They were all the same. And why hadn’t Lennie phoned? Didn’t he think she was worried about him? Didn’t he think she cared?.
In the morning she took the baby out beside the pool, and lay with him in the long grass. Having Simon was the only positive thing she had done in her entire life. He gave her a reason to keep on going, to get through each day and make it to that weekly pay cheque.
Wayland staggered outside. ‘There’s no milk,’ he complained.
‘Go to the market and get some,’ she said patiently.
‘I don’t have any money.’
Reluctantly she fished a twenty from her jeans pocket and threw it at him.
He nodded wisely. ‘I’ll stock up.’
‘Sure you will,’ she muttered. ‘Five bucks on food and the rest on whatever you can score.’
He didn’t hear her. She couldn’t care less. Quietly she rocked Simon in her arms and crooned a soothing lullaby. Soon it would be time to visit her mother in the hospital.
* * *
Foxie was eighty-five years old, small as an elf, bald, with sharp darting cross-eyes, and ears that stuck up like something out of Star Trek.
Foxie was canny, cheap, insulting, a good friend and a mean enemy.
He was also a Hollywood legend – although only to people in the know.
Foxie had a keen ear, a cruel wit, limitless energy, and no ailments.
For a man of eighty-five he was remarkable.
Lennie had never met him, but the stories he had heard could fill volumes. He was looking forward to the experience.
Foxie’s place – named after the man himself – was located on Hollywood Boulevard, and boasted a mixed clientele. People came to Foxie’s to hang out and have fun. All kinds of people. From local pimps and hookers to Beverly Hills name-droppers to Sam Schmuck from the Valley and an occasional movie star or two, Foxie’s was the place. The food was terrible, the drinks generous, and the entertainment hilarious. A mixture of new talent, strippers, working comics, and a ‘discovery’ night that was better than the Gong Show. Once a month was ‘take it off night’ – an evening where ordinary females leaped on the stage and couldn’t wait to show everyone what they had. To get into Foxie’s that night you had to book weeks in advance.
Joey Firello suggested they stop by. ‘It’s where I started out,’ he explained to Lennie. ‘Six weeks in and I got me the TV show. Now I’m signing autographs and turning down pussy!’
Joey looked like a handsome monkey. He was thin, short, and wiry, with Rod Stewart hair and Mick Jagger lips. He was, at twenty-six, four years younger than Lennie.
‘Look,’ Joey said, ‘if Foxie don’t like you we’ll go to the Improv or the Comedy Store. You’ll get connected.’
‘Sure. I know,’ Lennie said. He felt ridiculous. Joey the Kid giving him advice and help. Joey the Kid who had arrived in New York three years earlier with twenty-eight bucks, some corny gags, and a lot of hustle. For nine weeks he had slept on Lennie’s floor. His hustle had paid off. Now he was wearing cashmere sweaters and driving a second-hand Jaguar. Foxie greeted him like a brother.
‘I want you to meet a friend of mine,’ Joey said. ‘Lennie Golden. Remember the name. He’s funny.’
‘As funny as you?’ snapped Foxie.
‘Give him a shot. See for yourself.’
Foxie picked at his teeth with a wooden toothpick and cocked his head to one side. ‘You wanna try out tonight?’
‘I wasn’t planning on trying out,’ Lennie said quickly. ‘I’ve got a video of my work – I thought if you liked it we could do business.’
‘You East Coast momsers – you’re all the same,’ Foxie snorted. ‘Don’t want to try out. Want me to waste my time lookin’ at tape shit.’ He bit the toothpick in half and began to eat it. ‘At Foxie’s you either try out or get out. I can fit you in at ten o’clock. Take it or leave it.’
Joey nodded. ‘He’ll take it.’
‘Do I have a choice?’ Lennie joked.
‘No choice,’ said Joey. ‘Do it. He’ll love you. I’m gonna get on the phone and summon up fans.’
Lennie wondered if Joey might call Eden. They hadn’t discussed her all night. The silence was killing him. Why didn’t Joey mention her? They must have seen each other. He was determined not to ask.
Christ! He was nervous.
