"Howya doin', Mrs. S.?"
Deena turned to look at the thin young man with the intense stare. "Have we met?" she asked cool y.
His eyes clashed with hers. He had a very direct gaze. "It's me, Paul. Effie's son."
She was genuinely surprised. "Oh, my God, Paul. How you've changed. It's been so long since I've seen you."
"It has been a while," he agreed. "I was traveling around Europe. Backpacking. Not quite your style, huh?"
"You were a little boy last time we uh . . . we were together,"
she said.
He gave her the intense stare. "That sounds sexy, Deena."
Was he coming on to her? No. Impossible. He was just a kid--albeit a very attractive one. "I beg your pardon?"
"Wel , y'know . . . like 'when we were together' sounds sort of sexy. Don'tcha think?"
"Paul, are you flirting with me?"
Now came the charming smile. "I hope so. If not, I'm doing a lousy job."
Deena couldn't help smiling back. "It's nice to see you, dear," she said. "And I can tel you've inherited your mother's sense of fun."
He moved on to the brooding look. "Enough with the dear.
Don't try and put me down, Deena."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Time to chal enge her. "You wouldn't dream of what?"
"I wouldn't dream of trying to put you down, Paul. Where is your mother?"
"She's around. Why? Do you need her to get you out of this?"
Deena shook her head.
Paul switched moods and grinned. "Feeling threatened?"
"By you? I don't think so, dear." She turned her back and walked briskly away.
"Nice legs," he said to her retreating back.
He felt it was a victory. Satisfied, he returned to Nona and Brigette.
"She total y wants my body," he said. "I had to say no."
"Real y," said Nona sarcastical y. "How nice for you. I always knew you were the biggest liar in the world."
"Don't believe me. See if I care." Nonchalantly he turned his attention to Brigette. "Can I bug you for a loan? Like maybe a hundred thousand big ones? I'l pay you back when I'm rich and famous."
"Ha!" snorted Nona.
"I don't control my money," Brigette muttered. "It's al in various trusts."
"And even if she did," Nona interrupted, "you'd be the last person to get any. I'd be the first, wouldn't I, Brigette would never admit it, but she thought Paul was even more attractive than Tim Wealth.
Emilio signed the contract. He probably should have taken it to some high-powered Hol ywood lawyer and had him look it over. But Emilio knew what he was doing. His business instincts were good. After al , he'd negotiated himself a fat fifty thousand dol ars without any help from some sharp lawyer. Now al he had to do was give them the exclusive story of Venus Maria and her married lover.
The first thing he did was open up a bank account. Then he promptly withdrew three thousand dol ars in cash, and hit the town, taking in al the clubs.
Everyone who knew him was surprised. "Where'd you score the bucks, man?" they asked. They were al aware that Emilio was an expert at using his sister's name, joining people's tables, and getting his drinks put on other people's tabs.
"My sister gave it to me," Emilio replied with a jaunty wink.
In a way it was true. Without Venus Maria, he certainly wouldn't have fifty thousand stashed away. Wel , only five for now, but he'd get the balance when the story was written and checked out.
Several Margaritas later he picked up a hooker at one of the bars. He didn't realize she was a hooker. She said she was an actress. They al said they were actresses or models. It was the Hol ywood game. She had long dyed-blond hair and even longer skinny legs. She wore a very short red dress cut low in the back and even lower in the front. There was not much left to anybody's imagination.
Emilio wasn't into imagining; he was into celebrating.
He took the girl back to his apartment and made love to her for a fast five minutes.
"Is that it?" she asked indignantly when he was through. "I came here for a good time. I coulda had more action with a jackrabbit!"
"I gave you a good time," Emilio mumbled, wishing she'd get the hel out.
She demanded fifty bucks for a cab home.
He was outraged. "Fifty bucks for a cab?"
"Honey, I didn't come here for your smile." Grumbling, Emilio gave her a twenty and shoved her out.
When she was gone he switched on the television and fantasized about Gloria Estefan. Now she was a real woman. He bet Gloria Estefan wouldn't start asking him for fifty bucks.
