Desperate people did desperate things.
“HEY, LUCKY,” he yelled in a loud voice. “HOW YA DOIN’ TODAY, KIDDO?”
No, mustn’t call her kiddo—that’s what Gino calls her. Mustn’t get between her and Daddy.
She had a strong bond with her father. Lennie wasn’t jealous, he knew how much they’d gone through together.
“You love me even more, don’t you, babe?” he muttered feverishly. “You an’ me—we’re soul mates.” Then he began yelling again, “WHERE ARE YOU, LUCKY? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY AREN’T YOU GETTING ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE?”
Sometime in the late afternoon, he heard someone approaching. Whenever his captors came, he could make out the echo of their footsteps long before they appeared. He braced himself—ready for anything. This was it. This was the day he was either going to die or escape.
Fuck! He could feel his heart pounding in his chest—bouncing around like a Ping-Pong ball—as he waited.
He hovered in the shadows, listening as the footsteps drew closer. Tensing up, he prepared for action. All the working out he’d done had paid off—in spite of his meager diet, he was stronger than he’d been at the beginning. Stronger, and determined to survive.
When the man entered, he jumped him, taking the bastard by surprise, grabbing him around the neck with a blood-curdling scream.
Only it wasn’t the man, it was a girl, and she began screaming, too. “Aiuto mi! Aiuto mi!” The plate of food she was carrying smashed to the ground. “Aiuto mi!” she shrieked again.
She was speaking Italian, of which he knew very little—although he understood enough to know she was yelling, “Help me.” He had a firm lock around her neck. “Who are you?” he demanded savagely. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
She struggled, trying to kick back and throw him off balance. She succeeded. They fell to the ground, knocking over the pail of water that was his washing facility.
Now they were rolling in the mud, struggling for position. She was like a frightened deer, whimpering with fear.
He managed to get on top of her, pinning her arms above her head.
When he had her in position, he stared into her face, soon realizing it was the same girl he’d seen before.
She cried out in Italian. It sounded as if she were praying. “Mi lasci in pace!”
“Speak English,” he said harshly. “Parla inglese.”
“Who…who are you?” she whispered in broken English, her pretty face a mask of sheer panic.
“Who are you?” he responded.
“Furio a…a…away,” she stammered. “He say I bring food.”
“You bring me fucking food, huh? Who is Furio anyway?”
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“Who is Furio?” he repeated.
“My papa,” she whispered.
“Are you alone?” he asked.
She nodded, petrified.
“I’m a prisoner here—did you know that? Prigione.”
She tried to wriggle out from under him. The softness of her body, the smell of her, was like ripe nectar, luring him with all the comforts he’d missed.
“Do you have a key to get this off my ankle?” he demanded.
She shook her head blankly.
What was he going to do? Right now he had her in his power. But how long before he had to let go?
“You have to help me,” he said, very slowly to make sure she understood. “I’m desperate.”
“My papa…he say you bad man,” she said. “Cattivo uomo.”
“No. Not me. Your father’s the bad man. He kidnapped me. KIDNAPPED. Capisce?”
She nodded silently.
“I can’t let you go,” he said, “not until you figure a way to get me out of here. Can you do that?”
She gazed up at him.
“Can you?” he demanded. “Puo lei?”
“I try…” she said at last.
There was no way he could trust her.
Unfortunately, he had no choice.
42
THE FACT THAT MICKEY STOLLI WAS A MAJOR prick was not lost on Alex. There were dozens of men like Mickey running around Hollywood. Short, unattractive guys with a shitload of power. Guys who never got laid in high school. Guys with no fucking talent who leeched onto the true filmmakers and took credit for all the successful movies that got made.
Alex called them the Hollywood executives who didn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. Mickey Stolli was one of them.
What happened when these guys acquired power was, they made up for all their shortcomings. The movies they greenlighted were always about hookers, strippers, and beautiful girls searching for the right man to come along and save them.
