Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  “You know exactly, Ron. Harris Von Steppe is old, boring, and controlling. You’re too young to hang out with the over-the-hill gang.”

  “He’s an extremely powerful man,” Ron said.

  She stopped walking and stared at him challengingly. “You’ve got a great career going, why do you feel you need a powerful man behind you?”

  “Hmm…” Ron said, unable to come up with a suitable reply.

  “Listen, Ron,” she continued, “I learned a lesson when I dumped Cooper. I could have stayed and accepted his infidelities. Instead, I decided to be true to myself. It works.”

  “And you don’t miss Cooper?”

  “No,” she lied. “Anthony’s joining us for lunch. Ask him out for a drink later. What’ve you got to lose?”

  There was a pizza restaurant in the shopping complex beneath the studio. Everyone convened there for lunch.

  Venus commandeered a corner table with Ron, Anthony, and Dorian. “Three fags and a superstar,” she joked. “Who’s the odd one out?”

  “It’s always you,” Ron remarked sagely.

  “Talking of odd ones out,” she said, “guess who turned up at my house last night?”

  “Let me see,” Ron said, waspishly. “Pacino? Stallone? De Niro? Stop me when I’m getting warm.”

  “Try Emilio.”

  “He’s back?”

  “Unfortunately. I had to give him a thousand bucks to get rid of him.”

  “Mistake.”

  “He wouldn’t have left otherwise. I told him I was calling the police, and he said, ‘Go ahead.’ I didn’t know what to do.”

  Ron nodded. “The truth is, you’re screwed. If you let him back in, he sells everything about you to the tabloids, and if you shut him out, he’s still got a story.”

  “Maybe my lawyer can get him to sign a release saying he can’t sell anything to the press if I pay him a couple of thousand bucks a month. What do you think?” she asked hopefully.

  “I think Emilio is about as trustworthy as a rabid dog.”

  Rodriguez appeared at the door of the restaurant, pausing for effect.

  “Take a look at that,” Ron said, staring admiringly.

  “That, my dear,” Venus said with a possessive smile, “is Rodriguez. My Rodriguez.”

  Lucky awoke with a start. She’d fallen asleep by the pool. Gino was still out with Maria, Cee Cee had taken baby Gino inside for his nap, and Paige had gone off to the golf club for lunch.

  God! Falling asleep in the middle of the day. What was happening to her?

  The sun was impossibly hot. She stood up, feeling slightly dizzy, and dove into the pool, swimming several lengths before surfacing.

  This was insane. Her life was falling to pieces and she was sitting around a pool in Palm Springs getting a tan. When Gino arrived home, she’d tell him she’d been summoned to an urgent meeting in L.A. and had to leave immediately. The children could stay, there was no need for them to rush back.

  Boogie hadn’t called. It was unlike him to lag behind on an assignment. He’d better have plenty to tell her tomorrow, because she was getting extremely restless.

  She got out of the pool and went over to the bar where she fixed herself a Scotch on the rocks.

  Great! Now she was drinking in the middle of the day. Could things get any worse?

  Picking up her purse, she extracted a cigarette, and without really thinking, opened the zippered compartment where she kept the photographs of Lennie she’d found in his hotel room.

  She took them out and stared at them.

  Why torture yourself? a little voice screamed in her head. Why not tear them up and throw them away?

  No. There was something about the pictures. Something not quite right…

  She kept staring at them. What was it that bothered her? Was it the blond? The way Lennie was standing? He seemed almost startled as the blond wrapped her naked body around him.

  It was time to find out exactly what Lennie had done on the day before the accident. She had a feeling it was important to know.

  Alex sat at an outdoor patio table at The Four Seasons with Dominique and Tin Lee. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Somehow it all seemed to have been arranged without him. “You’re taking your mother to lunch on Sunday,” Lili had informed him. “With Tin Lee.”

  If he was forced to see Dominique, he may as well have Tin Lee along, so he’d agreed.

  When he’d arrived, both women were already sitting at a table, chatting away. His mother appeared quite cheerful for a change.

