‘Good idea. Shall I drive?’ He hoped he sounded casual.
She nodded.
He got out of the car while Eden slid over.
The Mexican hooker was returning from the shadows with a triumphant leer. ‘Change your mind, cutie?’ she yelled. ‘I can take us both to Paradise for twenny bucks.’
He ignored her and got behind the wheel.
Eden moved close to him. ‘I missed you, Big Man,’ she murmured softly, placing her hand on his thigh.
He developed an erection that wouldn’t quit.
They roared down Sunset, made Brentwood in eight minutes, the Palisades in twelve, and within twenty, they were cruising along the Pacific Coast Highway, searching for a suitable place to park.
She had been doing all the talking, telling him about her acting roles. ‘I never stop working,’ she confided. ‘I guess I’m a better actress than you thought.’
He didn’t want to get into that.
They parked on a bluff, and made their way to the beach. It was a beautiful night. The moon was bright and the ocean at peace. They walked along the seashore, holding hands like new lovers, and splashing in the surf. Then, they fell on the sand like old lovers, and found every secret place with ferocious familiarity.
She wrapped her long legs around his neck and rocked with his rhythm as though she never wanted it to end.
He gave her what she wanted, what he wanted. Slowly. Fast. Very fast. Then slowly again, keeping his control by reciting the goddamn alphabet in his head, because he didn’t want to come, didn’t want it to end, wanted their lovemaking to go on forever.
‘You . . . always . . . were . . . the . . . best,’ she said huskily. ‘Jesus . . . Lennie . . . My . . . big . . . man . . .’
He felt her spasms and let rip while she moaned with untamed pleasure. When they were finished he stroked her silky hair, and said, very quietly, ‘We belong together. You do know that, don’t you?’
She didn’t answer. The only sound was the sea lapping gently on the shore.
* * *
Jess raced Matt’s ridiculous car to the hotel. She dumped it in the parking lot and leaped into her Camaro. Then she drove home in record time.
She could hear Simon crying as she parked. Her head throbbed. Too many fancy drinks, but getting plastered had taken her mind off the funeral, and that was something. The house looked disgusting. Wayland had obviously entertained again. Dirty cans and bottles, the lingering heavy stench of marijuana, empty McDonald’s wrappers. And an unfamiliar male body asleep on the floor.
‘Goddamnit!’ she yelled, kicking at the sleeping form, who groaned and rolled over.
In the bedroom Wayland sprawled on the bed fully dressed. Simon cried in his crib. There was the smell of urine and worse. She scooped him up and changed his filthy diaper. Wayland did not stir. Wearily, she took Simon into the kitchen and fixed him a bottle. The crying was driving her nuts. The mess was driving her nuts. She shoved the bottle into Simon’s mouth and enjoyed peace.
This week she would tell Wayland to get out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘I don’t give a fuck what you want to do!’ screamed Gino.
‘And I don’t give a fuck what you think!’ screamed Lucky.
They had been yelling at each other for an hour. One long hour of insults, recriminations and accusations. The harmony of their past year together had vanished, and it was back to the antagonism and ill-will of former times.
‘You don’t run my life,’ Lucky stormed. ‘I’m not your sweet little girl who has to do what daddy says. And I don’t work for you either.’ She paused to catch her breath and glare at him. He wanted it all his own way. He wanted to marry Susan and keep daughter dear at his fingertips, some kind of surrogate boss who would take care of business while he pissed off to Beverly Hills.
Well, daughter dear was not standing for it. No way. No fucking way. Daughter dear was getting out.
‘We’re partners,’ she said coldly. ‘Half the Magiriano is mine – and I’m cashing in and going on to do other things. So we either sell, or you buy me out. Which is it to be?’
He had to admit the kid had balls. Mad as he was, he could still admire her. She was a pain in the butt, but street smart and savvy and tough. One of life’s natural winners.
