He ignored them al until he reached "Entertainment Tonight." "E. T." was his favorite TV program. He watched it every night.
Jeannie Wolf was there with a microphone and a welcoming smile. "Johnny, are you pleased about the movie?" she asked.
"Hey, Jeannie. Good to see you. Howya doin'?" he said, playing Mr. Humble Movie Star to the hilt. "Yeah, I guess I'm kinda pleased. Motherfaker's gonna surprise a lot of people. I put mucho heavy work into it. My fans are gonna like it. My mother's gonna like it. My father's gonna be ecstatic!"
The crowd roared its approval. They wanted Johnny to be a hit. They rooted for him.
Jeannie laughed politely.
Johnny threw a long, lingering look straight to camera. "Al you folks out there, go buy your tickets for Motherfaker.
You'l have a good time. Johnny--he promises you that."
"Thank you, Johnny," said Jeannie.
"Thank you, Jeannie," said Johnny, waving to his fans as he strode manful y into the theater.
Crawling along Hol ywood Boulevard, caught in a horrendous traffic jam, trapped in a smal sedan, were Abigaile and Mickey Stol i. They'd bickered al the way from their house. First of al , the car had arrived late, and when it final y did get there, Abigaile had freaked out when she realized she was expected to ride to the premiere in a smal sedan. She'd thrown an absolute fit, screaming at the driver, an out-of-work actor, who almost walked off the job.
"I never ordered a car like this," she'd yel ed. "I've never been in a car like this in my life. Where's my stretch limo?"
"It's down on the sheet, ma'am," the driver had replied politely. "This is the car you requested." Abigaile narrowed her eyes, natural y blaming Mickey. "I'l murder that secretary of yours. She's an idiot. And it's your fault."
"Don't worry about it," Mickey had replied calmly. "I'm firing her first thing Monday."
"Monday isn't soon enough," Abigaile said ominously before turning her attention back to the driver. "Why are you so late?"
"Six forty-five, ma'am. That's the time I was told to be here."
"I expected the car to be here at six-thirty," Abigaile had said through clenched teeth. "This is simply not good enough."
Mickey had shrugged. There were enough things on his mind. He didn't need Abigaile screaming, too. She'd wanted him to send the car back and get a limousine, but he'd pointed out there wasn't time. "I'l have the driver arrange everything while we're in the theater," he assured her. "There'l be a limousine to meet us when we leave."
She final y agreed and got in the car reluctantly. Image was al -important to Abigaile, and this just wouldn't do.
Even earlier than that, when Mickey had arrived home from the studio, they'd discussed Abe Panther's cal ing a Monday morning meeting without consulting either of them.
"I don't understand what's going on," Abigaile worried.
"Why would he contact. Primrose and Ben without first tel ing me? I saw him this week. It would have been easy for him to mention something." "Why is he coming to the studio at al ?" Mickey had growled. "There's something out of line going on."
Abigaile had muttered her agreement, wondering if now was the right moment to tel him about Warner. Eventual y she'd decided against it. Mickey would accuse her of being insane if she admitted she'd cal ed a number and gone to see a woman who claimed to be having an affair with him.
Mickey had not returned Warner's urgent phone cal s. Why should he? He'd final y decided it was time to ease out of the relationship, and the fact that she'd cal ed his office twice real y annoyed him.
They were the last to arrive at the theater. The television camera crews were packing up. Only the stragglers remained. Mickey hustled Abigaile inside.
"Sorry," said an officious usher. "The doors are closed."
"Do you know who I am?" demanded Mickey in a rage.
"I'm sorry, the doors are closed," the usher repeated firmly.
"I'm Mickey Stol i, President of Panther Studios. You'd better let us in right now if you plan to keep your job."
The usher snapped to attention. "Certainly, sir," he said, changing his tune in a hurry.
To get to their seats they had to squeeze past Johnny Romano, who was not pleased. "You're late," he hissed at Mickey. Like they didn't already know. Final y they were settled. Abigaile gazed at the screen, her mind elsewhere.
Mickey settled back and tried to concentrate on the film.
