Just as she’d expected, the tabloids had gone headline crazy with the news of her separation from Cooper. The two of them were spread all over the front pages of the supermarket press. So was Leslie Kane—who somehow or other had managed to get herself portrayed as the sweet, innocent girl next door, while Venus was painted as the sexually voracious superstar who’d driven her husband into another woman’s arms.
God! These papers were so full of crap. If they only knew the truth about Leslie, it would blow their minds.
The other bad news was that she’d heard her bum brother Emilio had returned from Europe, where he’d been hanging out with an aging Eurotrash contessa. Emilio made a living out of being her brother; he was even now probably trying to sell more stories of her early days to the tabloids.
One of her spies told her Cooper had left the Beverly Hills Hotel and returned to his former high-rise penthouse on Wilshire. It made her sad to think of him going back to his old ways, but then, she wasn’t responsible for him. If he chose to be an almost fifty-year-old playboy screwing a different woman every night, that was his problem.
More news flashes from the set informed her he’d broken up with Leslie. It wasn’t important, their real problem was never Leslie.
Rodriguez was on his way over again. She’d decided to give him another chance to exhibit his sexual skills.
The truth was, she was not fond of being alone in the house; at least Rodriguez was company.
Ah…the life of a superstar. Not as glamorous as everybody seemed to think.
Leslie Kane had taken up with Jeff Stoner—the small-time actor from her current movie. Not because she’d wanted to—he meant nothing to her—but because she’d had to do something. Cooper’s behavior toward her was too humiliating. After Venus’s cruel and nasty speech at her dinner party, she’d hoped that Cooper would finally be hers.
No. It was not to be. He’d turned against her as if she had some unspeakable sexual disease, the bastard was barely polite to her. And what made it worse was the way he treated her on the set. When they were shooting their love scenes he was fine, then as soon as the director yelled “Cut!”, he was cold and unapproachable.
What had she done to merit this kind of treatment?
Nothing. Except make love to him whenever he was in the mood. And before her dinner party he’d been in the mood all the time.
Was it because he’d found out she was once one of Madame Loretta’s highly paid call girls?
Probably.
Men were so two-faced.
Jeff, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind at all. Well, he was much younger than Cooper—by about twenty years. And younger men, she’d discovered, were far less judgmental.
Jeff loved being her boyfriend. He blossomed in the limelight. She was his career booster, giving him the high profile he’d always yearned for.
Cooper hadn’t liked it when she’d spoken to their director and gotten him to enlarge Jeff’s part. It wasn’t much—an extra scene at the end of the movie and a few close-ups—but it sure pissed Cooper off. And he couldn’t do a thing about it, because she was the real star of the movie on account of the fact that her career was sizzling hot while Cooper’s flame was turned kind of low and steady.
Sexually, Jeff came nowhere near Cooper’s stellar performances. He was a beginner—all stamina, with no finesse. The trouble with a lot of men was that they had no idea how to make love, all they knew how to do was fuck. Jeff was no exception.
She missed Cooper’s slow sensuality, the way he knew exactly where to touch her and when, his long, steamy kisses, his probing tongue and sensitive hands. Oh, yes, there was no substitute for real experience. Cooper’s moves were still the best.
Jeff came bounding out of the bathroom all hyped up because they’d been at a party where she’d introduced him to his hero, Harrison Ford.
“What a guy!” Jeff enthused. “So nice. Kinda like you, Les.”
“I’m not so nice,” she said, casually brushing her long hair.
“Yes, you are,” Jeff said. “Even if you won’t admit it.” He took the hairbrush out of her hands, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the mouth.
His kisses were too hard, she could barely breathe. And he had this thing he did that she hated. He rolled his tongue and shoved it in her mouth. Not a winner.
If only he knew how to kiss…
Two minutes of kissing and his hands were on her breasts. One minute of fingering her nipples, a quick suck on each one, and he was inside her, pumping away, probably under the false impression that he was the world’s greatest lover.