  Tin Lee was positively glowing. “Alex,” she said, jumping up and kissing him on the cheek.

  “You look tired,” Dominique said, her critical eye sweeping over him.

  Ah, yes, that was his mother—quick with the compliments as usual.

  “I’m in preproduction,” he pointed out. “There’s always too much to do. I need another ten hours a day.”

  “I’ve left several messages over the last few days,” Dominique said, concerned only with herself.

  Didn’t she listen to him? “Been busy,” he explained again, signaling the waiter and ordering a vodka martini.

  “It’s lunchtime,” Dominique pointed out, crimson lips pressed together in silent disapproval.

  “Hey—guess what?” he said dryly. “I’m over twenty-one.”

  “And you look it,” she responded.

  Tin Lee placed her hand on his arm. “Alex, it is so good to be here with you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You see,” said Dominique as if she were personally responsible for Tin Lee’s feelings. “The poor girl has missed you.”

  “Thank you for the beautiful roses,” Tin Lee said. “And your nice note. I’m sorry you had to stay in Las Vegas. If you had asked me, Alex, I would have flown up there to keep you company.”

  He wasn’t impressed that his mother and transient girlfriend were obviously bonding.

  “Tin Lee and I have been talking,” Dominique said. “Did you know, Alex, that she comes from a very good family in Saigon? Her father was a surgeon.”

  “Before the troubles,” Tin Lee said quickly. “I was a baby when the troubles began.”

  “That’s irrelevant, dear,” Dominique said, quieting her with a look. “The point is, you are well bred.”

  Tin Lee nodded. The waiter came over with menus. Alex ordered eggs, potato pancakes, and smoked salmon.

  “Fattening,” Dominique said disapprovingly. “You’re putting on weight, Alex. You should be on a diet, you’re of an age where you could get heart disease.”

  Jesus Christ! Why did he have to put up with this shit?

  Somehow or other he managed to get through lunch.

  When the waiter served coffee, Tin Lee stood up and said, “I’m going to the little girls’ room.”

  As soon as she left the table, his mother started. He was expecting the usual complaints. Instead, she said, “Alex, you’ve finally made an excellent choice.”

  “Excuse me?” he said, by this time on his third martini.

  She patted her lips with a napkin, leaving a deep crimson stain. “Tin Lee is an extremely smart girl from a good family.”

  Was he hearing right? “Huh?”

  “It’s time you were married. This is the girl for you.”

  Was she fucking crazy?

  “I’ve no intention of getting married,” he said, almost choking on his martini.

  “You’re forty-seven,” Dominique admonished. “People are starting to talk.”

  “Yeah? What’re they talking about?” he asked belligerently.

  “A woman at my bridge club asked me the other day if you were gay.”

  “Gay!” he exclaimed. “Are you fucking out of your mind?”

  “Kindly do not use foul language in front of me,” she said haughtily. “I do not appreciate it.”

  “Listen,” he said, endeavoring to remain calm. “I am not getting married, so banish that thought. Besides, what happened to ‘All A
sian women are hookers’?”

  “Tin Lee is a very nice girl,” Dominique repeated. “You could do a lot worse.”

  “I’ve met an American woman I like,” he muttered.

  Now why had he told her that? She didn’t deserve any information about his life.

  “Who is she?” Dominique asked, quick to pounce.

  “Nobody you know,” he responded vaguely.

  “I’m fond of Tin Lee. She’s young and pretty. She’ll make a good mother for your children. I’m ready for grandchildren, Alex. You’re depriving me.”

  It was always about her. “Hey, Ma,” he said roughly. “I got news for you. Tin Lee ain’t in the running.”

  Dominique gave him a crushing look. “It’s time you grew up, Alex.”

  “No,” he exploded. “It’s time you minded your own fucking business and left me alone.”

  And with that he got up and walked out.

  Lucky was on her way inside from the pool, when Inca, the housekeeper, ran from the house, flapping her hands in the air.

