Drop Dead Beautiful

by Jackie Collins

  “Gotta go,” he said abruptly. “See you Sunday.” And he hung up.

  That’s right, Alex, let’s not get anywhere near your personal life, Lucky thought. She wished he’d find that special someone, because even though he’d been living with Ling for a couple of years, she obviously wasn’t it.

  There were times Lucky found it uncomfortable between her and Alex—especially as she’d never told Lennie about their one-night stand. The truth was she wanted Alex and Lennie to remain friends, but if Lennie ever found out …

  It was all too complicated, she refused to think about it. There were too many other things to deal with, and right now making Gino’s party perfect was number one on her agenda.

  Chapter 14

  Friday morning Brigette and Bobby Stanislopolous met at a private airport in New York, ready to board the Stanislopolous plane to Los Angeles. Neither of them used the plane much; it was the company jet and usually flew members of the Stanislopolous board and chief executives around Europe. However, it was at their disposal whenever they needed it.

  When they met up at the airport, Brigette realized she hadn’t seen Bobby in almost a year. “Look at you,” she exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see him. “Handsome!”

  Bobby was indeed handsome. Like Lucky he was tall, with olive skin, jet-black hair, and intense black eyes. Like his late father, Dimitri, he had a Greek nose, strong chin, and dominant personality. He was a hybrid—half Santangelo, half Stanislopolous.

  “Is that any way to talk to your uncle?” he teased, checking out his devastatingly pretty niece.

  “Oh, sorry, Uncle Bobby,” Brigette said with a flicker of a smile. She was naturally blond and cover-girl pretty. “I hear your club is doing great,” she added. “Good for you.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby replied, nodding his head. “We got written up in New York magazine last month. How come I’ve never seen you there?”

  “I finished with the club scene after I finished with modeling,” she said. “It’s not for me. Too many needy people on the prowl.”

  “You gotta be my guest one night,” Bobby said, full of enthusiasm at the thought of showing off his gorgeous niece. “I’ll look after you. We’ll have fun, that’s a promise.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Bobby,” she answered, smiling. “I shall look forward to that.”

  Wow! She’s such a babe, Bobby thought. What a waste. I know a dozen guys who’d give their left nut for a shot at her. And if we weren’t related…

  “Is the plane ready for boarding?” she asked.

  “All set,” he said, scooping up her Fendi overnight bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

  “Then let’s go,” Brigette said, standing up.

  “You got it,” he said, taking her arm.

  Together they headed for the plane.

  Meanwhile, Gino Senior sat in the front passenger seat of his new Cadillac, while Paige, his wife of twenty years, drove. For an old broad Paige still had it going on, or at least Gino thought so. He couldn’t have asked for a more spirited, loyal, always-there-for-him wife. And attractive too, with her flaming red hair and pocket Venus figure. Even in her seventies Paige still cut a swath. He’d made a smart choice when he’d dumped his third wife, the frosty Susan Martino, and married her best friend, Paige. There’d been a few bumps along the way—nobody was perfect. He’d never forget walking in on the two women in bed together. But that was ancient news, and who was he to make judgments? After all, his past was hardly blameless.

  Ah … So many women, so many memories …

  Now he was old. Frigging old. And it didn’t seem possible when in his head he was still maybe forty years of age. Christ! Looking in the mirror and seeing an old face peering back at him was not something that thrilled him. Better than the alternative, though; he was a true survivor and let no one forget it. He’d outlived them all—Enzio Bonnatti, Pinky Banana, Jake the Boy—all the old crew. He’d weathered jail, a heart attack, the death of a child, a couple of assassination attempts, the murder of his beloved first wife. Jeez! And a thousand other things.

  In two days he was about to be ninety-frigging-five, and it wasn’t so bad, apart from the fact that his body was falling to pieces. His knees were gone, arthritis had claimed his hands, his back hurt, his eyes were fading fast, and worst of all, he couldn’t get it up anymore. Not that he had any desire to, sex was off the agenda—had been for a couple of years. Gino the Ram was no more. He’d had a good run, and he didn’t regret one step of the way, although he did feel sorry for Paige—she must miss the action. Not that she complained; Paige would never do that.

  “Can’t wait t’see the kids,” he said, settling back. “This should be some weekend.”

  “Fasten your seat belt,” Paige said, sounding quite bossy. “If we have an accident, you could go through the windshield.”

  “Big friggin’ deal,” Gino replied, indulging in a vigorous coughing fit. “I’m gonna be ninety-five, woman. Ya think a goddamn seat belt’s gonna save me?”

  “Be sensible, Gino.”

  “Now, when’s that gonna happen?” he said, shooting her a quizzical look.

  “What time is everyone getting here?” Lennie asked, wandering into the den, where Lucky was busy making notes.

  “Brigette and Bobby should be here at four,” she said, putting down her pen and stretching her arms above her head. “And Gino and Paige are arriving around the same time.”