Fantasy time in Hollywood. Put all your hang-ups on the screen for every poor jerk to identify with.
Some of the guys used their power to sleep with as many famous women as possible. There was one particular producer who made a lot of big-budget movies. His casting sessions were legendary—and they always took place in his home. He interviewed many important actresses. When they came to his house, he had a hidden video camera running, and if they really wanted the part in his latest epic, he ended up screwing them on film.
Saturday afternoons he entertained his male friends with his library of videos. Their wives thought they were over at his house watching football.
Other guys got power by marrying it. Mickey Stolli had married Abigaile—the granddaughter of the once big Hollywood mogul, Abe Panther. From his relationship with Abigaile, Mickey was able to parlay himself into a studio head. Not bad going.
Alex knew that to survive as a filmmaker in Hollywood he had to keep cordial relationships with these guys, otherwise he was screwed. So when Mickey Stolli came to him and announced how pleased he was that Panther was making Gangsters, Alex was sure there would be a price.
“You got an estimated budget of twenty-two million dollars,” Mickey pointed out. “That’s major, Alex.”
Alex said, “You’ll see every dime on the screen.”
“Yeah, yeah, I understand that. You’re a great filmmaker, Alex. Not good—great. I’m proud t’be associated with you.”
What the fuck does the little prick want?
“Thanks, Mickey.”
“Uh, I gotta favor t’ask.”
Here it comes. “Yes?”
“The role of Lola…put Leslie Kane in it.”
“Leslie who?” Alex said.
“She’s starred in a couple of hit movies. America loves her. Leslie’s the girl every guy wants to take home to meet Dad.”
“I was planning on casting Venus Maria.”
“Venus?” Mickey snorted. “She’s movie poison. Believe me—I should know, I’ve had her in a couple of flops.”
“She tested with Johnny, she was dynamite—this could be her breakthrough movie.”
Mickey ran a chubby hand over his bald head. “Breakthrough, schmakedo—who cares? Do me this favor with Leslie and there’ll be no grief with your budget. Are we reading each other?”
Alex didn’t say yes immediately, he told Mickey he’d think about it.
Lili got on his case big-time. “Mickey Stolli will cause us nothing but problems,” she said. “You’d better use Leslie Kane, it’s not a big role.”
“Have you ever seen her act?” Alex asked.
“She’ll be fine. It’s too late to go to another studio with Gangsters, we’re almost at our start date. You have to do this.”
Finally, he’d said yes. Now all he had to do was meet Leslie Kane and see what a big mistake he’d made.
“What?” Venus yelled. “Alex Woods cannot do this to me. The sonofabitch simply can’t do it.”
She sat in Freddie’s office, cheeks flushed with fury. Freddie had just informed her that Leslie Kane would be playing the role of Lola in Gangsters.
“I’m sorry,” Freddie said, his bland features perfectly composed. “Alex wanted you, but the studio insisted on Leslie. There’s nothing he can do.”
“Nothing he can do!” she shouted, filled with frustration. “It’s his movie, Freddie. He calls the shots. Leslie is completely wrong for the part. She’s the boring girl next door for crissake!”
Freddie shrugged. “I have three other scripts for you to read. You’ll find something you like better.”
“Oh, yeah, what?” she said sarcastically. “A Scorsese film? Something with Oliver Stone? I’m sure they can’t wait to hire me. I wanted this role.”
She left his office in a state, muttering to herself. Leslie Kane indeed. First she went after Cooper, now she had her role in Gangsters. It wasn’t fair. Mickey Stolli had screwed her again.
It hadn’t been a good week. Emilio driving her crazy with his insane demands, phoning several times a day. Then Cooper turning up at her house, begging her forgiveness. Fortunately, just when she’d begun to weaken, Rodriguez had arrived, and she’d bid Cooper a fast good-bye.
Cooper was not used to competition—especially younger, equally good-looking competition. He’d been furious.
She slumped in the back of her limo and made an impulsive decision. “Take me to Panther Studios,” she instructed her driver.
