‘Hey – now you’ve got one white ball and one black,’ he’d joked. ‘The man can play in both courts. Not bad, Steven. There’s a little larceny in you after all.’
The discovery was a shock, but life went on, and Steven weathered the revelation. With Jerry’s help he threw himself into his work, deciding to specialize in criminal law. He’d discovered his vocation and loved it. Soon he developed quite a reputation as one of the best defence attorneys around. He was the first to admit that without Jerry he certainly wouldn’t be a partner in one of the most successful law firms in New York. Jerry had supported him all the way. So what if he conducted his personal life like the ideal Playboy subscriber? Underneath his sexist front the man had heart, and that’s what really counted.
Deena Swanson was a coolly attractive woman with chiselled features, dead blue eyes, and very pale red hair cropped in a thirties bob. She was one of those women of indeterminate age – white pulled skin without a line in sight, perfect makeup, and a slim figure clad in a tailored grey skirt and an expensive silk shirt. Steven figured her to be anywhere between thirty and forty, it was impossible to tell. What he could tell was that she didn’t look happy.
She greeted them with a limp handshake, receiving them in a spacious living room filled with African artefacts, sculpture, and fine paintings. Above the mantel hung an impressive oil painting of Mr. and Mrs. Swanson, she clad in a pink ball gown, and Martin Swanson sporting a white tuxedo. Both faces wore the same expression – bland indifference.
A Lebanese houseman hovered, waiting to take their order for coffee before backing respectfully from the room.
Deena indicated they should sit on an overstuffed couch, and when they were settled she said in her slightly accented voice, ‘The meeting we are about to have must be absolutely confidential. Am I assured of this?’
‘Of course,’ Jerry replied quickly, offended she might think otherwise.
‘My husband is not to know of this conversation either.’
‘Mrs. Swanson, you are a valued client. Whatever you say to us is strictly for our ears only.’
‘Good.’ She crossed impressive silk-clad legs and reached for a thin black cigarette from a silver box.
Jerry leaped to attention with his lighter.
Deena drew deeply on her cigarette, stared first at Jerry then at Steven, and said, ‘I don’t believe in wasting time. Do you?’
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ replied Jerry, ever obliging, and quite attracted to this cool, expensive-looking woman, even though she wasn’t his usual type.
Deena silenced him with a look. ‘Kindly hear me out,’ she said imperiously. ‘No interruptions.’
Jerry’s back stiffened. He wasn’t used to being spoken to as if he were hired help.
Deena began to speak again, oblivious to his hurt feelings. ‘Gentlemen,’ she said calmly, ‘it has recently come to my attention that one of these days I might be obliged to commit the perfect murder.’
A heavy silence hung over the room while Deena paused for a long moment, allowing her words to register. When she was satisfied they had, she continued. ‘If this situation ever arose, and I failed in my attempt to make it perfect, I would naturally expect you, as my attorneys, to do everything in your power to defend me.’ A long white finger, decorated with a huge diamond ring, pointed straight at Steven. ‘You. I would want you to defend me. I understand you’re the best.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ Steven interrupted heatedly. ‘I can’t—’
‘No, you wait a minute,’ she snapped, a woman used to getting her own way. ‘Allow me to finish.’ She glared at them both, dead blue eyes daring either of them to interrupt again. ‘A retainer of one million dollars was transferred into your company’s account today. All you have to do, Mr. Myerson, Mr. Berkeley, is to be there when and if – and I emphasize the if – I need you.’ She gave a brittle laugh, before adding with slow deliberation, ‘For all our sakes, we should hope that day never comes.’
Chapter 5
Abe Panther sat behind his large walnut desk, a fierce Inga positioned in the background.
Lucky Santangelo entered the room, accompanied by Morton Sharkey, her West Coast lawyer.
Abe greeted Lucky with a friendly nod. They had met only once before and he’d warmed to her instantly – recognizing in her a true maverick and adventurer. She reminded him of himself when he was young.
