Lady Boss (1990)

by Jackie Collins

  She was a wildcat between the sheets, and pretty too. It was best to get out of town before the shit hit. And that was exactly what would happen when Truth and Fact arrived on the stands. Venus Maria was going to freak out.

  Too bad. He didn't need little sis anymore. With his newfound notoriety he would soon become a famous actor.

  Now he'd be able to cal important agents and producers and say, "Hey--this is Emilio Sierra." And they'd reply,

  "Emilio, good of you to cal , my friend. Come in and see us."

  Yes, it was al going to happen for him. It was about time he was discovered.

  Shortly after Dennis received the photograph from Emilio, Bert Slocombe telephoned from New York.

  "Hold the front page," Bert crowed triumphantly. "We're about t'make a bloody great splash."

  "What's up?" Dennis asked.

  "Sit stil an' listen."

  When Dennis heard the story Bert had to relate, he was only too happy to hold the front page.

  This issue of Truth and Fact was going to be a total sel out.

  And Dennis Wal a was planning on taking ful credit.

  Warner had been in his life too long for Mickey to al ow her to walk when she felt like it. The fact that he was visiting Madame Loretta's on a regular basis had nothing to do with their relationship. Warner couldn't break up with him. He had to be the one to say it was over.

  On Saturday morning he played a vicious game of tennis with an ambitious director. And instead of staying for lunch at the club he drove directly to Warner's apartment. She was not home. Deflated, he continued on to his house.

  Abigaile was also out.

  "Where's Mrs. Stol i?" he asked Consuela.

  "She's shopping, mister," Consuela replied, rol ing her eyes as if she, too, disapproved of Abigaile's shopping mania.

  Shopping, Mickey thought. Not at the market, that was for sure. To Abigaile shopping meant Saks and Neiman Marcus, with a side trip down Rodeo Drive. Tabitha appeared. "Daddy, can I have a Porsche when I'm sixteen?" she whined.

  Why was it that every time he came into contact with Tabitha she wanted something? "We'l talk about it when you reach that age," he replied as calmly as he could manage.

  "Why can't we talk now?" she nagged. "Why can't you promise me?"

  The girl was just like her mother. Relentless. "Because now is not the time," he said patiently. "Mommy said I could."

  Trust Abigaile. "She did?"

  "Yes," Tabitha said triumphantly. "She promised me if I got good grades and if she never caught me doing dope or sleeping with boys--then I could have a Porsche. So I've decided not to smoke anymore." He stared at his thirteen-year-old daughter. "You smoke?"

  "Everybody at school does," she answered defensively.

  He wondered what else she did. She was turning into a wel -developed girl. Too wel developed for her age.

  "We'l see," he said vaguely, bored with al this father-daughter crap. He had other things on his mind. "Some man phoned you," Tabitha announced. "He asked for our address."

  Mickey was immediately alarmed. "What do you mean--he asked for our address?"

  "What is it, a state secret or something?"

  "I don't like people having our home address, Tabitha. You know that," he said sternly.

  "Like I don't know that, Daddy," she replied smartly. "Like you never told me."

  "Yes, I did."

  "I can't do anything right in this house," Tabitha said.

  "Maybe I'l run away," she added, flouncing from the room.

  Ha! Mickey thought. No chance.

  Saturday was supposed to be a day of rest, and al he was getting was stress. Fuck! Stress at his age was no good.

  Not that he was old. He was in perfect physical shape, and his bedroom prowess only improved with age.

  But stil , stress was the enemy. And if he had to contend with Abe Panther on Monday morning and his brother-inlaw, there was plenty of added stress headed in his direction. Plenty.

  Across town in Johnny Romano's Hancock Park mansion, Warner thought she'd died and gone to movie-star heaven.

  Warner Franklin, vice cop, cavorting with Johnny Romano--

  too much!

  He'd cal ed her that morning right after she'd put the phone down on Mickey.

  "Come on over, baby," Johnny had crooned. "We'l read my reviews together."

  And that's exactly what they'd done.

  It would have helped if the reviews had been good. As it was, they were terrible.