  “Miss Lucky! Miss Lucky!” she yelled hysterically. “Important telephone!”

  “Calm down, Inca. What is it?”

  “Miss Lucky—come quick! Come quick! The man on the phone—he say Mr. Gino—he’s been shot.”

  37

  EVER SINCE THE NIGHT AT MICHEL’S APARTMENT, Brigette had managed to avoid seeing him or Robertson. It hadn’t been easy, but somehow or other she’d done it.

  The photo session for the cover of MONDO had gone well. Antonio had behaved himself—in fact, he was quite charming in a “gay Italian star photographer” way. Score one for Brigette.

  Parker had been most impressed. “He sees stardom in your future,” she’d informed her. “Otherwise he’d shred you with his Cuisinart tongue—adorable little queen that he is.”

  After the Antonio session she’d spent several days doing a series of promotional photos for the Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans campaign with Luke. He was a delight to work with; the more she got to know him, the more comfortable she felt in his presence.

  Nona kept on mentioning that Michel wanted to get together. She’d nodded and said, “Yeah, sure, we’ll do it.” But she never allowed Nona to pin her down to a date.

  She refused to attend Nona’s parents’ party. Instead, she stayed with her grandmother, Charlotte, for a few days in her Park Avenue apartment.

  It was not an enjoyable experience. Charlotte was a social shark. All she did was attend numerous parties, luncheons, and spend the rest of her time shopping for an even more extensive wardrobe. It wasn’t Brigette’s scene.

  Without telling anyone, she found a realtor and rented her own apartment. “I’m moving out,” she informed Nona over breakfast the next day.

  Nona put down the New York Times. “You’re doing what?”

  “It doesn’t work—you, me, and Zan living together.”

  “Why not?”

  “I need to be by myself.”

  “If that’s what you want…” Nona said unsurely, thinking that since Brigette had signed the big jeans contract, she’d changed.

  Brigette was disappointed that Isaac hadn’t come through with a gun. She called him. “Well?” she demanded aggressively. “What’s happening?”

  “Hey—girl, cool it—I’m tryin’….”

  “Either you can get it or you can’t,” she said flatly.

  “I might have somethin’ by tonight. Wanna meet?”

  “Okay,” she agreed, surprising herself.

  There was no reason for her to sit alone in her apartment when she could go out and have a good time.

  She was ruined goods anyway. Whatever she did—it didn’t matter anymore.

  School made Santo physically sick. He hated everything about it—the students, the teachers, the work; as far as he was concerned, everybody was shit. Whenever possible, he cut class and roamed around Westwood, visiting the movie theaters, catching all the latest films. What did grades matter anyway? He had plenty of money—one of these days when his mother dropped, he’d inherit everything.

  Sometimes he fantasized about what life would be like after Donna was gone. He’d have the big house, the cars, the money. He’d be able to do whatever he liked.

  Of course, if George was still around, he’d be a problem. The ideal situation would be for the two of them to go together. In fact, he wouldn’t mind blowing them away himself—taking a shotgun and zooming the two of them into oblivion.

  He had a gun—a Luger pistol he’d bought from a boy at school who was desperate for money. He kept it hidden under his mattress along with a box of bullets. Anything was available at school, at lunch break the school yard was a virtual bazaar of drugs, weapons, porno magazines, and videos.

  Mohammed, the nephew of an Arab potentate, was a one-man pharmacy. He could supply anything—Quaaludes, Valium, Librium, Halcion, coke, speedballs, grass. Another boy, son of an action-movie star, was into weapons—Uzis, pistols, semiautomatics. He was capable of filling any order.

  “I wanna buy a shotgun,” Santo told him.

  “You got it,” the boy said. “Gimme a coupla days.”

  A shotgun would be useful to have, then maybe one night, when George came home late from one of his business trips, he’d go downstairs and blow the miserable old bastard away.

  Jeez, Ma—sorry. Mistook him for an intruder.

  That would settle George—get him out of the way permanently.

  Mohammed was busy doling out drugs in a corner of the yard. Santo sidled over, scoring his weekly supply of grass. “Gimme some coke, too,” he requested.

