Two weeks later his agent called with the words every actor yearns to hear. “Congratulations, Billy. You got the part.”
He remembered stammering, “I got the what?” And then he’d hit the clubs with a few of his buddies—including his closest friend from back home, Kev, whose floor he’d been sleeping on for the past few months. He’d gotten bombed out of his mind and ended up with a forty-year-old Puerto Rican stripper who’d called him Blondie Pie, and given him a mild dose of the clap.
A week later he was on the set of Alex Woods’s new movie, Seduction, acting opposite Venus. It was the start of his ride. And what a ride it had turned out to be.
Shower over, Billy returned to the bedroom bare-assed naked. Venus gave him an appreciative once-over and beckoned him to join her on the bed.
Fortunately, the Donkey King—the name a former girlfriend had bestowed on his penis—was up and at ’em, at the ready to do whatever his master bade.
“Come here, you crazy sex maniac,” Venus crooned.
Yeah, like she could talk.
He headed for the bed, and the soft, sexy, comforting warmth of his girlfriend. The same girlfriend he’d cheated on earlier that day.
Shit! Better make it up to her, he thought, quickly forgetting about his bruised and battered body. Better be ready to rock and roll all night long.
And while Billy was making out with one of the most famous women in the world, Alex Woods was drinking Jack Daniel’s on the rocks at a bikers’ hangout somewhere in the mountains off the Pacific Coast Highway. He didn’t feel like going home to his architecturally perfect house situated on a prime piece of Broad Beach property.
He didn’t feel like staring out at the black ocean or switching on his movie-size TV screen.
He didn’t feel like making conversation, or anything else for that matter, with Ling, his Asian girlfriend—a twenty-nine-year-old lawyer with a serene attitude and amazing sexual skills.
What did he feel like doing?
He felt like being by himself, getting drunk, and thinking about Lucky Santangelo.
Lucky was always on his mind. Always …
So that’s exactly what he did.
Tomorrow was another day; he could forget about her then and resume life as he knew it.
Only that never happened. Lucky was his secret obsession, and as long as Lennie was around, he knew it had to stay that way.
Chapter 9
If it wasn’t for Lucky Santangelo, Henry Whitfield-Simmons might have been a big star. Or at least that’s what he believed. He knew he was far superior to Billy Melina, the actor who had stolen his role in the Alex Woods film that Henry had been so sure he was about to get.
Henry considered Billy Melina to be an inferior human being, with no acting ability whatsoever. He’d seen his movies. He’d sneered at his movies. It was a travesty that Billy Melina had been hired in his place, and gone on to become a famous star.
Even though his failed audition had taken place many years previously, Henry brooded about it on a daily basis. He knew for a fact that if it wasn’t for Lucky Santangelo, he, Henry Whitfield-Simmons, would have been the one up there on the screen with Venus Maria in Seduction. Even now, although the day of his audition was eight long years ago, Henry had never forgotten nor forgiven. Lucky Santangelo, a producer on the film, was the one to blame; she was the one who hadn’t wanted him. He was positive of this because while auditioning, he’d observed Lucky sitting across the table with the casting people, staring at him with her black unfriendly eyes while tapping her fingertips impatiently on the table. Alex Woods wasn’t present that day, nor was Venus Maria.
Henry was about to read a second scene when he’d noticed Lucky signal to the casting people that she’d seen enough. How unspeakably rude!
Henry was justifiably angry, for not only was she rude, Lucky Santangelo had ruined his future. She’d taken his one chance and thrown it away with her careless actions.
Shortly after his failed audition, Henry had been summoned to go on a fishing trip with his father. It was just the two of them on a small fishing boat out on the lake, because Logan Whitfield-Simmons truly believed that getting back to the simple things in life was the best way to bond with his uncooperative and unambitious son, whom he didn’t understand at all. Logan never understood anybody who was unproductive and had no work ethic. He was determined to instill some sense into his only son.
“When are you going to join the family business?” he’d asked, bristling for the right answer.
It was a leading question that initially Henry ignored, until eventually it led all the way to a vicious argument.
“You know perfectly well I want to be an actor,” Henry had yelled, filled with frustration. “It’s my ambition, and you can’t stop me.”
“Can’t I?” Logan had answered, his long face grim.
“No!” Henry had shouted. “Not you, not Mother, nobody.”
“You’ll be an actor over my dead body,” Logan had shouted back.
Soon the yelling had escalated into a serious screaming match. Logan was very angry with his useless son, who refused to listen to reason, and Henry had no intention of giving up his dream.
They screamed insults back and forth, until the older man suddenly fell silent. His face paled and he clutched his left arm. “Je … sus,” he’d managed, before collapsing onto the bottom of the boat. “Get… me … my … pills.”
Henry did nothing. He merely sat and watched as his father writhed in agony for at least five minutes before dying of a massive heart attack. Only then had Henry taken the boat back to the landing dock. He wasn’t sorry, not at all. It was his father’s own fault—he’d caused the fatal heart attack himself by shouting at him.
