Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  44

  ABIGAILE SET A GOOD TABLE. SHE LOVED ENTERTAINING stars, it was her favorite pastime—a pastime at which she excelled. Giving a dinner party for Donna and George Landsman seemed appropriate, since Donna was technically Mickey’s new boss. Not that Abigaile had ever heard of the Landsmans, but so what? In Hollywood, if you had money, you could rise to the top extremely quickly.

  Her guest list was stellar. It included Cooper Turner, who had not revealed whom he was bringing, and Johnny Romano, who’d told her secretary he’d be accompanied by a date but had not supplied her with a name.

  What did these men do—call a woman half an hour before they left their house, and tell her to put on a dress? Whatever happened to social niceties?

  Alex Woods was bringing someone by the name of Tin Lee, and Leslie Kane would be with her live-in boyfriend.

  Donna Landsman’s secretary had called yesterday to say that Donna would have her sixteen-year-old son with her. This absolutely infuriated Abigaile, she certainly didn’t want some unknown teenager sitting at her table. Besides, it ruined her table placement.

  Graciously she’d said it was okay, then told her own daughter, Tabitha, who was also sixteen, that she would have to attend the dinner with them.

  Tabitha, home on vacation from her Swiss boarding school, pulled an uncooperative face. “C’mon, Mom,” she complained, “have I really gotta sit down with a bunch of boring old farts?”

  “I would hardly call Cooper Turner, Alex Woods, and Johnny Romano boring old farts,” Abigaile said frostily, annoyed by her daughter’s lack of respect.

  “I would,” Tabitha groaned. “Why can’t you invite Sean Penn instead?”

  Tabitha was a problem. At fourteen she’d run off with an eighteen-year-old Hispanic waiter; at fifteen she’d accidentally set the house on fire during a wild party while her parents were on vacation; and at sixteen she’d insisted on having her nose fixed, her hair streaked magenta, and several unspeakable body piercings. Quite frankly, Abigaile didn’t know what to do with her.

  It was only ten A.M., but Abigaile insisted her maids prepare everything early just to make sure there were no mistakes. She personally inspected her dining-room table—a perfect fantasy of crisp beige linens, expensive crystal, and fine old Victorian silver. “Very nice, Consuela,” she told her housekeeper.

  Abigaile considered herself one of the great Hollywood hostesses. Her dinner parties were legendary, and a ticket to the Stollis’ was a much sought after invitation. She recalled with a small triumphant smile the party she’d thrown a couple of years ago, when a certain black politician and an extremely famous feminist had gotten into a screaming match across the table.

  “Cunt!” the black politician had screamed at the feminist.

  “What did you call me, you black prick?” the feminist had screamed back at him.

  And from there it had turned into a wild free-for-all. The two of them had run from the Stollis’ house, yelling at each other all the way. According to the servants, they’d then proceeded to make out in the back of the politician’s limo. That particular dinner party was the talk of L.A. for months.

  Yes…Abigaile certainly knew how to throw a party.

  She continued smiling to herself at the memory and left the dining room. She had much to do before sitting down with her guests. Manicure, waxing, pedicure, facial, hairdresser, yoga, Pilatus, a fitting at Nolan’s…Abigaile didn’t know how she managed to fit it all in.

  “How about stepping out with me tonight?”

  “Who is this?” Venus mumbled into the phone, barely awake. She’d kill Anthony for putting a call through to her this early.

  “It’s Johnny, baby.”

  Her mind refused to function. “Johnny?”

  “Hello—Johnny Romano. What planet are you zoomin’ on today?”

  “Oh, Johnny, sorry, it’s early…. I was asleep.”

  “It’s past noon, baby.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Check it out.”

  She groped for her bedside clock and was amazed to see that it was indeed twelve-fifteen. She must have needed the sleep, usually she was up at seven.

  “Whaddya say, baby?” Johnny persisted. “Dinner at Mickey Stolli’s? There’s no one I’d sooner take than you.”

  “Who’ll be there?” she said sleepily.

