Her spirit. She was a wild one, just like him.
And he yearned to get to know her better.
They were in Brigette’s apartment, arguing. Nona had turned up unexpectedly, and Brigette wasn’t pleased.
“What?” she said irritably.
“I’d like to know what your problem is?” Nona repeated. “You’ve become a total pain in the ass.”
“Why am I a pain in the ass?” Brigette said. “Just because I don’t do everything you want me to?”
“You don’t do a thing I suggest. I’m supposed to be your manager, Michel’s your agent, and you refuse to have anything to do with either of us.”
“I have my reasons,” Brigette said mysteriously, not wanting to get into it on account of a lousy hangover.
“What reasons?” Nona demanded. “Isaac—whom you can’t seem to live without anymore? You’re out every morning ’til four or five, then you sleep all day. Your career is just getting started, Brigette. Now’s the time to work it.”
“I can do whatever I want,” Brigette replied truculently. “Nobody owns me.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t need this modeling crap if I don’t want to do it.”
Nona sighed her displeasure. “Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it? Coming from the girl who was all starry-eyed and would do anything to get on the cover of MONDO. Now you’re suddenly into ‘I don’t need this modeling crap’ bit. Hey—I can walk away from it, too, if that’s what you’d like.”
“Okay, walk,” Brigette said. All she wanted to do was crash into bed and sleep for a week—maybe forever.
“I don’t get it,” Nona said, shaking her head. “Did something happen I don’t know about?”
Brigette turned away from her and went into the kitchen.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Nona said, following her.
As each day passed, Brigette was becoming increasingly unhappy. She couldn’t keep it to herself any longer. “Look,” she said, turning back to Nona, speaking furiously. “Nothing happened that you didn’t warn me about.”
“So something did happen—I’m right. Is it Isaac?”
“Michel,” Brigette muttered, sitting down at the counter.
“What did he do?”
“I can’t tell you,” Brigette said, laying her head on her arms.
Nona went over to her and put her arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, Brig, it can’t be that bad.”
“You warned me he was a sleaze.”
“So? He made a pass at you? Big deal. I’m sure you handled it.”
“It’s worse than that,” Brigette said, her eyes downcast. “He tied me up—spread-eagled like a chicken, and then brought Robertson in to do all these things to me while he watched and took photographs. It was the most degrading thing I’ve ever experienced. Why do you think I don’t want anything to do with him?”
“Oh, God, Brigette. How come you didn’t tell me about this before? We could’ve reported him to the police.”
“Oh, yeah—I can see the headlines now. Heiress tied up and forced to experience lesbian sex. Don’t you understand—it would ruin my life if this got out.”
“I’m so sorry…I had no clue…”
“I guess I’m just unlucky with men.”
“What a fucking bastard!”
“Nona,” Brigette said urgently. “You’ve got to promise me you won’t tell anybody, not even Zan.”
“You know I’m your friend, but we’ve got to do something. We can’t let him get away with it.”
“What?” Brigette asked despairingly. “He’s got photos…”
“You know who we should tell?” Nona said.
“Who?”
“Lucky. You’ve always said she can deal with anything. She’ll know what to do.”
“I can’t tell Lucky.”
“Why?”
“Lucky’s got her own problems right now—what with Gino getting shot, and losing the studio…. I can’t lay this on her.”
“Lennie would want you to. Listen, we could fly to L.A. immediately.”
“It’s too humiliating.”
“Surely you feel better now you’ve told me?”
“Yes…”
“Well, think how you’ll feel when you tell Lucky, and she does something about it.”
“Oh, God, Nona, why did he do it?”
“Because he’s a sick pervert who deserves to get his. Now you’ve got to listen to me, my idea’s the right one. We go to Lucky. I’ll fly to L.A. with you.”
Brigette nodded. “Maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right. We’re getting on a plane first thing tomorrow.”
43
WHILE KYOKO WAS TAKING CARE OF THE MAIL, Lucky studied the call sheet from Lennie’s movie, ticking off the people she wished to talk to. Dealing with Lennie’s death was private business, something she had to look after on her own.
First she called Ross Vendors, the Australian director. He was at home in Bel Air, between jobs. Ross told her how sorry he was about Lennie, that he’d been so great in his movie—and any time she wanted to view the half-finished assemblage of film, it was fine with him.
“I was wondering,” she said tentatively. “How did Lennie spend the day before the accident?”
“He was in great shape, Lucky,” Ross said in his booming “one of the boys” Australian twang. “All he could talk about was you flying in the next day, he couldn’t wait. In fact, he drove us all nutty—‘Lucky will be here tomorrow…love her so much…never thought marriage would be like this….’ I’m telling you—the man wouldn’t shut up.”
She smiled softly. “Really?”
“I would’ve told you this before, only I didn’t like to disturb you in your time of grief.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Ross.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “Uh…maybe you can tell me—who did Lennie hang out with on the set?”
“Lennie didn’t really hang out. He dropped by the hotel bar a few times after work, but mostly he went to his room and studied his script. Jennifer was the only one who had a lot of contact with him.”
