"His attitude is total y old-fashioned. I'm not putting up with it," she'd said stubbornly. "I'm excited about owning Panther. He should be, too."
"So what are you gonna do, kid?"
"Leave Lennie in New York until he gets over his sulks."
"Big solution."
"What else can I do?"
"How about tryin' to work it out?" he'd suggested. "Too late.
The next move is his."
The truth was, she felt hurt and frustrated by Lennie's macho attitude. He, above al people, should understand her. She'd never pretended to be the perfect little wife prepared to sit home and have babies. He'd always known she was a woman who liked to take chances. That's why he'd fal en in love with her.
Now he was acting like "You--woman. Me--man." It was almost as if he were saying, "Get knocked up or it's over."
They had Bobby and Brigette. Wasn't that enough of a family for now?
Screw Lennie Golden.
She had a life to live.
From LAX, Boogie drove her straight to the Malibu house.
Miko greeted her with a polite bow. "So good to have you back, madame."
It was good to be back. She felt strong. She felt invincible.
She was ready to accomplish anything.
On Sunday evening Morton Sharkey came over and they spent the evening going over Panther business. She had so many plans to put in place. New people to hire.
Decisions on al the various productions. Who stayed and who did she dump.
Later, when Morton left, she walked out onto the deck and stared at the sea. Everything's going to be al right, Santangelo, she promised herself, breathing in the crisp night air.
Al her life she'd had to make it on her own, prove she could do it. And Panther Studios was no different from anything else. She'd show everyone. And if Lennie didn't want to come along for the ride, she'd do it by herself.
Lucky Santangelo was a true survivor.
Nothing and nobody stopped her.
Abe Panther had decided they should al arrive at the studio together. So on Monday morning Lucky reported to Abe's Mil er Drive home, along with Morton Sharkey.
Abe greeted her with a feisty grin. "Morning, girlie. Are we ready to kick us some ass?"
"I'm always ready to kick ass," she replied, confirming what he'd suspected. '
She looked particularly beautiful with her mass of wild jet hair, olive skin, and dark eyes ful of drama. She wore a cream leather Claude Montana suit and very high heels, diamond hoops in her ears, and a large diamond ring on her finger. She was al business in a classy, sexy, stylish way.
What a difference from drab little Luce! That was the whole idea.
Abe seemed ful of high spirits, and so did Inga, for once.
He'd promised she could come to the meeting, and she'd dressed up for the occasion.
Lucky wondered what the old man was planning to do with al his money. Probably sit on it until he dropped!
"Are we meeting in Mickey's office?" she asked. "Naw, we'l settle in the conference room," Abe decided. "I want to be there before any of 'em arrive."
"Mickey usual y gets in early," Lucky pointed out.
"Maybe not today," Abe replied with a wicked laugh.
"Here's a little something for you to feast your eyes on, girlie."
He handed her a copy of the L. A. Times. On the bottom of the front page there was a picture of Mickey being led out of a police van. The caption read:
STUDIO HEAD ARRESTED IN RAID ON HOLLYWOOD
HOUSE OF SHAME
"Oh, my God!" she exclaimed. "He's getting it from al sides today. Do you think he'l turn up?" "Of course he wil ,"
snapped Abe.
They set off in convoy, Abe and Lucky in the first car, Inga fol owing behind with Morton Sharkey and Abe's lawyer.
Al the way Lucky could feel Abe's excitement building. And when they approached the studio gates he real y started to buzz.
"This is like coming home, girlie," he said rubbing his hands together. "Can't think why I ever left." "Why did you leave?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Don't know. We were entering a new decade. I didn't like what was goin' on in the movies anymore,. The public wanted to see things I wasn't prepared to show 'em."
She could understand that. Abe came from a different era.
"How does it feel to be coming back?" she asked.
He bobbed his head happily. "Pretty damned good!"
Up in the conference room, nervous secretaries were flitting al over the place.
"Good morning, Mr. Panther."
"Welcome back, Mr. Panther."
"Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Panther?" Abe took his place at the head of the table and indicated to Lucky she should sit on his right.
She did so. Although the studio was official y hers, she wouldn't dream of cheating him out of his moment of glory.
At ten o'clock precisely Mickey Stol i marched in. He was fol owed by Abigaile, Primrose, and Ben. Abe waved his hand in the air. "Take a seat everybody. Make yourselves at home."
Mickey glanced around the room. His eyes passed Lucky without a flicker of recognition.
"You're looking wel , Grandfather," said Primrose, rushing over to kiss him.
"How come you never write or cal ?" Abe demanded, clicking his false teeth in and out.
Primrose sighed, as if he had no right to ask such a question. "We're al so busy, Grandfather. The children send you their love."
"Sit down," instructed Mickey sharply. He didn't need Primrose kissing the old man's ass.
When everybody was settled, Abe got right to it. "I've been outta here ten years," he said roughly, "an' I let you al do whatever the hel you wanted. Now I've made other arrangements. I've sold the studio."
There was a stunned silence. And four shocked faces.
Mickey was the first on his feet. "You've done what?" he asked incredulously..
"I've sold the studio," Abe repeated with a crafty cackle. "It's mine to sel , eh?"
"Grandfather, you can't do that without consulting us,"
Abigaile protested, a flush spreading across her face.
"Certainly not," agreed a distressed Primrose. "Girlies, I can do what I damn wel please. I'm old enough and ugly enough."
"What you're saying is you've sold the studio. Is that it?"
Mickey said harshly.
"This is good," joked Abe. "The man understands English."
Ben joined in. "Who've you sold it to?"
"Ladies and gentlemen--" Abe savored the words --"I'd like you to meet the new owner of Panther Studios." He turned to Lucky. "Al ow me to introduce Lucky Santangelo."
There was another long silence. Once again Mickey was the first to break it. "What is this? Some kind of joke?"
"You can't do this, Grandfather," shrieked Abigaile.
Morton Sharkey rose to his feet. "Miss Santangelo wil be taking over, effective today," he said. "In the future you wil report to her."
"If you think I'm staying to be told what to do by some dumb broad--you're wrong," spat Mickey. "I'm out of here. -
Good, Lucky thought.
"Now wait a minute," interrupted Ben. He knew who Lucky Santangelo was. He was wel aware of her reputation.
She'd taken over the Stanislopoulos shipping empire when Dimitri Stanislopoulos passed away, and today, under her management, it was more successful than ever. Lucky Santangelo knew what she was doing. "We're going to have to discuss this unexpected situation."
"Who gets the money?" asked Abigaile furiously, unable to control herself. "It's our money." "Grandfather," Primrose said, the voice of reason, "we have to sit down and talk privately. Not in front of al these people."
"I feel like I'm at my own funeral," Abe cackled, enjoying every minute. "What? You think I'm dead already? I can do what I want with my money. It's not your money. It's my money."
Lucky spoke. "Gentlemen, there'l be a meeting of al department heads at noon today. Right here."
"What do you know about the movie business?" Mickey asked rudely, turning to glare at her.
"Let's just say, as much as you," she replied cool y.
He recognized something in her voice. Had he met her before? Lucky Santangelo. Lucky Santangelo .. . Christ!
Wasn't she the broad with the gangster father? Wasn't she the one married to Lennie Golden?
Of course! Now it began to make sense. Her husband got pissed off with the studio and the broad bought it to keep him happy. Son of a bitch!
He couldn't look at Abigaile. His dear wife wasn't speaking to him on account of the story of his arrest making the front page of the L. A. Times. When Abigaile had seen it; she'd turned into a hysterical shrew. "Out of this house," she'd screamed. "Out of my life. I'l sue you for every penny you've got. How dare you disgrace me and Tabitha! This is the biggest humiliation of my life."
"It was a mistake," he'd replied lamely. "I was visiting the place with a director. The guy was researching a movie. I told him a scene he wanted to shoot wouldn't work. He took me up there to prove it would. It was business, Abby."
