No, but he realized these two Barbie dolls were not the girls he had known and liked in New York. It was not merely their bodies that had undergone a transformation.
‘Do you ever run into Eden?’ he asked casually, unable to keep off the subject.
‘When we first came out here,’ said Suna.
‘Yeah, before she got big time and stopped returning our calls,’ snorted Shirlee.
‘Big time?’
‘She does a bit on some soap opera. Thinks that makes her better than everybody else. Anyway, I thought it was over with you two,’ Suna said.
‘Yeah, it’s over. I just wondered how she is doing, that’s all. Can I use your phone?’
‘Sure,’ they chorused. ‘Just put the money in the appropriate box.’
Next to the phone, located in a dish-strewn kitchen, were two boxes. One was marked ‘local’ and the other, ‘long distance’. He had no idea which Marina del Rey was – so he stuffed a dollar in each opening. Mother’s answering machine was still keeping vigil.
On impulse he dialled the operator and requested the Magiriano Hotel in Vegas. For some reason he felt like speaking to the girl with the black opal eyes.
When the switchboard operator answered, he asked for suite eleven twenty-two.
‘Sorry,’ said the operator. ‘That suite is unoccupied.’
Had she checked out? So soon?
‘Well, give me the name of the person who was registered there yesterday?’
‘Suite eleven twenty-two has been unoccupied for five days.’
‘That’s impossible.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. Suite eleven twenty-two has had no guests for five days.’ The operator disconnected him.
Shit! He must have remembered the wrong number. Now he had no way of finding out her name, and even though he had acted like schmuck of the decade, he still wanted to see her again. Why should she get to make the last move?
‘What’s the matter, Lennie?’ murmured Suna, strolling casually into the kitchen.
She was probably checking to see if he’d deposited his money in the box.
‘Nothing. I just can’t get through to anyone.’
‘Story of my life,’ she said, sticking her finger into an open jam-pot, then sucking it.
He wondered if they were going to offer him the promised breakfast, even a cup of coffee would be welcome.
Shirlee drifted into the kitchen. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll give you a call when I’m settled.’
‘Please,’ said Suna.
‘Yes, please,’ echoed Shirlee.
‘Goodness me!’ exclaimed Suna, catching sight of the kitchen clock. ‘I must rush, I’ll be late for my dancing lesson.’
‘Me too!’ added Shirlee. So much for breakfast.
Lennie made a fast exit.
* * *
‘Why did we have to meet in the parking lot?’ Matt grumbled.
‘Why not?’ replied Jess, and jumped quickly into the passenger seat of his white, fifty-thousand-dollar Excalibur, in the hope she would not be seen.
‘Anybody would think,’ he said gruffly, ‘that you don’t want to be seen with me.’
‘Nonsense,’ she answered briskly. ‘This just seemed like the most convenient place.’
‘Sure it is,’ he said, playing with his gold chains.
‘Let’s go,’ she said impatiently.
‘What’s your hurry?’
‘No hurry. We’ll sit here all night if that’s what turns you on.’
‘You turn me on.’
‘Are we going or what?’
He started the car and drove off at show-off speed all the way to his apartment. Jess was unimpressed. Even more so when they entered his shrine to bad taste.
‘This place looks like something out of Playboy,’ she exclaimed.
He took it as a compliment and thanked her.
She stifled several more comments, deciding if she was to get any information out of him she’d better try to be civil. Frankly, she found him pathetic – an ageing swinger who wouldn’t give up. If he just acted his age, got rid of the gold chains, the wave in his hair, the too-young clothes – he would be quite an attractive older man. Tom Jones pants at age fifty was not a pretty sight. He had to be at least fifty – the lines on his face told her that. What was next? A face lift?
He touched a few switches, and the lights dimmed to a soft pink glow, Sinatra came on the stereo, and the sign behind the bar which read ‘Matt’s Place’ blinked on and off.
