"However, your assistant did say it was imperative that she speak to you at once."
"Don't worry about it." He waved a vague hand in her direction and picked up the phone. "What is it, Gertrude?"
he asked abruptly.
"Mr. Swanson, Venus Maria is trying to reach you. She says it's extremely urgent and that she must talk to you immediately."
"Very wel , Gertrude."
"Mr. Swanson?"
"Yes? What now?"
"I do believe I know what it's about."
"Do you want to tel me? Or would you prefer to keep it a secret?" he said sarcastical y, not feeling particularly patient.
Gertrude plunged right in. "There's a magazine cal ed Truth and Fact, it's similar to the Enquirer." "So?"
"On the cover of the issue out today there's a front page story concerning you and Venus Maria. Of course, I'm certain it's al lies." She hesitated, and then rushed on, "Mr.
Swanson, it's not a very nice story. Mrs. Swanson wil not be pleased."
Martin turned to the secretary hovering nearby. "Is there a newsstand downstairs?"
She nodded.
"Be a good girl, run down and get me a copy of Truth and Fact."
"Certainly, Mr. Swanson, at once."
He replaced the receiver and immediately phoned Venus Maria.
"Have you seen Truth and Fact?" he demanded. "I just read it," she replied.
"Do you want to tel me about it?" he said curtly. "What have they got? San Francisco? Is Cooper in the picture?"
"It's worse than that, Martin. Remember that photo Cooper took of us one night at my house? Wel , I had it in my safe, and I suspect my brother must have stolen it and sold it to Truth and Fact."
"Your brother?"
"Emilio. He was staying with me. A real loser." "So what you're tel ing me is that they've printed this picture of us together?"
"Yes, and it's pretty intimate. We're kind of sitting on the couch with our arms al over each other." "Didn't you destroy it?"
She resented his tone. "Obviously not. I had it in my safe.
That seemed like a pretty secure place to me."
"Christ!" he exclaimed, thinking of Deena's reaction.
Venus, too, could get uppity. "Don't get pissed with me, it's not my fault."
"Whose fault is it?" he asked coldly.
"I don't know, and quite frankly I don't give a fuck." She slammed the phone down. It was about time Martin learned to treat her with a little respect. "Trouble in Lifestyles-of-the-Rich-and-Famous land?" Ron ventured, pretending not to be enjoying every minute.
"Let's go rehearse," she said. "I've had it with that ego-inflated asshole."
Chapter 65
The news spread like an out-of-control brushfire. This was Hol ywood after al , capital of innuendo, gossip, and scandal. Already everyone was talking about Mickey Stol i's arrest at Madame Loretta's. What a delicious item to start the day! Now the rumor was that Lucky Santangelo had purchased Panther Studios, with Abe Panther's ful cooperation.
The word was out of the room before they finished the meeting. The word spread from person to person. Phones were picked up. Cal s were made. The news was passed on. The news spread across Hol ywood. At Panther everyone was abuzz with Mickey Stol i's arrest. Ford Werne couldn't understand it. The rule was, if you go to a prostitute, never get caught. Mickey had spoiled it for al of them.
It was hardly another Monday morning at the studio.
When Arnie Blackwood and Frankie Lombardo had finished sniggering about Mickey's misfortune, they heard about Lucky Santangelo's purchase of the studio and her cal for a noon meeting with al the department heads. They immediately placed a cal to Eddie Kane.
Eddie picked up his own phone. "Yeah?"
"Don't you come in anymore?" Arnie demanded. Eddie was in no mood to be harassed. "Only when it suits me."
"So I guess you've got no idea what's going on," Frankie said, speaking on a conference cal so Arnie could join in.
"You got something to tel me?" Eddie asked impatiently, knowing that Arnie and Frankie would never cal just to inquire about his health. Maybe they were about to complain he'd scored too much coke at their party. Wel , fuck 'em. Don't have the party if you can't part with the goods.
"Yeah," Arnie replied, drawing the words out slowly. "Some rich broad from New York walked in with Abe this morning and bought the fuckin' studio."
"What?" Eddie wasn't sure he'd heard correctly.
"Yeah, old Abe sold the studio from right under Mickey.
Didn't you know?"
"If I knew, do you think I'd be sitting here?" Eddie replied agitatedly. "I got problems of my own."
"Get your stoned ass down here," ordered Frankie sharply.
"There's a meeting of al department heads at noon. We need someone in there."
Eddie's mind was racing. He wondered if Mickey had known about this beforehand. Maybe that was why he'd been so cold and uptight.
Christ! Yes, Arnie and Frankie were right; he should be there. "I'm on my way," he said.
Leslie was puttering around in the kitchen. She looked beautiful. Eddie stil hadn't figured out what she'd been doing in a whorehouse. Eventual y he was going to have to investigate.
"Gotta go to the studio, babe," he said, like this was the start of another normal day.
She looked dismayed. "Oh, no, Eddie. I thought we were going to find a counselor and talk about getting you to a detox center. Do you have to go?"
"Yeah," Eddie said, his twitching in ful swing. "Too bad about that counselor thing. We'l do it next week. O. K., babe?"