She wasn’t in the mood to teach him otherwise.
Later, while Jeff snored beside her, she lay in bed thinking about Cooper and how to win him back. There had to be a way.
If there was, she’d find it.
Back in New York, Brigette was more determined than ever to make things happen. She’d truly loved Lennie, and now he was gone. His death had brought her up with a resounding jolt, forcing her to realize how fast a life could be snuffed out.
In L.A. she’d spent as much time as possible with his kids. Lucky was always at the studio, and seemed so completely swamped with work that Brigette hardly got to see her even though she was staying at the house.
A few weeks after the memorial service for Lennie she’d told Lucky she was returning to New York. Lucky hadn’t seemed to mind, she’d wished her luck and assured her good things were about to happen for her.
Now she was back, and there’d be no more sitting around. She was going to be somebody. And she was going to be somebody soon.
Anna was pleased to see her. “Nona phoned three times today,” she said as Brigette dumped her suitcases. “She said for you to call her immediately.”
She’d only spoken to Nona a few times while she was in L.A. Nona had promised she’d still get her in to see Aurora Mondo Carpenter and Michel Guy, and that Luke would have photos ready when she returned. At least she had something to look forward to.
She went in the kitchen, opened a Seven-Up, sifted through her accumulated mail, then called Nona.
“About time!” Nona exclaimed. “Where were you?”
“On a plane. It was late leaving L.A. I only just walked in.”
“Well, get ready to walk out again. Luke Kasway wants to see us at his studio. And he wants to see us now!”
Rodriguez arrived on time, his smoldering eyes gazing eagerly into Venus’s. “My beautiful one!” he exclaimed, lifting her hand to his lips.
Venus, clad only in a short Japanese kimono, smiled. There was something delightfully decadent about the fact that she was paying Rodriguez. She got off on it, and even though he was not the lover she’d expected, who was?
“I’m tired,” she complained in a little-girl voice. “My bones are weary.”
“Ahhh!” he said soothingly. “Rodriguez will make your bones sing, your muscles come alive. Your whole body will tingle from my special touch.”
He’d certainly mastered the art of corny English. They went to her massage room in her classic-modern, all-white house. She clicked on the CD player and k. d. lang proceeded to serenade them.
Rodriguez removed his jacket. He wore a sleeveless black T-shirt and thigh-hugging black jeans. The muscles in his arms rippled invitingly. He had a deep tan and minty breath. All in all, he was some studly package.
He smiled at her, his dark eyes full of sexual promise. “On the table, my beautiful one,” he commanded.
She slipped off her kimono, revealing a black lace thong and nothing else.
Rodriguez’s eyes swept over her appreciatively, fixing on her full breasts. “Perfect!” he exclaimed. “You are perfection, my Venus.”
I am not your Venus, she wanted to say. I’m your client. You’re giving me a massage and we’re both getting our rocks off, but that doesn’t mean I belong to you.
Without a word she climbed onto the table and lay facedown, her arms stretched out above her head.
Rodriguez produced a bottle of exotic perfumed oil, poured a small amount in the palm of his hands, and began to lovingly massage her shoulders and back.
Slowly, surely, she felt the tension leaving her body. Oh, God, he did have extremely talented fingers.
“How long have you been in L.A.?” she questioned, her skin tingling.
“Since I was sixteen,” Rodriguez replied. “I came here with a married woman running from her husband. She promised to buy me my own beauty salon.”
“What happened?”
“Her husband arrived to claim her. The man was a billionaire.” Rodriguez shrugged. “She loved me, but she was forced to go with him. I was too young to fight it.”
“What did you do then?”
“Another woman. They have always been my weakness.”
“No, Rodriguez,” Venus corrected. “You’ve been their weakness.”
His hands moved down to the small of her back, very slowly peeling off her lace thong. Tossing it aside, he began kneading her bare buttocks with his masterful hands.
