"Fuck you," replied Eddie.
They began to scuffle.
The writer scuttled out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Lucky glanced up from her desk.
"Did you cal the guards?" the writer asked urgently.
"I think they'l be able to work it out between them, don't you?" she said sweetly.
Shaking his head, the writer ran out. He was paid to write, not to get involved in grudge battles.
Just as Leslie was recovering from Madame Loretta's cal ous attitude, the doorbel rang.
Tentatively she peered through the peephole. A woman stood on the other side of the door--a wel -dressed, heavily-made-up woman. "Yes," Leslie cal ed out. "Can I help you?"
"Where's Eddie?" the woman said irritably. "He's not here."
"Shit! We had an appointment."*
"I'm Mrs. Kane," Leslie said, attempting to assert herself.
"And who are you?"
"Kathleen Le Paul. Open up this goddamn door."
Tentatively Leslie opened it an inch, keeping the security chain firmly in place. "What do you want?" she asked.
"Eddie told me to meet him at noon," Kathleen said. "I haven't driven al the way here for nothing. Did he leave me the money?"
"What money?"
"The money for his . . . delivery. I have a package for him."
"How much does he owe you?" Leslie asked curiously.
"Fifteen hundred dol ars, cash," Kathleen replied, thinking to herself she was getting too old for this kind of thing. If Umberto Castel i would only divorce his fat Colombian wife and move to Los Angeles, she could live in luxury instead of being a runner.
"He didn't mention you or any money," Leslie said.
Kathleen impatiently tapped a Chanel-clad toe on the sidewalk. "Take a look," she said abruptly. "Maybe you'l find he left something for me."
Leslie shut the door in her face and scurried into the bedroom. Sure enough there was a pile of cash on top of Eddie's dresser.
For a moment she was unsure about what to do. If she refused to accept this package, Eddie could be angry. And yet, if she took it and gave the woman money, he could also be angry. Thinking fast, she tried to reach him on his car phone. There was no reply.
By this time Kathleen Le Paul was banging on the door again.
Leslie hurried back to the door.
"I'm not standing out here al day," Kathleen Le Paul complained. "Do you have the money or don't you?"
Leslie took a deep breath and decided to pay. She went back to his dresser, counted out fifteen hundred dol ars and took it out to the woman.
In return Kathleen handed over the package and left.
When she was gone, Leslie carried the smal wrapped package into the kitchen, put it on the table and opened it with a kitchen knife.
Inside was a smal glassine bag fil ed with white powder.
Careful y Leslie slit the bag and tipped the powder onto the table.
Cocaine.
It was ruining their lives.
It was taking al their money and screwing up their marriage.
She knew what she had to do.
Chapter 42
It was incredibly great knowing this was her last day of purgatory. After today she was a free person. No longer Luce, quiet, obedient little secretary. Within hours she was returning to her true identity: Lucky Santangelo. Winner takes al .
It was Friday noon, and at the end of the day she'd be out of there.
She knew the first thing she'd do. Burn the goddamn wig and the dreadful clothes. Smash the vile glasses. And dance around a bonfire chanting thanks like a crazy woman.
After that she'd get on the next plane to New York and be with Lennie. She'd found out from Jess that he was in New York, and Boogie was tracking down exactly where.
Ah . . . she couldn't wait. A long weekend with her husband was just what they both needed. A very long weekend in bed, catching up on al the time they'd been apart. And during the weekend she'd give him the news.
Dear husband, I've brought you a present. I hope you like it.
Natural y they'd run Panther Studios together. What a trip!
Soon Bobby would be out of school for summer break.
He'd travel with his nanny straight to California. And Lennie had mentioned something about Brigette joining them. It was going to be the most wonderful summer. A real family affair. Maybe she'd even persuade Gino to come out for a week or two. When Eddie Kane came racing through her office like a deranged maniac, she didn't take much notice.
Eddie Kane was Mickey's problem, not hers. In fact, Mickey was going to have a lot of problems to deal with after today-
-not the least being that on Monday morning he was going to find himself out of a job. This was the plan: Today, she was out of there. At six o'clock there would be a meeting at Abe's house to sign the final papers, with both sets of lawyers present. And when al was signed, sealed, and delivered, Panther Studios would be official y hers.