‘Hey,’ he threw his arms wide. ‘You want out, you got it. What’re we fightin’ over? I’m not gonna hold you back if you wanna do other things. I’ll buy out your share. But you gotta remember, everythin’ I own is gonna be yours one day anyway.’
Who was he kidding? If he married Susan Martino, everything he had would be Susan’s.
‘That’s settled then,’ she said evenly, weary from the argument.
‘Yeh. An’ if you’re so sure it’s what you want, I’ll put it in motion right away,’ he said, gruffly.
It’s not what I want, it’s what you want.
‘There’s one other thing,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘The house in East Hampton,’ she blurted. ‘I’d like to own it.’
‘Huh?’ He stared at her, hard black eyes head-on with hard black eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want you taking another woman there. It was mommy’s house when we were all a family. It’s the only real home I’ve ever known, and I want to have it.’
He was angry again. First she wanted to sell the hotel, then she wanted him to give her the East Hampton house. What kind of shit was this?
‘Okay, okay, it’s yours,’ he said grudgingly.
She was very businesslike, aware of the fact that to protect herself, once he married Susan, she had to be. ‘I’ll have a real estate agent put a price on it and I’ll buy it from you. The money can come out of my share of the hotel.’
He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. ‘Lucky,’ he asked softly, ‘why are we acting like a couple who’s just gettin’ a divorce! Before you know it we’ll only be communicatin’ through lawyers.’
‘Talking of lawyers,’ she said crisply, ‘I’m sure you’ve thought of asking Susan to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.’
‘What kind of smart ass remark is that?’ he shouted. ‘Jeez! You’re somethin’, you really are. You hardly even know Susan, an’ now you got her walkin’ off with all my money.’
‘I’m just behaving the way you taught me. This is California, and there are such things as community property laws.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ he spat in disgust.
Quietly she left the room. She had pushed about as far as she could go.
* * *
Susan Martino, Gino discovered via the accountant he sent to L.A., was several hundred thousand in the hole.
He spoke to her on the phone. ‘How didja ever get in such a mess?’ he demanded.
‘Don’t you mean how did Tiny get me into such a mess?’ she replied logically.
‘I’ll take care of it.’ He was not exactly delighted, but it had to be done.
‘I told you before, you don’t have to,’ she reminded him.
‘Call it a weddin’ present,’ he offered magnanimously.
‘Thank you.’ Her tone was appreciative, but not overly so.
He admired the lady-like quality she brought to everything. She really was a class act. ‘You missing me yet?’
‘Yes. But I have the wedding to plan, and it’s keeping me extraordinarily busy.’
‘What’s to plan? You’ll hop on a plane an’ we’ll do it here. No big deal.’ He paused to light a cigar, in spite of the fact that after the heart attack his doctor had insisted he quit.
‘Hey – why don’t we do it this weekend? Get it over an’ done with.’
She laughed pleasantly. ‘You are joking, aren’t you? My God, Gino, get it over and done with – you make it sound so trivial.’
‘You got other plans?’
‘I most certainly do. A wedding is a sacred occasion. Surely you want to do it properly?’
‘We can do it prop
erly in Vegas.’
‘Not at all,’ she chided. ‘We must be married in Beverly Hills. I have so many friends here. It will be a joyous day – one to remember.’
‘My friends are here,’ he pointed out. ‘An’ we’ll be livin’ here. I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, but Lucky’s leaving.’
‘She is?’
‘Yeh. Gave me a whole speech about gettin’ out an’ movin’ to New York. I gotta tell you, Susie, I’m sick about it.’
He might be sick, but she was ecstatic. She had never thought it would be so easy to get rid of the pushy daughter.
‘I’m sure it will be for the best, Gino, dear,’ she said comfortingly.
‘You think so?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Susan did not tell him her plans for the weekend were to stay in L.A. She hung up with promises of love, and then she phoned her lawyers to find out when all the debts would be cleared. Obviously, Gino Santangelo had been an excellent choice. Old, rich and pliable. Over-sexed for a man of his age, but she could put up with that for a while longer.
