Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  “I’m sorry to hear Tabitha’s giving you trouble,” Leslie said. Obviously the kid took after her father.

  He drank half a glass of Evian water. “Trouble, schmuble…I suppose the kid’s gotta do her own thing. She goes back to boarding school in a couple of weeks.”

  Leslie picked at her salad. It was time to talk about her. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know I took your advice.”

  “What advice, sweetie?”

  “Jeff is history.”

  Mickey nodded his approval. “Smart move. A girl like you can have anybody you want.” He jabbed his finger at her. “You gotta work the stardom thing, Leslie. Work it.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” she murmured.

  “An’ talking of working it…have I found a script for you.”

  “Really?”

  “I’ve been thinkin’ about your career. Gangsters is not right, you’re too nice to pull off that kind of sleazy role.”

  “What script, Mickey?” she asked eagerly.

  “It’s about a guy and a gal who meet in Paris, fall in love, fall out of love, then fall back in love. Hokey shit—the public’ll eat it up.”

  “It sounds wonderful. Are you sending it to Cooper?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll send it to him. But, Leslie, you gotta realize Cooper’s like an old whore—give him the right amount of money and he’ll stand on his head and recite the alphabet. He does it for the loot.”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” Leslie said, springing to her former lover’s defense.

  “I keep on telling you—ya gotta wise up to actors.”

  “I’ll read the script,” she said sweetly, ignoring his criticism. “If I like it, I’ll do it.”

  “Honey.” He laughed rudely. “I like it, you’ll do it. Have I ever given you bad advice?”

  It wasn’t worth arguing. Better he was on her side. “No, Mickey, you and Abigaile have been very good to me.”

  “Okay, sweetie—remember that,” he said, squinting across the table at her. “You look better today—not so pinched. Throwing Jeff out agrees with you.”

  “Thank you, Mickey,” she said demurely.

  And she did not tell him about her night’s adventure with Johnny Romano. It was a one-shot deal to get over her disappointment with Cooper. And not a very exciting one. Johnny Romano was still a greedy pig, only interested in his own satisfaction.

  It would never happen again.

  “Outfit—sensational. Attitude—just right,” Alex said.

  “Thanks,” Venus said, and smiled. She was sitting in his office, enjoying their meeting. “Coming from you, that’s a big compliment.”

  “I spoke to Freddie.”

  “So did I.”

  “Everything’s under control,” Alex said. “Contracts are on their way.”

  “You don’t know how thrilled I am to be doing Gangsters,” Venus said. “I guess I told you before—the critics hate me. This time I don’t want them seeing Venus on the screen, I want to be Lola.” She looked at him intently. “I know you can bring the performance out in me that I’ve never been able to give before.”

  “If I can’t get it out of you, nobody can,” Alex said, never modest about what he knew he could achieve. “I’ll personally work on the script with you. Today you’ll do clothes, hair, and makeup tests. Tomorrow there’ll be a read-through with the rest of the cast.”

  “This is such a special day for me,” Venus said, brimming with enthusiasm. “Not only have I gotten the part of my career, but I’ve decided to give my husband another chance.”

  “Cooper?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

  She laughed happily. “He’s the only husband I’ve got.”

  “Taking him back, huh?”

  “The truth is,” she said, grinning sheepishly, “he’s irresistible.”

  “That’s what you’re gonna be in Gangsters,” Alex said, killer smile at full force. “Irresistible.”

  On the drive back to her house, Lucky had plenty of time to think. Finally, it was all coming together.

  She would get her studio back.

  She would never get her husband back.

  After she regained control of Panther, she knew she’d eventually have to deal with Donna Landsman. There was no way she could allow Donna to get away with murdering Lennie.

  She’d been keeping the thought in the back of her mind. Soon she’d have to face it.

  She sighed—a deep sigh. When would the Bonnatti family learn?

  57

  “MY PAPA IS BACK,” CLAUDIA SAID, NERVOUSLY clasping her hands together. “He say I no come here again.”