  “It’s a dinner for the broad who took over Panther,” Johnny said. “Got no idea who’s invited. Maybe Alex.”

  It occurred to Venus that he hadn’t heard she wasn’t playing Lola. She decided not to tell him, although it might be a good idea to elicit his support. She could always tell him later, if she agreed to go.

  “I’m not sure if I can make it,” she said, giving herself time to think.

  “Hey—c’mon, babycakes,” he urged. “You an’ me—we’re an explosion waitin’ to happen. Let’s do it.”

  “If I go with you, it’s a strictly platonic deal—get that straight up front. I’m not one of your legion of open-legged starlets begging for action.”

  “Hey, why d’you think I’m into you?” he said indignantly. “You ain’t easy. I go for that in a woman. It’s an unusual thing.” He paused. “’Course, it beats me how you’re able to resist me.”

  “Y’know what, Johnny?” she said caustically. “I’ll try my hardest.”

  “Is that a yes, baby?”

  She yawned. “It’s a maybe. Call back in an hour.”

  “Venus, Venus,” he sighed. “You’re a difficult one.”

  Why was she even considering it?

  Because she wanted to see Mickey again, and if Alex was there, that would be even better.

  She buzzed Anthony. “How come nobody woke me?”

  “You left a note last night,” Anthony said. “‘Not to be disturbed before noon.’”

  “I did?”

  “You certainly did. Rodriguez called three times. He wants to know when you’ll be viewing your video, said he’d like to see it with you.”

  “I bet,” she replied, deciding that Rodriguez was getting to be too much of a good thing. “Do I have any appointments, Anthony?”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Cancel everything. I’m taking today off. My plan is to sit by my pool, eat whatever I want, and do absolutely nothing. Wait a couple of hours, then call Johnny Romano and tell him I’ll go to the Stollis’ dinner tonight. Find out what the dress is, and what time he’ll pick me up.”

  Yes, she decided, it would be good to confront Alex Woods and Mickey Stolli in the flesh. Remind them that she was Lola, and that they were making a big mistake by casting anyone else.

  45

  “HI,” SAID LUCKY.

  “Hi,” said the girl in the revealing bra top and ripped denim shorts, barely glancing at her.

  They stood side by side at the makeup counter in the Dart drugstore on La Cienega.

  “You tried this color?” Lucky asked, holding up a bronze lipstick.

  Sara gave it a perfunctory glance. “No, but it looks kinda interestin’.”

  “I think so, too,” Lucky said, putting down the lipstick. “Hey,” she said, staring at her, “aren’t you Sara Durbon?”

  This got Sara’s attention. “Well, yeah, I am,” she said, tugging at her shorts, which were caught in the curve of her butt. “Do I know you?”

  “Not really,” Lucky said, picking up another lipstick. “We have a mutual friend.”

  “Mutual friend?” Sara said, rubbing her chin with a skinny index finger. “Like who?”

  “Morton Sharkey.”

  “Morton’s a friend of yours?” Sara said, wrinkling her nose.

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve never met any of Morty’s friends,” Sara said, and giggled. “Howdja know me?”

  “He talks about you a lot. I’ve seen your photo.”

  “He talks about me?” Sara said in surprise. “I thought I was his dirty little secret. Y’know, on account of the fact that he’s married an’ all.”<
br />
  “He must really be fond of you.”

  “I don’t get it,” Sara said, creasing her forehead. “I’m, like, never supposed to say nothin’ to nobody.”

  “What do you do, Sara?” Lucky asked. “Are you an actress, a model—what?”

  “Oh, I get it,” Sara said, nodding knowingly. “His wife sent you, didn’t she? The old bat found out ’bout me, an’ now you’re here to tell me to get lost, or pay me off or somethin’.”

  “Could I pay you off?” Lucky asked, wondering what the hell Morton saw in this raggedy teenager.

  “Did his hag wife send you?” Sara demanded belligerently.

  “No, she didn’t. However, I am interested in exchanging money for information. How do you feel about that?”