“Jennifer?” she asked, sounding casual, although her heart began pounding uncontrollably.
“Our second AD,” Ross said. “Great kid. She fussed over Lennie. Made sure he got to the set on time, that his car was there whenever he needed it. In fact, on the day before you arrived, she got his call changed so he could go to the airport to meet you.”
“Oh, yes…Jennifer, I think I do know her.” Another pause. “She’s a pretty blond, right?”
“That’s our Jennifer. Cute girl.”
Yeah. Especially naked, in my husband’s arms.
She scanned the crew list until she found the name Jennifer Barron. Then she called the number listed.
An answering machine picked up. “Hi, this is Jennifer. If you need to reach me, I’m working on The Marriage at Star Studios for the next six weeks. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Lucky phoned Star Studios, got through to the production office of The Marriage, and spoke to an assistant.
“The whole crew’s on location,” the assistant said. “They’re shooting down at Paradise Cove.”
Paradise Cove was ten minutes away from her house. She told Kyoko she had to run out, informed the guard she would not be needing him, jumped in her car, and drove there.
The huge parking area above Paradise Cove beach was filled with enormous location trucks and luxurious trailers. She parked her Ferrari, got out, and walked around. “Where is everyone?” she asked a passing extra.
“They’re on the beach, shooting the wedding scene.”
She made her way down toward the beach, going by the Kraft service setup and a gaggle of extras stuffing their faces with free snacks.
What if Jennifer was the blond from the photographs? What was she going to say to her? What was she going to do?
You bitch, you were fucking my husband!
&nb
sp; No. All she wanted to ask was why—nothing more.
The crew were up ahead on the sand—everyone running around preparing for the next shot, everyone except the actors, who were sitting in a row in their personal director’s chairs—makeup, hair, and various assistants hovering in attendance.
“Excuse me,” she said, stopping a grip. “Can you point me in the direction of Jennifer Barron? I think she’s one of the ADs.”
He gestured to the lineup of actors. “She’s over there, talking to Sammy Albert.”
“Thanks.”
Thirteen years ago, Sammy Albert had been the hottest actor in town, now he was king of the second-rate features—a faded star with a bad hairpiece and bleached teeth. Lucky had never met him, although she certainly knew who he was.
More important to her was the blond standing next to his chair. The girl was in disguise. Baseball cap, dark shades, an L.A. hard body in brief shorts and a T-shirt. Lucky had no idea if it was the woman from the photographs or not.
She strode over and tapped the girl on the shoulder. “Jennifer?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Lucky Santangelo. You were working on my husband’s movie in Corsica. Lennie Golden.”
“That’s right.”
“Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Sure.”
They sat on the sand under a shady palm tree.
“Jennifer,” Lucky said, choosing her words carefully. “Everyone’s told me how…close you and Lennie were on the location. Well…what I need to know is—exactly how close?”
Jennifer was startled. “You think there was something going on between me and Lennie?” she exclaimed. “All he ever spoke about was you, Lucky.” She hesitated. “Is it okay if I call you Lucky?”
“Go ahead.”
The girl was obviously flustered. “Where did you get the idea Lennie and I had something going?”
“I, uh…saw the pictures,” Lucky said.
Jennifer looked puzzled. “What pictures?”
Reaching into her purse, Lucky undid the zippered compartment and produced the photo of Lennie with the blond on the set. “This is you without the hat and glasses, right?” she said, handing it to Jennifer.
Jennifer studied the photo and burst out with relieved laughter. “That silicone babe—are you kidding me?”
“It’s not you?” Lucky asked.
“No way,” Jennifer said vehemently. “It’s some dumb bimbo who kept trailing Lennie around the set.”
“Was she working on the movie?”
“She was an extra,” Jennifer said, adding a thoughtful, “Y’know, a funny thing—Lennie called me to find out her name the night before he was killed.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know. I was joking with him—I said something like, ‘Sure you don’t want her measurements and diaphragm size, too?’ Uh…just my sense of humor, Lucky. Lennie got it.”
“What did he say?”
“As far as I remember, he said, ‘It’s not what you think.’” Jennifer took the picture and looked at it again. “Where’s her boyfriend? He was there when it was taken. Somebody’s cut him out.” She shook her head. “I’m telling you, Lennie didn’t even know her.”
“But he did ask you her name?”
“She was on his case,” Jennifer said. “Earlier in the evening he said she’d called him in his room.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He told her to get lost.”
“Do you think he could’ve changed his mind later?”
“I doubt it. You know your husband—he wasn’t into anyone except you. And if he was planning a one-night stand with this blond, he’d hardly ask me for her name and number. He must have had another reason for doing so.”
Lucky reached into her purse and took out the other photographs. “These were in his room,” she said, handing them to Jennifer. “When I arrived, it looked as if a woman had spent the night.”
Jennifer stared at the photos for a moment. “I don’t get it,” she said, puzzled. “Why would he be with a naked woman in the doorway of his hotel room? It seems more like he’s trying to push her away.”
“Do you think so?”
“Take another look.”