Logan Whitfield-Simmons’s funeral was a heavily attended and somber affair. The Whitfield-Simmonses were a well-known and respected family in Pasadena. In fact, they were a well-known family across America. Logan Whitfield-Simmons was always at the top of Forbes magazine’s richest people in America list, while Penelope Whitfield-Simmons was lauded on the society pages for her extensive charity work, elegant clothes, and Fortune 400 friends. Great things were expected of Henry, their only son and heir. He fully intended to disappoint.
After his father’s funeral Henry felt a certain freedom. Without asking anyone’s permission, he borrowed his mother’s credit card, went out and purchased an extremely expensive sports car. Two days later he smashed the car up in a head-on collision. Unfortunately for Henry, he emerged from the accident with a broken pelvis and hip, and since his hip never set properly, he was stuck with a permanent limp, putting paid to his dreams of becoming a famous actor.
After his accident Henry rarely left the house. Mostly he stayed in his room watching movies or hunched over his computer.
Penelope was not concerned that her son stayed at home and did nothing; having him around was company for her. “My son, the computer nerd,” she would sigh to her friends. “Henry knows more about computers than anyone. He’s threatened to teach me one day, although who has the time to understand all that newfangled technology?”
Henry lived a whole other life on the Internet. There were girls to visit, places to go he’d never gone before, naked girls he didn’t have to talk to, because Henry had never been good with the opposite sex. Henry Whitfield-Simmons was still a virgin. As far back as he could remember, his mother had always warned him that girls would chase after him because of the family’s wealth and position, and that he should always resist their advances. He’d taken note of her wise words, and never had a girlfriend.
One day while surfing the Internet, he’d come upon a site that featured young teenage girls. Somehow he’d managed to enter their private domain, a Web site where they exchanged personal messages and wrote vividly about their thoughts and dreams. Most of their thoughts and dreams concerned boys, which Henry found boring. But he liked looking at the photos the girls posted of themselves. They were pouty and pretty; young, innocent girls pla
ying dress-up with long, flowing hair draped seductively over one eye, and come-on expressions.
Henry was soon addicted. Every night he would sit at his computer checking them out. Until one night he realized there was something very familiar about one of the girls, and when he Googled her, he discovered who she was. The girl was Maria Santangelo Golden, Lucky Santangelo’s daughter.
The information astounded and thrilled him.
Chapter 10
Even though Lucky arose at five A.M., ready to work out with her personal trainer—so L.A. (but if she didn’t have Cole to kick her butt three days a week, she’d never do it)— there were never enough hours in the day to get everything done, especially as she flew to Vegas twice a week. After a vigorous workout she usually made her East Coast phone calls—business and family. Her son Bobby had recently opened a restaurant/club in New York, and Brigette was busy designing her own jewelry line. Neither of them needed to work, as they were both descendants of Greek billionaire Dimitri Stanislopolous, Lucky’s second husband, and had both inherited huge fortunes, although Bobby would not inherit the bulk of his until he hit twenty-five.
Lucky was happy about that. Bobby was smart and extremely good-looking—the burden of such a fortune was bound to influence him. She fervently hoped that in two years’ time he’d be able to handle the pitfalls that came with being ultrarich.
Bobby had dropped out of college after a couple of years because he was bored and wanted to get out into the world and do something. Lucky had encouraged him; as far as she was concerned, it was more important to get a street education. Not that opening a club was exactly street, but it was an education.
Every few weeks Lucky took a plane into New York to check things out. Brigette was doing well. She’d given up her once-hot modeling career, and after a series of disastrous affairs and a bad marriage, at thirty-two she finally seemed to have gotten it together.
Brigette was the child of Olympia, Dimitri’s daughter who’d died from a drug overdose locked in a hotel room with famous British rock star Flash.
As one of the richest heiresses in the world, she’d always lived her life in the spotlight. Constantly dogged by paparazzi, written about in all the gossip columns, and envied by most mere mortals, not only was Brigette unbelievably rich, she was also a natural blonde with a willowy figure and an extremely pretty face. Brigette was every fortune hunter’s dream. Problem was she always managed to attract the wrong men. If there was a bad-boy loser around, send him in Brigette’s direction—she seemed to collect them. The last disaster was Carlo Vittorio Vitti, an Italian count who’d managed to turn Brigette onto drugs, married her, then attempted to murder her so he could inherit her enormous fortune.
Ever since that fateful marriage, there’d been a lull, and for the last few years Brigette seemed at peace. All the same, Lucky kept a close eye on her.
Bobby, on the other hand, was Mr. Cool. He had a Kennedy-esque air about him—great looks and charmingly self-deprecating. Girls fell at his feet and he took his pick, working his way through the pack.
“You’re my hero,” Gino Senior told him every time they got together. “Screw the Stanislopolous bloodline—you’re a Santangelo all the way, an’ doncha forget it.”