Mickey Stolli was on the phone in his office when she burst in. “Remember me?” she said, standing in front of his desk, hands on hips, glaring at him.
He glanced up, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. “Hey, Venus, baby—what’re you doing here?”
A flustered secretary followed her in. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stolli,” the secretary said. “I couldn’t stop her.”
“That’s all right, Marguerite, we’re old friends,” Mickey said, gracious for once in his life.
Mickey was fifty years old, short, bald, with a permanent suntan, all his own teeth, and a hard body thanks to daily tennis—his passion. He had a rough-edged voice tinged with memories of the Bronx only when he was angry. Recently he’d been running Orpheus Studios, but he hadn’t gotten along with the Japanese who owned it, so when Donna Landsman had approached him about returning to Panther, he’d quit immediately. Panther was his prize. His studio. Coming back was like coming home.
“I’ll call you later, Charlie,” he said into the receiver. Slamming the phone down, he gave Venus his full attention. “What can I do for you, sweetie?”
“Alex Woods wants me in Gangsters,” she said agitatedly. “I want to be in Gangsters. I did a great test, and now you’re casting that wimpy little Leslie Kane. What’s wrong with you, Mickey?”
“Leslie Kane brings ’em into the theaters. There are times Alex Woods keeps ’em out.”
“Don’t talk crap,” she snapped. “Alex is a brilliant filmmaker, and you know it.”
Mickey shrugged. “He wants Leslie. What can I tell you?”
“You’re lying, Mickey. Just because we’ve had our outs—”
“Does Freddie know you’re here?” Mickey interrupted.
“No,” Venus replied. “I figured since we had such a convoluted past together, I should come see you myself.” She leaned across his desk. His eyes feasted hungrily on her cleavage. “This role means a lot to me, Mickey. How about reconsidering?”
“What’s in it for me?” he asked, sweat beading his bald head as he watched the platinum-haired superstar show off her big tits.
She licked her full, pink lips. “What do you want to be in it for you?”
“A blow job.”
She laughed mockingly. “A blow job, Mickey? Is that all?”
He could feel the hard-on springing to life in his pants. “Do I hear a yes?” he said hopefully.
“Show me a signed contract and we’ll see.”
Mickey watched her sashay her delectable ass out the door. She was something, Venus Maria. He’d always had a hot nut for her—even when he was banging Warner Franklin, the black cop, and she’d been no slouch in the getting it up department.
Mickey fantasized about Venus on her knees in front of him, his legs spread while her blond head dipped between them, licking and sucking—doing all the things he knew she’d excel at. He got off on the picture.
He wouldn’t get anything out of Leslie. She was Abigaile’s friend, and even though he’d heard the rumors that she used to be a hooker, he wasn’t sure he believed it. Leslie was too straight.
Venus was right, Leslie was completely wrong for Alex’s film. He’d had to put the screws to Alex to get him to use her, now he could reverse them.
Hey—as the new head of Panther, he had complete autonomy. If he wanted to hire Venus Maria, he could do so. And if she wanted to give him a blow job, well…she just might get lucky.
Abigaile Stolli and Leslie lunched at the Ivy.
Leslie was her usual fresh-faced self, long red hair swept back into a girlish ponytail, a simple paisley granny dress covering her killer body. The look suited her; in spite of past indiscretions, she was still only twenty-three and had kept her innocently sexy demeanor.
Abigaile Stolli was in her early forties—a short woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and snubbed features. She was not a beauty, but Abigaile had no need to be; she was a powerful Hollywood wife with a pure bloodline. Abigaile was true Hollywood royalty.
Everyone fussed around Leslie, calling her “Miss Kane” this and “Miss Kane” that. She enjoyed every moment, and why shouldn’t she? She’d had to struggle to get where she was today.
“Thanks for your help, Abbey,” she said, raising her glass of freshly squeezed orange juice toward Abigaile, toasting her friend.
