Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  As big a star as he was, Johnny still enjoyed receiving praise. “You think so?” he asked anxiously.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I got me this acting coach,” he said, his voice filled with boyish enthusiasm. “Don’t laugh—the guy comes to my house twice a week. He used to work with De Niro.”

  “That’s smart, Johnny. You can never know enough about your craft.”

  “I got Lucky to thank for gettin’ my career back on the straight.”

  “How come?”

  “Remember when she first took over Panther?”

  “How could I ever forget? From undercover secretary to studio mogul in one quick move.”

  “I was doin’ a lot of shit movies then. Violence. Sex. She called ’em my ‘motherfucka movies’—’cause that’s all I ever said! They made me a fortune—but Lucky pointed out I was never the hero. ‘Be a hero,’ she told me, ‘that’s what the audience wanna see.’ An’, goddamn it—she was right.”

  “Good for you, Johnny. There’s nothing like moving on.”

  He edged across the seat, getting closer. “Did you enjoy tonight, baby?”

  “It was okay.”

  “Didn’t bother you seein’ your old man with that luscious piece?”

  “Cooper and I are history.”

  “Shame for him.” His thigh was now pressed up against hers. “Fortunate for me.”

  “Don’t bet on it, Johnny,” she said, moving away.

  “I got somethin’ funny to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “Veronica used to be a man.”

  “Get outta here!”

  “I met her in Sweden years ago, when I was workin’ as a waiter. She’d just had the operation.”

  “Come on.”

  He laughed. “Cooper’ll never know the difference.”

  “You’re bad, you know that. Why didn’t you tell him?”

  “And spoil a beautiful romance? No way.” He laughed again. “So…I saw you bending Mickey’s ear all night.”

  “He’s got a hot dick for me—what can I do?”

  “Oh, baby, baby—you got a way of sayin’ it the way it really is.”

  “Secret of my success,” Venus said with a confident smile. “And now, Johnny, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me out of the car.”

  He did as she asked and said good night without pushing it.

  She was relieved, not being in the mood to fight off an overly amorous Latin movie star.

  The first thing she did was play back her answering machine. There was a plaintive message from Rodriguez begging to see her, and a happy one from Ron.

  “Taking your advice, sweet thing,” Ron said. “I’m moving out.”

  He didn’t say where he was moving, otherwise she would have called him.

  She went into her all-white dressing room, stepping out of her red dress on the way.

  The phone rang. Hoping it was Ron, she ran to pick it up in the bedroom.

  “Hi, it’s Cooper.”

  “Oh…hi.”

  “You looked veree sexy tonight.”

  “What do you want, Coop?” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering if he’d discovered the truth about Veronica.

  “Just wanted to say hello.”

  “That’s not very original.”

  “I’m fresh out of lines.”

  “You? Never!”

  “I was thinking…” he said.

  “What?”

  “Oh, about what a great marriage we had.”

  “How can you say that when your mission was to screw as many other women as possible?”

  “I know,” he said, sounding repentant. “All my life I did exactly what I wanted, and women came along for the ride. Then I met you, fell in love, and got married. I didn’t think I had to change. I was selfish and incredibly dumb. Now I realize I made a big mistake.”

  “What happened? You strike out with the model? Didn’t get any, huh?”

  “I got plenty; problem was, I didn’t want it.”

  “Really,” she said, not about to ruin his evening with Johnny’s story.

  “How ’bout you? Was Romano all over you in the car? You know, he jokes about it to his pals—tells everybody that once he gets a girl in the back of his limo, a blow job goes with the territory.”

  “You should know me better than that.”

  “Can I come over?”

  “What for?”

  “To talk…that’s all, I promise.”

  She knew she should say no, but she felt herself weakening.

  He took advantage of her silence. “Strange coincidence,” he said. “Right now I happen to be on your block.”

  “Okay,” she said, against her better judgment. “Come on over.”