Eventual y he fel asleep. Tomorrow he had another session with Dennis and his tape recorder. They were progressing on the story.
Soon he would be headline news. It was some kind of kick.
Emilio Sierra was going to be famous too.
Chapter 40
Eddie Kane thought he might be going crazy, total y freaking out. And nobody wanted to help him, there wasn't one person he could trust.
He roamed around his house like a man possessed.
Goddamn it! Ten days ago he'd had everything. Plenty of money, a gorgeous wife; things were running smoothly. And he'd had his coke to keep him warm. A little snort of cocaine and everything looked rosy. Now it took more than a little snort to get him out of bed in the morning.
He'd known he was in trouble when Mickey stopped talking to him. Mickey, whom he'd depended on over the years and had always turned to.
So he'd got them into a jam. Jesus Christ, it wasn't like they were standing at gunpoint in front of the fucking Mexican army. It was a mess a mil ion bucks could solve. And Mickey Stol i and Panther Studios were going to have to come up with the money. Fast. But no, Mickey was trying to act like a big man and pretend it wasn't his responsibility.
Mickey was ful of crap.
The cal s had started nicely enough. "Hey, Eddie, you owe us money. When's it coming?" Then they'd progressed to
"Hey, Eddie, ya better get the bucks soon. Mr. Bonnatti ain't a patient man." And now it was "Eddie, your time is up. Mr.
Bonnatti don't appreciate bein' kept waiting."
At first it seemed like such a sweet, irresistible deal. Eddie had been introduced to Carlos Bonnatti in New York at Le Club. Actual y he'd known one of the women Bonnatti was with, his L. A. cocaine connection, Kathleen Le Paul.
After Kathleen introduced him to Carlos, they'd got to talking. "Panther Pictures, huh?" Carlos had said. "I'm in the picture business myself."
"You are?" Eddie had asked, surprised that he'd never heard of him.
"Yeah." Carlos had laughed. "We don't make quite your
"Yeah." Carlos had laughed. "We don't make quite your style of movies."
Eddie had been accused of a lot of things in his time --
being slow was not one of them. "You're into the other side of the tennis net, huh?" he'd said smoothly.
"There's plenty of money in it," Bonnatti had replied.
"Plenty. My brother Santino started the business. When he, uh, unfortunately passed away, I took over. I got a guy running it out on the West Coast. An' my own people in New York. Our only real problem is abroad."
It went on from there. Bonnatti was looking for a way to get his porno product into Europe. There were certain countries such as Spain and Italy that had a block on importing pornographic material.
Eddie came up with the perfect solution: Smuggle it in with legitimate product. Who would question Panther Studios when they shipped in their big movies? Bonnatti was easy to convince. When Eddie smel ed a deal he went al the way. "Maybe I can help you," he'd said. And they'd worked out a tentative arrangement.
Al Eddie had to do was run it by Mickey, guaranteeing him a big chunk of the action.
He'd thought about it long and hard before going to Mickey.
First he'd formed his own shel company in Liechtenstein, reckoning he could shift the European funds through the company without becomin
g personal y involved.
Mickey was immediately receptive to the idea. "Just money, no risk?" he'd asked.
"That's the deal," Eddie had said. "A fifty-fifty split with Bonnatti. An' I hand you half my action. It's as easy as that."
Mickey had agreed.
Screw Mickey. For three years he'd been happy to take the money when things were running smooth. Now that there was trouble--he didn't want to know. Eddie wondered how everybody had found out he was creaming of the top. Fuck it, he was the one doing al the work, setting up the deals in the various countries, funneling the money through. If anybody was going to get busted, it was him. So why shouldn't he take more than his share?
Now he was busted. Carlos Bonnatti had discovered he was stealing, and Bonnatti wanted what was his.
Leslie fol owed Eddie around the house looking mournful.
"How can I help?" she asked for the tenth time.
He was in no mood for the caring-Wife bit. "By shutting up."
It occurred to him that the fastest way he could raise the money in a hurry was by sel ing their only real asset.
"We gotta put the house on the market," he announced.
