I immediately wonder if Betty has seen the photos? She must have, because why else would she have so readily agreed to the marriage between me and her precious son?
Oh yes, I get it. Gino courts power, legitimate power, so he sets up his movie-star girlfriend with the senator and nabs the pics. That way, when he wants a favor, Peter will oblige big-time—otherwise Gino will release the photos to the press, and ruin Peter’s chance of ever running for president. I know the way my father thinks. After all, I’m a Santangelo, too.
So … I’m out of control in Gino’s eyes, he doesn’t have a clue what to do with me. And then it all clicks. Marry me off to the senator’s boring son and we’ll all be one big dysfunctional happy family!
Everyone wins.
Except me.
Although I have already decided that I can work this to my advantage. I’m not a kid anymore, and once I’m married nobody will regard me as one.
Hastily I put everything back the way I found it, close the safe, and adjust the Picasso to its rightful place.
To say I am filled with a feeling of triumph would be an understatement.
And as I finish, Betty Richmond phones and informs me that her stylist has arrived from Washington with several wedding dresses for me to choose from. Would I please meet with them in the Richmonds’ suite.
Oh, why not? Let’s get this show going.
* * *
Standing half naked in front of Betty and her gay black English stylist (who’d have thought?!), I strut my stuff, kind of getting off on Betty’s obvious embarrassment that I don’t wear underwear—well, a tiny thong and that’s it.
Raoul, the stylist, gets off on it, too. I can tell he’s relishing Betty’s embarrassment as much as I am.
“This girl is a young beauty,” Raoul announces. “Restless and untamed like the sea. Such a body!”
I step into dress number one. A frilled white concoction, full length and hideous.
“No!” Raoul shrieks. “I have brought all the wrong choices. You did not tell me, Naughty Betty, that we are dressing a wild gypsy with fire in her eyes and a figure to die for!”
I think I love Raoul. He is flamboyant and fabulous with an outrageous proper English accent. How do he and Betty fit? And he calls her Naughty Betty—it’s hilarious.
I step out of dress number one and into the next dress.
“No!” Raoul shrieks again, throwing up his hands. “It is not at all right. I will call my people in Washington, they will send more choices. I know what this young beauty needs.”
Thank goodness there’s somebody crazier than me in the room.
Betty looks pained as usual. “When will the new dresses arrive?” she questions. “The wedding is almost upon us.”
“Tomorrow, darling,” Raoul assures her. “Tomorrow you will see perfection!”
I step out of dress number two. Bad timing, for it is at this exact moment Peter Richmond enters the room, and here I am with my tits on display.
Big reaction all around.
Betty: “For God’s sake, Lucky, cover up!”
Raoul: “Ooops!”
Peter: “Excuse me.” This said while backing out of the room, but not before getting an eyeful.
Betty throws me a withering look. “Put your clothes on,” she hisses.
Yes, ma’am. Or not. What if I feel like strolling around naked?
I grab my T-shirt and slither into my jeans.
“We need some decent clothes for this girl,” Betty snaps, fed up with playing nice. “Do you see what she looks like? Put together a full wardrobe for her, Raoul. Take her shopping. Here’s my Neiman’s card.”
Raoul winks at me. “We do it, darling. Are you free now?”
“I am.”
Raoul is obviously not a man who cares to waste time.
“Then let’s go, my wild little gypsy. We have shopping to do.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Neiman’s is not on Raoul’s hit list for me. “Neiman’s is Mrs. Richmond’s territory,” he informs me with a flick of his wrist. “Chanel, Valentino, designer chic. While you, my wild little bird, deserve feathers of another color.”
I have found a friend! A very unlikely friend. Mrs. Richmond’s personal stylist. A gorgeous gay English black man, with a magnificent ponytail, ebony skin, and skillfully khol-outlined eyes. What the heck is he doing with her?
I ask. Of course I ask.
Raoul smiles mysteriously. “I am the most sought-after stylist in Washington,” he informs me, “so naturally every lady of quality desires my services.”