“Wow…” she sighed luxuriously, feeling the heat. “That’s sooo damn good.”
“I learn from the best,” Rodriguez boasted. “My father—he was the most famous masseur in Argentina. The women of Buenos Aires would do anything for my father.”
“I was thinking,” Venus Maria murmured as his fingers hit the crack, “how would you like to be in my new video?”
“Doing what?”
“Playing yourself. It’s for the song I’ve written called Sin. I see the video as being very surreal and sensual.”
“I would be honored.”
“My casting agent will call you.”
His hands were inside her thighs now, spreading her legs, delving down, exploring her most private places.
She did nothing to stop him, she needed the release.
So what if she had to pay him? That was part of the perverse thrill.
And best of all, she was in total control.
Brigette took a cab over to Luke Kasway’s studio. Nona had sounded excited on the phone, although she hadn’t revealed anything other than “Get your ass over here fast.”
She knew she wasn’t looking her best in baggy jeans and a shapeless plaid shirt, her honey-blond hair braided down her back. Fortunately, she’d just purchased a pair of cool Guess shades, so she covered her eyes with those even though it was dark out. She didn’t want Luke to be disappointed when he saw her. After all, the last time they’d met, she’d been all dressed up.
Nona was pacing the sidewalk, waiting for her.
“What’s going on?” Brigette asked, paying off the cab.
“Dunno. Luke was totally psyched when he called. Insisted on seeing us immediately.”
“Do you think he’s got a modeling job for me?”
“I bloody well hope so,” Nona said. “And even if he hasn’t, we’ll get to see the pictures. Tomorrow we’ll take ’em up to show Aurora. Now you’re back, I’ll call Michel, we’ll go see him, too.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Don’t worry, girl,” Nona said encouragingly. “We’ll get it going.”
Luke was in the middle of a session when they entered the studio. His assistant, a skinny girl in khaki overalls and scuffed combat boots, led them over to the bar and told them to wait.
Luke was busy shooting Cybil Wilde, the gorgeous blond model. Cybil wore lingerie of the see-through kind and a toothpaste-ad smile. It didn’t seem to faze her at all that the studio was packed with people.
“Who are all these bodies?” Brigette whispered.
“Ad executives, hair, makeup, stylists,” Nona replied. “When they shot my mom for Vanity Fair, there were more people than this.”
Loud rock music blasted from several speakers. A side table was set up with a full salad bar and plenty of snacks. The atmosphere was tense even though Cybil seemed to laugh a lot.
Every time Luke took a break, people sprang at Cybil, fussing with her hair, touching up her makeup, adjusting the tiny red lace bra and bikini panties that barely covered her luscious curves.
Brigette tried to imagine herself in Cybil’s place. Would it be fun? Would she like it?
When Cybil finally went off to change, Luke came over to the bar. “Hello, ladies,” he said, running a hand through his spiky hair.
“What’s the panic?” Nona asked. “You told me to get Brigette up here immediately.”
“Let me finish this gig,” Luke said. “Then I’ll take you two girls out for dinner.”
“I’m supposed to be seeing Zan later,” Nona objected. “And Brigette’s exhausted. She only just got off a plane.”
“Have Zan meet us. In fact, I want him there, too.”
“Can we at least go home and change?” Nona grumbled.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I didn’t realize this session was going to run over. Tell you what—let’s meet at Mario’s, eight o’clock. We’ll get into everything then.”
Nona frowned. “Exactly what are we getting into?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Luke replied ingenuously, like it was no big thing. “Rock ‘n’ Roll Jeans want Brigette and Zandino to carry the ad. You were right, Nona—they’re gonna be superstars!”
17
LUCKY FINISHED OFF MOST OF THE PITCHER OF margaritas before falling asleep. When she awoke she experienced a fleeting moment of confusion—where the hell was she?
