Christ! Why had he al owed himself to get into this mess?
Why had he al owed his perfect existence to fal apart?
The cal from her sister took Abigaile by surprise. "What's this al about?" Primrose shrieked al the way from London.
Abigaile quivered with aggravation. Primrose managed to make everything seem like it was her fault. Whatever happened to the niceties of life such as, "How are you?"
"Are your children wel ?" No, Primrose jumped right to it as though Abigaile owed her an explanation.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," she snapped.
"The telegram," Primrose replied impatiently. "What telegram?"
"Oh, for God's sake! Don't tel me you're going to pretend you don't know anything about it. Ben's furious."
Abigaile spoke slowly and evenly to make sure her sister understood every word. "Primrose, I have absolutely no clue what your problem is."
"Ben and I received a telegram from Grandfather today,"
Primrose said in an accusing voice, as if Abigaile should know.
Abigaile was surprised. "You did? Saying what?" "Saying that he wishes us to be at the studio for an urgent meeting on Monday morning."
Abigaile frowned. Did this have something to do with her recent visit to old Abe? Was he readying himself to inform Primrose and Ben that Mickey was trying to sel the studio without his knowledge?
She sighed. "I real y don't know what it's about."
"Inconvenient. That's al I can say," Primrose snorted. "Do you realize we've got to get on a plane tomorrow morning?
That hardly gives 'me time to pack. And I have to make arrangements for the children. It's simply disgraceful."
"Why don't I get back to you?" Abigaile suggested, anxious to get off the phone. "I'l cal Mickey and see what he knows."
"Fine," Primrose said snappishly.
Abigaile put down the phone. The easiest thing would have been to immediately contact her grandfather. Unfortunately she didn't have the courage. Abe, in his feisty old way, would say something rude and insulting, like "Butt out, girlie, it's none of your goddamn business."
She placed another cal to Mickey and got his new secretary again. "Is he back yet?" she asked impatiently.
"He's not, Mrs. Stol i."
"Are you sure you don't know where he is? This is urgent."
Irresistible, thought Lucky. "Wel . . . I do have a number you might try."
"Give it to me," Abigaile said, brooking no argument.
"One moment, please."
Lucky scooted into Mickey's office, dashed over to his private phone book and looked up Warner's number.
You're being a real bitch, Santangelo.
So what? The guy cal ed me a cunt. This is his punishment.
She returned to the phone and gave Abigaile Warner Franklin's number.
Abigaile cal ed, expecting to reach an office. "Is Mr. Stol i there?" she demanded imperiously when a female answered.
"Who's this?" asked Warner.
"This is his wife."
"Are you cal ing me?" said Warner.
"I beg your pardon?" said Abigaile.
"Is it me you're cal ing?"
Abigaile was having the most confusing day. "No, I'm not cal ing you," she said crossly. "Whose secretary are you?" *
"I'm nobody's secretary. I'm Warner Franklin." She said her name as if Abigaile was supposed to know who she was.
"Are you an actress?" Abigaile asked, sniffing instant danger.
"No, I'm not an actress, I'm a cop."
"A cop?"
"That's right."
Abigaile was confused.
Warner took a slow beat. "I'm also your husband's mistress," she added, thinking it was about time Mickey's wife realized she existed.
Chapter 44
Twenty thousand dol ars' worth of IBM stock made out in her name was delivered to Venus Maria's house on Friday afternoon. She arrived home from the studio early to find a large, hand-delivered envelope waiting for her. Inside was a Tiffany card from Martin. His name was hand-engraved on the top, and on it he had written, "Don't say I never pay my bets!"
Venus Maria grinned. Obviously Martin could afford it, but it was nice to know he'd remembered. It was also a clever way to settle his bet without involving cash.
How should she respond? It had to be something original.
Ron was always ful of great ideas, so she cal ed him.
Natural y he was out. He and the Ken Dol had gone shopping at Fred Segal on Melrose. They were not expected back for a couple of hours.