Gino, who resided in Palm Springs with his decades-younger wife, Paige, was crazy about all his grandchildren, especially Bobby, who reminded him of his own womanizing youth.
Lucky felt fortunate to have such a great family, but having a family didn’t mean sitting around doing nothing. Money had never been a problem for Lucky—her name said it all, plus she was a savvy businesswoman with all the right instincts. She was totally psyched about getting back into the hotel business. The last hotel she’d built was the Santangelo in Atlantic City—a fine hotel—but Atlantic City wasn’t Vegas, so after a few years she’d sold it, garnering almost three times her investment. Now, in Las Vegas, she had created the Keys complex—a hotel casino with luxury apartments. It was her dream hotel, and she couldn’t wait for opening night, which was in a few weeks’ time.
In the meantime she had Gino’s ninety-fifth birthday party to plan. She wanted it to be ultraspecial, so she’d hired a party planner to take care of all the details. Gino would love being the center of his own party; he lived for action. At almost ninety-five he was as active as ever, full of energy and a zest for living.
Gino the Ram was his nickname when he was a teenager running riot on the streets of Brooklyn.
As a kid, Lucky couldn’t wait to hear all about Gino in his wild days—clawing his way up from nothing, making his fortune, scoring with dozens of beautiful women, until one day he’d met Maria, and she’d turned out to be the love of his life.
Maria. Lucky’s mother. Brutally butchered and left for five-year-old Lucky to discover floating on a raft in the family swimming pool, the blood draining from her lifeless body.
Her mother’s death had forced Lucky to be strong and independent. It had taught her how to be alone and to never be scared again.
The violent and unforgettable tragedy had taken away her childhood and all the good memories, but screw it—even after Dario was murdered and then Marco, she’d never allowed herself to get beaten down. Never.
No. Lucky’s power was in her strength, and nobody could take that away from her.
Nobody dared.
Early Thursday evening Max bounced into the den where Lucky was busy working on the security list for Gino’s party, and Lennie was jotting down random notes on the script of his upcoming movie.
“Hey, Mom,” Max said, employing her best conciliatory tone of voice. “I just came up with a totally cool idea.”
“Really?” Lucky said, hardly looking up.
“Yes,” Max replied. “Y’see, I have the perfect solution.”
“You do, huh?” Lucky said skeptically.
Max nodded, full of confidence. “I’ll drive to Big Bear tomorrow, then come back Sunday morning like way in time for Grandpa’s party. How’s that?”
Lennie glanced up from his script. “You’re going to Big Bear?” he said. “I used to love to ski.”
“And your lovely daughter doesn’t,” Lucky said crisply. “Besides, Max, there’s no way you can miss dinner tomorrow night. Gino’s driving in from Palm Springs, and Bobby and Brigette are coming from New York. It’s a big family reunion dinner, and I’m cooking.”
Max groaned inwardly. Friday nights Lucky made a point of everyone sitting down for the whole family dinner thing. Why did she have to be there? Surely she had enough of Gino Junior and his lech friends all week?
“But Mom—” she began, working it hard.
Lucky shot her daughter a look. Friday nights were important, especially this Friday with everyone arriving. She’d planned on taking over the kitchen herself and making the one dish she excelled at: pasta and meatballs with her special sauce. It was Lennie’s favorite meal, and preparing it was her favorite therapy. Besides, she’d always encouraged her kids to bring their friends, so why was Max so intent on giving her a hard time?
“You should be here,” she said, throwing her daughter another long, steady look. “Everyone wants to see you.”
Max frowned. This Friday-night family deal was totally lame, she was so not into it, even though her friends couldn’t wait to come over for Friday dinner. “Damn, girl!” Cookie was always informing her. “You actually, like, have a family. All I’ve got is my dad, an’ all he has is a different bigboobed skank like every other second. An’ he gets to fuck ’em. I have to talk to them, so Friday night at your house rocks!”
It infuriated Max that both Cookie and Harry considered Lucky and Lennie the coolest parents ever.
“You don’t have to live with them,” she would often point out. “They’re not that easy. My mom can be a total pain. When I got that tattoo on my thigh she went total ape shit.”
“I’d swap ’em for mine any day,” Harry would always reply. “At least they notice you’re alive.”
Max had
to admit that on the very few occasions she’d seen them, Harry’s parents were quite scary. And as for Cookie’s dad, Gerald M., he was a major sex addict.
“Everyone will see me on Sunday at the big party,” Max said, flashing Lennie a pleading look. “Dad …”
“What’s the deal?” Lennie asked, finally putting down his script.
“One of Cookie’s friends is having a blowout birthday thing Saturday night,” Max said, words tripping over each other. “And Mom says I can’t go. But if I’m back in time for Grandpa’s party …” She trailed off, continuing to gaze pleadingly at Lennie, all intense green eyes and innocent expression.
Lennie got the message. “Hey, Lucky,” he said. “Whyn’t you let her go? What’s the big problem?”
Drop Dead Beautiful Page 6