"You motherfuckers," sneered Johnny Romano in ful close-up, his handsome face fil ing the screen.
"Who you cal in' motherfucker?" answered the actor playing opposite him.
"Don't fuck with me, man," said Johnny menacingly. "Don't do it."
"Listen, motherfucker, I fuck with anyone I want," replied the other actor.
Oh, nice, Abigaile thought to herself. Another one of Mickey's classy productions. She leaned over to her husband and whispered sarcastical y in his ear, "Are there going to be any normal words in this picture?"
Mickey grunted. "It's a money-maker," he replied gruffly.
At the party afterward, everybody told Johnny Romano he was wonderful, the movie was a surefire hit, and how creative and clever he was to have starred, written, and directed.
Johnny Romano accepted their praise modestly, with a shrug here, a smile there.
Privately the buzz was, "How come this asshole gets away with making a piece of shit like this? And how come it's going to score a fucking fortune?"
Johnny strutted around the party giving interviews, greeting friends, playing superstar to the hilt.
Some of the early reviews on the movie had been less than positive. In fact, there'd been some kil ers. Johnny didn't care. He knew he could do whatever he wanted and the public would accept it--because he was Johnny Romano, and they loved_ him, and they'd take anything he cared to dish out.
Abigaile and Mickey sat at a table with several Panther executives. Mickey knew something deadly was up when Ford Werne leaned across the table and said, "What's al this about a meeting on Monday morning?"
"Huh?" Mickey feigned ignorance.
"I received a communique from Abe Panther," Ford said.
"Apparently he's coming to the studio on Monday, and has requested a meeting with al the senior executives at noon."
"Real y?" Mickey was aware of a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Crafty old Abe Panther was final y emerging, and he was up to something serious. Maybe he was coming back to take over.
Mickey decided he'd better cal Martin Swanson and find out what was happening with the other deal, because if Abe Panther came back to work, Mickey Stol i was getting the hel out. There was no way he was answering to a decrepit, senile old man. No way at al .
As he was thinking al this, he happened to glance up, and there was Warner, al six feet of her, wearing a short spangly dress, talking to Johnny Romano. Jesus Christ!
She was actual y talking to Johnny Romano!
Mickey did a double take. What the hel was Warner doing here? He'd gotten her tickets for the movie, certainly not an invitation to the party.
No doubt that stupid secretary of his had fucked up again and left a party invitation along with the tickets. From the perfect replacement, Luce had turned into dumb cunt of the year. He couldn't wait to fire her. "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Abigaile, spotting Warner a few moments later. "It's that dreadful woman." "What woman? Where?" spat Mickey, knowing she couldn't possibly mean Warner.
"Over there," Abigaile pointed straight at Warner. "Talking to Johnny Romano. It's her."
Mickey looked blank. "She's just another one of Johnny's dates," he said. "What are you getting so bothered about?"
"Something happened today," Abigaile said excitedly, her face flushing.
"What?" Mickey was in no mood to hear about Abigaile's day.
"I . . . I cal ed your office," she said, "to find out where you were so I could tel you about Primrose and Ben and the cable."
He had a dul feeling he wasn't going to like what came next. "Yes
?"
"And your secretary gave me a phone number. I cal ed, and this woman answered."
"What woman?"
"The one talking to Johnny."
"Get to the point, Abigaile. Make sense, for crissakes."
"A woman answered the phone and told me she was a cop, and she was your girlfriend. Can you believe such nonsense? Anyway, I didn't know what to do." Abigaile hesitated before plunging on. "You're going to kil me for this, Mickey, but I was so confused, I got in my car and I went to see her. She lives in a tacky little apartment. She tried to threaten me. I'm sure it was some sort of kidnapping plan. Of course, I got out of there as fast as I could."
Mickey scratched his head. "I don't fucking believe what I'm hearing. Some woman says on the phone she's my girlfriend, and you buy that? And you go over to a strange apartment?" He shook his head wearily. "Abby, Abby, you've gone too far this time."
Abigaile cast her eyes down. "I know, Mickey, it was a foolish thing to do. I'm fortunate to have escaped."
