"That's right," he replied shortly. What was this--visiting day?
"I'm glad for you," she said. "Saves me the trouble of firing you, huh?"
He looked at her like she was crazy. "You were going to fire me?"
"Does that seem like such a strange idea?" "Yeah. As a matter of fact it does."
"How come?"
"A New York broad like you. What do you know about the movie business? You need me desperately." "Is that al you have to say?"
"What do you want me to say? I've spent the last ten years building this studio up, and Abe goes behind my back and sel s it to you. I wouldn't work for you, sweetheart, if you were the last broad in town."
She stayed cool. "Real y? You weren't exactly a laugh a minute to work for."
He laughed derisively. "Your husband's been tel ing you stories, huh? Wel , let me give you the facts. Lennie Golden ain't such a hotshot. Take a look at the dailies."
"I wasn't talking about Lennie."
Brenda, one of Eddie Kane's secretaries, entered the room. She'd corn-rowed her hair. It looked good. "I shredded al those papers you asked me to take care of, Mr. Stol i," she said, glancing at Lucky, checking her out so she could report to the rest of the girls what the new boss looked like.
Mickey shot her a filthy look.
"What papers?" Lucky interjected.
"Personal files," Mickey replied quickly. "Nothing to do with you."
"If it's studio business, I'd prefer you didn't shred anything,"
Lucky said.
"A little late for that." Mickey smiled triumphantly. Fuck her.
Who did she think she was dealing with? "I'm outta here,"
he said, waving Brenda out of the MOM.
Lucky walked over and sat in the chair in front of his desk.
Brenda hovered by the door, dying to listen in. "How's . . .
Warner?" Lucky asked casual y. Mickey snapped to attention. "Huh?"
"Warner Franklin. The black cop you were servicing twice a week. Oh, and that kid of yours in Chicago, the one you send a check to every month. Did you ever marry his mother? Or was she only another girlfriend?"
Mickey's skin flushed a dark red. He glared at Lucky and waved a frantic hand at Brenda, indicating she should get the hel out. Brenda exited.
Mickey was furious. "Where did you get al this information?" he asked gruffly.
She lapsed into her best Luce voice. "Working for you, Mr.
Stol i. Kissing your ass, Mr. Stol i. You were such a charming boss. A real pleasure to work for." He glared at her like he couldn't quite believe his eyes. She wasn't . . .
couldn't be .. .
"Yes." She nodded, confirming the bad news. "I was Luce.
Little Luce, who you kicked around pretty good. It's amazing what a good disguise can do, huh?" His flush deepened, sweeping upward until even his bald head was red. "You spying bitch! What did you do that for?"
"Abe and I figured it was a fun thing to do. Y'know, see what his favorite scum-in-law was up to. That's what he affectionately cal s you and Ben--the scums-in-law."
"I'l tel you something," Mickey said angrily. "You may be a rich broad with a lot of money, but you're going to lose every penny in this business, 'cause this studio's going down. Right to the bottom. I'm taking everybody with me.
You'l be left with nothing but shit."
Calmly she walked outside to where Brenda pretended not to be eavesdropping.
"Brenda, dear," she said cool y, "cal in the exterminators. I want this office fumigated before I move in."
"Where are we going, Eddie?" Leslie asked for the sixth time.
"It's a surprise. You'l see, babe," he said, leaning across and patting her knee, "just relax."
She wasn't relaxed. She wasn't relaxed at al . Eddie had something on his mind, and she didn't know what to expect.
Chapter 76
Deena was appal ed at the press coverage. She was even more appal ed when Martin made no attempt to contact her.
As the days passed her anger grew until she was final y reduced to leaving a cryptic message with Gertrude. "Tel Mr. Swanson if he does not cal me back within the next hour, I am making a statement to Adam Bobo Grant he wil regret."
It worked. Within an hour Martin was on the phone. "How nice to hear from you," Deena said coldly. "My God," he replied. "You have no idea what it's been like here."