  “Jesus, Claudia,” Lennie said, desperately trying to control his frustration. “When are you getting the key?”

  “This weekend…when my papa sleeps.”

  “Why can’t you call the American Embassy? Get help. Get me out of this fucking place?”

  Her pretty face was serene. “Lennie,” she said seriously. “My life is here—in my village…. I help you escape, my papa cannot know. No one can. We must do it my way.”

  Sometimes he felt he was in the middle of an Italian movie, acting out scenes. Beautiful peasant girl with incredible, voluptuous breasts and sturdy thighs rescues handsome American stranger from a life in captivity. Shit! Universal would make it in a minute!

  “Claudia,” he said, purposely speaking very slowly so as not to frighten her away. “Isn’t there a way to get me out of here today? What about your boyfriend? Can’t he help?”

  She turned on him with a ferocious “No!”

  He’d upset her. Had to be careful. He sensed she was of two minds about betraying her father. Now he realized she hadn’t even told her boyfriend.

  “Okay, okay,” he said soothingly. “You can’t blame me for being impatient.”

  “Where is the map I gave you?” she asked. “If my papa sees it…”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve hidden it.”

  She was edgy today, full of fear. What if she changed her mind and left him here to rot?

  No. She wouldn’t do that. They’d forged a connection, a bond. She had a little crush on him, and he felt the same about her. Not that it lessened his love for Lucky. This was merely circumstances.

  “Claudia.” He held out his arms. “Come here.”

  Warily she walked toward him. Today she had on a dress like Sophia Loren had worn in the movie Two Women. A clingy cotton dress that buttoned all the way down the front, exposing her bare legs and lightly tanned skin. On her feet were simple sandals. She wore no makeup except a soft pink lipstick. Her long auburn hair fell to below her waist. He noticed she had a little scar on her left cheek, and her eyelashes were impossibly long.

  She stood close to him. He could see she was near tears. He breathed in her scent and asked her what was wrong.

  Her lower lip began to tremble. “I…I am confused…” she stammered.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” he said, trying desperately to reassure her. “You feel you’re betraying your father, and yet you know that what he’s doing is very wrong. Criminal, in fact.”

  She nodded silently.

  He reached out his hand, touching her arm. “When I’m free, Claudia, I won’t forget you. I want you to come visit me in America.”

  “Not possible,” she said, shaking her head. “No one can know I helped you.”

  “Look,” he said, “if you bring me a paper and pencil, I’ll write down my address and phone number. Anytime you want anything, I’ll be there for you…or I’ll send you money. Whatever you want.”

  “I know what Papa has done is bad,” she said, her face serious. “This is why I help you.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “Lennie,” she said, confused. “I feel…close to you. So very close.”

  He pulled her to him, kissing her passionately. She struggled, but only for a second, then she gave herself up to his kiss, throwing back her head, her lips soft and giving and so very swee
t.

  Forgive me, Lucky, but I have to make sure she comes back, and this is the only way I know how.

  Besides, the touch of another human being, the feel of her body, filled him with hope. There was a future. He wasn’t dead yet.

  She explored his face with her hands, stroking, caressing. “My American prisoner,” she murmured lovingly. “I will set you free. I will.”

  Automatically he began undoing the buttons of her dress, exposing her full breasts.

  She was truly one of the most luscious women he’d ever seen, her skin smooth, her nipples ripe and inviting as he bent to kiss them. She tasted so sweet he couldn’t stop himself.

  She lay down on the damp ground and threw her arms above her head in a gesture of pure abandonment. Her underarm hair was thick and somehow very sexy. He teased her nipples with his tongue.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, breathing heavily. “It is not right.”

  He noticed she didn’t move away.

  “No one will ever know, this is between us,” he said, quickly unbuttoning the rest of her dress, his fingers fumbling on the material.

  She wore old-fashioned underpants that reached up to her waist. Recklessly he plunged his hand down them, feeling his way through a thick forest of pubic hair to reach the warm moistness of her desire.