  “Full house this weekend,” Lennie remarked.

  “Gino wanted to stay in a hotel, but I told him he has to stay here.”

  “Maybe he likes hotels,” Lennie said, walking over to her and starting to massage her shoulders.

  “Hey, maybe I want him here,” Lucky retorted.

  “That’s ’cause you’re Miss Control Freak.”

  “I am certainly not,” she objected.

  “Y’know,” Lennie mused, “if anyone had told me you’d turn into Earth Mother, I would’ve laughed in their face.”

  “You would, huh?” she said, turning her head.

  “Lucky Santangelo Golden, former wild one—Earth Mother supreme.”

  “What are you talking about now?”

  “Take a count. Three kids—well, four if you count Leonardo. One father. A stepmother. A goddaughter. A husband—”

  “That would be you,” she said, starting to smile.

  “Yeah, me,” he said, smiling back. “And we’ll all be in the same house this weekend, getting ready for Gino’s big one. And if I know you, you’ll be watching out for everyone. Like I said—Earth Mother supreme.”

  “Who’d’ve thunk?” she said ruefully. “Me. The original independent woman. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Would you?”

  “No, sweetheart, not for a minute. You make my life complete.”

  “I do?”

  “Y’know,” he added thoughtfully, “we’ve been through a hell of a lot together.”

  “Now, ain’t that the truth,” she said, getting up.

  “So … I want to thank you, Mrs. Golden. And if you come over here, I’ll show you how.”

  “Hmm …” she said, smiling. “Might I remind you it’s the middle of the day?”

  “No shit?”

  “And I have a thousand things to do.”

  “So I suppose a blow job’s outta the question?” he said, only half serious.

  “Lennie!” she exclaimed, taking a step back.

  “I know, I know,” he said, ruefully. “It’s the middle of the day. But hey, I can remember the time when—”

  “When what?”

  “You know what.”

  “Okay, husband,” she said, impulsively grabbing his hand. “I think you need to come with me.”

  “Huh?”

  “With me,” she said firmly. “That’s an order.”

  “And where are you taking me?” he asked, playing along.

  “Somewhere we can lock the door. How’s that for a plan?”

  He grinned. “Now, that’s th
e girl I married.”

  “You’d better believe it!”

  And out on the highway Max drove too fast, just like her mother.

  Today she was into rap. Loud, throbbing, ear-splitting rap played mega volume in her car—the amazing BMW sports car her parents had bought her for her sixteenth birthday. Lucky had been against her getting a sports car, but Lennie had soon persuaded her. Lennie had to be the coolest, most laid-back dad in the world. He could talk Lucky into anything—which was why Max realized she should have gone to Lennie in the first place instead of asking Lucky if she could go to Big Bear.

  But hey—whatever. Here she was sitting in her BMW on her way to Big Bear heading for an adventure. No problemo. No way. This was major exciting!

  Giggling to herself, she turned the volume even higher.

  Internet guy, here I come. I hope you’re good and ready!

  Chapter 15

  “I shall be going away this weekend,” Henry informed his mother. He was standing in the imposing front hallway of the Pasadena mansion wearing khaki pants and a mud-brown shirt. His prematurely thinning hair was plastered down, and he carried a large canvas hold-all. Henry was not handsome, nor was he ugly—he was merely quite ordinary-looking with no distinguishing features.

  Penelope was shocked and at the same time secretly pleased, because much as she tolerated having Henry around, she realized that it was not exactly healthy for him to never leave the house, especially for a boy of his age— man really, for Henry was almost thirty.

  “Where are you going?” she inquired.

  “To visit friends,” he answered vaguely.

  Friends? Henry didn’t have any friends, at least none that she knew of.

  “How long will you be gone?” she asked, adjusting a tall vase of tulips perched on an antique table.

  “It depends,” he said evasively.

  “Have you met a girl?” she asked. “Because if you have, I wish to meet her before you even think of getting involved. Remember what I have always told you about girls, Henry. When they look at you, all they see is dollar signs. You are a Whitfield-Simmons, and do not ever forget it.”

  As if he could. She’d drilled it into him since he was six.

  He was a Whitfield-Simmons, and one day he would inherit the Whitfield-Simmons fortune.

  “Maybe,” he replied, refusing to look her in the eye. “I’ll phone you, Mother, and let you know when I’ll be back.”

  “Very well, Henry, I certainly hope you have a pleasant time.”

  “I think I will,” he said, limping toward the door. “As a matter of fact, I’m sure I will.”

  “Look after yourself, dear,” Penelope said, her attention drifting back to the tulips, which seemed in dire need of fresh water.

  “I always do,” Henry muttered, aware that his mother was no longer listening to him.

  He exited the house and stood for a few minutes in the circular driveway.