Hmmmm, Ron was probably making more purchases for his live-in lover. He certainly knew how to spend money.
She thought about who else she could cal . Unfortunately she didn't have any close women friends. It was difficult in her position. She was rich, young, and famous. She had everything most other females in Hol ywood wanted. The envy factor was high.
Oh, of course there were the executives' wives, but she was hardly going to become bosom buddies with Abigaile Stol i and the like. Al they seemed to be interested in was giving great charity parties, buying designer dresses, and having long, leisurely lunches where they trashed everybody in town.
It would have been nice to have one special close girlfriend to confide in. Growing up in Brooklyn she'd always been different from the other girls. While they were hanging out at the corner drugstore, going to movies and rock concerts, and sitting around drinking sodas and flirting with boys, Venus Maria had always been obliged to rush home from school to take care of her many chores. Looking after her father and four brothers was extremely demanding.
Sometimes she'd felt like a modern-day Cinderel a.
None of them appreciated it. They took her completely for granted.
And then she'd met Ron, the boy next door. The fag next door, she thought with a hysterical giggle. They'd hit it off right from the beginning. Two soul mates who had found each other in Brooklyn, of al places.
Ron had encouraged her to cut loose, taking her on wild trips to Times Square, and then down Broadway, where they'd enjoyed hanging out. Ron and she spoke each other's language--Show Biz. They both knew exactly what they wanted and were determined to get it: Stardom and fame. And staying in Brooklyn was not going to do it for them, so eventual y they'd taken off.
Both were prepared to work hard. Venus Maria's big turn-on had always been singing, dancing, and acting. It was a thril , a major charge. She strived to do everything to the best of her ability and usual y succeeded.
Ron loved dancing and putting together fantastic routines.
Hard work and tenacity had brought them both the recognition they craved..
Venus Maria's father and three other brothers stil lived in the same house in Brooklyn. She'd offered to buy them something better. They hadn't accepted the offer, although her father had said he wouldn't mind a new car, and her brothers had mentioned they could do with some extra cash. Two were married. Venus Maria imagined the wives were doing al the work now.
She'd bought her father a brand-new Chevrolet and given her brothers ten thousand dol ars each. Nobody bothered to thank her. Nice family.
And then there was Emilio, fol owing her out to Hol ywood, instal ing himself in her house, moaning when she'd asked him to leave. Since then she hadn't heard a word from him.
Not so much as a "Thanks, it's nice of you to pay my rent.
It's nice of you to lend me a car."
O. K., so she was rich--but she'd worked hard to get where she was. Nobody had ever given her any thing for nothing.
She took the envelope containing the stock certificates up to her bedroom*--a bright, spacious room overlooking the obligatory Hol ywood swimming pool. Off to one side was her bathroom, and on the other her mirrored gym.
On the wal in her closet hung a giant blowup photograph of her taken by Helmut Newton. It was an interesting photo.
She was sitting on a stool, wearing a flesh-colored leotard.
Her legs were bent
under her, her body arched, and her head was thrown back in profile. She looked sexy and innocent, wanton and prim, al at the same time. It was her favorite photograph. Taken before Martin.
favorite photograph. Taken before Martin.
With a wry grimace she realized her life fel into two categories: Before Martin, and after.
Maybe she'd been better off before. Who needed a man to obsess on?
She pressed a hidden button and the photograph slid aside to reveal a medium-sized safe. Clicking the knob, she hit the right combination and the safe opened. In it she kept her passport, stock certificates, letters from old lovers, and a photograph of herself with Martin. Cooper had taken the photo one night at her house. It was the only picture she had of them together, and she loved it. They were sitting on the couch in her living room. Martin had his arm around her, while she gazed up at him. It was definitely an intimate photograph. Anyone seeing it would know immediately they were lovers--which is why she couldn't put it in a frame and display it. Too risky. It would be like tel ing the world, "Hey, this is my boyfriend." And she didn't want to be the one to reveal their relationship. Martin had to make his own decision.