  Johnny Romano’s limo cruised down Sunset. He sat back, chatting on the car phone to Leslie.

  She cradled her portable while taking a good look at Jeff. He was sprawled in the middle of her bed, still in his clothes, snoring like a stuffed-up hog. Mr. Romance strikes again.

  “You gave me your number, an’ I’m usin’ it,” Johnny said. “An’ this man is wonderin’ what you are doin’ right now.”

  “Where’s Venus?”

  “Why would I be with Venus when I’ve got your number, baby?” he said, putting on the sexy, macho voice he used for imminent seduction. “How ’bout havin’ a drink with me?”

  Jeff burped and rolled over on the bed, reeking of booze.

  Leslie thought of Cooper. He was probably real cozy with that big horse model and her big horse teeth. She felt sad, she’d loved Cooper all her life, and for a few magical weeks she’d had him to herself—now he didn’t want her anymore. It wasn’t fair.

  “I can pick you up in five minutes,” Johnny said. “Just tell me where I gotta point my limo, an’ baby—believe me—I’m there.”

  Alex drove directly to Lucky’s house at the beach.

  A security guard stopped him at the door. “Good evening, Mr. Woods,” the guard said politely. “Ms. Santangelo mentioned you might drop by.”

  “She did? Good.”

  “She also said she doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “She left me that message?”

  “Ms. Santangelo said she’d talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Woods, and to please not call her tonight.”

  “Oh…fine…okay.”

  Alex got back in his car, furious with Lucky for playing games. One moment she was confiding in him. The next she was treating him like a total stranger. He understood that she had problems, but why wouldn’t she let him help her?

  He drove home experiencing a feeling he’d never had before. Was this love? Because if it was, then love was a crock.

  He decided he had to get himself together, forget about Lucky Santangelo and concentrate on what he did best. Making movies.

  The guard waited until Alex drove off, then buzzed Lucky. “Mr. Woods was here. I told him you’d speak to him tomorrow.”

  “Thanks, Enrico,” she said.

  You’re doing the right thing, she told herself. Mustn’t encourage him. Alex is getting too close, and it’s not what I want.

  She sat on her bed and reached for Lennie’s photograph, in a silver frame. She missed him so much. His smile, his company, his lovemaking, his conversation.

  There could be no substitute.

  Not yet anyway.

  “There’s no reply at our house,” George said, replacing the receiver. “Perhaps we should wait for Santo at home.”

  “I agree,” Donna replied, glaring at Mickey. “I wish you’d consulted me before you sent my son off with your daughter.”

  Mickey shrugged. “Thought I was doing the kids a favor. How was I to know they wouldn’t get back on time?”

  “They’ll be here soon,” Abigaile said. “Tabitha’s a very reliable girl.”

  “Yes, from her appearance I would judge her to be really reliable,” Donna said sarcastically.

  “Excuse me?” Abigaile said, not liking Do
nna’s tone at all.

  “Do you actually let your daughter walk around dressed like that?” Donna said.

  “At least she’s not bloated and overweight,” Abigaile responded, not caring if Mickey got mad.

  Mickey quickly moved in, nudging his wife to shut up. “I’m sure they’ll be here any moment,” he said. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll personally drive Santo home. He’ll be fine.”

  Donna glared at him. How dare they send her son off just because they didn’t want him sitting at their boring dinner table? She hated the Stollis. She had a good mind to fire Mickey as soon as she found somebody else to take his place. In fact, the entire evening had been a disaster.

  Their limousine was parked in the driveway. Donna marched over, waiting for her driver to spring out and open the door.

  The man didn’t move; he was slumped over the steering wheel, obviously asleep. Donna tut-tutted her annoyance while George tapped on the glass.

  No response. George opened the door and the driver, John Fardo, fell out onto the concrete driveway.

  “Oh, my God!” Donna shrieked.

  George bent over the man, feeling for his pulse. “Get help,” he said tersely.