“But—”
He holds up an imperious hand before I can utter another word. “I dress everyone from the first lady to Fantasia Montobella—and in case you are wondering who Fantasia Montobella is, he is the premier drag queen in Washington.” Raoul flashes a row of extremely white teeth. “I am—as they say—in demand.”
I nod. I get it.
“And you, my wild gypsy, what is your story?”
I give a casual shrug. “I guess I’m getting married.”
“You’re very young.”
“On the outside,” I allow.
Raoul does not question me any further. Instead he takes me on a dizzying round of shopping to a series of magical boutiques full of clothes I totally fall in love with.
“How do you know all these places?” I gasp, trying on an amazing filmy chiffon dress.
“It is my job,” Raoul replies, standing back, hand on slim hip as he looks me over. “Yes,” he decides. “This dress is perfect on you.”
I am in awe. Fashion has never been my thing, but then I’ve never been exposed to the likes of Raoul before, and he has an eye for what suits me. The truth is, he gets me, and I am extraordinarily grateful that somebody does.
After a while we stop for coffee and a chat.
“I do not wish to pry, child,” Raoul says. “However, you and Craven … why?”
I would love to tell him the truth, but I realize it would be foolish to do so. He works with Mrs. Richmond—who knows if he can keep a secret?
“Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “I, uh, think that Craven needs someone like me. I might be younger but I’m way wiser.”
Raoul rolls his expressive eyes. “True love it’s not.”
I manage an enigmatic smile. “We’ll see,” I murmur.
“Indeed we will,” Raoul sighs.
* * *
Later there is dinner with Gino, the Richmonds, myself, and Craven.
Yippee! Fun times!
I wear one of my new outfits picked out by Raoul. Not as traditional as Betty would’ve preferred, only I love it. Loose black pants and a shoestring top. Bold gold hoop earrings and a jangle of bracelets complete the outfit. Even Gino comments, “Lookin’ good, kiddo.”
A compliment indeed.
Craven stares at me openmouthed. “You’re so p … pretty,” he stammers. Senator Richmond throws me a few lecherous looks, while Mrs. Senator has nothing to say.
Is this my new life? Spending all my time with these people? Because I’m sure that Gino will be on the vanishing list once he’s got me safely married off. What a relief it must be for him. No more worries about his errant daughter, she’s tucked away in Washington with the Richmonds.
I think about what he’s done. He’s virtually delivered me to the Richmonds in exchange for not revealing Peter’s dalliance with the delectable Ms. Blue. And it’s obvious they don’t mind that much, because who else were they going to unload Craven on? He’s not exactly Mister Personality of the Year.
Gino doesn’t know it yet, but he owes me big-time. I will work alongside him. I will be heir to the family business. One of these days it’ll happen. Oh yes, Washington is just a stepping stone. A place for me to bide my time.
People keep coming over to our table and congratulating us. The news is out. Apparently so are the wedding invitations, which I haven’t even seen. Why would I? I’m only the bride.
Craven si
ts beside me, a peacock smile on his long thin face. He’s such a sad sack that I can’t even bring myself to hate him. It’s not his fault we’re stuck in this circumstance.
I think about our wedding night and shudder. Ugh! Will I really have to do it with him?
I can’t imagine. I am convinced that although he’s older than me he’s totally inexperienced, whereas I—even though I’ve never gone all the way—have plenty of moves.
Truth is, I’m probably a bit sex-crazy, hormones raging, all that stuff. Girls can want it just as much as boys do, and that doesn’t make them sluts. Sex is all about equality—nobody scoring off anyone else, just good healthy sex. It’s a given.
I wonder what Marco’s like in bed. No doubt awesome. When I pressed my lips against his it was pure heaven. Too bad he’s driven me to hate him.
And because I’m thinking about him, naturally he appears, whispers something in Gino’s ear, and after excusing himself, Gino goes off with Marco. I wonder what’s up. I want to be a part of it. I can solve problems, too.
“Your father is a busy man,” Betty remarks, tapping talonlike nails on the tabletop.