Jennifer was right. It did seem as if Lennie was trying to push her away. Why hadn’t she noticed before?
Because you were too busy getting pissed off.
“How can I find out who she is?”
“My friend Ricco was responsible for hiring the extras. I heard he’s working on a movie in Rome now, I’ll call him—maybe he can help.” She paused a moment before continuing. “Y’know, Lucky, your husband was my favorite. I’m so used to movie stars hitting on me—it’s always, ‘Come on, baby, how about a blow job?’ I used to joke with Lennie that he was the only one who never came on to me.”
“You’ve been a big help, Jennifer. Here’s my home number, as soon as you find out anything, call me.”
“I will.” She glanced up. “Oh, God! Watch out. Here comes Sammy Albert. When he heard your name, he was in heat.”
“Surely he knows I’m not the head of a studio anymore?” Lucky said dryly.
“Guess not,” Jennifer said with a sly smile. “And I’m not telling him!”
“Lucky Santangelo,” Sammy said, clapping his hand on her shoulder. “You’re some gutsy gal. I’ve always had a thing about meeting you.”
“Sammy Albert,” she said, copying his tone. “I’m a big fan.”
“Of course you are,” he joked. “To what do we owe the honor of your visiting our humble set?”
“I live nearby.”
“Does that mean lunch at your house?” he said with a knowing wink.
Sometimes she hated actors! They honestly believed that all women were theirs for the taking. “You’ll have to excuse me, Sammy, I’m late for an appointment.”
“Shame.”
“It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“My pleasure, babe,” he said with another knowing wink.
Back at the house, she checked on Gino in Palm Springs. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Bettin’ the ball games, what else?”
“Are you bored?”
“Naw…bored is for chickenshits,” he said, chuckling. “What’s happenin’ there? Anythin’ I should know about?”
“I’m waiting for Boogie to get me all the information.”
His tone became serious. “Remember what I said, kiddo—ya gotta be careful.”
Boogie arrived promptly at six. “Come out to the garage, Lucky,” he said.
“What’s going on, Boog?”
“You’ll see.”
She followed him through the house, out a side door to the garage.
Tied to a chair, his arms and legs bound, a gag in his mouth, was a small, weasel-faced man with a bad case of the out-of-control sweats. He wore a mud-brown suit, black shoes, and a grubby yellow T-shirt. His hair, what there was of it, lingered around his shoulders in greasy ringlets.
“Meet Sami the Mutt,” Boogie said. “He’s the fuckhead responsible for pumping two bullets into Gino. Here”—Boogie reached into his belt and handed Lucky his gun—“in case you feel like using it.”
Sami’s eyes almost popped out of his head.
Lucky knew the game Boogie was playing. She weighed the gun in her hands, staring threateningly at Sami the Mutt. “Maybe I should put one right between your shriveled-up balls,” she said, as cool as ice. “What do you think, Sami? Retribution for my father?”
Sami struggled in the chair, making panicked gurgling noises.
Boogie strolled over to him, slid a knife from his pocket, and cut the gag from Sami’s mouth.
“I was doin’ a job, I was hired t’do a job,” Sami said, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to explain. “If I’d known the mark was Gino Santangelo, I wouldn’t have touched him.”
Lucky continued to stare at him, lacerating him with her deadly black eyes. “Who hired you?�
� she said.
“I dunno…some guy in a bar gave me cash. Din’t know the hit was Gino Santangelo.”
“You’re full of crap,” Lucky said. “You knew who it was. You went out and shot my father for money. What kind of a dumb shit are you?” She lifted the gun, pointing it directly at his crotch.
He peed in his pants.
“Not such a big man now, huh?” Lucky said. “How much were you paid?”
“Four thou—cash,” Sami muttered, hanging his head.
“And who did you say hired you?” Lucky repeated, not lowering the gun.
“Some guy in a bar.”
“In L.A.?” Boogie said.
“Yeah, there’s this strip joint near the airport. This guy—he comes in there sometimes.”
“What’s his name?”
“Dunno.” He looked at Boogie pleadingly. “Can you get her t’put the gun down?”
“I suggest you find out,” Lucky said, deliberately calm. “Because if I don’t have his name by tomorrow, I’m shooting your scrawny little balls all the way to Cuba. And believe me—I’ve done it before.”
“You and I—we’re leaving now,” Boogie said, going over and putting a blindfold on Sami. “Miz Santangelo is giving you twenty-four hours to come up with a name. I’m driving you back to town and letting you loose. I’ll bring you back here tomorrow—same time. And you will have a name for her.”
Lucky returned to the house. She felt nauseated. So many memories drifting back to haunt her. Memories of her childhood, men coming to the house, Gino in whispered conversations, the knowledge that she was different from other little girls because her daddy spent half his life on a plane back and forth to Las Vegas. And then her mother’s brutal murder. Gino was in Vegas when it happened. She was at home.
Was there anything she could have done to save her beautiful mother?
No.
At times the guilt was so overwhelming it almost suffocated her.
She’d gotten revenge years later.
Now she’d have to do it again.
It was a grim thought.
Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge Page 31