‘You’re looking well, Mr. Panther,’ Morton Sharkey said politely, still in a mild state of shock that Lucky had been able to get this far. When she’d first come to him with her wild proposition he’d almost laughed in her face. ‘Don’t you know you’re asking the impossible?’ he’d warned her. ‘Panther Studios is controlled by Mickey Stolli and Ben Harrison. And let me tell you, I know for a fact they’d never even consider selling.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting they merely run it?’ Lucky had replied coolly. ‘And from what I hear, they’re mostly in business for themselves. Don’t worry, Morton, I’ve had every detail checked out. Abe Panther owns the studio one hundred per cent. He can do whatever he likes. And I want him to sell it to me.’
‘The man is a hundred and six,’ Morton had joked.
‘The man is eighty-eight, and in full possession of all his faculties,’ she replied, full of confidence.
Morton Sharkey had never thought it possible. But then Morton Sharkey had never dealt with a Santangelo before. When Lucky put something in motion, she was behind it all the way, and instinct had immediately told her Abe Panther would love to dump on his granddaughters’ two thieving husbands and pull the studio – his studio – out from under them.
Secret negotiations had taken place. At first Abe hadn’t seemed interested, until Lucky had insisted on flying out to Los Angeles for a face-to-face confrontation.
Abe Panther might be an old man, but she had known they were kindred spirits the moment her black Santangelo eyes met his canny faded blue ones at their first meeting.
‘What the hell you know ’bout runnin’ a studio an’ makin’ movies?’ he’d snapped at her.
‘Not much,’ she’d replied honestly. ‘But I can smell garbage when I’m near it, and that’s what your studio is turning out. Cheap, exploitative garbage.’ Her eyes glowed. ‘So. I reckon I can only do a better job, right?’
‘The studio’s turnin’ a profit,’ Abe had pointed out.
‘Yes, but you’re still makin’ shit movies. I want to make Panther great again, as it once was. And let me tell you something – I can do it. That, I assure you, is a Santangelo promise. And the Santangelos do not break promises.’ She’d paused and stared at him, mesmerizing him with her dangerous black eyes before adding, ‘Bet on it.’
He’d warmed to her immediately. She had spirit and ballsiness, refreshing qualities in a woman.
And Lucky had guessed right: Abe would enjoy nothing more than to screw Mickey Stolli and Ben Harrison out of what they took for granted as their rightful inheritance.
A deal was put into motion. All that was needed now was Abe’s signature.
‘Let me talk to Lucky alone,’ Abe said, shifting in his chair.
They were almost there, but Morton sensed a curve ball coming. ‘Certainly,’ he said, far more easily than he felt. He glanced over at Lucky.
Imperceptibly she nodded, indicating he should leave.
Morton walked out of the room.
Inga didn’t budge. She remained behind the old man’s desk, a stoic Swedish monument.
‘Out!’ Abe commanded sharply.
A twitch of her thin lips was the only indication that she minded being dismissed. As she left the room she slammed the door behind her to show her displeasure.
Abe cackled. ‘Inga don’t like me telling her what to do. Still blames me for never makin’ her a star.’ He shook his head. ‘Not my fault. No screen presence. Movie stars gotta have two qualities – without ’em they’re dead.’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘Know what they are?’
Lucky nod
ded. She knew Abe Panther’s credo by heart. ‘Likability and fuckability,’ she recited without hesitation.
He was impressed. ‘How’d you know that?’ he demanded.
‘Because I’ve read everything about you. Every press clip, studio release, three unauthorized biographies. Oh, and a few personal biographies by some very beautiful female stars who couldn’t help but mention you.’ She grinned. ‘You sure got around in your time, didn’t you? You’re a very famous man, Mr. Panther.’
He nodded, pleased at her assessment of his standing. ‘Yup. I’m the last of ’em,’ he said proudly. ‘The last of the movie dinosaurs.’
‘I wouldn’t call you a dinosaur.’
‘Don’t need your flattery, girlie. You’ve almost got your deal.’
‘I know.’ Her black eyes shone. ‘I’m ready to meet your price. You’re ready to sell to me. So come on, Mr. P. What exactly is holding us up?’
‘Just a little something I need from you.’