‘Jesus!’ Jess muttered under her breath, sinking onto a damask-covered couch.
‘Scotch?’ Matt questioned solicitously, already behind the bar and pouring.
‘Coke,’ she said quickly.
‘I don’t have any,’ he replied. ‘But I do have some grass if you’re interested.’
‘I meant Coca-Cola.’
‘With Scotch?’
‘Plain.’
‘You don’t drink?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Not tonight?’
‘Maybe later.’
The ‘maybe later’ made him feel good. That meant she was planning to stay awhile. Perhaps all night if he was fortunate. Or if she was, depending on which way you looked at it.
She obviously loved the apartment. She hadn’t stopped looking around from the moment she’d walked in.
‘Would you like the grand tour?’ he asked, handing her a Coca Cola in an initialled glass. Wait until she saw the bedroom!
‘Not right now.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m hungry, and you invited me for dinner. Remember?’
How could he forget? He had arranged a magnificent dinner. Only it was not due to arrive for another hour. He had hoped that maybe he could get her into bed before the food arrived. He hated making love on a full stomach, it gave him heartburn.
‘Jess,’ he said smoothly, ‘I want you to know that you are the most fantastic girl I’ve seen all year.’
He sat next to her, put his arm around her shoulders, then let his hand casually slip down to her right breast.
She jerked away. ‘Cut it out, Matt. I came here for food and information – so please don’t grope me while coming on with dumb bullshit lines. Okay?’
* * *
The twins depressed Lennie. He hated the transformation. They didn’t look real anymore, more like a couple of blow-up dolls – the kind you purchased in the porno shops around Times Square. A lot of people in New York put L.A. down. They said it was fantasy land – all sucking and fucking, sunshine and sex.
So what was so bad about that?
Plenty. If there was nothing else. Suna and Shirlee looked like there was nothing else.
He stopped for coffee and eggs, and tried Marina del Rey Alice for the third time. She answered on the second ring.
A breathy, ‘Hi, this is Alice Golden. What can I do for you?’
‘You’re asking for an obscene phone call,’ he cracked.
‘Lennie, darling! Why are you calling? Something wrong?’
That said a lot for their relationship. Not for Alice cosy mother/son chats. She came right to the point.
‘I’m in L.A.,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘Why are you here?’
Did he detect a note of alarm? Alice did not appreciate the fact she had a thirty-year-old son. It made her feel ancient.
He juggled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lit up. ‘I had a gig in Vegas, so I thought I’d visit.’
Panic. ‘Me?’
‘No. L.A.’
Why should he visit her? She was only his mother.
‘That’s nice.’
‘Yeah. I thought I might get connected here.’
‘Well, darling, it’s a good enough place to get connected.’
‘And I thought I might throw in a visit to you at the same time.’
There was a long silence. Oh, it was great to receive such a warm welcome!
>
He took her off the hook. ‘Unless it’s not convenient.’
‘Darling! You’re so understanding,’ she gushed. ‘Right now I have a new “friend”. He thinks I’m forty. I don’t want to surprise him. Not yet, anyway.’
‘When?’
‘When what?’
‘When will you surprise him?’
A shriek of laughter. ‘Never, I hope. He’s a live one!’
‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘Ecstatic.’
‘Whatever happened to the schmuck with the false teeth?’
‘Old news, Lennie, dear.’
‘I’ll call you again.’
‘If a man answers – hang up!’
‘Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.’
‘You’re such a good boy. And so talented!’ A flash of conscience. Maybe she should offer something, after all, he was her flesh and blood, and she loved him in her own special way. She just wished he didn’t look his age. ‘Remember my friend, Rainbow?’ she said, not waiting to see if he did or did not. ‘Well she married that meshugeneh Foxie – you know – he owns the club on Hollywood Boulevard. Maybe they can use a funny person like you. Mention your father – she always had hot pants for him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he schtupped her while my back was turned.’ Alice laughed gaily. ‘What the eye don’t see the heart don’t fret over. I should care? You think I wasn’t having a good time myself? Lennie, I had every man in Vegas chasing after me. Every one!’ A thoughtful pause. ‘Of course, that’s when I was at my peak. I could twirl tassles like nobody could twirl tassles!’
