“Listen to me, kid, if you do hear anything—”
“I’ll call you,” Dario gulped. His father always made him nervous.
Gino put down the phone and began pacing across his living room. Dario was a well-behaved kid, unlike his much wilder sister, Lucky, who seemed to think she could get away with anything. The trouble with Lucky was that she did things her way, and it wasn’t right. She was only fifteen. Fifteen, for chrissake. A baby.
Gino shuddered at the thought of the things that could happen to her. She was unworldly. An innocent out and about in the real world. She was not street-smart or experienced. How could he protect her when he didn’t even know where she was?
He contacted the Stanislopoulos girl’s mother again.
“Didya check on your kid?” he demanded.
“I’m traveling, Mr. Santangelo,” she answered coldly. “I’ll have my assistant get back to you.”
Uptight bitch! She was about as much help as a nun at a whores’ convention.
“Get me the father!” he yelled at Costa, who jumped to it. “Maybe he’ll be more help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
By the time we arrive back in Cannes, Olympia is in a party mood and proceeds to invite everyone up to the villa. Really, Olympia? Why?
In my mind I am already plotting my escape, because if Warris and his friends are moving in I have no desire to stay around.
I decide to give it another couple of days before I phone Aunt Jen and tell her that I’ve made a huge mistake and can she please help me get home. She’ll do it, she’ll do anything for me. Then of course I’ll have to face Gino’s wrath.
Hmm … I have a choice—Gino’s wrath or endless time spent with a stoned Olympia and her sleazy boyfriend. Some choice.
Yes, I’m definitely moving on, unless something more than a quick crush develops with Jon. He looked quite hot behind the bar tonight. Maybe I should take it a step further than “almost.”
Then again, maybe not. The thought of getting pregnant is a major deterrent. I am not that foolish.
Back at the villa everyone is busy getting stoned except me. I sneak off to bed and lock my door. Once again, this is not the adventure I’d hoped for.
* * *
Morning dawns and the sun is shining. It is a beautiful balmy day and I am the only one up. Apparently Pippa has stayed over, for her jacket is draped next to her purse on a chair in the living room. I wonder about March—is he here, too?
Apparently not, for the Rolls has gone, and Warris must have reclaimed the Mercedes, because it sits in the driveway.
I feel so alone; it’s not a great feeling. I’m missing L.A. and Dario and the house we live in. And yes—full disclosure—I miss Marco like crazy, even if he is inclined to ignore me.
Going home does not mean I’m returning to school. No way. School is definitely over for me, and Gino better realize that he can’t force me, ’cause if he does, I’ll just take off again. I am ready for battle. No more school for me.
Olympia, Warris, and Pippa emerge as a happy threesome around noon. This is getting to be a routine—the noontime wake-up call. What exactly does Olympia think I do all morning? The truth of the matter is that she doesn’t care. Now that she has Warris, I am totally disposable.
I am kind of disgusted by this latest turn of events. A threesome. Really?
Pippa looks a sight, with smeared makeup and tangled hair. She is wearing one of Warris’s T-shirts, and nothing much else. Whatever happened to March? Surely he’s the one they should be sleeping with since he’s the one with the money to invest in their big-time movie?
“Morning, little Lucky Saint,” Olympia trills, heading for the kitchen.
Oh great, now she’s talking down to me. Using my fake surname like I’m some sort of dumb kid.
Pippa throws me an interested look. “Lucky Saint?” she questions. “That’s a strange name.”
Oh, like Pippa isn’t?
“Actually it’s Lucky Santangelo,” I answer boldly.
“Oh my God!” Pippa exclaims, her penciled eyebrows shooting up. “Are you Gino’s kid?”
What? She knows Gino? This is impossible. Did Olympia tell her?
Warris is suddenly all ears. “The Gino Santangelo?” he questions. “The dude who practically owns Vegas?”
There follows a long silence while I consider what I am supposed to say. Do I admit who I am? Or do I try to fake it?
Can’t fake it. Not with Olympia and her big mouth.