Monday morning Abe had requested the pleasure of announcing the sale himself. He'd already sent an urgent telegram to his other granddaughter, Primrose, and her husband, Ben Harrison, in London, summoning them to the meeting.
Abe had decided to visit the studio personal y for the first time in ten years. "Can't wait to see their faces," he'd told Lucky excitedly. "Can't wait to present 'em with you, girlie."
As long as she had the weekend to spend with Lennie, she was ready for anything.
The noises coming from Mickey Stol i's office were becoming violent. Idly she wondered who was getting beat up. In a fight she would put her money on Mickey. He was shorter than Eddie, and older, but he had the real strength.
Mickey was a street fighter. She'd recognized that quality in him the first time she'd seen him.
Her intercom was buzzing out of control. "Cal security,"
yel ed Mickey. "Get 'em up here now." Clearly she heard Eddie's raised voice. "Don't fuck with me, Mickey, 'cause you're fucking with the wrong guy."
"I'm fucking with the wrong guy?" screamed Mickey. "Me?
Clean up your act, shithead, and get the fuck out of my sight."
Lucky cal ed the front gate. "Can you send a security guard to Mr. Stol i's office, please?" she requested.
"Sure, ma'am," one of the guards replied. "Is it urgent?"
"It depends what you cal urgent," she said calmly. "Life-threatening?"
"Hardly."
Before the guard had a chance to arrive, Eddie stormed out with a bloodied nose.
Hmm, Lucky thought, she was right. In a fight it was always the street fighter who came out on top. Eddie was a little too weak around the edges. Too many late nights and too much cocaine.
Mickey emerged from his office in a black fury. "You dumb cunt!" he yel ed. "Don't you ever let anybody in here unless I tel you to. Even if you have to row yourself in front of my office door and they have to trample over your body, you do not let anybody in here. Am I makin' myself clear?"
"No," she said blankly, trying to ignore the fact that he'd screamed "dumb cunt" at her. Nobody cal ed Lucky Santangelo a dumb cunt and lived.
"What?" he bel owed.
"No, I don't understand you," she said evenly. "I'm not al owing people to trample over my body. And I'm certainly not putting myself at risk for you." He stared back at her in disbelief. A secretary? Answering back?
"Are you tryin' to get yourself fired?" he said angrily, practical y hopping up and down.
She shrugged. "Whatever you want to do. It's up to you."
He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Until now, this one had been the perfect secretary. She'd fended his cal s, taken care of his appointments, made him coffee, squeezed his juice. She'd even squeeze his bal s if he told her to. Now she was developing lip. Jesus Christ!
He stormed back into his office and slammed the door.
When the fuck was Olive coming back?
Lucky took a final leisurely lunch in the commissary as Luce.
When she was finished, she strol ed over to Harry Browning's table and said, "Do you mind if I join you?"
He glanced up, not pleased to see her. "Yes, I do," he said shortly.
"I'd like to explain something," she said. She felt ever so slightly guilty about Harry. If she'd known he was an alcoholic she'd never have plied him with liquor that fateful salmon mousse night. She sat down. "Harry--" she began.
"Mr. Browning to you," he interrupted.
"I'm sure you imagine I'm playing some kind of strange game."
"I know what you're doing," Harry said forceful y. The whole studio knows what you are."
She raised an eyebrow. "What am I?"
"You're Abe Panther's spy. He sent you in to sleep with Mickey Stol i."
She began to laugh. "Huh?"
"You told Brenda in Eddie Kane's office you were sleeping with Mickey Stol i," Harry said furiously. "Now the whole studio knows."
Lucky almost choked--the thought of shacking up with Mickey did that to a person. "Are you kidding me? I was joking when I said that to Brenda."
Harry drummed his fingers on the table. "A sick joke," he said grimly.
"Oh, you bet it is," she agreed. "And anyway, what do you mean, the whole studio knows?" "Brenda told everybody.
Al the secretaries, messengers, assistants. And they in turn told everybody else."