He had heard it all before. Alice the Swizzle. The toast of Las Vegas. And Jack Golden. What a comedian!
She never called Lennie a comedian. She referred to him as a funny person. In her eyes he didn’t do much at all. Just stood there, and talked a lot about life. When she had first seen him perform at a club in New York she had been shocked. ‘You use language like that – on stage? And they let you get away with it? Your father never used language. He could make them laugh just by being there.’
Your father this, your father that. According to Alice the sun shone out of Jack Golden’s ass. And according to Alice, Lennie could never ever come anywhere near the dizzying heights his father had achieved.
Bull.
Shit.
He let her carry on for a while, she loved reminiscing. And when he said goodbye she did not even ask when she might hear from him again. He was not surprised. Alice was Alice. She didn’t have a motherly bone in her carefully preserved body.
Leaving home at seventeen and taking off for New York had been one of the easiest moves he’d ever made. She had handed him a bus ticket, five hundred dollars, and a kiss on the cheek. ‘Go for it, Lennie, darling,’ she had said, delighted to be rid of the responsibility of raising a son.
So he had done just that, even though his father had made a half-hearted attempt to persuade him to stay. Poor old Jack Golden. Alice had cut off his balls and used them for earrings. He died six months after Lennie left. Alice didn’t bother to inform him until two months after the funeral.
‘I couldn’t find you,’ was her lame excuse.
She hadn’t tried too hard. He had sent her three postcards with his phone number and address. She claimed never to have received them.
Now he was in Los Angeles and she really didn’t give a damn. Why had he bothered calling?
‘Remember my friend, Rainbow?’ his mother had said casually. Remember her? How could he ever forget her? For years she had reigned as Queen of his adolescent fantasies. Rainbow. The most beautiful stripper in Las Vegas. She had made Alice Golden look like a carthorse.
And Jack Golden was schtupping her? Really? Jack Golden. The mensch. His father. Schtupping beautiful Rainbow?
Lennie found it hard to believe, but Alice had said so . . .
He wished Jack was still alive. He imagined the conversation they might have. ‘Hey Dad, did you ever get it on with Rainbow?’
‘Why yes, son, as a matter of fact I did. Anything you want to know?’
‘Yeah. Tell me about her tits, her pussy, her skin. Tell me everything, Dad, cos I jerked off just thinking about her a hundred and fifty times a day!’
He was twelve years old and out on a spree with Jess. They sneaked into the back of The Hot Banana strip club and caught the girls in action. When Rainbow came on he thought he would faint.
Auntie Rainbow. She had been to their house on several occasions, Alice and she went shopping together. Auntie Rainbow with forty-three-inch tits, a sweet smile, and cascades of red hair.
Auntie Rainbow in a G-string that left little to the imagination, a couple of orange sequins, black net stockings with stiletto heels, and a long feather boa.
When Auntie Rainbow took it all off he had come in his pants.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ Jess had said in disgust, and not spoken to him for a week.
After that, whenever Rainbow came to their house he made sure he was around. Once, he caught her in the downstairs toilet, sitting on the John, panties (black lace – he still remembered – oh how he remembered!) around her ankles. She didn’t bat an eyelash. Later he heard her say to his mother with a laugh, ‘The kid caught me taking a pee.’ His mother had laughed too.
Rumour had it Rainbow had arrived in Vegas many many years before, age fifteen. She had hooked up with a notorious gangster by the name of Jake the Boy. (Like Bugsy Siegel before him he was handsome and a friend of the stars.) Jake had draped her in diamonds and furs, then dumped her when she turned seventeen. That was when she started her career. By the time Lennie first saw her she must have been at least forty – but even then she was devastating.