  Sara narrowed her eyes. “What’s with this Morton Sharkey guy?” she said. “First I get all that money…”

  “What money?” Lucky asked quickly.

  “It don’t matter,” Sara said, censoring herself before she got into trouble.

  “Sara, you and I should sit down and talk. I can be very useful to you.”

  “Like how?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Well, if you’re an actress, maybe I can get you a job. If you’re a model, same thing.”

  Mistrust filled Sara’s eyes. “Why’d ya do that for me? I’m nobody.”

  “I have my reasons. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one,” she lied.

  “The truth?”

  Sara shrugged. “Seventeen,” she admitted with a giggle. “Goin’ on seventy!”

  “What did you do—run away from home?”

  “Howdja know?”

  “I’ll be truthful with you, Sara. I have a personal score to settle with Morton Sharkey, and I’m ready to pay anything to do so. Tell me what you want, and I promise you—it’s yours.”

  “Anything?” Sara said, a touch of greed creeping into her voice as she considered the possibilities.

  “Name it.”

  “Lady—you got yourself one big deal.”

  “She never called me back, Kyoko.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Woods. I gave her your messages.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Alex was starting to feel like a fool. Lovesick movie director in hot pursuit of woman who obviously didn’t give a damn. “Is she in town?”

  “Yes, Mr. Woods.”

  “I’ll call later.”

  “She’ll be home by four,” said Kyoko, feeling sorry for him.

  Alex put the phone down. He was about to start a twenty-two-million-dollar movie, and all he could think about was Lucky Santangelo. Wasn’t she at least interested in knowing what was going on at her former studio?

  Lili buzzed him on the intercom. “Alex.”

  “What is it?”

  “Everyone’s waiting downstairs.”

  “Tell ’em I’ll be right there.”

  “Don’t forget you have a dinner at Mickey Stolli’s. Tin Lee will be at your apartment at seven-thirty.”

  “Christ! Why did I say yes?”

  “I don’t know, Alex, but you did.”

  “Okay, okay.” He marched out of his office annoyed with himself; social dinners were not his thing.

  Lili stopped him at the door. “Johnny Romano called about the script changes again.”

  “Stall him, Lili. You know how to do that better than anybody.”

  Russell greeted him downstairs. All their locations were in place, except one, and today was their last opportunity to find it.

  “You got some good things lined up, Russell?” he asked.

  “You won’t be disappointed,” Russell said.

  They got into the van, where the other members of the crew waited, and set off.

  Luck was on his side. The second location they visited was exactly what he was looking for. “A done deal,” he told Russell. “No need to see anything else.”

  The van dropped him back at his car early. He glanced at his watch; it was around three-thirty. For a moment he considered going back up to his office, he had plenty to do. Instead, he got in his Porsche and drove directly to Lucky’s house at the beach.

  If Lucky Santangelo wouldn’t speak to him on the phone, he’d be there to greet her when she got home.

  Too bad if she didn’t like it.

  Lucky sat with Sara at a corner table in the Hard Rock Cafe. Loud rock music blared out—instinctively, Lucky had known the noise would make Sara feel comfortable and, therefore, more talkative.

  She’d already given her two thousand dollars in cash, now she was waiting for the payoff.

  “Okay, Sara,” Lucky said, watching the girl devour a double-size cheeseburger. “Tell me everything, and after you’ve done that, there’s another two thousand in it for you.”

  Sara, who liked money better than anything in the world, was quick to spill the goods as she gobbled down her cheeseburger. “I met Morty when I was workin’ in a massage parlor on Hollywood Boulevard,” she began. “He came in one day—like, he was all sneaky an’ desperate to get it on. Only I was smart, told him I din’t do that kind of thing.” A sly smile. “’Course I did, but when you work in that business, you kinda learn what the guy’s trip is. You can tell if they’re gonna give you money or trouble. I knew he was the money kind, so I played it all innocent. An’ before I knew it, he’d slipped me five hundred bucks for a hand job.” She rolled her eyes as if she couldn’t believe anyone would be that stupid. “Five hundred freakin’ bucks for a sixty-second jerk-off! After that, he kept on coming back.” She stopped to take another large bite of her cheeseburger. Tomato ketchup dribbled down her chin, a few red spots landing on her top. She didn’t seem to notice. “Okay, then he was after me t’see him outta business hours, so I had him over to my place. He took one look an’ said he was gonna set me up in my own apartment. This dude is puttin’ me on, I thought. But nooo—Morty was serious. Then I get, like, a visit from this woman.”