Lennie Golden nervous. Christ!
He had played a thousand and one joints.
Foxie’s was no different.
Except.
At Foxie’s.
He had to be a smash.
Chapter Sixteen
Vitos Felicidade was not the most exciting lover Olympia had ever had. He was hot in a different way. He was a star, and therefore a worthwhile trophy to hang on to for a while.
Brigette took an immediate dislike to him. The child was becoming impossible. Since her display of temperament on Fifth Avenue she had discovered that being difficult resulted in plenty of attention, and if there was one thing Brigette craved it was attention. When she first met Vitos she kicked him in the ankle, called him a foreign pig, and ran to her room screaming.
Olympia was humiliated. She took out her fury on Nanny Mabel, who promptly threatened to quit.
Vitos suggested that Brigette should be sent away to boarding school. Olympia was tempted, but the child was still so young, and she couldn’t help remembering her own unfortunate experiences in such establishments.
On the day of her grandmother’s wedding Brigette refused to get out of bed. Nanny Mabel came running to Olympia in a terrible state. Reluctantly Olympia stomped into her daughter’s room to deal with the situation.
‘Don’t want to be the flower girl,’ Brigette kept on repeating stubbornly. ‘Don’t want to wear a silly yucky dress. Don’t want to!’
‘You have to,’ Olympia admonished, trying to cajole the child into some form of obedience. ‘Your own grandmother is getting married. And if you are good – very good, I shall take you to Tiffany’s – the big jewellery store on Fifth Avenue – and buy you anything you want.’
Nanny Mabel, standing beside the bed, snorted her disapproval. Trying to bribe a nine-year-old child with jewellery. Ridiculous!
‘Anything, mama?’ questioned Brigette, her bright blue eyes widening. ‘Anything at all in the wholewideworld?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Olympia reluctantly.
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Okay.’ Brigette gave a happy smile and jumped out of bed.
Olympia glared at Nanny Mabel. ‘All right, Nanny? Do you think you can take over now?’
‘Yes, Madam,’ sniffed the disapproving woman.
Olympia swept from the room into the sanctuary of her bedroom. Vitos was arriving shortly, and she had so much to do.
She regarded herself in a mirror. New York was not helping with her weight problem, her face looked positively round. Angrily she sucked in her cheeks. Why couldn’t money buy great cheekbones? Why wasn’t she six inches taller and twenty pounds lighter?
Hah! Vitos had no complaints. He thought she was perfect. Latin men liked a woman with flesh on her bones, not to mention millions in the bank.
She scowled at her reflection.
Vitos arrived twenty minutes later, wearing a pink suit, dark glasses, and a perpetual sneer.
Brigette, just about to depart early with Nanny, managed a quick, ‘You look soooo dumb.’
Vitos ignored her, and helped himself to one of Dimitri’s cigars.
When Olympia made her entrance ten minutes later, he was asleep in a chair, and the cigar had burnt a hole on the polished top of a priceless antique table.
‘Wake up!’ Olympia screeched.
He did as she asked, and they snorted four lines of excellent coke to prepare themselves for the trip to her mother’s wedding.
Olympia wore white. She knew it was incorrect, but so what? Her blonde curls were frizzed and puffed out. A professional artiste had applied her make-up. She felt she looked her
best, and Vitos seemed a suitable accessory.
The paparazzi, observing the couple so dressed at noon, decided they must be getting married, so they followed them in a variety of cars and motor scooters, all the way to Long Island where the real bride’s groom-to-be lived.
‘How tiresome!’ Olympia exclaimed, as the photographers drew alongside the limousine at every stoplight, clicking and snapping away.
Vitos raised his chin and smiled. ‘Tirrrrsome,’ he repeated, wondering if this extra blast of publicity would boost the US sales of his new album, not doing quite as well as everyone had anticipated.
Olympia’s mother was not pleased when the arrival of her daughter (always a handful – thank God she had decided to live with Dimitri) brought with her fifteen scurvy-looking photographers and a smiling but vacuous Spanish recording star. She took Olympia to one side. ‘You shouldn’t wear white,’ she said sternly. ‘It makes you look fat. And exactly who is that person you have with you?’