“Yes,” I say vaguely. “Breakfast, anyone?”
* * *
It is now two o’clock and I’m waiting for Jon to show, praying that he’ll turn up soon, because since Warris and Pippa have discovered my identity they have been fawning all over me. It’s major creepy.
I am sitting by the pool with Pippa.
“Do you know that I was engaged to one of Gino’s dearest friends?” she reveals after a while, creeping me out even more.
How is this possible? Who is she?
“You were?” I mumble. “And who would that be?”
“Jake,” Pippa answers proudly. “It was a long time ago—Jake the Boy, as he was known then. I was very young, but I remember the day you were born. We sent over a present—a solid gold brush and comb set with your name inscribed.”
Oh crap! I know what she’s talking about. There is a tarnished gold brush and comb set sitting in a box of junk Gino keeps in the basement, and it has my name engraved on the back of the brush! This box is filled with stuff nobody wants—Gino keeps it because he says some things have sentimental value.
I am in shock. How did this happen? How does a fiery Latina actress on the make know who I am?
“Where is Gino?” Pippa asks. “I would love to see him again.”
I bet you would. Who are you?
“Gino’s not here,” I say, my words tumbling over each other.
“Is he coming?” Pippa asks.
I stare at her. Shortly she’ll figure out how old I am and maybe wonder what’s going on.
“Uh … yes,” I lie. “He’ll be here soon.”
Pippa’s eyes light up. “Wonderful,” she purrs. “I can’t wait to catch up on old times.”
This is a nightmare. What to do? I have to warn Olympia, who is currently naked in the swimming pool, smoking a joint and cavorting with Warris.
I get up and hurry into the kitchen.
“So…” Pippa says, following me, “whose house is this?”
“It belongs to Olympia’s family,” I reply, wishing the woman would leave me alone.
“And they allow you two girls to live here by yourself?”
Get lost, lady. Who are you to interrogate me?
“Uh … yeah. Everyone will be here in a few days.”
“Not a moment too soon,” Pippa remarks dryly, extracting a cigarette from her purse while glancing out the window and observing Warris and Olympia in the pool.
“How old is your friend?” she asks, tapping her manicured nails on the counter.
“Nineteen,” I lie, casually taking a Coca-Cola from the fridge.
“Really,” Pippa says. A long pause. “And you?” she adds.
I decide a switch of subjects is in order. “You’re so pretty,” I say. “How old are you?”
This is not a question she cares to answer. I sense that age is a sensitive subject for an actress who is obviously pushing forty.
We both go outside.
“Warris,” Pippa calls out. “It’s time for you to drive me into town. I need to change clothes, and March is meeting us for an early drink to discuss our script.”
Reluctantly, Warris hauls himself out of the pool. His shorts slip, revealing far too much of his pale anatomy. Ugh!
“Should I come with you?” Olympia squeaks.
“No, doll,” Warris says, bending over the side of the pool to give her a kiss. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
Ten minutes later the terrible two are gone.
; Ah, this is my opportunity to discuss the situation with Olympia. However, just as I’m about to do so, the doorbell rings, and standing on the doorstep is Jon. Cute, chirpy Jon with his crooked grin and crazy sticking-up hair. He has arrived on a Vespa, which sits in the driveway.
“Hey you,” he says.
“Hey you,” I respond, unexpectedly feeling a tad shy.
“This is quite a place.”
“You found it okay,” I say, stating the obvious.
“You inviting me in or am I just gonna stand here?” he asks.
“Uh … of course,” I reply, moving back for him to enter, while hoping that Olympia has put some clothes on.
No such luck. Olympia appears in all her blonde glory, plants her legs apart, and puts her hands on her hips. “Well, hello,” she says in what she considers her best sexy voice. “Who’re you?”
“Didn’t realize it was clothes optional,” Jon jokes, keeping his eyes above C-level.
I am mortified. Whatever happened to the girl I used to know?
“Feel free to strip off,” Olympia says, going for a major flirt. “You’re hot!”