"1 have no idea?" Deena said, her voice like ice. "I am trying to take over a studio," Martin said testily. "I'm in meetings twenty-six hours a day. And it seems every time I get to a phone it's the wrong time to cal you."
"Real y, Martin?"
"Besides, isn't it best if we talk when I get back?" "When are you coming back?"
He thought swiftly. "I'l be in New York by the weekend."
"We have a party to go to on Saturday night. Can I depend on you? It would be nice to be seen together in public. Don't you agree?"
He hesitated, reluctant to bring the subject up, but it couldn't be ignored any longer. "You're not mad at me, are you?" he asked. "That picture in the magazine was a fake. A pasted-together job. My lawyers are looking into it. We're going to sue 'em."
"We are?"
"Don't you think we should?"
"Whatever you want, Martin. As you say, we'l discuss it when you get back."
Did Martin honestly imagine he was fooling her? Did he think she would believe the photograph was a fake?
She was dying to talk to Effie about it. But unfortunately Effie was not taking her cal s. Obviously she was stil upset about the picture with Paul.
Deena decided to set things straight. She sent her a short note requesting a chance to explain. If Effie was any kind of friend, she would cal back.
Paul Webster had telephoned the house three times.
Deena had not returned his cal s. She had enough on her mind.
Her latest aggravation was Adam Bobo Grant. She was quite upset that he'd betrayed every confidence she'd whispered to him. And now her confidences were spread daily across the front of the New York Runner.
Deena Swanson loves her husband and refuses to give him up. "Whatever happens," she said today, "Martin and I refuse to give credence to these ugly rumors."
There were many conversations she and Martin needed to have. And when Martin returned they would have them.
In the meantime, her plans regarding Venus Maria were progressing smoothly.
Soon she would be ready to make her move.
Abigaile was not Abe Panther's granddaughter for nothing.
She had a certain amount of craftiness in her, and she soon decided that Mickey Stol i deserved to be taught a lesson.
He'd humiliated her and Tabitha. He'd publicly disgraced them, and nobody seemed to care except herself.
Her girlfriends dismissed the news of Mickey's being caught in a whorehouse as nothing more than an irritation.
"Just ignore it," they'd advised her. "Most men play around.
What difference does it make as long as they don't bring it home?"
Ah, but Mickey had brought it home. He could hardly bring it any further home than the front page of the L. A. Times.
. While Primrose and Ben dealt with lawyers, she sat and brooded. It soon became clear why Mickey did not wish to become embroiled in a fight over Panther Studios. He had a new job. He was taking over as head of Orpheus Studios.
Abigaile frowned. He'd be Martin Swanson's boy, that would be al . Didn't he realize? Mickey had no idea what it was like to work for somebody else. He'd never had to answer to Abe--but he'd certainly have to answer to Martin Swanson.
While she was sitting and brooding, Abigaile began to think about Mickey's secretary at the studio, Luce --the one who'd given her Warner Franklin's number. And then she thought about Warner Franklin, the six-foot black cop. Why had Luce given her the number? And why had Mickey made such a lame excuse?
None of it made sense. And yet, if she thought about it long enough .. .
Abigaile picked up the L. A. Tim
es and reread the story on Mickey. It stated he'd been arrested while in the company of an Oriental lady of the night.
Oriental . . . Black . . . Warner Franklin's words began to come back to Abigaile.
"I'm also your husband's mistress," the woman had said over the phone.
Your husband's mistress .. .
Abigaile searched her desk to see if she had jotted down Warner Franklin's phone number. No. However, she did remember where she lived.
Abigaile was anxious to find out more. If Mickey planned to leave her, she wasn't about to let him get away unpunished.
He was going to have to pay. Oh, was he going to have to pay!
Abigaile climbed into her Mercedes and headed for Hol ywood.
Chapter 77
Lucky's first week at the studio passed quickly. There were meetings, meetings, and more meetings. There were decisions to be made, films to be halted, films to be continued with, distribution discussions, preproduction, post-production, editing, business affairs. Suddenly Lucky found herself immersed in the creative process. She attended script meetings, looked at dailies, viewed rough cuts, went over budgets, and at night, exhausted, she read scripts.