Not as busy as Peter, I want to say. The Marabelle Blue pics of him and her having crazy sex are still burned into my mind, probably never to be forgotten.
Dinner concludes without the return of Gino. I wonder where he is. What dire crisis has arisen that he has to deal with.
Once again Craven escorts me to the elevator. Once again I receive a chaste kiss on the cheek.
This is turning into a ritual. At least I have the arrival of Dario to look forward to.
Tomorrow is another day, and I am determined to make the best of it.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
I love my brother and, man, he’s looking fantastic! Tall and blond and hot! We hug and kiss and dance around the penthouse like a couple of maniacs. He’s my family, and I am so thrilled to see him.
When he emerges from his bedroom, Gino acts as if he’s pleased, too. He claps Dario on the shoulders and gives him a manly hug. Dario towers over him.
“This is it,” Gino says, his voice deep and full of pride. “Your first Vegas trip, Dario. You gotta get into it, kid, gotta learn about the family business, ’cause one day you’ll be runnin’ the whole shebang. You’ll be takin’ over from me.”
I note the widening of Dario’s devastatingly blue eyes.
“Yeah, Dad,” he mumbles, because what else can he say?
“Marco’s gonna show you the setup,” Gino continues. “Give you an idea of how we do things around here.”
“Can he show me, too?” I pipe up.
Gino shakes his head like he can’t really be bothered to reply.
“When you gonna get it into your thick head, Lucky?” he growls. “You’re a girl. Girls an’ business don’t cut it. You’re gettin’ married into an important family, an’ before you know it you’ll be poppin’ out babies, so quit with the whinin’.”
Am I whining? I don’t think so. I am merely making a request to receive equal treatment with my brother. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently so, for I’ve put an annoyed expression on Gino’s face.
Screw him. He’s on my hate list again. He had someone take sneak photos of his so-called movie-star girlfriend getting down and dirty with the senator. Not nice. Not nice at all.
I keep my cool—fighting with Gino will get me nowhere. I just have this huge fear for Dario, because if Gino gets so much as an inkling that Dario is gay …
I shudder to think of the consequences.
Before I can launch into a battle with Gino, both Marco and Flora put in an appearance: Marco to take Dario on a tour of the hotel, and Flora to escort me to meet with Betty Richmond and her wedding planner.
Sighing, I go with Flora and her fake boobs, although I would much prefer to be on the hotel tour with Dario.
“See you at lunch,” I call out to Dario.
He throws me a slightly panic-stricken look. The last thing he’s interested in is being taught the intricacies of building an enormous hotel and casino, then running it. Dario is no Gino. I am. Only Daddy Dearest doesn’t seem to get it.
Reluctantly, Dario goes off with Marco—whom I totally ignore. He doesn’t deserve so much as a good morning from me. We are over. Over.
Sorry, Marco, you had your chance and you blew it.
* * *
Ah, the wedding planner, a slim, trim, birdlike woman with darting eyes, plumped-up lips, and a bad wig—at least it looks like a wig to me. Her name is Talia Primm, and she is no Raoul.
Flora delivers me and leaves.
Miss Primm is armed with notebooks and charts and samples of various items. She obviously means business, for there is no friendly conversation, just a brusque—“We have to move fast, Lucky, no dillydallying. Decisions must be immediate and final if I’m to pull this off.”
Like I care. I don’t. I’m not interested in choosing flower arrangements, tablecloths, music, food, the cake. One day, when and if I have a proper wedding—one that means something to me—that’s the time I’ll get into all the details.
Betty Richmond is not present, she probably has better things to do with her time, like maybe spy on her horny husband.
I wonder if Betty cheats, too. Probably not, who would want her?
After an hour of boring decisions, I tell Miss Primm that she is way more equipped to handle everything than I am, and whatever she decides is fine with me.
She raises a thinly penciled eyebrow, and is it my imagination or does her wig shift slightly?
“Most brides are adamant about what they want,” she says. “You don’t seem overly concerned.”