“This is my friend Jon,” I say stiffly. “And nobody’s stripping off.”
Olympia pulls a face. “Spoilsport,” she says, throwing him a knowing wink.
I quickly take his arm and steer him outside. “Sorry about that,” I mumble. “Olympia dances to her own tune.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Jon says. “Naked blondes are not my thing.”
“No?”
“No. I like ’em dark-haired and beautiful. Know who I’m talking about?”
Jon definitely has a way with words.
* * *
By the time Warris and Pippa return to the house it’s dark outside, and Jon and I are locked in my room practicing “almost.”
Amazing the things you can do without going all the way.
I am happy, content. I am finally having fun, and I don’t give a flying anything about what the others are up to.
I may stay in the South of France longer than I thought.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gino tracked Dimitri Stanislopoulos down by phone in Athens and asked the question—was Olympia still in Paris? Dimitri said of course she was—however, he would double-check as a courtesy.
By the time he got back to Gino he was as concerned and angry as Gino himself.
“We have a problem,” Dimitri said, his voice grim.
Suddenly it was we.
“What’s happening?” Gino demanded. “Have you found ’em? Are they together?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Dimitri replied. “Olympia has apparently left Paris, taken her mother’s Mercedes, and nobody knows where she’s gone.”
“Ahh…” Gino said, feeling somewhat relieved that at least Lucky was probably with her friend.
“Olympia is a very strong-minded girl,” Dimitri said. “Uncontrollable, some would say. And easily influenced. I expect that together with your daughter, Lucky…”
“Are you sayin’ that Lucky influenced her?” Gino growled, knowing it was quite possible.
“Who knows what they’re getting up to,” Dimitri replied.
“You have any clue where they could’ve gone?” Gino demanded.
“No. However, I have a search out on the car. My people will soon find them.”
“If your wife hadn’t been so insistent about Olympia being in Paris…” Gino grumbled.
“Ex-wife,” Dimitri said. “I am sure you understand how that is.”
“Yes,” Gino said. “I understand perfectly.”
“We should meet in Paris,” Dimitri said. “They can’t have gone too far.”
“I’ll be on the next plane,” Gino said.
And indeed he was.
* * *
Dimitri Stanislopoulos was not the kind of man Gino usually spent time with. He was more of an equal, and Gino was used to an entourage—men who looked up to him and hung on to his every word. After all, he was Gino Santangelo, king of the heap.
Dimitri was king of another kind of heap. A billionaire ship owner, he lived a life of pure luxury surrounded by beautiful women and anxious yes men.
They were not so different really. Two men powerful in their own particular way. Two men who were catnip to women. Gino built magnificent hotels and gambling casinos in Vegas—among other things. And Dimitri controlled his massive empire. Apparently neither of them could control their teenage daughters.
They met up in Paris, shook hands, and went straight to Dimitri’s apartment to speak with his housekeeper, Magda, a rat-faced surly woman, nervous about losing her job.
Dimitri conversed with her in rapid French, his arms flailing around like windmills.
Magda replied in a resentful mumble, pushing wisps of dyed orange hair out of her eyes.
“What did she say?” Gino wanted to know.
“She tells me that Olympia took the car last Monday—said she was going to visit her mother,” Dimitri answered gruffly.
“Was Lucky with her?”
“I expect it was Lucky—apparently she was meeting a friend at the airport. Magda heard her on the phone checking arrival times.”
Gino nodded. “Now how the hell do we find ’em?” he demanded impatiently.
Dimitri shrugged. “Two pretty young girls in a white convertible Mercedes. Not so hard to trace. My team is on it. They’ll track the car, and Olympia’s credit card charges, then we’ll know where they are, or at least where they’re headed.”
“That easy, huh?” Gino said, chewing on his lower lip.
“Everything’s easy when you set your mind to it,” Dimitri said calmly.
Gino decided there was a distinct possibility that under different circumstances he and Dimitri might be friends.