"You don't have to do everything," Morton Sharkey told her, amused at the idea that she would want to. "There are employees to take care of the everyday affairs. You're supposed to make only the big decisions."
Lucky was into it. "I want to be hands on," she said, ful of enthusiasm. "These are my decisions." On Friday she and Boogie drove out to the airport to meet Bobby and Cee Cee, his Jamaican nanny. It was a joyful moment. Her son bounded off the plane straight into her arms.
Bobby was six and a half years old, and gorgeous. Lucky swept him up and swung him around.
After a moment he got embarrassed. "Hey, Mom, put me down, I'm too big," he objected, struggling like crazy.
She crushed him with a kiss. "You're mine," she sang out, wildly happy. "Mine! Mine! Mine!"
Bobby chatted al the way to the house, while Cee Cee just smiled.
"Where's Lennie, Mommy?" he asked as soon as they arrived.
"He's working, sweetheart."
Bobby was persistent. "Wil he be here soon?" "Sure," she said, although she stil hadn't heard from Lennie. Not one word.
It was disappointing. She'd hoped by this time he'd have gotten over his anger and would have cal ed to make things al right.
"Where's Brigette?" was Bobby's next question. Lucky had tried to reach Brigette on several occasions, but had missed her each time.
"I'l try her again now," she promised. "Maybe we can persuade her to come out here soon. Would you like that?"
Bobby liked it a lot.
Lucky placed another cal to the Websters. "You're in luck this time," said Effie Webster. "She's right here. Hang on a second."
Brigette sounded ful of high spirits. "Lucky! I'm sorry we keep on missing each other. How are you?"
"Fine," Lucky replied. "More important, how are you?
Enjoying New York?"
"Yes, it's terrific. Is Bobby with you?"
"That's exactly why I'm cal ing. I met him at the airport today, and he's disappointed you're not here. I hope you're coming."
Brigette hesitated. "I wasn't sure you stil wanted Us."
Did "us" mean she was bringing Lennie? "Of course I stil want you. Lennie told me we're al spending the summer together."
"Yes, I know," Brigette said awkwardly. "But Lennie told me that you and he were having some sort of urn . . .
disagreement . . . and so we've made other plans."
"Who's made other plans?"
"Wel , Lennie, actual y. He's taking me and my girlfriend to the South of France."
Lucky felt a chil . Lennie had made plans to go away without tel ing her. He was taking off without a word. Was that how much their relationship meant to him? Christ! He real y didn't care.
"How long are you going for?"
Brigette sounded vague. "Lennie said maybe ten days, or a couple of weeks."
She took a long, deep breath. It wasn't fair to involve Brigette. "Wel , that sounds wonderful. Perhaps when you get back you'l come to Malibu."
"I'd love to," Brigette said happily. "Can I bring my girlfriend?"
"Sure." Lucky paused, and then careful y added, "By the way, I saw Truth and Fact. Who was that boy you were pictured with?"
"Oh, Paul. He's nobody," she said casual y. "Just Nona's brother. You know how these stupid photographers trail me whenever they find out where I am." "I was just wondering,"
Lucky said. "I don't want to see you get into any more difficult situations."
"Lucky, I was a kid when al that happened with Tim Wealth.
I'm a grownup now."
"Hardly a grownup!"
"I'm seventeen. That's old. You were running wild in the South of France with Mommy when you were almost my age. And then you were married a few months after that."
True. She couldn't deny it. She and Olympia--out of control.
Until Gino and Dimitri had come to col ect their errant daughters. And then a forced marriage to Craven Richmond. Mr. Personality!
"O. K., sweetheart. It's just that I worry about you."
"You don't have to, Lucky. I can look after myself."
"Good. Cal me when you get back."
"Yes, I promise."
Lucky put the phone down and went to find Bobby. He was on the beach and into everything--running, swimming, playing with a neighbor's dog.
He was having the best time. Later, he fel asleep watching television.