  She caught her breath, gasping with passion. She was his last chance at freedom.

  “This weekend…you’ll come back, you’ll help me,” he said, plunging into her welcoming softness.

  “Oh, yes, Lennie, oh, yes—you have my promise.”

  58

  “SO,” BRIGETTE SAID, NERVOUSLY PULLING AT HER hair. “That’s the story. I’m sorry, I don’t know how I get caught up in these things…” She bit her lip, anxiously awaiting Lucky’s reaction.

  Lucky stood up from the outdoor table where they were finishing dinner. “There’s no need for you to apologize,” she said soothingly. “You’ve been very unfortunate. Not all men are like Santino Bonnatti and Michel Guy. Although you do seem to have a way of attracting the worst elements.”

  “Michel seemed so nice,” Brigette said miserably. “I mean, I trusted him. He was older and gentle, and…maybe I even encouraged him.”

  “He took advantage of you, Brigette,” Lucky said vehemently. “Any man who ties a woman up and forces her to have sex against her will with another woman…well, this is definitely a bad guy.”

  “I tried to warn her,” Nona said, joining in. “Although I had no idea he was such a sicko.”

  “And Robertson…did she go along with it?” Lucky asked.

  Brigette shrugged. “He told her what to do and she did it. I guess she was stoned.”

  “Yeah,” Nona agreed. “A lot of those models think of nothing else except getting stoned and laid. It’s all one big kick.”

  “It might be a kick,” Lucky said curtly, “but Michel Guy’s not getting away with it, I can promise you that.”

  “I told you,” Nona said, shooting Brigette a triumphant look.

  “What’ll you do?” Brigette asked.

  “I’ll make time to visit Mr. Guy in New York.”

  “He’ll deny it,” Brigette said. “He’ll say I encouraged him—I know he will.”

  “Who do you think I’ll believe?” Lucky asked softly. “You or him?”

  “Me?” Brigette said in a small voice.

  “Of course, you, sweetheart.”

  Brigette jumped to her feet and hugged Lucky. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re the best!”

  “Y’know, if Lennie were alive, he’d break this Michel prick’s balls,” Lucky said.

  “I miss Lennie so much,” Brigette murmured sadly. “I miss him every day.”

  Lucky nodded, her eyes misting over. “So do I,” she said quietly. “We all do.”

  Early the next morning Lucky chartered a plane and flew to New York.

  She’d instructed Brigette and Nona to stay at her house in L.A. until she got back, which, if all went according to plan, would be later that same day. Daniella Dion was coming to town, and she was next on Lucky’s list of people to deal with.

  In the meantime, her personal lawyer was finalizing the details of getting her studio back.

  Morton had called late last night, sounding panicked. “What if Donna Landsman shows the tape to my wife?” he’d asked. “How can I stop her?”

  “That’s something you’ll have to work out with Donna,” she’d replied, not really concerned with his problems after what he’d done to her.

  “Jesus, Lucky, if this gets out, I’ll be ruined.”

  “You should have come to me in the first place,” she’d said, in a way, feeling sorry for him. “I could’ve taken care of it.”

  “I made a mistake,” he’d said miserably.

  Big mistake, Morton.

  Today she felt invigorated, invincible. Sometimes the power within her was so strong she was convinced she could do anything.

  The plane came in for a smooth landing. There was a car at the airport to meet her. The driver took the freeway to the city, riding the potholed streets to the center of Manhattan where Michel Guy’s office was located. Lucky marched in without an appointment, bypassing two secretaries.

  “You can’t see Mr. Guy without arranging it first,” one of the flustered secretaries said, dashing after her.

  “Let me correct you,” Lucky said. “I can do whatever the hell I like.”

  Michel Guy was sitting in his office, legs propped on his desk, smoking a big fat Havana cigar.

  Lucky took him completely by surprise. His legs came off the desk, the cigar came out of his mouth, and he said a startled, “Oui? What can I do for you?”