  Donna hurried back to the Stollis’ front door and rang the bell. Mickey opened the door. “Our driver’s sick,” Donna said. “Call the paramedics.”

  Mickey walked outside. “He looks drunk to me,” he said, staring at the man on the ground.

  John Fardo groaned, gradually regaining consciousness.

  “Are you all right, John?” Donna asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…fine,” he muttered, embarrassed about the incident.

  All he could remember was somebody dragging him out of the car, beating the shit out of him, and shoving him back behind the wheel with the curt warning, “Don’t ever fuck with the Santangelos again.” After that, he must have passed out.

  Making a supreme effort, he pulled himself together and staggered up off the ground. “Sorry, Mrs. Landsman…dunno what happened. I, uh…guess I musta fallen.”

  “Fallen?” she said imperiously.

  He hoped they wouldn’t notice his swollen face in the dim light. “I’m okay now. Lemme drive you home.”

  The Landsmans got in the car.

  Mickey shrugged and went back in the house. “Their driver was drunk,” he informed Abigaile, who was already on her way upstairs.

  “What did you think of the party?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Your usual success,” he said, following her up the stairs.

  “How would you know?” she said tartly. “You spent the entire evening drooling down Venus’s neckline.”

  “Honey, you can’t possibly be jealous of me and Venus. She works for my studio.”

  “You paid her too much attention, Mickey. It’s disrespectful to me.”

  “Gotta keep the actresses happy.”

  “Ha!” Abigaile snorted, stopping for a moment.

  Mickey grabbed her ass. “Come here, hon,” he cajoled. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

  The first thing Donna noticed as they approached their house was Tabitha’s BMW parked in the driveway. “Thank God they’re here,” she said to George. “I was beginning to worry.”

  “He’s sixteen, Donna. You worry about him too much. Santo needs discipline, not coddling.”

  “Why would he bring Tabitha here?” Donna mused. “I know. It’s probably because those stupid Stolli people made out he wasn’t a welcome dinner guest. Santo was upset.”

  That’ll be the day, George thought. Donna had no idea what a spoiled monster she was raising.

  They entered the house.

  “Santo!” Donna called out in the dark hallway, reaching for the light switch.

  “They must be up in his room,” George said.

  “Why would he take her up there?” Donna said.

  Why do you think? George thought, following his wife to their private elevator.

  “I can’t believe they invited Lucky Santangelo tonight,” Donna grumbled. “A true lack of judgment on Mickey’s part. I shall be watching him very closely from now on.”

  “Yes, dear,” George said, standing next to her in the small but luxurious elevator.

  The door to Santo’s room was closed.

  “Knock,” George said.

  “Why should I?” Donna said, flinging open the door. “This is my house.”

  Santo was sprawled on his bed, passed out. Lying across him was a half-naked Tabitha, also in a drugged stupor. Loud rap music blared from the CD player in the messy room. On the bedside table was a half-eaten pizza, a spilled bowl of popcorn, half a joint, and an empty bottle of Scotch precariously balanced on its side.

  “Oh, my God!” Donna wailed. “What has she done to my baby?”

  56

  LUCKY TOOK BOOGIE WITH HER TO MEET SARA and deliver the money. They met at the Hard Rock Cafe, a milieu in which Sara had seemed comfortable the last time. Sara ran in, sat down, and immediately ordered a double cheeseburger.

  “Is this the only time you eat?” Lucky inquired.

  “I got me a healthy appetite,” Sara replied, grabbing her burger as soon as it arrived, taking huge bites, stuffing her mouth until she couldn’t jam anything else in. “Okay, how we gonna do this?” she asked as soon as she’d finished. “I gotta get the money before I hand over the tape.”

  “You’ll come with me to my car, where I have a VCR,” Lucky said. “We’ll play the tape, and if it contains what you say it does, you’ll get your money. It’s as easy as that.”

  “Oh, yeah—like, really easy,” Sara sneered, eyeing Lucky with deep suspicion. “How’d I know you won’t kidnap me? Sell me into white slavery, that kinda shit?”