She picked him up, carried him to his bed, and tucked him in. Then she brushed the soft, dark hair off his forehead. He looked so like Gino. Olive skin, black eyes, curling lashes--
a miniature Gino. God! She loved him.
She kissed him and left the room.
The nights were the loneliest. She couldn't stand the thought that it might be over with Lennie. It was just too painful.
After a while she went to her bedroom and cal ed him--
something she'd promised herself she wouldn't do. He was the angry one. It was up to him to make the first move. But so what?
He answered on the third ring. "Yeah?"
She didn't know what to say. It was so unlike her to be at a loss for words. After a long and painful silence she hung up.
If Lennie real y loved her he would pursue her. He'd fly out to California and make everything al right.
Sadly she realized he wasn't going to make that move.
She went to bed and slept restlessly. Sleep was not easy.
She missed Lennie so very much.
Chapter 78
Martin Swanson flew back to New York. He had left the city where he lived as a wel -known businessman and returned a media superstar. Somehow, Martin Swanson had attracted the attention of a celebrity-hungry public. He was fairly young. He was extraordinarily rich. And sex was involved. What better headline for the eighties?
Deena greeted him as if everything were normal. "We can't ignore what's going on," he said, getting straight to it.
"We're going to have to face it."
"It's you who has to face it," Deena said, trying to keep her fury under control. "Do you want to be with that . . . that . . .
woman?"
Was Deena saying he could be with Venus Maria and keep their marriage intact? That's what he'd like. Maybe it wasn't necessary for things to change. *
"I haven't thought about it," he lied, because apart from the successful takeover of Orpheus, he hadn't thought about anything else. "Venus Maria is special," he added unthinkingly.
Deena raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Special?" she sneered. "As special as the bal et dancer, or the author, or the lawyer? How special is she, Martin? Is she special enough for you to give up half your money?"
"What are you taking about?"
"If you ever considered divorce, that's exactly what you'd have to do."
"Do you want a divorce? Is that what you're saying?"
"I'm saying I do not enjoy being fol owed by the media and having my personal life written about in the press. It's an embarrassment. I feel foolish and humiliated."
"Yes, wel , might I mention that one of the reasons we're al over the newspapers is because you keep giving exclusive interviews to Adam Bobo Grant. Why can't you tel the little fag to back off?"
"Bobo has been a true friend to me. I couldn't even get you on the phone in Los Angeles. That's hardly loyalty, Martin."
"You know what I'm like when I'm closing a deal," he explained.
"Didn't you feel this was important enough to take the time to speak to me?"
"Deena, I'm here now. What more do you want?" "I want you to stop seeing her."
There! She'd said it. Her words were out in the open. It was the first time she'd chal enged Martin about a woman. Now al he had to do was agree, and everything would be al right.
Deena held her breath. This was a crucial moment. "Give me time to make a decision," Martin said, not looking her in the eye.
Deena sighed. As far as she was concerned, Venus Maria was dead.
Dennis Wal a turned out to be right. When Emilio Sierra's revelations about his famous sister hit the stands, Truth and Fact was again a sel out. Two weeks in a row. Not bad. He was on a winning streak. It seemed the public couldn't get enough of mega-money, power, and lustful sex. They loved the combination.
Dennis Wal a was now in daily contact with Adam Bobo Grant. He fed the New York gossip columnist tidbits, and Bobo used them in his column.
Dennis had two men watching Venus Maria around the clock--a photographer and Bert Slocombe. They reported everything she did. In fact, they were even getting pretty good at figuring out her various disguises. Sometimes she wore a long black wig. Other times she hid under a huge, floppy Garbo hat and big dark glasses. Sometimes she rushed out wearing her hair in a ponytail, and no makeup, hoping they wouldn't recognize her. Other times she hoping they wouldn't recognize her. Other times she dressed up as the maid.
It was a game. They were winning. Usual y she just attempted to ignore them and rushed to her car. When she was particularly irritated she gave them the finger.
They had her house, the studio, and the video-rehearsal hal staked out. She couldn't make a move without their knowing it.
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