While Abigaile was talking, Mickey was thinking fast. Once Abigaile got to consider what had taken place, she would realize al was not as it seemed. He had to come up with some explanation as to why his stupid secretary had given her Warner's number. And then he had to explain who Warner was.
"Listen," he said quickly. "I didn't want you involved in this, but now I guess I'l have to tel you what it's al about."
Abigaile looked alarmed. "What, Mickey?"
"Johnny Romano is heavily into drugs."
"Oh, dear," cried Abigaile.
"Uh . . . I've had this uh . . . private cop fol owing him and uh
. . . obviously Luce got confused and gave you the wrong number. The woman must have thought it was Johnny's girlfriend cal ing him."
"Why would she think that?" asked Abigaile. "I told her my name."
"What am I, a thought reader?" he snapped. "Al I know is you should never have gone over there. Don't you realize your position?"
"Why is that woman here tonight? Is she watching Johnny?"
"Yeah, yeah. That's it. She's an undercover drug cop. I have to protect Johnny."
"I didn't realize you got involved in this kind of thing."
"Honey, when you run a studio, you get to watch over everybody and everything."
Mickey figured he'd covered his tracks, for now, anyway.
He shot a quick glance at Warner. She was stil al over Johnny Romano, and was it his imagination, or did Johnny seem to be responding?
In al the time they'd been together, Mickey had never seen Warner dressed up before. She didn't look bad. She certainly had the longest legs in town, and although she wasn't pretty, she had a certain style of her own. Come to think of it, he'd only seen her in her cop's uniform or in the nude. This was a new, exciting Warner. He experienced a sharp twinge of jealousy. "When can we go home?"
Abigaile whispered. "I hated the movie. I hate this party. I hate the fact we don't know what's going to happen at the meeting on Monday morning. Let's go now."
"You're right," Mickey agreed. "Give me five minutes and we're out of here."
"Where are you going?"
"I gotta go stroke ego, tel Johnny he's the greatest thing since banana yogurt. It'l take me two seconds." "Shal I come with you?"
"No, stay here. You'l send him over a gift from Cartier's tomorrow."
Mickey walked toward Johnny just in time to hear him say to Warner, "Hey, baby, baby, you got the longest legs I ever put my eyes on. They about measure up to the height of my date. Bet you can do things with those legs I've never even imagined."
Warner, the six-foot, seen-everything-done-everything, hard-knuckled cop, gazed at Johnny Romano as if he were God.
"How about you an' me gettin' together later?" Johnny suggested, bored with his actress girlfriend, who was busy scanning the room.
Mickey made his presence felt. "Hey, Johnny, we've got another big money-maker here. Congratulations."
"The biggest," Johnny replied modestly.
Mickey kissed ass. He knew how to do it when he had to.
"No doubt about it."
Johnny stroked Warner's arm. "Have you met .. . urn . . .
what did you say your name was, babe?" Warner threw Mickey a filthy look.
He was infuriated. What had he done. She was the one at fault, talking to Abigaile on the phone and tel ing her to come to her apartment. He couldn't wait to have it out with her. But not now, not while Abigaile was present and probably tracking his every move.
"Warner Franklin," she said, cool as you like. "That's a pretty name, baby," said Johnny with a sexy leer. "Warner, huh?"
Mickey shook her hand.
She squeezed too hard, favoring him with a real bone-crusher.
"Hey, baby, this here's Mickey Stol i, the head of the studio." Johnny nudged her and winked. "This guy's an important man to know. What do you do, honey? You an actress?"
"No." Warner loved to shock. "I'm a cop." Johnny thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "A cop? You?
Oh baby, baby, I wouldn't mind gettin' myself arrested by you."
She shot Mickey a triumphant look. "Maybe you wil be.
Later." .
Seething, Mickey returned to Abigaile, yanked her by the arm, and said, "Let's go."
The Stol is made their exit. Head of a studio and his Hol ywood princess wife.
Who knew what Monday morning would bring?