Putting up with men. The story of her life. From the age of fifteen, when she was deflowered by a swashbuckling movie star of the fifties while her hairdresser mother sat downstairs swigging vodka, to now, and Gino.
Putting up with men. A series of rich, important men. While mother reaped the benefits of a pretty teenage daughter. No money ever actually changed hands, but something was always going on. A new white Cadillac for mother to drive. Three televisions. Plenty of clothes. Hampers of food. Crates of champagne.
Susan felt revulsion whenever a man touched her.
Go upstairs with Mr Whoever, Susan, he wants to show you something.
One wealthy man after another, until it became a way of life, and she played the game automatically, because somebody had to supply mother with life’s little luxuries and perpetual booze.
When she was twenty, her mother ran a light at Sunset and Fairfax, and was killed instantly in a collision with a gardener’s truck. The Mexican driver sued. Naturally Susan found someone to settle the case for her. Six months later she was smart enough to discover Tiny while doing extra work on one of his movies. He didn’t stand a chance. She knew what she wanted, and she went for it with controlled dedication. He divorced his first wife with nary a protest, married Susan, and together they rose in the hierarchy of the Hollywood social scene. She became a perfect hostess, warm confidante, and mother of his two children.
After a few years Tiny screwed anything that breathed in his direction – it wasn’t easy being married to one of the Queens of the Beverly Hills/Bel Air social set.
After a few years, Susan met a beefy Russian masseuse named Gloria, who came to the house to ease her neck tension. It turned out Gloria knew plenty of other places where tension could be eased, and Susan succumbed. She had succumbed a few other times. But for the last three years she had been having a very satisfying affair with a producer’s wife named Paige Wheeler. The women enjoyed discreet liaisons at various venues including each other’s homes when they could get rid of the servants. Unfortunately, Paige’s husband, Ryder, had recently given birth to a huge hit movie, which meant Paige’s time was taken up with a solid block of unavoidable social engagements. Plus the fact that she also dabbled in interior design. And of course, Susan had been busy in Vegas snaring Gino. The two women hadn’t seen each other in months.
Susan’s hand hovered over the phone. She deserved a treat. One little treat.
* * *
The morning after her confrontation with Gino, Lucky awoke sick to her stomach. She threw up, felt only slightly better, and crawled back to bed. This was not the right time to get sick. There was so much to do. She had to start packing, meet with her lawyers and get everything in order.
For a moment she wondered if she was doing the right thing. But in her heart she knew that if Gino married Susan she would be better off away from them. Maybe Susan was a wonderful human being. Maybe she did love Gino for himself.
Maybe . . .
On impulse she grabbed the phone and called Costa Zennocotti in Miami. He had retired there a year ago, and by all accounts was very happy to live the quiet life after forty years as Gino’s lawyer and best friend. He was her friend too. After all, it was Costa who had nurtured her ambition, and taught her everything about business while Gino languished in Israel.
‘Uncle Costa,’ she greeted warmly when he picked up the phone. ‘How are you?’
‘I am currently mastering the art of French toast,’ he replied, happy to hear from her. ‘At my advanced age I have finally decided I should cook.’
She laughed happily. It was so good to speak to him. ‘I thought you had droves of women around you who did that sort of thing,’ she joked. She knew he was seeing a divorcee who apparently had caused him to gain fifteen pounds.
‘Yes, yes,’ he said quickly. ‘But you know me, I hate to be dependent on anyone.’
Indeed she did know him. Uncle Costa. A quiet, well-mannered man. Married for over thirty years to Auntie Jen who had passed away several years ago. One of those rare marriages where both partners grow together and remain content and in love. No screwing around for Uncle Costa. He had been the perfect husband.
‘When did you last hear from Gino?’ she asked.
‘Not recently. Why? Is something the matter?’
‘Oh, this and that. Nothing earth-shattering. I think I might be selling my share of the Magiriano.’