  It didn't seem to bother Johnny. He'd shrugged nonchalantly. "So what, baby," he'd said. "My public loves me. I belong to 'em. They don't give no friggin' power to nothin' these uptight critics gotta say. You think they got knowledge what's goin' on in the world today? No way, baby. Johnny knows what's goin' on in the world. Johnny's givin' the people exactly what they wanna see."

  It was slightly disconcerting when Johnny referred to himself in the third person, but Warner went along with it. She wasn't too sure about his confidence in the movie. After al , she'd seen Motherfaker the previous evening, and while Johnny was tal and sexy and certainly handsome, he was not a great actor. He was everything she'd ever dreamed of in a man, but he was also a sexist pig. And his movie celebrated that fact. The Romano entourage mil ed around the house. There were bodyguards, managers, agents, friends, wel -wishers. And yet he'd chosen to be with her.

  She was immensely flattered.

  "Come on, baby, let's go get us some private time," he'd final y said. And they'd retired to his bedroom where at last they were alone.

  Sexual y he was a raging bul . He made Mickey Stol i seem like a nonstarter.

  Being with a younger man was a revelation. Warner had forgotten how energetic and fun sex could be. With Mickey, sex was not fun, although of course she'd always assured him it was. Mickey never real y relaxed. He approached the sexual act as if it were a game of strenuous tennis and he had to perform wel or there would be a punishment.

  Sex with Johnny Romano was exactly the opposite. He laughed a lot and crooned "Baby, baby, baby" nonstop in her ear.

  As far as she was concerned, he could cal her anything he wanted. He was her favorite movie star, and this was her fantasy come true. Skinny Warner Franklin from Watts was just about to get it on for the second time with Johnny Romano. She loved Hol ywood! Johnny lay, spread-eagled on the bed, erect and ready.

  "You real y a cop, baby?" he asked, absentmindedly stroking his own erection.

  "I real y am," she replied, admiring every inch of him.

  "Wel , baby, baby, cop this," he drawled, pushing his hard-on toward her.

  She mounted him because he obviously liked it that way.

  And then she squeezed him al the way to heaven.

  When they were through, she began to dress, ready to go to work.

  "Come back soon, baby, baby," Johnny mumbled before fal ing into a deep sleep.

  Oh, he could count on that.

  Cooper was alone when he arrived to pick up Venus Maria for dinner.

  "Where's your seventeen-year-old ex-porn star?" she asked, looking around.

  He shrugged. "Why share you?"

  "If we dine by ourselves again, people wil talk."

  He watched her careful y. "Does it bother you?"

  She shook her head. "Nope. I'm used to it. Does it bother you?"

  "Not at al ." He didn't want to mention that he'd had to put up with the press longer than she could remember.

  "Let's go," she sang out. "I'm starving!"

  On the way to the restaurant she told him about Martin flying in and their plans to spend the day in San Francisco. "I've got a great idea. Why don't you come with us?" she suggested brightly.

  Cooper burst out laughing. "Oh, yeah. That would real y go down wel with Martin. He'd be thril ed."

  "I'm inviting you," she insisted. "You're one of Martin's best friends. Why shouldn't you come? It'l be great. And if we're spotted or anything, people wil think we're the big romance. You don't mind p
eople thinking that, do you?"

  "Ah, if only it was true," he said wistful y.

  There was a chal enge in her big brown eyes. "Come on, Cooper. Live dangerously."

  "What'l Martin say?"

  "He'l say what I tel him to."

  "Oh, Miss Bal sy."

  "You bet. It'l be great, and it'l also give you a chance to talk to Martin. You know I real y want you to do that for me."

  He nodded. "If it pleases you, I'l come."

  She smiled and took his hand. "You're the best."

  By late Saturday afternoon, bored and almost addicted, Mickey decided he wasn't in the mood to hang around the house waiting for Abigaile to get home or for Warner to contact him. So he cal ed up his addiction, Madame Loretta, and informed her he was on his way over and that she should have the Chinese girl ready for him.

  When he arrived, he was discreetly taken upstairs and ushered into a private bedroom.

  Lemon, the beautiful Oriental girl he'd had before, greeted him with a shy smile, her long, black hair flowing down her back. "And how may I pleasure you today?" she asked dutiful y.