Chapter 49
It was three o'clock in the morning when Lucky, accompanied by Boogie, final y arrived on the sidewalk outside Lennie's rented New York loft. She looked around.
"God, Boogie, this is a real dump. Why didn't he stay at our apartment?"
Boogie shook his head. "Beats me. I suppose he felt he could hide away here."
"He did a pretty good job," she replied, feeling nervous and excited at the same time. Tracking Lennie was an adventure, and this little caper had her adrenaline pumping.
She took a deep breath. "O. K., Boog, exhibit your skil s, and let's break in here without anybody knowing."
"You're going to surprise him in bed?" Boogie asked.
"That's exactly what I plan to do."
It was unlike Boogie to offer a comment, but he did so anyway. "You're pretty confident."
"Oh, you know I'm confident."
Boogie shot her a look.
Hmmmm, she thought. Did he honestly imagine she was going to find Lthnie shacked up with a woman? Her husband might be mad at her, but he certainly wasn't that mad. Their relationship was based on trust, and the last thing she expected was for Lennie to break that trust. Not that she imagined he wasn't attracted to other women. But being attracted and doing something about it were two different things. The loft he'd chosen was on the eighth floor of a rundown building. Boogie sprang the street door with ease, and the two of them entered the lobby, where they were confronted by a row of mailboxes. Lennie's was marked with a cryptic L. G.
The elevator didn't appear to be in great shape. "We'l take the fire stairs," Lucky decided.
"You feeling energetic?" Boogie said. "It's eight floors up."
"You're ful of questions tonight, Boog. What's with you?"
"I don't approve of this," he said dourly.
She sighed. Al she needed was an uptight Boogie. Why couldn't he get into the spirit of the adventure and enjoy it?
"How come?" she asked lightly.
"It's not your style."
"That's where you're wrong. It's exactly my style." And it was. Vanish for six weeks. Come back with a bang. What was wrong with that?
They traipsed upstairs, Lucky making better time than Boogie. When they reached the top and let themselves through the fire door to Lennie's floor, they were faced with a steel front door.
Boogie frowned. "I can get through a lot of things, but this looks like a no go."
"How about the back door?" Lucky suggested brightly.
"There must be an easier way to get in."
"I don't k
now." Boogie shook his head uncertainly. "What if he's not living here? What if a new tenant's moved in? A new tenant with a gun?"
"Are you frightened?" Lucky teased. "I always considered you such a macho man."
"I'm protecting your ass," Boogie reminded her tightly.
"I'l worry about my ass, you worry about yours."
The back door turned out to be an easier proposition. It took Boogie about five minutes, but eventual y he clicked it open.
"Shhhh." Lucky held a finger to her lips as they stealthily made their way into a smal , dark kitchen.
Once inside she turned around and whispered to Boogie,
"You can go now. I'm fine."
"I can't leave you here," he objected.
"Sure you can," she whispered. "Wait downstairs in the car.
If I'm not out in ten minutes, take off."
"I shouldn't go," he repeated stubbornly.
"Wil you get out of here?" she said impatiently. "You'l spoil the surprise."
He didn't budge.
"Split," she hissed, "or you're fired."
Reluctantly he departed.
She closed the kitchen door behind him and made her way into a huge studio. In the middle of the open space was a winding flight of stairs leading to a gal ery. Since this appeared to be the extent of the apartment, she imagined the bedroom must be at the top of the stairs. Pul ing off her sneakers, she stealthily made her way upstairs.
In the center of the gal ery there was an enormous circular bed, and in the middle of the bed was Lennie, fast asleep on his stomach, a sheet half covering him. Lucky couldn't remove the smile from her face. She stood there for a moment just staring at him. Her husband! Her gorgeous husband!
Quietly she began to remove her clothes until she was naked. And then, without a sound, she edged her way into bed next to him.
Lennie groaned in his sleep and threw an arm across her.
She snaked closer, wrapping her body around him. In his sleep he started to become aroused.
She smiled, trying to decide whether to be insulted or pleased. Was he getting hard because he knew it was she? Or was he merely in the middle of a wonderful dream?
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