Oh, wonderful! She sighed. What a reputation to have.
Sleeping with Mickey Stol i, the man of my dreams! "And does everybody at the studio think I'm Abe's spy?" she asked.
"No," Harry replied shortly. "Only / know. I suppose that's why you're sleeping with Mickey Stol i. Mr. Panther told you to."
Now she was getting irritated. "Cut it out, Harry. I am not sleeping with Mickey. Everything's going to become clear on Monday."
"Yes?" He looked at her suspiciously.
"Yes." She nodded her head and got up from the table.
"Don't forget. Monday morning. Things are going to happen around here."
Abigaile Stol i cal ed at three o'clock. She had an annoying voice, sharp and imperious, as if everybody should jump the moment they heard it. "Who's this?' she asked.
"Luce," Lucky replied. "And who's this?"
"Mrs. Stol i," Abigaile said haughtily. "Are you the new girl?"
"I've been here a few weeks," Lucky answered.
"When is Olive coming back?" Abigaile demanded, as if it was a great imposition for her to have to talk to Lucky at al .
"Soon," Lucky replied.
"Have you ordered our car?"
"What car is that, Mrs. Stol i?"
"Our limousine for the premiere tonight. Surely you know?"
"I wasn't aware you needed a car."
Abigaile exploded. "My God! Do I have to take care of everything myself? Didn't Mr. Stol i tel you? We need a studio limousine. My usual driver. And the car must be stocked with Cristal champagne and Perrier water. Oh, and have it at my house at six-thirty. Not six twenty-five or six thirty-five. Six-thirty. Arrange it."
Lucky decided Abigaile and Mickey made the perfect couple. Both of them dripped with charm.
"I'l see to it, Mrs. Stol i," she said, the perfect secretary.
"Where's my husband?" Abigaile asked irritably. For a moment Lucky was tempted to say "Why don't you try Warner's apartment? You know, the black vice cop he's been screwing twice a week for God knows how long."
Instead she replied, "I have no idea, Mrs. Stol i. But I'l be sure to leave a message you phoned."
"Do that," snapped Abigaile, banging the phone down.
Lucky cal ed up dispatch. "Marty," she said, "Mrs. Stol i needs a car for tonight--not her usual limousine. She's requested one of the smal sedans, O. K.? Have it at her house at six forty-five. Thank you."
While Mickey was safely out of the office, she cal ed Boogie. "Did you charter a plane for tonight?"
"Al set," he replied.
"And you've found out where Lennie is?"
"Yes."
"What would I do without you, Boogie?"
"You'd get into a lot of trouble."
She smiled to herself. He was probably right.
Chapter 43
Mickey," Warner asked, "are you seeing other women?"
Mickey looked at her in surprise. "What kind of a stupid remark is that? Why would I want to see other women?"
"I'm just asking," Warner said. "I can ask, can't I?"
He didn't like the tone of her voice. "You can do what you want, but it's a goddamn stupid question." Warner stared at him. He'd been in a bad mood al day. Usual y she respected his moods and tiptoed around them, but today she'd heard some disturbing gossip and it was on her mind. Some of the cops in vice had a sting going on concerning a brothel in the Hol ywood Hil s. The high class whorehouse was run by a woman cal ed Madame Loretta.
And according to the word around the locker room, many important and influential people in the film industry frequented this place. One of the names she'd heard mentioned today was Mickey Stol i.
Mickey got up from Warner's bed. The sex had not been good. Maybe it was time to move on.
"It real y pisses me off when you ask questions like that," he said. "For those kind of questions I may as wel stay home with my wife. What do I need to come here for?"
Warner wondered if Mickey's guilt was making him even angrier. She clenched her teeth and didn't say anything.
Instead she walked briskly into her tiny kitchen and plugged in the kettle.
"How about a cup of coffee?" she cal ed out. Bastard! If he was playing games with other women--especial y hookers--
she wasn't going to take it. No way.
"What are you trying to do, kil me?" he complained, fol owing her into the kitchen. "Al that caffeine they put in fol owing her into the kitchen. "Al that caffeine they put in coffee. I have to watch my diet." She bit back a sharp retort.