  There was nothing like an obedient woman. He unzipped his pants and flopped down on the bed. "Gimme a blow job."

  The nice thing about going to a whorehouse was that you could actual y come right out with it. No flowers. No sweet talk. Just action. Every man's dream.

  Lemon nodded and reached for a bottle of aromatic oil.

  Mickey al owed his mind to go blank as she began to gently massage his bal s, her delicate fingers doing marvelous things.

  Forget everything. Go with the moment. Relax. He closed his eyes.

  When he felt the insistent tip of her talented tongue he couldn't help groaning aloud. The pleasure was overwhelming.

  Unfortunately for Mickey, just as he was about to reach ecstasy, the door was flung open, and Warner and another plainclothes vice cop burst into the room. "O. K., buddy, get your pants on. This is a raid. We're vice," said the male cop.

  "Mickey?" cried a surprised Warner.

  Mickey's hard-on deflated like a pricked bal oon.

  Chapter 59

  "What the fuck is going on?" demanded Carlos Bonnatti.

  "Whaddya mean, Big C?" asked Link, his bodyguard and right-hand man.

  "I mean, what the fuck is going on?" repeated Carlos flatly.

  Link shrugged. He was a tal , thin-faced man with slit eyes and a lethal scar curving down his left cheek. "Ya talked to Eddie Kane yourself," Link pointed out.

  "I know that," Carlos said impatiently. "And I also know he don't have the money. The asshole snorted it. Al my goddamn money up his goddamn nose."

  Link came up with a good suggestion. "Do ya want me to break his legs?"

  "If I thought broken legs would get me my money, I'd go for the idea. But let's get realistic here. The prick don't have the money. So I gotta go to the studio. Panther Studios, Mickey Stol i. Set me up a meet."

  Link nodded. "It's arranged. When d'ya want it?" "Monday,"

  Carlos said broodingly. "Set it up." He walked to the window of the Century City penthouse he used when he was in Los Angeles and stared at the view. He liked visiting L. A. Maybe he should think about spending more time on the Coast. Get out of New York with the dirt and the crime and the homeless roaming the streets.

  Now that he was a free man, it didn't seem like such a bad idea. After ten years of marriage his wife had left him. Her loss. The dumb broad had run off with some fag interior designer.

  He'd decided to let her learn a lesson the hard way. After a few months she'd come crawling back, begging for what she was missing. When she did, he'd take great pleasure in slamming the door in her face.

  Fortunately there were no kids to consider. Carlos had always wanted a son, but his wife had never delivered.

  He was not fond of people who didn't deliver. He was not fond of Eddie Kane.

  Nobody stole from Carlos Bonnatti and got away with it.

  Chapter 60

  I've got to make a phone cal ," Mickey said urgently, zipping up his pants.

  "I told you, bud, you make your phone cal down at the station," replied the male cop, who couldn't care less.

  Warner stood back and stared at him in disgust, shaking her head as if he was the lowest of the low. "Do you know who I am?" Mickey persisted, concentrating on the male cop because he knew he was getting no help from Warner.

  "Yeah, we know who you are," replied Warner sharply, joining in for both of them. "Just another pathetic john."

  He was hustled downstairs along with everybody else.

  Madame Loretta was trying to put up a good front as she assured customers and girls alike that everything would be al right. Surrounding her were the girls in various stages of undress. Among them, Mickey thought he saw Leslie Kane.

  But it was just a glimpse, and he knew he must be mistaken.

  Mickey was in shock. He could not afford to be arrested in a whorehouse and carted off to jail like a common criminal.

  This was somebody's idea of a bad joke.

  "Who's in charge here?" he demanded, looking around for an authority figure.

  Although there were police everywhere, plainclothes and otherwise, he couldn't seem to find the captain of this operation.

  Warner threw him another filthy glare. "Do yourself a favor and shut up," she said, vitriol accompanying every word.

  "Mr. Stol i."

  He glared back. "Why don't you get me out of this stinkin'

  mess?"

  "You got yourself into it, work it out," she retorted sharply, adding under her breath, "Asshole." If looks could kil , he'd be ten feet under.