‘Vitos,’ said Olympia vaguely. ‘He sings. He’s quite famous.’
‘I don’t care how famous he is,’ admonished her mother. ‘He looks like a pimp.’
Olympia giggled. ‘A pimp! Mother! Where did you learn words like that?’
‘Please, Olympia. I am getting married today. I would appreciate it if you would refrain from upsetting me.’
Charlotte’s intended was a tall, thin man, with mean eyes and a limp. Olympia took an instant dislike to him, and told everyone who would listen she thought he looked like a Nazi war criminal.
The wedding took place in the garden at three p.m. Brigette as flower girl, was prettier than any of the bridesmaids. She looks angelic, Olympia thought with a proud smile, watching her daughter trail dutifully behind the bride. She caught Nanny Mabel’s eye and for once the two women were in complete tune, proud guardians of the exquisite little heiress.
This peaceful reverie was interrupted by three screaming paparazzi falling from the collapsing branch of an overhanging olive tree.
‘Oh, God!’ exclaimed Olympia as everyone panicked, thinking some sort of raid was taking place. ‘I’ll get the blame for this, I know I will.’
‘You all stink!’ yelled Brigette suddenly, jumping up and down with glee as she seized the perfect opportunity to cause trouble. ‘You all STINK STINK STINK!’
‘Oh, God!’ Olympia turned to Vitos for moral support.
He was asleep, a vacuous smile in permanent position.
She kicked him sharply on the ankle. ‘Wake up!’ she ordered. ‘What do you think this is – a rest camp?’
‘Olympeea—’ he began plaintively.
‘Don’t Olympia me. Do something!’
He leaped to his feet and waved an ineffectual fist at the photographers who were now scrambling for their cameras and grabbing random shots.
‘You all STINK!’ Brigette continued to yell.
Olympia clutched Vitos by the arm and smiled – might as well look good if one was to be splashed across the front pages of the world.
Vitos caught her message and also smiled.
All around them chaos reigned.
Chapter Seventeen
‘I want to talk to you,’ said Gino.
‘I already heard,’ replied Lucky, trying to hide the hurt and rejection she felt.
‘I’ve bin tryin’ to find you all day.’
‘So you’ve found me.’ She shrugged. ‘Congratulations. What more can I say?’
They stood by the reception desk of the Magiriano. Lucky had just returned from a drive and wore jeans, a loose T-shirt and aviator shades. Her hair was wild and she was makeup-less.
‘Hey, kid, y’look about sixteen!’ Gino joked.
She pushed her hands through her hair and stared at him.
‘You’re mad at me,’ he stated.
‘Why should I be mad?’ she replied sarcastically. ‘I mean you’re only my father – that’s all. So why should I be mad that you decide to get married and I have to hear it from Matt Traynor? Her voice rose. ‘Why the hell should I be mad at that?’
He fingered the scar on his cheek. ‘Circumstances, kid,’ he said. ‘I didn’t plan it. Things just fell into place. I thought you were at the party when I told everyone.’
‘Thanks a lot. I guess my presence is really felt.’
‘C’mon, Lucky,’ he soothed. ‘I called you as soon as I got up this morning. It’s not my fault you’ve bin out all day. Where were you, anyway?’
‘There’s a whorehouse twenty miles outside town – sometimes I help out.’
He frowned at her flippancy. ‘Let’s go upstairs,’ he said. ‘I’ve bin hangin’ around here for an hour – does that show I care?’
‘Big deal,’ she mumbled.
They walked to her private elevator, the sound of the slots jangling reassuringly in the background. She was frightened, truly frightened. If Gino got married again where did that leave her?
She had driven through the desert for hours thinking about it. When Matt had phoned her early in the morning with the news, she had been utterly devastated. Dimitri had departed hours before and she was alone, hung over, and in no mood to digest such shocking information. Quickly she had dressed and slipped quietly from the hotel. In the underground garage she took possession of her Ferrari, and drove out to the desert with Otis Redding on the tape deck and just her thoughts for company.
Now she was back, and Gino was present, and how could he do it to her?