Johnny Romano's voice was on her private answering machine. "Hey, baby," he crooned. "You promised to cal me back. This is Johnny. You were s'posed to let me know if you were comin' to my premiere with me tonight." A plaintive cry from a superstar. Oh, sure, Johnny would love her to arrive on his arm. Let the media salivate over Johnny Romano and Venus Maria together at last. What a picture!
What a break! Not to mention sensational publicity for his movie.
Word around the studio was that the film was a bomb. But this was Hol ywood--land of hype. The movie would make a fortune, whatever it was like. Johnny Romano could take a piss on Rodeo Drive and stil make money!
Why was he cal ing her anyway? She'd never said she would even consider going with him.
The man obviously got off on rejection. He was always cal ing her, and she was always saying no. Why did he bother? He could have any girl he wanted. How come he was so intent on having her?
She put away her IBM stock certificates and closed the safe. Then, feeling just a tad guilty, although she didn't know why, she picked up the phone and dialed Emilio's apartment.
He'd moved with the times and bought himself an answering machine. "Emilio Sierra is out," his message said. "But Emilio Sierra would love to know who is cal ing him, so you cal back and I'l cal back. Don't forget now--
leave your number."
She waited for the beep and said a crisp "Emilio, this is Venus. Just checking in to see if you're settled."
Duty cal . It was done. Not that she owed him anything. But stil .. .
While she was on a family kick she decided to cal her father in New York. He'd never acknowledged her success.
He was happy to accept the monthly check she sent him, but he wouldn't give her one word of praise. To her chagrin, she couldn't help herself from stil seeking his approval. It was a losing battle.
She was sure he was home, sitting in front of the television, with his beer bel y, a can of Heineken, a large pepperoni pizza, and two bags of salted potato chips.
"Hi, Dad, it's Venus," she said when he picked up.
"Virginia?" He refused to use her professional name.
"Yeah. How ya doin', Dad? Just thought I'd check in."
"Can't complain," her father replied gruffly. "Why're you cal ing?"
Why was she cal ing? He had her number, but he'd never bothered to use it, except once when he'd wanted to complain about one of her videos. "Ya look like a cheap little whore," he'd exploded. "Whaddaya think it's like for me at work? I got guys ribbin' me al over."
That was at the beginning. When the money started to pour in, the ribbing hadn't seemed to matter so much.
"I'm cal ing to see how you al are," she said flatly, feeling rejected as usual. "Nothing important." "We're O. K.," he said gruffly. "Could do with some extra money."
So what else was new? "I'l talk to my business manager,"
she said with a sigh. And that was the extent of their conversation.
If Martin Swanson left Deena and married her, the wedding would be a riot! She could just see her father and brothers mixing with New York high society and the cream of Hol ywood.
God, she was hungry. Sometimes fame was a drag. If she wasn't so famous she could jump in her Jeep, race down to Fred Segal, find Ron and the Ken Dol , and they could sit in the restaurant and pig out on delicious club sandwiches.
But God forbid she wasn't looking her best, didn't have makeup on, and her hair styled. People would say, "Oh, look, there's Venus Maria, she doesn't look as good as she does on her videos or in the movies, does she?" And then others would come over and start asking for her autograph.
She was always polite to them, but it soon became too much of a hassle. And she lived in fear of that one maniac fan coming at her from out of nowhere, screaming,
"Whore!" and stabbing her to death.
Only another famous person could understand her fears.
Cooper for instance. Cooper understood everything. In fact, he was the only one she could real y talk to.
Strut was winding down. She'd finished al her scenes. It was funny--when they were in the midst of shooting, she and Cooper fought al the time. Now she found that she missed him.
The end of filming was always difficult. During the shoot, everyone became part of a large family, al working toward the same goal. And when it was over, you were suddenly cast adrift and no longer had that family to depend on. It was a wrench.
She decided to cal him.
He was in his office at the studio. "What's up?" he said cheerful y.