She tried to suppress the impatience in her voice. When Lucky wanted something she wanted it immediately. ‘What?’ she asked edgily.
‘Retribution.’
‘Huh?’
‘The scum-in-laws, an’ all the bloodsuckers around ’em.’
‘Yes?’
‘I want you to nail ’em, girlie. Nail ’em good.’
‘I plan to.’
‘My way.’
She continued to curb her impatience. ‘What’s your way?’
‘Before you gain control, you take a job at the studio. You’ll be assistant to Herman Stone – he’s my man.’ Abe sparkled as he felt excitement creeping back into his life. ‘An’ when you’re there, right in the thick of it, you’ll catch ’em all doin’ what they shouldn’t be doin’.’ He cackled with delight. ‘Six weeks on the inside, an’ then whammo, girlie, you’re the new boss, an’ you can dump ’em all. Some good plan, huh?’
Lucky could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was an insane idea. How could she vanish for six weeks and assume another identity? She headed an empire, there was no way she could just disappear. What about Lennie? And Bobby and Brigette? Not to mention all her numerous business commitments?
‘Impossible,’ she said, shaking her head regretfully.
‘If you want my studio you’ll do it,’ Abe retorted, clicking his false teeth. ‘If you really want it.’
She brushed a hand through her dark hair, stood up, and began pacing agitatedly around the room.
Sure she wanted the studio, but she wasn’t about to jump through hoops to satisfy the whims of a demanding old man. Or was she?
Hmm… Maybe it wasn’t such an insane idea after all… Maybe it was quite a tempting proposition… a challenge. And there was nothing Lucky enjoyed more than a challenge.
Undercover she could catch everyone doing what they weren’t supposed to be doing.
It was kind of a wild scam, an adventure.
Hmm…
Abe watched her carefully, crinkling his shrewd eyes as he reached for a glass of prune juice on his desk. ‘No undercover… no sale,’ he said, just to make quite sure she understood his rules.
Lucky spun around and stared at him. ‘You mean you’d blow this deal?’ she asked incredulously. ‘All that money?’
Abe smiled, clicking his teeth into a neat porcelain row. They didn’t fit his leathery, lined old face. They looked too new. ‘I’m eighty-eight years old, girlie, what am I gonna do with the money? It ain’t gonna buy me a hard-on, huh? Huh? It ain’t gonna raise my schnickel.’
Lucky grinned, ‘Who knows?’
‘I know, girlie, that’s for sure.’
‘Nothing in life is a certainty.’
Abe clicked his false teeth in and out of his mouth one more time, not exactly an endearing habit. ‘Six weeks,’ he said with surprising firmness. ‘Or we got no deal.’
Chapter 6
Brigette Stanislopoulos was seventeen years old and undeniably pretty. She had long, naturally blond hair, and a rounded, well-developed figure. She was also an heiress, due to inherit half the Stanislopoulos fortune left to her by her grandfather, Dimitri. She already had her mother’s vast estate in trust, and when she reached twenty-one she was destined to become one of the richest women in the world. A sobering thought, for Brigette, although just a teenager, had already lived a life filled with pain and confusion, and instinctively she knew her huge inheritance was only going to add further complications.
Money had failed to bring her mother happiness. Poor Olympia – discovered in a seedy New York hotel with the famous rock star Flash, both of them drugged out and dead. Not a very fitting end for Olympia – the girl who should have had everything.
Brigette was determined her life would be different. She had no intention of following her mother’s treacherous path to unhappiness: three husbands, and an excess of selfish pleasures.
Brigette was thirteen when Olympia died. She’d never known her real father – an Italian businessman whom her grandfather had always referred to as ‘the fortune-hunter’. Olympia had divorced him shortly after Brigette was born, and several months later he’d been blown to pieces by a terrorist car-bomb in Paris. Losing her mother and natural father at such an early age was bad enough, but more tragedies loomed ahead. Several months later she and Lucky’s son, Bobby, became involved in a kidnapping. Santino Bonnatti, a known crime czar and lifetime enemy of the Santangelo family, had the two children trapped in the house of his girlfriend, Eden Antonio, and was intent on sexually molesting them. Before he was able to succeed, Brigette had managed to grab his gun and fire three times, just as Lucky came to their rescue. Almost immediately the police were at the front door, but by that time Lucky had made sure Brigette and Bobby were hustled out the back and taken safely home. Lucky had then proceeded to accept responsibility for Santino’s death.