What did she look like today? Probably fat and ugly. Certainly old. Was it worthwhile destroying the fantasy? Would she even recall the kid who followed her around with lust and devotion shining from his teenage eyes?
Did he remember Rainbow? Ha!!
He decided he’d better find somewhere to stay. It was obvious camping at Alice’s was out of the question.
He called Joey Firello, who advised him to book into the Chateau Marmont – an old hotel in the Hollywood Hills that catered to show business and would not cost him his balls. Joey sounded pleased to hear from him. ‘Check in, and we’ll get together later.’
He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Joey.
Joey Firello was on his way. Lennie Golden was stuck in the same old rut. Oh yeah, he could always get work, but where was it taking him? All around him things were happening for other people. John Belushi, Dan Ackroyd, Chevy Chase, Joey Firello. They were on a roll.
Naively he had imagined Vegas as a spring board to bigger and better things. And he had ended up with shit on his face.
L.A. better have something exciting to offer, otherwise . . .
Otherwise what?
Chapter Twelve
Preparations for the gala evening to honour Francesca Fern were elaborate. The Magiriano’s huge ballroom was festooned with exotic white orchids. An intimate touch supplied by Dimitri Stanislopoulos, his way of paying homage to Madame Fern.
Lucky dropped by during the day to see that everything was being set up smoothly. No problems. She had a terrific staff who rarely – if ever – put a foot wrong. And her catering manager was the best in town, the food would be magnificent.
Throughout the day celebrities arrived – by private plane, limousine and commercial jets. Naturally there were baskets of fruit, chilled champagne, caviar and a selection of expensive cheeses waiting in their suites with a personal note from Lucky. No matter how rich or famous anyone was, they all adored getting something for nothing – a fact of life Gino had taught her.
She had never met Francesca Fern, but she sent her six bottles of Cristal champagne and a welcoming note.
Gino had already informed Lucky he would be bringing Susan Martino to the event.
‘When is she leaving?’ Lucky had been unable to stop from asking.
When he picked her up later that night to escort her to the Francesca Fern dinner, he broached the subject. ‘I kinda gotten used to havin’ you around,’ he said. ‘You got no plans to leave, have you?’
Susan smiled wanly. ‘Life goes on,’ she said quietly. ‘Would that everything stopped at whim.’
‘Huh?’
She patted him lightly on the arm, the yellow diamond ring he had gifted her with sparkled brightly on her little finger. ‘I have a home to run, and many responsibilities. There’s the charity work I’m involved with. My children . . . Of course they’re not children any more. Nathan’s at college, and Gemma might be married in the fall. They still need my attention though, especially as Tiny is no longer with us.’
‘Yeh,’ Gino muttered uneasily. It was the first time she had mentioned her kids. Somehow he liked the thought of Susan with nobody in her life but him.
‘I expect I shall leave this weekend,’ she continued. ‘I will need an excellent reason not to.’
Wasn’t he excellent reason enough? Jeez! How many women would kill to be in her place?
* * *
Dimitri glowered at his reflection as he adjusted his bow tie. Here he was, in Las Vegas, attending Francesca Fern’s big event like an obedient puppy. She had insisted he be present. Naturally, he had complied, even arrived two days early so he would be rested and full of energy. Francesca admired ceaseless energy. She, herself, never stopped, and she expected – though never received – the same of the people around her. ‘Dimitri,’ she would purr in her deep husky voice. ‘We are twins, the same star, the same destiny. Only you can keep up with me.’
They were both Geminis.
Now Madam Fern had flown in with her entourage – including browbeaten Horace – and where was her phone call? Where was her presence in his suite? Where was the damn woman?
Dimitri knew exactly what time she had arrived – eleven-thirty in the morning. He had allowed her the courtesy of an hour to rest, and then he had called her suite and been told by her insolent male secretary that the great Miz Fern was in the middle of an interview with Time magazine and absolutely could not be disturbed.
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