  “What woman?” Lucky asked.

  “She was, like, this fancy-dressed woman. She turned up at my door with some guy. They offered me a lot of money if I let them set up a hidden movie camera. Big freakin’ deal. I said yes.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Dunno.”

  It had to be Donna. “What happened then?”

  “They set the camera up in my bedroom closet, an’ told me how to angle myself so they could get some hot shots of Morty in action.” Sara giggled. “Morty was always in action. Guess his wife never gave him any, ’cause he’s the horniest old man I’ve ever been with.”

  Lucky sighed. A horny old man with a hard-on. Guaranteed to betray you every time. “Did he know there was a camera?”

  “’Course not,” Sara scoffed, taking another bite of her burger. “So I get the videotape of him, give it to them, an’ they paid me mucho bucks like they promised. Then Morty found out what I’d done.”

  “How did he find out?”

  “The woman started blackmailin’ him. Boy, was he pissed! Beat the crap outta me—didn’t think he was that tough.” She grabbed a handful of french fries, stuffing them in her already full mouth.

  “He hit you?”

  “I s’pose I deserved it. But like I told him, I needed that money. Where else was I gonna score like that?”

  “What happened next?”

  “Well,” she said, and screwed up her face, “after a few days, he forgave me. Moved me out of my place ’cause he din’t trust me no more. Now I’m, like, in this ’spensive apartment, an’ he gives me an allowance. Truth is—if a better deal came along, I’d grab it.”

  “Am I a better deal?”

  “Depends on what you’re offering.”

  Lucky sat back, laying out her rules. “First, this meeting is confidential. That means you can’t tell anyone. Second, I want a copy of the videotape.”

  “Don’t have it.”

  “Quit with the lying.”

  Sara giggled; lying was a natural way of life to her. “Howdja know?”
<
br />   “You had a copy made, didn’t you?”

  “It’ll cost you big,” Sara said with another sly smile.

  “How big?”

  Sara sucked in her cheeks and blew out air. “Ten thousand,” she said, making up an amount on the spot. “Yeah, ten thousand—cash—that’ll do it.”

  As soon as he saw Lucky’s red Ferrari driving down the private road, Alex jumped out of his car and stood in the middle of the road, waving her to stop.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said, swerving to an abrupt halt. “I could’ve killed you.”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” he said, strolling over to her window. “Obviously, I had to take drastic measures to speak to you since you never return my calls.”

  She ran a hand through her long dark hair. “You’re crazy,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Yeah, yeah. Did you know we’re almost neighbors? I live down the street.”

  “Really?” she said, unimpressed.

  “How about coming to my house for a drink?”

  “Alex,” she said patiently, “I thought I explained how I felt on the phone.”

  “I know,” he said. “You only slept with me to get back at Lennie. That made me feel really good about myself. But, okay, if that’s the way you want it, I can live with that. Come see my house.”

  “Why?” she said, still thinking about her meeting with Sara.

  “Because I’d like you to,” he said persuasively, flashing the smile that always got him his own way.

  She didn’t want to encourage him, yet she couldn’t help liking him. Hey—if Alex wanted to be friends—fine with her, as long as he realized there was no romance. “I can only stay ten minutes,” she said firmly. “I’ll follow your car.”

  “Drive with me, you know how much you like my driving.”

  “I said I’ll follow you, Alex. That’s the only way I’m coming there.”

  “Don’t lose me.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  He got in his Porsche and set off, checking his rearview mirror. She was right behind him in her Ferrari.