Months later at Lucky’s trial, Brigette had gathered all her courage and jumped to her feet, publicly confessing. It was a brave thing to do, but she was unable to sit back any longer and allow Lucky to take the blame. Fortunately, there was a videotape proving Bonnatti’s shooting to be a clear case of self-defence.
Brigette was placed on probation for a year and sent to live with her grandmother, Charlotte, Dimitri’s first wife.
Charlotte was no comfortable grandmother figure. She was an elegant society matron, now married to her fourth husband, an English stage actor ten years her junior. They divided their time between a house in London’s Eaton Square and a New York brownstone.
Looking after Brigette’s welfare was not exactly Charlotte’s dream come true. She had immediately enrolled her granddaughter in a strict private boarding school an hour’s drive from New York.
All Brigette wanted was to be left alone. She felt like the original poor little rich girl with a scandalous past.
She kept to herself, shunning any offers of friendship, for above all Brigette had learned the true secret of survival – and that was never to trust anyone.
* * *
‘Hey – Stanislob – it’s the phone for you.’
Stanislob was one of the better names they called her. Brigette didn’t care. She knew who she was. She was Brigette Stanislopoulos. Person. Human being. Not the spoiled brat some of the tabloids liked to make her out to be.
They never left her in peace, the gutter press. There was always someone lurking around, spying. A photographer hiding in the bushes, an insolent reporter tracking her every move. They watched her relentlessly.
The tabloids had their favourites. Lisa Marie Presley, Princess Stephanie of Monaco, and Brigette Stanislopoulos – three young heiresses, always good for a story.
Ignoring the stupid nickname, Brigette took the phone from a tall girl with frizzed hair and an abundance of freckles. Maybe they could have been friends. Another time – another life.
‘Yes?’ She spoke hesitantly into the receiver. Her calls were supposed to be monitored, but nobody ever bothered.
‘Hey – pretty gi
rl – it’s Lennie. As usual I’ve come up with a sensational idea. What are your plans for the summer?’
‘No plans.’
‘I like it. I’m gonna speak to Lucky about you coming out here and spending time with us in Malibu. We’ve rented a sensational house. How about it?’
Brigette was delighted. Lennie Golden and Lucky were the only two people she really cared about. Lennie, her ex-step-father, now married to Lucky, who had once been married to her grandfather. What a tangled web of relationships! The Stanislopoulos clan made the Onassis family tree seem simple.
‘I’d love that,’ she said eagerly.
‘Great. I’ll have Lucky persuade Charlotte to let you go for a few weeks.’
‘God! The last thing Charlotte needs is persuading. Just tell her – she’ll be thrilled to get rid of me.’
‘Now, now, don’t be nasty, little girl,’ he teased.
‘It’s true, Lennie!’
‘And then, when I finish the movie, maybe we’ll all take off for Europe.’
‘Brilliant!’
‘Tough. No enthusiasm, huh?’
‘C’mon! I’d kill for this trip.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s almost settled.’
‘I can’t wait!’
‘Good.’
‘How come you’re not working? Isn’t it the middle of the day in L.A.?’
‘What about you?’ he countered.
‘It’s five-thirty. I’m a free person.’
‘So get out an’ run riot.’
She giggled. ‘I can’t. It’s a weekday. We’re not allowed out on weekdays.’
‘Break a rule or two, live dangerously.’
‘You’re not supposed to tell me to do things like that,’ she said, remembering the one time she had broken the rules and suffered the consequences.
‘No shit? If I were you, I’d go for it.’
Go for what? She had no friends, no one to cut school with. Besides, she was not like her mother, she had no desire to break loose. The price, she’d discovered, was far too high.
‘How’s the movie going?’ she asked, hurriedly changing the subject.
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