"Cal a realtor an' tel 'em we need a cash sale, an' we need it like yesterday."
Leslie looked dismayed, but she did as he told her, even though they both knew it wasn't going to be fast enough.
Now that he had the threat of Bonnatti breathing in his face, he didn't know what else to do.
Eddie had sensed it was going to be a bad day the moment he'd awakened. It was Friday. There was a thick smog hanging over the beach. There was a thick smog hanging over his head. He felt more than depressed.
Rol ing across the bed he reached for the phone and cal ed Kathleen Le Paul. "Come by my house," he ordered. "I need medication."
"I don't make house cal s," she replied testily, not exactly thril ed to hear from him.
His head was exploding. "I'm out of the office."
"I noticed. If you'd let me know, I could have saved myself a trip."
"Listen, honey, I've got the flu. Whaddya want from me?
Come to my house. Bring the goods." "Cash?"
"Yeah."
"You're into me for fifteen hundred from last week." "It's waitin' for you."
Reluctantly she agreed, and they arranged a noon rendezvous.
Leslie was in the kitchen frying eggs and bacon. The smel made him sick. "I'm cooking breakfast for you," she sang out, too goddamn cheerful for her own good.
"Take off your clothes," he said.
She spun around, startled. "What?"
"Take off your clothes," he repeated. "How about cooking my breakfast bare-assed naked?"
There was pain in her voice but he failed to hear it. "Eddie, don't be like this."
"Aw, forget it." He stomped back into the bedroom. And then he felt bad. Poor kid, he was taking it out on her, but who else did he have to take it out on? Five minutes later Leslie surprised him. She walked into the bedroom wearing nothing but high heels and a fril y bib apron.
What a body! For the first time in weeks he felt the old juices begin to flow. "Hey," he said, "come to Poppa!"
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?" she asked stiffly. "I wasn't serious," he said, tweaking her breasts. "Only now that you're here . . ."
He lay back and. let her do al the work. She was very good at performing. For a girl from Iowa she sure knew plenty.
Later he wolfed breakfast, downed a couple of vodkas, smoked a joint, and went for a long walk along the beach.
When he got back to his house, Carlos Bonnatti was sitting in his living room.
A white-faced Leslie said, "I didn't know you were expecting company."
Eddie stared at Carlos. He felt his skin crawl. "Neither did I."
Carlos Bonnatti was a stockily built man in his mid-forties, with tightly curled hair, drooped eyelids, sal ow skin, and an indolent expression.
"I was in the neighborhood," he said easily. "Thought I'd drop by."
"Since when was your neighborhood the beach?" Eddie brooded, glaring at him.
Carlos waved a vague hand in the air. "Since you owe me a mil ion bucks," he said. "An' since I don't seem to be getting no answers to my questions, I figured I'd make a side trip, see what's goin' on. You have anythin' to say for yourself, Eddie?"
Leslie hovered at the back of the room, paralyzed with fear.
She'd known something was up the moment the long black limousine had deposited Carlos Bonnatti at her door with two heavies stationed right behind him. When she'd opened the door, he hadn't even asked if he could come in, merely pushed past her with a terse "I'm here to see Eddie," as if that was explanation enough.
"You shouldn't have come here," Eddie said tightly. "I don't need this shit. You'l get your money, I told you that last week."
"Last week was then," Carlos said. "Now is now. I want my money by Monday morning or you know what you can expect."
"Are you threatening me?" Eddie demanded, ful of false bravado.
"Cal it a threat if you want," Carlos replied mildly. "You should know one thing--Carlos Bonnatti don't make threats.
He makes things happen. Either I get what's owed me by Monday or you an' I are outta business. In fact--" Carlos rose to his feet--"you're likely to find you won't be doing business with nobody." He walked toward the door, stopping to touch Leslie on her bare shoulder. "Pretty wife,"
he said. "Very pretty." And then he was gone.
Eddie rushed into the bathroom and threw up. When he emerged, Leslie was waiting, gazing at him expectantly, those damn big eyes staring at him, trusting him to come up with an answer to al of this.