Mickey watched his diet only when it suited him. Who was he kidding? "Did you remember to get my tickets for tonight?" she asked tightly.
"Huh?" Mickey looked guilty.
She strode out of the kitchen. "You promised me four tickets for the premiere of Motherfaker, remember?"
"Oh, Christ," he mumbled, right behind her. Natural y he'd forgotten, and she'd made the request months ago, Johnny Romano being one of her favorite movie stars and al . Shit!
He'd gotten her an autographed picture of Johnny, wasn't that enough? Now she had to have tickets for the goddamn premiere too. He reached for the phone. "Luce," he said, when his dumb secretary picked up. First thing Monday morning he was firing her. He'd bring in Brenda, the pretty black girl from Eddie Kane's office. At least he'd have someone decent to look at.
"Yes, Mr. Stol i?"
"Get me four extra tickets for the premiere tonight. They don't have to be great seats. And I want them . . . uh . . . shit, you'd better messenger them to .. . uh ." He held his hand over the mouthpiece. "Warner, I can't give them your address. Where shal I have the tickets sent?"
"Why can't you give them my address?" Warner asked bel igerently.
She was definitely beginning to needle him. '"Cause it's not a smart thing to do."
"I'l pick them up," she said. "I'm going to be out that way today."
The thought of Warner appearing at his office to pick up tickets for Motherfaker was a sight he didn't even wish to contemplate. "The best thing is to have them left at the box office," he said quickly, "under your name."
"If that suits you."
"Leave 'em at the box office under the name of Franklin,"
he mumbled into the phone, hanging up and turning back to Warner.
"Who are you taking anyway?"
She glared at him. "Don't worry, Mickey. I won't come near you or your wife."
He didn't like the way she said that, or the way their relationship was going. He'd thought Warner was different, making no demands. But al women turned out to be the same. They al ended up nagging and wanting more than any sane man was pre
pared to give.
"O. K., O. K.," he said, reaching for. his clothes. "I've got to get dressed an' out of here."
The scene with Eddie had unsettled him. He hated scenes, let alone a fistfight. God knows what Eddie would do next; he was hardly a stable character. If Leslie wasn't such a stupid piece of ass she'd have gotten him into drug rehab long before now.
Driving back to the studio Mickey felt dissatisfied and restless. Making a sudden detour, he headed for Madame Loretta's. Final y he realized Ford Werne had spoken the truth. Pay for' it and you don't get any grief. Pay for it and your life is your own.
Madame Loretta greeted him warmly. No hassles. No ticket requests. No questions.
"Who've you got for me today?" he asked, as if he was chatting to a butcher in the supermarket selecting a better cut of meat.
"A beautiful Oriental girl," Madame Loretta offered soothingly. "Very nice. Very sweet. Very talented. You'l like her."
"Yes," Mickey said, looking forward to being pampered. "I wil ."
Eddie cal ed Kathleen Le Paul from his car phone. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I forgot."
"Perfectly al right," Kathleen replied calmly. "Your wife gave me the money."
Eddie was shocked. "She did?"
"You left it for me, didn't you?"
"Yeah, yeah, sure. I had to run to the studio. Unexpected."
Kathleen gave a deep sigh. "One of these days you'l clean your life up, Eddie."
"No thanks to you."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You introduced me to Carlos Bonnatti. Now I'm in deep trouble."
"What kind of trouble?"
"Don't give me the 'you haven't heard' bit. It's al over town."
Kathleen's voice had a steely edge. "What did you do, steal from him?"
"I tried to make a living. That's al , a living," he said defensively. "What is it, a crime? The studio'l pay."
"Eddie, Eddie, you'l never learn, wil you? You don't fuck with a man like Carlos. If you do, you could end up dead."
Jesus Christ! Eddie Kane had no desire to end up dead.
Maybe the only answer was to get out of town. He'd thought about running to Hawaii, where he'd once had such a good time. Plenty of cheap dope and gorgeous girlfriends.
But wait a minute, wasn't he forgetting about Leslie? What was he going to do about her?
Lady Boss (1990) Page 27