Inside her penthouse there were incredible baskets of mauve sterling silver roses everywhere. She looked around in amazement and turned to Gino. ‘Did you do this?’
His scowl deepened. ‘No, I didn’t.’
She reached for one of the white cards attached to the baskets. A simple signature, nothing else. Dimitri.
She crumpled the card in her hand.
‘Who sent them?’ asked Gino.
‘Francesca Fern,’ she replied quickly, tossing the card into a corner.
‘Nice of her.’
‘Why not? It was a great evening.’
‘Listen, kid.’ He sat down on the couch and sighed. ‘I made a mistake. I shoulda told you first – but I didn’t, so let’s not make a federal case out of it.’
‘Who’s making a federal case? I just thought you might have discussed it with me before informing the world.’
‘You’re my daughter, not my jailer. You think I need your permission?’
‘I think you need my advice.’
He was angry now. ‘Screw your advice,’ he said darkly. ‘Susan said you’d be jealous and she was right.’
Lucky shared the Santangelo temper. She glared at her father. ‘I don’t give a damn what Susan said. The widow Martino is your problem – and believe me – if you marry her you’ll have more problems than you ever imagined.’
‘My daughter – the mouth. You don’t even know Susan – so quit puttin’ her down.’
‘I’m trying to save you from making a big mistake.’
‘Kid, I made a lotta mistakes in my life – most of ‘em before you were ever around. You know somethin’ – I managed to survive without your advice – so stick it where the Pope don’t go roller skatin’, put a smile on your face – an’ wish me the best of luck.’
She forced a stiff smile, hated him for a stupid old fool, and nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s your life, and if it’s what you want . . . well then . . . congratulations.’
‘That’s more like it.’ He grinned, temper forgotten. ‘An’ now I gotta get a move on.’ He headed jauntily for the door.
‘Stop!’ Lucky said urgently. ‘You can’t keep me waiting any longer.’ The frustrations were building. ‘You’ve got to make a decision on Atlantic City.’
He glanced at his watch impatiently. ‘Right now I gotta run. We can talk about it when I get back.’
She glared at him. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’
She shook her head and waited for the bombshell.
>
He didn’t disappoint. ‘Promised to fly to L.A. with Susan. She needs to tell her kids in person, doesn’t want them reading about us in some newspaper.’
It was starting. She was losing him. Gino . . . Daddy . . .
‘What kids?’ she asked calmly, although the last thing she felt was calm.
‘I think she’s got a matched pair, a boy and a girl.’
Something icy clutched at her heart. ‘How old are they?’
‘Who knows? Nineteen, twenty.’
Susan was right. She was jealous. But not of the old bag – of the ‘kids’ who might one day regard Gino as their stepfather.
Oh God! She couldn’t stand it! Why was this happening? Why had Susan Martino appeared in their lives and spoiled everything?
‘When will you be back?’ she asked, concealing her dismay.
‘I shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of days. I’ll call you.’
‘But I need to know about Atlantic City now,’ she said desperately. ‘I’ve spent a tremendous amount of time and energy putting everything together. If we don’t get a lock on it immediately all my work will have been for nothing.’
He was anxious to be on his way. Susan was waiting, and right now she came first. ‘Everything’ll hold,’ he said confidently. ‘When I get back we’ll sit down together and work out the way to go. I promise. You can count on me.’
Once she would have believed him. Now she wasn’t sure. ‘I thought we wanted to build a hotel together more than anything else in the world,’ she said softly. ‘Surely you can give me a yes or a no so I can put the deal in motion?’
‘Two days,’ he said, kissed her on the cheek, and was gone.
She walked out to the terrace and stood for a long while gazing out at nothing in particular. The sun began to slide beneath a cloud and a chill entered the hot air. Thoughtfully she bit her lower lip. Who was Susan Martino? What was her story? Married to the very famous Tiny for many years. But how about before that? Did Gino know anything about her at all?
On a hunch Lucky picked up the phone and summoned Boogie. It took him only five minutes to arrive at her door.
‘I want a full rundown on Susan Martino,’ she said. ‘Everything. Birth to now. You got it?’
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