"I was wondering, wil you be going to the premiere tonight?"
"Are you certifiable?" He laughed. "I wouldn't see Motherfaker if you paid me. Mucho bucks."
"Then why don't we get a bite to eat?"
He sounded amused. "Are we talking Spago here?" "If you like."
"That means we'l be photogr. Aphed together," he warned.
"What wil Martin have to say about that?"
"I don't tel him everything I do," she replied defensively.
"I'm glad to hear it. We'l dine at Spago and enjoy ourselves."
She was pleased, but she hoped he hadn't got the wrong impression. "Cooper, I need somebody to talk to. I'm not cal ing so you can jump my bones." "When did I ever try to jump your bones?" he asked indignantly.
"You know . . ."
"Sweetheart," he said firmly, "don't worry. We'l have a quiet dinner. We'l talk. I'l take you to your house, leave you at the door, and then I'l go home and jerk off. Does that suit you?"
She couldn't help laughing. "The day you have to jerk off is a day indeed."
"Don't be too sure. With AIDS creeping around every corner I'm not that interested anymore."
She didn't believe a word. "Oh, Cooper, please! It's me you're talking to."
He laughed rueful y. "Yeah, I suppose so. You don't buy my lines, do you?"
She smiled. "No."
"What time shal I pick you up?"
"Eight o'clock."
"I'l be there."
She put down the phone and felt quite pleased. An evening with Cooper. He was a friend. He was also Martin's friend, which meant if she wanted to she could talk about Martin al night long.
And that was just what she felt like doing.
Chapter 45
Eddie wiped the back of his hand across his nose. * There was dried blood there, he could feel it. The humiliation of al owing Mickey Stol i to beat up on him was too much.
He'd gone into Mickey's office expecting action, but certainly not the violent kind. Mickey Stol i was a son of a bitch.
The Maserati got him home in record time. He barged into the house, wound up and ready to kick ass.
Leslie was waiting for him. "I was worried about you," she said, ful of wifely concern.
He knew he was treating her badly, but
he couldn't help himself. "Where's my delivery?" were the first words out of his mouth.
Leslie faced him, wide-eyed and sincere. "I paid the woman who came here," she said tremulously. "Your debt is clear."
"O. K., O. K., where's the stuff?" He wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He needed to get high. And fast. She faced him.
His lovely wife.
"I threw it away, Eddie," she said quietly. "We're starting a new life."
Abigaile hyperventilated al the way to Warner Franklin's apartment. When she reached the street, she drove around the block twice, unsure about where to park. Abigaile had used valet parking for so many years she didn't know how to manage without it. Final y she left her Mercedes on a red line, walked up to the front of the building and pressed the buzzer marked "Franklin."
A disembodied voice instructed her to come to the third floor.
Heart beating, Abigaile took the elevator. What was she doing here? This was madness.
One look at Warner and her heart almost stopped altogether. This was Mickey's girlfriend? This was the woman he was having an affair with? This six-foot black giant of a female?
Abigaile experienced serious palpitations. Was this a sick joke?
"Come in," Warner said, facing Mickey's wife for the first time.
Abigaile was sure she'd made some kind of insane mistake. Clearly she was about to be kidnapped, bundled into the trunk of a Ford Taurus, and driven to a deserted spot. They would cal Mickey for the ransom and he'd refuse to pay. She'd be raped, shot, and thrown over the edge of Mulhol and.
"I don't think so," she said, shrinking away. "I've made a mistake."
"What mistake?" asked Warner, towering over her. "You and my husband. It's not, possible."
"Oh, honey, it's possible al right."
Abigaile took two steps backward. "No."
"Trust me."
Abigaile never trusted anybody who said "Trust me."
Quickly she turned around and scurried back to the elevator. Pressing the cal button, she prayed for its imminent arrival before she was brutal y attacked. "We should talk," Warner cal ed out after her.
"No," Abigaile said, control ing hysteria. "No, we shouldn't."
Lady Boss (1990) Page 28