  “You have to trust me,” Lucky replied calmly, wondering if the girl was on drugs—she was certainly manic enough.

  “Me—I don’t trust no one,” Sara said, proud of her spiky attitude. “Everyone’s out for their own thing.”

  “If you want your money, you’ll have to,” Lucky said coolly.

  “Who’s he?” Sara said, rudely gesturing toward Boogie.

  “My associate.”

  Sara squinted her eyes. “How do I know he ain’t gonna do something to me?”

  Lucky was starting to lose patience. “Either you want the money or you don’t,” she said curtly.

  “Okay, okay,” Sara answered quickly, not wanting to blow such a windfall. “Where’s your car?”

  “Outside.”

  “I may as well tell you,” Sara said, her expression turning crafty. “My friend knows where I am, an’ if I’m not home in an hour, she’ll call the cops.”

  “Very sensible,” Lucky said dryly. “I’m glad you’ve figured out how to protect yourself.”

  They walked outside to the waiting limousine.

  “Cool,” Sara said, liking the fact it was a limo. “Y’know,” she continued chattily as she climbed in, “I had this customer…uh, I mean, like, friend. He’d arrive at the massage parlor in his big, freakin’ limo, an’ then he’d wanna get a very personal massage in the backseat while his driver took us around town. This big old car had black windows so nobody could peek in. Sometimes he opened that glass thing so’s his driver could get himself an eyeful. I din’t go for that, but the old lech paid good.”

  Why had Morton picked this sad little girl to get himself in trouble with? They were a total mismatch. “Does Morton know you had all these adventures before you met him?”

  Sara giggled hysterically. “Morty thinks I was workin’ the massage parlor thing like a good girl.”

  Lucky leaned over and inserted the tape in the VCR. The picture was scrambled for a moment before becoming clear.

  She stared at the screen. There was Morton in Sara’s bedroom, sitting on the side of her bed, fully dressed, in a three-piece suit. Enter Sara in a schoolgirl outfit.

  SARA: “Hi, Daddykins.”

  MORTON: “Were you a good girl at school today?”r />
  SARA: “Very good, Daddy.”

  MORTON: “Are you sure?”

  SARA: “Yes, Daddy.”

  MORTON: “Come sit on my knee and tell me all about it.”

  SARA: “I did do something bad….”

  MORTON: “Am I going to have to spank you?”

  SARA: “I don’t know, Daddy. Were you a good boy at the office today?”

  MORTON: “No, I did something bad, too.”

  SARA: “Then I think I’ll spank you.”

  And so it went on. Lucky watched, in a trancelike state. She knew some people could only get off by indulging in their fantasies, but as far as she was concerned, it was kind of a sick obsession. What was wrong with normal sex? Who needed fantasies and props?

  As soon as Morton began to divest himself of his clothes, she clicked off the machine and said, “Okay, I’ve seen enough.” Opening the window, she spoke to Boogie, who waited outside. “Give her the money and let’s go.”

  Sara climbed out of the car and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk. Boogie handed her a paper shopping bag. “Here,” he said. “You want to count it?”

  Sara grabbed the bag and peered inside, barely concealing her excitement. “Is this all I havta do?”

  “That’s it,” Lucky said. “Put the money in a safety-deposit box and go home. Not a word to Morton.”

  “Won’t he find out?” Sara asked.

  “Maybe,” Lucky said. “It didn’t bother you last time—or him. He’s still paying your rent.”

  “I’m usin’ the money to get outta town with my girlfriend,” Sara confided. “I’ve had it with L.A. You should’ve seen some of the weirdos who came into the massage parlor. Games, games, games—that’s all they were into. An’ most of ’em wished I was ten!”

  “Spare me the details,” Lucky said.

  “Well,” Sara said, clutching the shopping bag to her side. “We’re gonna try our luck in Vegas. Me and my friend. If there’s anything else I can do…you got a phone?”