“Here’s to Gangsters,” Abigaile responded. “You’ll be wonderful in it, dear.”
“I hope I’ll get along with Alex Woods,” Leslie worried. “He has quite a reputation.”
“Any problems, go right to Mickey,” Abigaile said expansively, enjoying herself because she liked to be seen lunching with a star. “He’ll take care of Mr. Woods. Mickey runs the studio with an iron hand.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Leslie said. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy working for him again.”
“Above all—Mickey’s a professional,” Abigaile said.
A professional what? That was Leslie’s question. When she’d been married to Eddie, he’d had plenty to say about Mickey Stolli—who, at the time, was his boss at Panther. “The guy’s a thievin’, no-good, two-timing rat bastard,” Eddie had often fumed. “And he’s getting me in big trouble.”
Leslie had never found out exactly what the big trouble was, all she knew was that it had something to do with skimming money and drugs.
“By the way, dear,” Abigaile said. “We’re giving a small dinner for Donna and George Landsman tomorrow night. Just a few people. Alex Woods, Cooper Turner, Johnny Romano. We’d love you to come. And bring…” She trailed off, unable to remember the name of Leslie’s live-in—even though she’d met him on several occasions.
“Jeff,” Leslie filled in.
“Ah, yes, Jeff—of course. Can you make it?”
As if there was any way she’d miss it. “We’d be delighted,” she said.
Jeff picked her up from the restaurant in her new bronze Mercedes, happy in his role as resident stud and glorified chauffeur. It was better than going on endless auditions for pilots that never got made. Leslie didn’t feel sorry for him; if he ever became a star, Abigaile would remember his name.
“We’re going to dinner at Mickey Stolli’s tomorrow,” she informed him.
“Okay with me, hon,” he said, maneuvering the Mercedes into the flow of traffic.
I’m sure, she thought. And began planning what she’d wear to win Cooper back.
Mickey called Alex late on Monday night. “I changed my mind. If you wanna use Venus, y’can.”
“What happened?”
“It’s kind of involved—it’s gotta do with my wife and her friendship with Leslie. Listen, don’t mention to Venus or Freddie she’s got the part until I tell you. Let it hang for a few days. I’m givin’ Leslie a script she’ll like better. That way we’ll ease her out of Gangsters—no swe
at.”
Alex couldn’t believe he was putting up with this shit. “I’m not used to working like this, Mickey,” he said tightly.
“Aw, c’mon, Alex,” Mickey cajoled. “Bend a little. You’re gettin’ what you want.”
“Sure, Mickey,” he said, hating himself for kissing up. It wasn’t his style.
“Good. Oh, an’ Abigaile told me to remind you—you’re having dinner at our house tomorrow night. Leslie will be there. Act as if she’s doing Gangsters, okay?”
Alex complained to Lili, who shook her head wisely. “You have taught me much about Hollywood, Alex,” she said. “One of the things you impressed upon me was never to ask a question when you already know the answer.”
“Okay, Lili, okay.” He went into his office and shut the door. Every day he interviewed dozens of actors for minor roles. His casting people made recommendations, then they’d bring five or six actors in to try out for each role. Alex saw them all personally. It was time-consuming, but he refused to work any other way.
He had a few minutes before the casting calls started, so he picked up the phone and tried Lucky again. He’d been calling her constantly, getting nothing but her answering machine. He’d heard about Gino being shot, and he was anxious to find out more. He also wanted to make sure she was all right, and to let her know that he was there for her. Even if she didn’t want a relationship, he could still be her friend.
This time an actual human being answered the phone.
“Alex Woods calling for Lucky Santangelo,” he said.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Woods, she’s stepped out.”
“Who’s this?”
“Kyoko, her assistant.”
He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “Hey, Kyoko, I’ve been trying to reach her for a week now. Have her call me back.”
“Yes, Mr. Woods.”
“She can find me at my office or my house.” He put the phone down. What was it about Lucky that he found so attractive?
Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge Page 30