Then she remembered. She was in a car with Alex Woods and they were on their way to visit Gino in Palm Springs.
She glanced over at Alex. He had the demeanor of a man who’d always gotten his own way—strong profile, rugged jawline, probably a selfish sonofabitch with women.
She couldn’t help wondering if he was a good lover.
No…too into himself.
“Hey—” she said, languidly stretching. “Where are we?”
“On the road. You drank everything in sight and fell asleep.”
She laughed softly. “It’s a habit I have.”
“That’s okay.”
“Gee…thanks,” she murmured, reaching for the pitcher of margaritas wedged precariously against the back of her seat. She took a couple of healthy swigs. “Guess I should call Gino, warn him we’re heading in his direction.”
“You didn’t call him from the restaurant?”
“Don’t sweat it, he’ll be thrilled to see us.”
“He’s your father.”
“Yeah, and he’s the greatest, although…I have to admit…we didn’t always get along.”
He had a feeling she wanted to talk. “How come?” he asked, making it easy for her.
“Gino wanted a boy. Got me instead. I turned out to be more than he could handle.” She grinned at the memories. “I was a wild child. Uncontrollable.”
“And now?”
“A mere shadow of my former self.”
“What was so wild about you, Lucky?” he asked, genuinely interested.
“Oh, the usual,” she said casually. “Ran away from school, fucked a lot of guys, tried to take over my father’s business, threatened to cut off one of his investor’s dicks if he didn’t put up the money he owed.”
“A nice, simple girl,” Alex said sarcastically.
“Trust me, it worked. When you mess with a guy’s dick, it always works.”
“And now you’re running a studio. Perfect.”
“Y’know,” she said thoughtfully, “Gino always warned me to check on everyone around me—and to double-check everyone around them. In other words”—she put on a tough guy voice—“don’t trust no one. Capishe?”
“He sounds like a smart guy.”
“Yeah,” she said ruefully. “He sure is.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“There’s nothing to tell. I’ve simply got this gut feeling that something bad is about to happen. Don’t ask me why.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Alex said, “I didn’t think nice Italian girls fuc
ked around.”
She laughed good-naturedly, “Oh, baby, baby…what a sheltered life you’ve led.”
“Me?” he said incredulously. Hadn’t she read his press clippings?
She paused and lit a cigarette. “How come out of everything I said, the only thing you commented on was that nice Italian girls aren’t supposed to screw around? Hmmm…Could it be that the bad boy of movies, Mr. Sexually Anything Goes is—deep down—dare I say it—a prude?”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
She smiled slyly. “Girls do talk, y’know. Wanna hear what the word is on you?”
He couldn’t resist falling into the trap. “What?”
Dragging on her cigarette, she blew a steady stream of smoke into his face. “Big boy on campus. Doesn’t give head.”
“Jesus!”
“Oh, sorry,” she said innocently. “Am I shocking you?”
He was completely perplexed. Lucky Santangelo was certifiably crazy.
“You say things to get a reaction, don’t you?” he asked.
“Isn’t that the whole point?”
He drove on in silence, trying to figure her out.
“Why’n’t we pull off at the next exit?” she suggested. “We’re all out of margaritas.”
Alex had to admit, he was intrigued. He had not expected Lucky to be so unpredictable. She had an aura of strength about her, as if she could handle any situation and come out on top. It was unnerving. He was not used to women who projected such confidence.
So far she hadn’t mentioned Lennie, and it didn’t seem appropriate for him to bring it up; if she wanted to talk about it, she’d no doubt do so.
He changed lanes and pulled off the freeway. The territory was desolate—there was not much going on except a gas station, a hamburger joint, and a seedy roadhouse with a neon sign flashing LIVE NAKED GIRLS
Alex slowed the car. “We’re in the wastelands,” he said. “This appears to be it.”
“Define live naked girls,” Lucky said, frowning. “Is that as opposed to dead naked girls?”
Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge Page 13