  Markus, his mother’s chauffeur, appeared. “Can I help you, Mr. Henry?” Markus asked. He was black and subservient, and had been with the Whitfield-Simmons family since before Henry was born. Shades of Driving Miss Daisy, Henry thought. He knew plenty about movies, because apart from his time spent hunched over his computer, he was a movie buff, fascinated by old movies, and especially horror classics such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and every one of the Freddy films.

  “No help needed, thank you, Markus,” he said. “I shall be away for the weekend.”

  Markus’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “That’s nice, Mr. Henry, a nice change for you.”

  “Yes, it is,” Henry agreed.

  “What car will you be wanting to take?” Markus inquired.

  “Mother’s Bentley.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Henry,” Markus said, looking dismayed and beginning to sweat. “Mrs. Penelope won’t allow that. She’s given me strict orders—”

  “I understand, Markus. I was merely joking.”

  “Yes, Mr. Henry, I knew that,” Markus said, thoroughly relieved. “You was joking with me.”

  “I’ll take the Volvo.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Henry, I’ll bring it round to the front.”

  “That’s okay, I’ll get it myself.”

  “If you’re sure …”

  “I’m sure.”

  Henry walked around the side of the house where the cars were lined up in a row of garages. There was his mother’s shiny royal blue Bentley, also a pristine black Cadillac she used when she considered the Bentley too flashy to take on one of her charity jaunts downtown, and next to the Cadillac, a gray Mercedes SUV for shopping trips.

  The dark brown Volvo lurked in a corner spot. It was the car out-of-town guests used when they came to stay, and sometimes Markus was allowed to take it out. Ever since his accident Henry had not wanted a car of his own; there was no point since he wasn’t going anywhere.

  But today he was. Oh yes, today he was off on a mission, and he had to admit that getting out of the house was quite exhilarating.

  Opening the trunk of the Volvo, he carefully placed his canvas holdall inside. It contained everything he needed for a very interesting weekend indeed.

  Chapter 16

  Vegas and Anthony Bonar were a good match. What’s not to like? Anthony thought whenever he visited the desert city. Gambling, spectacular shows, fine restaurants, and beautiful women—plenty of hot, sexy, ready-to-do-anything babes.

  Not that he was looking, he had enough to deal with juggling Emmanuelle and Carlita—Irma didn’t count. But even though he wasn’t on the hunt, Vegas was Vegas, and if some ready-to-rock piece of ass took his fancy, why turn it down? Viagra meant never having to say you were too tired.

  He didn’t need the damn blue pills, but after trying Viagra a couple of times he’d become addicted to the major hard-on that never quit. Emmanuelle and Carlita did not object, in fact quite the opposite—the two of them begged him for more. Insatiable bitches, he thought with a self-satisfied smirk.

  The first woman he’d ever screwed was a whore plying her trade on the streets of Naples. It had happened a few weeks before his twelfth birthday and he was already ragingly horny. The whore had beckoned him into an alley—snatched his money, which he’d stolen from his mother’s purse, and screwed him standing up. Fast and furious, that was the way she’d liked it. He’d realized then and there that was the way all women liked it.

  He’d never changed his sexual style. Fuck ’em hard and fuck ’em long. The story of his success with women.

  Renee Falcon Esposito, joint owner of the Cavendish Hotel, had sent a limousine to the airport. Renee and he went way back to the days she was married to Oscar Esposito, the Colombian billionaire politician, a man who’d met his fate by being tossed from a moving plane after trying to pull a double cross on an extremely powerful and vengeful drug lord. Since Anthony had been banging Renee on the side, she’d immediately turned to him for help. He’d never revealed to her that he was part of the plot to get rid of Oscar, but he had helped her flee Colombia with the money she’d inherited from her deceased husband—not to mention several safe-deposit boxes stuffed with illegal cash, which he’d persuaded her she had to split with him.

  He’d moved Renee back to her hometown, Las Vegas, where she’d eventually hooked up with another mega-bucks female, Susie Rae Young, the widow of famous country singer Cyrus Rae Young. The two of them had formed a life partnership and built their dream hotel in which Anthony had declared himself a silent partner.

  That was over ten years ago, and business was excellent, so Renee had not taken much convincing that the Keys was a direct threat, and could pull away many of their best customers. Anthony insisted they had to do something drastic to stop the Keys from opening. He’d come up with an idea of how to do this. It was a costly plan, but it would be totally effective. Anthony had agreed to pay half of the million bucks it would cost them to have an expert blow up the complex—one building at a time. He had no intention of paying his half. Let Renee foot the
entire bill. She owed him.

  The hotel limo was waiting on the tarmac alongside his plane. The driver was a tall Swedish blonde dressed in black leather from her knee-high boots to the jaunty cap sitting on top of her head.

  “Welcome back to Vegas, Mr. Bonar,” she said in a throaty, accented voice. “I will be your driver while you are here.”

  He barely glanced in her direction.

  “My name is Britt,” she continued, handing him a small silver cell phone. “All my numbers are programmed in. I’m on duty twenty-four hours a day. Call whenever you need me, I’m at your disposal.”