I shrug. “I’m young,” I murmur. “You know better than me what’ll work. You’re the expert.”
Flattery does it every time. Miss Primm gives a tight smile and bobs her head. Once again I’m sure I see her wig shift.
“Very well, Lucky, I will take it upon myself to make sure everything is perfect,” she says, clicking her teeth.
“I know you will,” I answer, heading for the door.
Flora was due to meet me after two hours with Miss Primm, but since I am out of there early I am free to roam. Something Gino obviously doesn’t want me to do.
Is he scared I’ll make a run for it?
Probably.
I spend my free hour wandering around the hotel. There is so much to see—a variety of restaurants and coffee shops, a spa, two magnificent swimming pools, a mini golf course, a theater. And, located to the side of the hotel, a bunch of luxury villas reserved for high rollers.
The entire hotel is a wonderland of activity. Then there’s the casino itself, the real moneymaker, where it all happens.
This is where I discover Raoul at a blackjack table, accompanied by a young Asian guy in a smart gray suit.
“Hey,” I say, hovering.
“Good morning, gypsy girl,” Raoul responds, flashing his whiter-than-white teeth.
Gypsy girl, my new nickname, I love it!
Seeing Raoul lifts my spirits, he has a zest for life that is catching.
“I expect you’re wondering when your wedding dress will arrive,” he says, indicating to the dealer that he’s ready to cash in.
“Only one dress?” I say. “What if I don’t like it?”
“Trust me, child,” Raoul assures me, pushing his chair away from the table. “You will.”
I do trust him—I can’t wait to see what he’s picked out for me. One thing I’m sure of, it won’t be a traditional wedding dress. Raoul has an eye for what I like, or so I hope.
“Is it black?” I ask mischievously. “A Goth wedding dress would suit me fine.”
“I’m sure it would,” Raoul opines. “And my reputation would therefore be shot to hell.”
I giggle.
He smiles.
The young Asian man follows us out of the casino.
“Meet Akio,” Raoul says, with a casual wave of his hand. “My partner
in love.”
I gather they’re a couple, not a random pickup as I’d assumed at first sight.
“Why don’t you join me and my brother for lunch?” I suggest. “You’ll really like Dario, he’s special.”
I want to add, And he plays for your team. Only I don’t, because it’s up to Dario who he tells and who he doesn’t.
Raoul turns to Akio as if he’s the decision maker, which strikes me as odd since Akio has to be at least fifteen years younger than Raoul.
Akio gives a stiff nod. A man of few words. I hope that Dario doesn’t mind me inviting them. It’s not just because they’re gay that I did so, it’s because I like Raoul a lot and I think Dario will, too.
Raoul takes my arm. “And what have you been up to, young lady?” he asks.
“Well,” I reply, realizing I have nothing exciting to report. “I met with the wedding planner Mrs. Richmond flew in.”
Raoul rolls his eyes. “Talia Primm,” he says with a weary sigh. “Miss Pain-in-the-Ass, as she’s known around town.”
I giggle at the way he pronounces “ass.” It sounds so proper, said with an English accent.
“Did Miss Primm attempt to boss you around?” he inquires.
“Not really. I simply told her that she could make all the decisions, which seemed to please her.”
“Wise child,” Raoul says.
And so we proceed to the restaurant.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
I had no idea Dario could cast such a spell, but the moment Raoul meets him there is chemistry in the air. Raoul, a sophisticated and worldly man in his forties, and my teenage beautiful blond brother. Wow! Who would’ve thought?
Akio is not pleased—he senses it, too, and keeps on shooting Dario dagger-filled glares of meanness.
Dario seems oblivious. He rattles on about school and painting and books he’s enjoyed reading, while Raoul—surprisingly silent—drinks in every word.
Does Dario understand the effect he’s having?
I doubt it.
The truth is I have no idea how deep Dario is into the gay thing. Maybe it’s just a phase. Or maybe not. I’m at a loss.
I need to find out—do gay people take one look at each other and just know?
Confessions of a Wild Child Page 16
