," Steven said with a shrug. "Threw me out."
"How come?"
"Her mother's with her. You know what mothers are like.
She's an old-fashioned lady, doesn't want the husband there. Hey--I don't mind. Who wants to be there? It's a frightening business."
Gino laughed. "I went through it twice," he said. "When Lucky was born. And Dario. I wish I'd been there for you, Steven."
It was a moment. Their eyes met and then they moved on.
"Did you get hold of Lucky?" Steven asked.
"I'm trying," Gino replied. "Don't worry. She's not gonna miss being an aunt."
Mary Lou gave birth to a seven-pound ten-ounce little girl at eight o'clock in the morning. They named her Carioca Jade.
When Gino got back to his apartment he cal ed Lucky in California and told her.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "The baby was early and I missed it! Are they both al right?"
"They're fine," he assured her. "Mary Lou came through it like a veteran!"
"I'l send flowers. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. The good news is I'l be back next week."
"What makes you think that?" he said. "You're takin' over the studio. That's when you're real y gonna have to spend time in L. A."
"I guess you're right. But at least I'l be free to do what I want. I can fly into New York every weekend. I'l get Panther running smoothly and then . . ." Realization sunk in. "Oh, God, it'l take me a while, won't it?"
"Yup."
"Lennie wil help me. He'l be ecstatic when he hears!"
Gino wasn't so sure. "Where is he?" he asked. "I'l worry about that when I take over."
"If you're certain," Gino said. "I'm certain," she replied.
Warner was trembling by the time Mickey finished making love to her. It gave him a great sense of power to have a six-foot black vice cop trembling because he made love to her with such finesse. "Mickey, you're truly the best lover I've ever had," she told him ecstatical y.
Funny, one of Madame Loretta's hookers had said the very same thing to him two days earlier. A man couldn't ask for any further proof than that. First the hooker, now Warner. He real y must be something between the sheets. It was a shame Abigaile never told him so.
He tried to remember the last time he and Abigaile had made love. It had something to do with her birthday and a diamond bracelet. And it wasn't making love, it was a blow job. But don't knock a blow job when you're married. It was better than nothing. Actual y, in a town where blow jobs had been elevated to a fine art, Abigaile was way up there.
He wondered where she'd learned. They'd real y never discussed their past lives. To this day Abigaile had no idea that he had an il egitimate son who lived with his ex-girlfriend just outside of Chicago.
Abigaile would not be pleased if she found out. Mickey had no intention of ever tel ing her, although, to his credit, over the years he'd supported his son with a healthy monthly check. He'd promised his ex-girlfriend that the money would keep on flowing as long as she kept her mouth shut.
He'd never seen his son. It was a part of his past he kept locked away. He never wanted it to interfere with his future.
When he got up to take a shower, Warner remained spread-eagled on the bed like an impressive ebony carving. "I can't move," she gasped. "You're too much man for me."
If he were smothering her with furs and jewels, he would have been suspicious of her words of praise. But Warner wanted nothing from him, so he was inclined to believe her.
He hurried into her smal bathroom to take a shower.
Unfortunately she didn't have a shower, just an attachment above the tub, which real y pissed him off. "You know somethin', honey," he yel ed. "I gotta get you a new bathroom, I don't care what you say." "No way, Mickey.
You're not spending that kind of money on me."
She walked into the bathroom stark naked. She had breasts the like of which he'd never seen on anyone else.
They were jutting and angular, with enormous black nipples.
Edible tits.
The black girl at Madame Loretta's had smal breasts, nothing like this. Warner's were straight out of a proud African tribe.
"Did your parents come from Africa?" he asked. Warner laughed. "No, Watts! Why?"
He reached out to touch one more time before struggling with the shower, nearly tripping. Then he wrapped himself in a too-smal bath sheet, pummeled himself dry, dressed, and left.
At home Abigaile was on red alert. She glared at him. "Why do I have to do al the dirty work?"
He sighed. "What's the matter now?"
"I saw my grandfather today. He's definitely not interested in sel ing. What made you think he would be? He's perfectly happy the way he is, and quite frankly, Mickey, we should be happy too. Because when he dies, Panther is ours. And we can do exactly as we please."
"Says you," Mickey said sourly.
Abigaile was ready for battle. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Who knows what the old guy's gonna do."
"Wel , exactly. That's why I have to talk to you about it. You mentioned the other day you were considering accepting a job elsewhere. If you do, who's going to run Panther? And more important--who wil inherit Panther?"
"You'l inherit, there's no question. You and your charming sister.
"
"Yes, I know, Mickey, but if somebody else is running the studio, it could create problems." She shook her head, making the decision for both of them. "You're going to have to turn Martin Swanson down."
"Abigaile, I am not saying no to Martin Swanson if it means more money."
"Why? You're making a mil ion dol ars a year, plus whatever you can steal. Isn't that enough?"
He looked at her with disgust. "Thanks a lot. It's great to have a real y supportive wife. I thrive on the support you give me, Abigaile."
She took his sarcasm and swal owed it. "Thank you, Mickey. I aim to please."
Chapter 38
Effie Webster loved giving parties. They were an important part of her life. She couldn't imagine not giving them. After al , Effie and Yul Webster were famous for their parties.
Half the fun was putting together an eclectic mix. Anyone from starving actors and artists to successful Broadway producers. Or maybe not-so-starving actors and artists.
Effie knew everyone. Planning a party for Martin Swanson's birthday was not difficult, because Martin and Deena knew everyone, too. The hard part was who not to invite.
Effie decided a theme party would be fun. She sent out black invitations with gold printing: COME AS YOUR
FAVORITE FANTASY. What a charming way to delve into the psyches of the rich and the famous. Come as your favorite fantasy was an invitation to reveal your very secret self--an invitation most people couldn't resist.
Effie decided she was going to dress up as Queen Nefertiti. "Darling," she informed Deena on the phone, "I've always wanted to be a queen, and this is a perfect opportunity. What are you coming as?"
Deena had given it a lot of consideration. "I've decided on Marlene Dietrich. The way she looked in The Blue Angel." *
"Wonderful idea!" Effie exclaimed, wishing she'd thought of it. "With your legs you'l be a sensation! But 1 suppose that's the whole point, isn't it?"
"Yes," Deena agreed. "I suppose it is."
She put down the phone and thought about Martin. He hadn't said a word about divorce. In fact, since he'd been back from L. A., he'd thrown himself into business, concentrating on his Swanson Sports Stadium, where he planned to stage the next world-heavyweight championship fight if he could arrange it. And the new luxury automobile soon to be launched: the Swanson.
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