"Mickey Stol i, you've lied to me for the last time," Abigaile had shouted, narrowing her eyes. "We'l meet with my grandfather and behave like human beings. And then you'l pack your bags and get out of my house. We're through."
He wondered how she felt now. Abigaile wasn't going to continue to ignore him after this little shocker. He shot her a look.
She was destroyed.*
He glanced over at Ben and Primrose. Ben was al but foaming at the mouth, and Primrose seemed about to burst into tears.
Abe Was loving every minute of the confusion he'd caused.
Crafty little shithead, Mickey thought sourly.
He stood up. He didn't have to take this crap. He could get a job anywhere in town. He'd made Panther the success it was today.
"I resign," he said sharply. "Find yourself another schmuck."
Chapter 64
Venus Maria slept in the nude. When she was a little girl she'd read an article about Marilyn Monroe. What do you wear in bed, Miss Monroe?
Chanel Number Five.
Venus Maria wore nothing except her favorite scent, Poison, and a delicate tattoo of two white doves on the inside of her left thigh--a souvenir of a two-day visit to Bangkok.
She awoke early, stretched languidly, and reached out for Martin.
He was not there.
She jumped out of bed and checked the bathroom. No note. No nothing.
Who the hel did he think he was dealing with here? Some Hol ywood bimbo he could visit when he came into town, bang, and then take off? No way. She was Venus Maria.
She deserved better than this. Goddamn it! Martin Swanson had to be taught a lesson.
Jumping under a cold shower, she thought things over.
Martin Swanson . . . Martin Swanson . . . Why this obsession? What was wrong with her for God's sake? He was just another man, after al .
Once out of the shower she wrapped herself in a terry-cloth robe and vigorously shook her wet hair. Today she was supposed to rehearse for the video. She loved it when she had nothing else to do except rehearse. It meant she didn't have to bother with makeup and putting on the Venus Maria persona. She could just be herself, bundle her hair into a ponytail, not bother with makeup, wear exercise clothes, and relax.
Ron made sure it was hard work. But he also made it fun.
Long ago she'd decided she was a gypsy at heart. Her work was everything. And the recognition an added bonus.
She decided Martin Swanson wasn't going to spoil her day.
Screw him.
Downstairs, Hannah, her housekeeper, greeted her with the usual large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a glass * dish fil ed with chopped apples, melon, bananas, and oranges, covered with a healthful sprinkling of bran.
"Good morning," Venus sang out, feeling surprisingly good in spite of mediocre sex and Martin's early exit. "How was your weekend?"
Hannah didn't mention that her two days of rest were nonstop drudgery while she caught up on household chores in her downtown two-room apartment. With four children and a husband to look after, it wasn't easy. "Fine, Miss Venus," she said, clearing up the dishes.
After the juice and fruit, Venus Maria indulged in a couple of pieces of toast liberal y spread with chunky English marmalade.
Just as she was in the middle of the second piece, Ron arrived.
She looked up, pleased to see him. "What are you doing here? Aren't we supposed to meet at rehearsal in an hour?"
He carried a magazine, which he placed careful y on the table. "I thought you should hear it froth me first," he announccd dramatical y. Ron always liked to make the most of everything.
"Hear what?" she asked brightly.
His voice rose. You mean nobody's told you? You haven't seen it?"
"What are you talking about?"
He was making a three-course meal out of this one.
"Remember I warned you about Emilio when you chucked him out?"
She had a nasty feeling she wasn't going to like what she was about to hear. "Yes?" she said slowly.
Ron picked up a piece of toast and took a bite. "I never trusted him."
"Ha!" she said. "You think I trusted him? He broke into my house on Saturday."
"Yeah? I wonder what he was after? Take a look at this."
He picked up the copy of Truth and Fact and waved it in front of her face.
She stared at it in horror. There, on the front page, was a photograph of her with Martin. It was her photograph. It was the two of them together taken by Cooper.
"Oh, no!" she cried.