  “Didn’t know you were into coke,” Mohammed said, his Middle Eastern face impassive. He didn’t do drugs himself, only sold them.

  “Figured I’d try something stronger.”

  “Something stronger?” Mohammed said, stroking his chin. “Smoke heroin, s’better than crack.”

  “Never tried either.”

  “Then it’s time. Girls get off on it.”

  “I’m buying a Ferrari,” Santo boasted, hoping to impress.

  Mohammed nodded. “Nice wheels. Got one myself.”

  Santo said, “Yeah. Beats the shit outta my Corvette.”

  Mohammed said, “We gotta go drag racing one day.”

  “Yeah,” Santo agreed.

  His first friend. It felt good.

  Once a week, at a prearranged time, Donna’s brother, Bruno, phoned to assure her everything was all right. This week he hadn’t called, and Donna was nervous.

  The thought of Lennie escaping always lurked in the back of her mind. Even though she knew it was unlikely, because the caves were like a maze—impossible to get out of if you didn’t know the way. And even if he did escape, he was too far from anywhere to summon help.

  Still…Bruno not calling was worrisome.

  Just as she was beginning to panic, Furio phoned to inform her that Bruno had been in a car accident, but she was not to worry, that he, Furio, was taking care of everything while Bruno was in the hospital with a broken arm and leg.

  Talking to her lost love was strange. She remembered him so vividly, and yet he had no connection to the woman she was today.

  She had an empire. Furio had nothing. The love they’d once shared no longer existed.

  She was still flush from her triumph over Lucky Santangelo. Sitting in Lucky’s office and firing her had been one of the best moments she’d ever experienced.

  Lucky, who considered herself such a winner, was a winner no more. Donna had reduced her to a loser in every way.

  She’d taken her husband.

  She’d taken her studio.

  And today she was taking her father.

  Yes, revenge—Sicilian style—was extremely sweet.

  38

  IT WAS UNBELIEVABLE. GINO HAD BEEN SHOT.

  As soon as Lucky established what had happened, and found out that Maria was unhurt and safely in police custody, she raced to the hospital, desperately trying to contact Paige
on the car phone—reaching her at last and telling her to get to the hospital as fast as possible.

  When she arrived, Gino was being wheeled into surgery. “Ohmigod!” she exclaimed, leaning over the gurney taking him into the emergency operating room. “Daddy…Daddy…”

  Gino had the strength of a horse; he was still alive and talking. “The bastards…finally…got…me,” he gasped in a strange, gurgly voice.

  She clutched his hand, running alongside the gurney. “Who finally got you?” she asked urgently. “Tell me who?”

  “Dunno,” he mumbled. “I’m an old man. Thought the wars were long over…” He trailed off, unable to continue. Blood bubbled from a corner of his mouth, trickling down his chin.

  She tried to remain calm. “Where was he hit?” she asked the doctor.

  “Missed his heart by a fraction of an inch,” the doctor replied. “The other bullet’s in his thigh.”

  Her throat was dry with the fear of losing him, but she said it anyway. “Will he make it?”

  “We’ll do our best.”

  What if their best wasn’t good enough?

  What if her father died?

  It was unthinkable.

  She left the hospital and broke all records driving to the police station to fetch Maria. Her little daughter was sitting forlornly in a corner of the precinct room, thumb stuck firmly in her mouth, eyes wide with fright, clutching the leash of a frisky Labrador puppy. “Mommy, Mommy!” she cried, jumping up when she spotted Lucky. “Bad man shot Grandpa! Baaad!”

  “I know, sweetie, I know,” she said, picking Maria up and hugging her tight. “How did it happen?” she said, turning to the policeman on duty.

  “Our report says Mr. Santangelo was walking to his car in the open parking lot of the shopping mall. According to eyewitnesses, a man came from out of nowhere and fired two shots at him. Then the perpetrator took off in an unmarked car and a shopkeeper called the police.”

  “Was it a robbery?”