‘Nothing earth-shattering she says! That’s earth-shattering. What’s the matter, Lucky?’
‘Can I fly in and see you? I need to talk.’
‘When?’
‘In a few days.’
‘Any time, my dear. You know I’m always here for you.’
Yeh. Uncle Costa was always reliable. But what about Gino?
‘I’ll call you again.’
‘Make it soon.’
‘Yes, I will.’
She hung up and thought that yes, it would be a nice idea to visit with Uncle Costa. Every time he talked she managed to find out a little bit more about Gino’s colourful past. Costa loved to reminisce and she loved to listen. Her mother, Maria, had been Uncle Costa’s niece. And it was rumoured that her grandmother, Maria’s mother, had also been involved with Gino.
She shivered. Costa would never talk about that.
Feeling slightly better, she got up, dressed, and ventured downstairs. The casino was a hive of activity with early morning gamblers out in full force. She bumped into Matt who looked uncharacteristically harassed. She would have to call a meeting to let her key people know she was moving on. They all considered Gino their real boss anyway. She hadn’t allowed that thought to surface before, but now she realized it was true.
You’ll be out on your own, kid, for the first time in your life, she thought.
It was exciting.
It was very exciting.
She grinned. And suddenly she felt much better. Maybe she’d go for Atlantic City anyway. Without Gino. Find another property, new investors. Hey – she could do it. She knew she could do it – she just had to convince everyone else.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Lennie slept like he hadn’t slept in a long time. One of those great dreamless sleeps where you feel cocooned by clouds and so comfortable and at peace you never want to wake up. But he did. And it was noon.
He leaped from bed, and threw himself under a hot shower where he sang ‘Staying Alive’ at full volume.
In the bathroom mirror he observed the scars of battle. Eden and her lethal nails. His back looked like a road map crisscrossed with thin red trails.
So what? He had her again. What were a few scars between friends?
For a moment he stopped to think. They hadn’t really talked, just enjoyed great sex and each other’s bodies. She was as hungry for him as he was for her. On the drive back she had fallen asleep curled up against him. He had driven to his car and suggested he follow her home. ‘No,’ she h
ad said. ‘I’ve got an early call.’
So he had watched her drive off into the dawn, for it was five in the morning when they parted company.
Now, all he had to do was get through the day without her. It occurred to him that he should have found out where she was working and met her for lunch. Come to think of it, he should have found out a lot of things, he didn’t even know where she lived, all he had was her phone number.
Tonight he wanted her to accompany him to Foxie’s. He would sit her at a front table, and let her get a load of the feedback he was receiving from the audience. She had always criticized his work. Once she saw him in action in L.A. she would realize how wrong she had been.
It was just so right that they were back together. Sure, they had their fights, but who didn’t? He and Eden were an unbeatable combination.
An inner voice mocked – Who are you kiddin’, Lennie Golden? She eats you up and spits you out. You and Eden together – forget it.
He ignored the subliminal warning.
* * *
Eden had lied. Which she did a lot. Beautifully. There was no early call. The first item on her agenda was a one o’clock meeting with the interior designer who owed Santino Bonnatti a favour.
She rose late, luxuriated in a scented bath, dressed slowly, and arrived at the house on Blue Jay Way fifteen minutes late for her appointment. Punctuality was not one of her priorities.
The decorator was a woman, which annoyed her. She loathed dealing with women. They either hated her because of her beauty, or fawned over her because she was once one of the top photo models in America, before she gave it all up for her acting.
This woman was different. She was short, in her forties, with a mass of copper-coloured frizzy hair, and a skirt split up to her crotch. She was also businesslike, with a gay assistant, a drawing board, and a lot of sketches and ideas. Her name was Paige Wheeler. Idly Eden wondered what favour she owed Santino, but she wasn’t about to ask.
‘I want a lot of white,’ she said vaguely. ‘White couches and rugs and everything modern and clean cut, with plenty of mirrors. I like chrome too . . . I want the place to look glamorous.’
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