"Oh, yes!" stated Ron firmly. "He probably dropped by to rip off the photo. Where did you keep it?"
She jumped up. "In my safe."
He sighed. "Let's go check it out."
"I can't believe he'd do this to me," she said angrily. "I'm paying his goddamn rent. I let him stay here for months!
Ron, oh, God! Look what it says: `Next week Venus Maria's brother is going to reveal al !' What the hel is al ?"
"When you're famous you can't even take a crap in peace,"
Ron said succinctly.
Venus headed upstairs, with Ron close behind her. She stormed over to her safe, opened it, and frantical y searched for her picture.
It wasn't there.
"He stole it!" she yel ed. "That lousy low-life rat-faced piece of shit!"
"Don't hold back," encouraged Ron.
"Oh, my God," she wailed. "What does the story say?
Martin's going to have a fit. Oh, Jesus!"
"It's not such a bad thing," Ron said, trying to calm her. "At least Deena wil know you exist now. You won't have to creep around in hiding every time you get together with Martin."
Venus Maria snatched the magazine from him, eyes racing over the story.
Bil ionaire Martin Swanson's phone cal s and secret visits to ravishing superstar Venus Maria are driving his beautiful society wife, Deena, into the arms of young Paul Webster, son of Deena's best friend, interior designer to the rich and famous, Effie Webster. Sexy superstar Venus Maria can teach bil ionaire tycoon Martin Swanson a thing or two about getting to the top. Heartbroken Deena moved in on Paul after hearing about her husband's fascination with video superstar Venus Maria. Deena is making a last-ditch effort to get Martin back. In the meantime, Martin Swanson has been showering Venus Maria with gifts. According to a close friend, Venus Maria and Martin Swanson met casual y at a party in New York several months ago. But after a chance second meeting in Los Angeles, they couldn't resist each other any longer. Al of Venus Maria's close friends were soon tel ing Swanson, "She likes you,"
"She wants you." Within a week the two got together at a hideaway in Big Sur. According to another close friend, Martin told Venus he was not happy in his marriage. "From the begin' ning," an acquaintance said, "Venus Maria and Martin Swanson were magic together. Martin finds her extremely erotic, and Venus Maria is fa
scinated with his power and wealth."
Venus threw the magazine down in a fury. "Where do they get al this garbage?" she yel ed.
"Let's cal Emilio," Ron suggested. "It's quite obvious he's been paid for this."
She made a face. "How can people do these things? If he needed money so desperately I would have given it to him.
Doesn't he have any pride?"
"Emilio, pride?" Ron said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.
She was determined. "Gimme the phone."
Ron did so, and she dialed Emilio's number. His answering machine picked up.
"Fuck you!" she screamed into the receiver and slammed the phone down.
"That'l do you a lot of good, dear," remarked Ron.
Venus snatched the magazine again. "Oh, and get this bit--
Cooper's going to be real y thril ed." She read aloud from the magazine. " 'While Venus Maria plays house with Martin Swanson, Cooper Turner thinks he's her only lover.'
Can you believe this crap? I'm cal ing my lawyer."
"What can he do?"
"I'l sue 'em."
"How can you? Most of it's true."
She hadn't thought about that. "I'd better warn Martin."
"Where is he?"
"He left early. He's involved in some kind of takeover bid.
He's gaining control of a studio."
"Oh, just like that. The very rich are different." "Ron, do me a favor. Cal his office in New York and find out where I can reach him."
"What do you think he'l say?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. He's not used to this kind of publicity. At least I know what to expect. I've been everything from a lesbian alien to a woman with three breasts! And that's just this year! The shit comes with the territory."
"Don't kid yourself, dear," Ron said mildly. "Martin wil probably love every minute of it."
Martin Swanson was in a board meeting when a secretary discreetly entered the room, tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Your assistant in New York has to speak to you urgently, Mr. Swanson."
Martin couldn't possibly imagine what was so urgent that they had to interrupt him in the middle of a meeting.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, standing up.
He walked outside. The secretary hovered behind him. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Swanson," she apologized.
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