  “Do you know who I am?” Lucky said, staring him down.

  He stared back at her. She certainly wasn’t a model, but she was an extremely beautiful woman with a vaguely familiar face. “No,” he said at last. “Should I?”

  “Maybe you’ll recognize my name—Lucky Santangelo?”

  Ah—now he knew exactly who she was, he’d recently read an interview with her in Newstime. “You own a studio in Hollywood,” he said, wondering what the hell she was doing in his office. “How can I help you?”

  “I thought you might be interested to know the identity of my stepdaughter.”

  “Your stepdaughter,” he said blankly.

  The secretary stood by the door, glaring at Lucky.

  “Okay, Monica, you can leave us,” Michel said, waving her away.

  Lucky sat down uninvited and lit a cigarette. “It seems she didn’t tell you.”

  “Who didn’t tell me what?” Michel said, irritated and intrigued at the same time.

  Lucky’s voice was suddenly cold and hard as she stood up and leaned over his desk. “You know something, Michel? You’re a mean fuckhead with a small dick.”

  “Excuse me,” he said, becoming alarmed at her behavior.

  “Schifoso. You know what that means in English?”

  “I’m French,” he said.

  “Piece of filthy garbage,” she said, blowing smoke in his face. “That’s what it means.”

  “What do you want?” he said, deciding he’d better summon help.

  “I want to tell you a little story,” Lucky said, sitting down again. “Pay attention, Michel—it’s short and simple.”

  This intrusion had gone on long enough. “I’m busy right now,” he said. “I suggest you make an appointment and come back another time.”

  “I built hotels in Vegas—two of them,” she said, ignoring his request. “During construction, one of my investors balked at putting up the balance of the money he owed—even though we had a firm agreement. That night I broke into his apartment with a couple of friends to assist me in case he was foolish enough to get out of line. He awoke to find a nice, sharp knife poised at the base of his penis.” A long, meaningful pause. “Now…what do you think he did?”

  “I don’t know,” Michel said, realizing she was totally crazy
.

  “He put up the money, plus, of course, he kept his precious cock and I kept my hotel.” A short silence. “In the end, everyone was happy.”

  He stood up, one eye on the door. “What do you want from me?”

  “My stepdaughter’s name is Brigette Stanislopoulos. Perhaps you know her better as Brigette Brown.”

  The color drained from his face. “Oh,” he said blankly. “I had no idea who she was.”

  “I bet you didn’t. I bet you thought she was some little girl you could fuck with. Blackmail, perhaps? Use as your toy?” Her voice cut into him like a knife. “She’s only nineteen, Michel. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

  He’d read all about Lucky Santangelo. She was powerful. She had connections. He didn’t want to find himself on a plane back to Paris with his balls in his mouth.

  “I’m telling you,” he said, speaking fast. “I had no idea. When that woman asked me to get the pictures…”

  “What woman?” Lucky asked, knowing exactly who he meant.

  “She paid me a fortune,” Michel said, his words tumbling over each other. “If I’d known Brigette was related to you, I’d never have done it.”

  “What woman?” Lucky repeated icily.

  “Donna Landsman. She paid me to get compromising pictures of Brigette. I…I feel bad.”

  “Really? Bad, huh?” Lucky said calmly, picking up an ivory-handled magnifying glass from his. desk. “You see this, you fucking pervert,” she said, her tone changing. “I should shove this right up your French ass, because that’s exactly what you deserve. But instead, you and I are going to get the pictures.”

  “I sent them to Mrs. Landsman,” he said quickly.

  “I’m sure you kept the negatives and a set for yourself.”

  “No.”

  She turned the magnifying glass in her hands, examining the sturdy ivory handle. “Were you listening to the story I just told you? I can promise you, Michel—a knife at your cock is nothing compared to what I have planned for you if I don’t get everything immediately. So let’s go to your apartment, or wherever you have them. And let’s not waste any more time. Capisce?”