  This was the woman he'd been sleeping with for over a year? The woman who'd gone out of her way to constantly tel him how wonderful he was? Whatever they'd had together, it was definitely over.

  Eventual y everybody was herded outside and bundled into a police van.

  Mickey shielded his face and huddled by the window, wondering if he could sue. He'd certainly like to sue the son of a bitches for harassment.

  By the time they reached the holding jail, there were television-news crews and photographers mil ing around, waiting to greet them.

  Charming! A fucking circus! How could this be happening to him?

  He considered what Abigaile's reaction would be and knew he was a dead man.

  Locked in the police van, Leslie Kane shivered at the injustice of it al . In vain she'd tried to explain to the cops she was merely an overnight guest. "Right, honey," they'd said, ignoring her protestations of innocence, and bundled her into the van with everyone else.

  Her heart was beating wildly. When Eddie found out he would surely investigate further, and her past would be revealed.

  Oh, the shame! Eddie was going to discover he'd married a prostitute.

  She tried to calm herself. Not so bad, real y. After al , she'd married a cocaine addict. Maybe it was time they both cleaned up their acts.

  She spotted Mickey Stol i outside. Mickey Stol i, head of Panther Studios, pil ar of Hol ywood society. Married to Abigaile, the Hol ywood princess. What was he doing there?

  Men! When she'd been a working girl she'd always been surprised at the types that came in for a little action. Why should Mickey Stol i surprise her? He was typical.

  Men went to whores for two things--conversation and sex.

  The conversation always came first.

  She hoped he hadn't seen her, and turned away.

  Arriving from London, Primrose and Ben Harrison checked into the Beverly Hil s Hotel. Abigaile felt obliged to invite them over for dinner on Saturday night.

  "We're tired," Primrose warned her over the phone, agreeing to come anyway.

  It was most inconvenient. Jeffries, the butler, and his wife usual y had Saturdays off. Now Abigaile realized she would have to try to find them and summon them back. They would not be pleased. And neither was she.

  "Where's Mr. Stol i?" Abigaile asked Consuela, after instructing th
e cook to prepare lightly gril ed chicken with broccoli and fresh corn on the cob.

  Consuela shrugged. Why did the Stol is always imagine she knew where everybody was? "Don' know, missus," she answered vaguely. "Mr. Stol i, he out. You shopping."

  "I know, I know," Abigaile said irritably, "I went shopping and now I'm back. Did Mr. Stol i leave me a message?"

  "No." Consuela shook her head and wondered why she couldn't have weekends off like most of the other maids in Beverly Hil s.

  After locating Jeffries, Abigaile went to find Tabitha.

  Flinging open the door to her daughter's room, she was assailed by the earsplitting sounds of Van Halen blaring from the stereo.

  "Tabitha," she shouted above the din.

  Tabitha, lying in the middle of a messy bed surrounded by teen magazines, did not hear her. She was too busy speaking on her pink Princess phone.

  "Tabitha," Abigaile yel ed crossly, marching across the room and switching off the stereo.

  Tabitha sprang to attention as though she'd been mortal y wounded. "Whacha do that for?"

  "Because I wish to speak to you," Abigaile replied haughtily. "How can you hear yourself? How can you speak with al this noise going on? You'l damage your hearing."

  "Don't be so old-fashioned." Tabitha muttered something into the phone and hung up. "By the way, did Daddy tel you? He said I can have a Porsche when I'm sixteen."

  "Don't be ridiculous," snorted Abigaile.

  "He did. He said so."

  "Where is your father?"

  "Dunno."

  "Didn't he say where he was going?"

  "Dunno."

  Getting information out of her daughter was like persuading the pope to have sex.

  Abigaile stalked from the room.

  Before she was one step out the door, Van Halen blasted from the stereo, twice as loud as ever.

  Down at the police station, Mickey made a lot of noise and was final y al owed his one phone cal . He cal ed Ford Werne.

  Unfortunately Ford was not home.

  Leslie used her one cal to telephone the beach house, hoping Eddie was there. Indeed he was. "Eddie," she exclaimed thankful y.

  "Sweetheart! Where are you? I'm glad you phoned. I want you to come home, baby. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'l never hit you again. I don't know what came over me."