"I'l go see Mickey," he . said quickly. "Don't worry, babe, I'l have this worked out today."
"You wil ?"
"This is a promise."
He hugged her and hurried outside to his car.
Now it was Leslie's turn to pace around the house.
She didn't know what to do. She only knew Eddie was in trouble, and there had to be some way she could help.
Picking up the phone she dialed Madame Loretta's number.
When the older woman got on the line, Leslie sobbed out her story. "Can you help me?" she begged.
"Leave him," Madame Loretta cautioned. "You're stil young and beautiful. There's plenty of other men. Come back to work. I'l find you another one."
Leslie was shocked. "But I don't want anyone else," she protested. "I love Eddie."
"Love's no good," Madame Loretta warned her. "He'l bring you down with him. I've seen this happen before. Leave him, Leslie, before it's too late."
"No," Leslie replied gravely. "I could never leave Eddie. I love him."
"Then I can't help you," Madame Loretta said brusquely, and put the phone down.
Chapter 41
Eddie Kane al owed his white Maserati to rip on the Pacific Coast Highway. When he hit the freeway he real y let loose.
Five minutes later he was pul ed over by a motorcycle cop.
The cop was movie-star handsome as he swaggered toward Eddie's window. "Hey, bud, you going for a world record or what?" the cop said, pul ing out his notebook.
Eddie sensed this was somebody he could deal with.
"Listen, uh, I got a hot date, you know how it is." The cop grinned. He certainly knew how it. Was. "Nice car," he remarked, pen poised for action.
"I worked hard to get it," Eddie said, trying to sound humble.
"You been drinking?" the cop asked.
Eddie laughed mirthlessly. He knew he looked like a bum.
Only the car gave him credibility. "Who, me?" he said. "Are you serious?"
The cop rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots.
"Yes, I'm serious. Have you been drinking?" Eddie forced a friendly smile. "Let me introduce myself. Eddie Kane. Head of distribution at Panther Studios. Hey--did you ever think about being an actor?"
"Yeah, I've thought about it," the cop said. "Who hasn't, in this town?"
"Tel you what," Eddie said in his most persuasive voice.
"I'l give you my card an' you can cal me at the studio. I'l see if I can get you an audition."
The cop laughed.
Eddie fished out one of his cards and handed it over. "I'm serious. What are you laughing at?"
The cop laughed again. "I've heard of being discovered, but this is ridiculous!"
"You've got charisma," Eddie said, rising to the occasion.
"You've got the look. And a sense of humor. So come on, I'l try to help you, an' you can help me. Let me go, huh? I'm late for an appointment."
It was the one good thing that happened to Eddie that day.
The cop pocketed his card and waved him on his way.
Undaunted, Eddie did not slow down. He hit the gas al the way to Panther.
Mickey was in a meeting with a writer on one of his pet projects. When Eddie burst into the office Mickey was taken by surprise.
Lucky let him through without question. This was her last day at the studio and she didn't care what happened.
The writer, an earnest young man, leaped to his feet as soon as Eddie entered. Eddie looked like a madman with his ten days' growth of beard, crumpled clothes, and wild, bloodshot eyes.
"I'm through takin' shit," Eddie yel ed, placing both hands on Mickey's desk and glaring at him. "Carlos Bonnatti came to my house. My fucking house, for crissakes! No more, Mickey. You're in this with me, an' there's no way you're backin' out. Panther's gotta pay him."
Mickey's eyes narrowed. This was what happened when you tried to assist a friend? "Luce," he shouted. No acknowledgment.
"Get the guards up here," he screamed.
"You get the fucking guards an' you got more trouble than you ever believed possible," Eddie yel ed, grabbing Mickey by the lapels of his sports jacket. "I'l go to Abe Panther. I'l spil the works. Your fat ass won't be worth a dime."
The writer slowly and careful y backed his way . Toward the door. He'd heard about these scenes where unhinged maniacs went on a rampage. Sometimes they had a gun.
This could get nasty. "I'l come back later, Mr. Stol i," he said.
"Get your hands off my jacket," Mickey growled at Eddie.
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