After all, Gino had a great admiration for a man who could get things done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“There’s a mistral coming,” Jon informs me when he wakes up. I lean over and touch his face. He has soulful eyes and a stubbly chin. He’s made me very happy. And, even better—he’s not forced me to do anything I don’t want to do. I think he’s kind of perfect.
“What’s a mistral?” I ask, stretching lazily.
“It’s a vicious wind that’ll knock you sideways,” Jon explains, sitting up. “You should stay inside today.”
“Are you kidding?” I say brightly. “It’s a gorgeous day.”
“Trust me,” Jon warns. “It’s not gonna last, and there’s a storm coming through, too.”
“What’re you?” I joke. “A weather expert?”
“Kinda,” Jon says, getting out of bed and pulling on his pants.
I am feeling euphoric. Last night spooning close to Jon, I think I might’ve experienced the big O everyone’s always talking about. As I squeezed myself against him I suddenly felt this powerful surge of adrenaline and delight. A shudder of deliciousness took over my entire body, accompanied by a moment of pure ecstasy.
So much for not going all the way—apparently you can get all the way there without actually doing it.
I grin to myself and decide that Jon is a keeper.
“Will I see you later?” I ask. To my annoyance I’m beginning to sound a touch needy.
“Not today,” Jon says, reaching for his shirt. “Gotta work at the café all day. Vieux Columbier all night. Tomorrow—definitely.”
“What time tomorrow?” Oh my God! Stop sounding like a clinging wimp, Santangelo. Snap out of it.
“I’ll probably make it over in the afternoon,” Jon says.
“Great,” I respond.
I’m feeling a bit light-headed. Does this mean I’m falling in like?
No. Too soon.
Or is it?
After declining my offer of making him breakfast, Jon heads outside, jumps on his Vespa, and zooms off.
I wander into the kitchen. Surprise, surprise, Warris and Pippa are both up.
What kind of people are they, s
ponging off a couple of teenage girls? I bet if Warris knew Olympia was only sixteen he’d crap himself. And surely Pippa must’ve figured out how old I am? But I guess math isn’t her strong suit.
“Boyfriend’s taken off, I see,” Warris remarks, sitting at the kitchen table chugging a mug of coffee. “Not very social, is he?”
“Jon has to work,” I say, adding a pointed “Unlike some people.”
“We’re thinking of throwin’ a party tonight,” Warris informs me.
“Does Olympia know?” I ask.
Warris can see I’m not thrilled at the prospect of a party, but he doesn’t much care what I think. Why should he? I’m only the friend.
“She knows,” he says. “It’s a smart business move. We’ll get some big-ass money men up here, mix ’em up with a movie star or two—that’s a plan that always works.”
“Marabelle Blue?” I say with a hint of sarcasm.
“Is she in town?” Warris asks, suddenly looking all interested.
“No she’s not,” Pippa says, joining in. “She’s filming in Rio. My family is thrilled—my brother even got her autograph.”
“How nice,” I say, and I’m dying to add, Ha! My father got more than her autograph. Only why give them the pleasure of knowing anything about me and my family?
By the time Olympia gets up, plans have been made. Pippa has put herself in charge. She informs us that she will take the Mercedes, drive down to Cannes, and organize everything. The right mix of guests, incredible flowers, fantastic music, delicious food. “Nobody plans a party better than Pippa,” she boasts, licking her lips. “March will pay. March will do anything for me. You guys can just relax, I’ll see you later.”
And so she takes off in the Mercedes, and I go outside, dive into the pool, and begin swimming lengths. It seems like the only way to pass the day.
Idly I make up my mind that when Pippa returns I will ditch the party and drive into Juan-les-Pins. It doesn’t matter that Jon will be working behind the bar—at least I can hang with him, and that sure beats sitting around with a houseful of rich, famous old people at some dumb party.
I wonder where Jon lives. I don’t care if it’s just one room somewhere; I think I want to move in with him if he’ll have me, and why wouldn’t he?
Confessions of a Wild Child Page 9