It wasn't O. K., but Leslie didn't say a word.
Lucky had an advantage. She knew who the players were, and they didn't know her.
At twelve o'clock precisely, they al trooped into the conference room.
Abe had taken off, fol owed by Inga, fol owed by Abigaile, fol owed by Primrose and Ben, both complaining bitterly.
No doubt she would hear from them later.
The contingent of department heads was led by Ford Werne, stil looking as if he'd stepped from the front page of G. Q. magazine, impeccable -in another. Armani suit, the same five-hundred-dol ar tinted aviator shades covering his eyes. He was an attractive manif you liked kil ers.
Zev Lorenzo fol owed Ford into the room and walked straight over to Lucky, offering his hand. "Welcome aboard," he said in a friendly fashion.
Then came Grant Wendel Junior, vice president of worldwide production, looking like a reject from the mail room in his baggy pants and Dodgers basebal cap. He gave her a casual half-wave. "Hiya."
Lucky wondered if Mickey was going to put in a final appearance, or if his resignation was it. He must be in shock. Good. Mickey deserved a little shock in his life.
Teddy T. Lauden hurried into the room--a thin, precise man, constantly glancing at his watch. "Good afternoon, Miss Santangelo," he said, opting for a more formal relationship.
"A pleasure to meet you. I do hope I'm not too late. I had another meeting to attend. Unfortunately I wasn't al owed enough time to cancel it. As you must understand, this has been a big shock for al of us."
Lucky nodded. "Yes, I do understand," she said quietly. "I'm sure it has been."
"You could say that," Ford Werne agreed, taking off his aviator shades and immediately putting them on again.
"I am saying it, Mr. Werne."
He was obviously surprised she knew who he was since he hadn't bothered to introduce himself. "Where's Mickey?" he asked.
"He won't be joining us," Morton Sharkey said, from his position beside Lucky.
Glancing around, she observed that Buck Graham and Eddie Kane were the only two stil missing. "Wil Mr.
Graham and Mr. Kane be joining us?"
Grant Wendel shrugged. "Ummm, I talked to Eddie this morning. He's on his way in. And, uh, Buck had another meeting he's trying to break out of."
Lucky was cool and in control. "Why don't we give it ten minutes?" she said pleasantly.
/>
"Suits me." Ford adjusted his expensive shades yet again, and stood up. "I have a phone cal to make. Wil you excuse me."
"What a group!" Lucky murmured to Morton. "They al want to keep their jobs," he answered in a low voice, "unless a better offer comes along."
"I understand what goes on in this town very wel ," she replied. "It's no different from any other business. Natural y, if there's something better around the corner--go for it. If not, stand firm. The rules of the game."
"I hardly think any of them are thril ed to find themselves working for a woman."
"I guess not. After al , this is Hol ywood, and women are not exactly power figures here. Ford is probably on the phone right now trying to get another job. Right?"
Morton agreed. "I wouldn't be surprised."
Buck Graham burst into the room, red in the face. Buck was head of marketing. His specialty was getting right down to the common denominator. Whatever the content of the film, Buck sold it with a strong dose of tits and ass. As far as he was concerned, America had a permanent hard-on.
He'd used a body double on the poster for Susie Rush's last movie--Susie's face atop an outrageously overdeveloped body. She was furious, and threatened to sue unless the poster was immediately withdrawn. Buck had given in--reluctantly.
Final y Eddie Kane came bouncing in, making the meeting complete.
Eddie looked like he'd slept in his clothes. His growing beard was a serious mistake, and his eyes were bloodshot and more spacy than ever.
"Where's Mickey?" were the first words out of his mouth.
"Not here," Buck said, shaking his head.
Eddie twitched. "Is he coming?"
"Didja see the L. A. Times?" Grant asked. " 'Cause if you did, you know there's no way he'l be in today." "What's happened?"
"He got caught buyin' pussy."
Before Eddie could get into it, Ford returned from his phone cal and Lucky got straight down to business.
"Wel , gentlemen," she said, rising to her feet. -I'm sure you've al heard the news. My name is Lucky Santangelo and I'm the new owner of Panther Studios." She paused while a buzz went around the room. "I'm also new to the film industry. But I do know what I want. And that is to make good movies --films Panther can be proud of. I'm interested in hearing what you feel hasn't been accomplished here in the last few years." She paused again. At least they were listening. When she'd first taken over Stanislopoulos shipping, it had taken months to get the male executives'
attention. "Trust me when I say this--Panther's been putting out garbage, and those days are over. I'm leading this studio on to great things.- She stared at them, black eyes ablaze. "Gentlemen,' she said forceful y, "you can bet on it."
Chapter 66
Deena Swanson did not enjoy exercise. She was not some crazed Californian who thought an hour of aerobics and two hours of Jane Fonda were exciting stuff. No. Deena hated exerting herself. However, the trend was to do it. And nobody had ever accused Deena of being behind the trends. So, eventual y, like al chic New Yorkers, she'd hired her own personal trainer, who came to the house. His name was Sven, and fortunately he didn't speak much English, which suited Deena fine, because it was not conversation she was after.
Sven certainly knew how to get the best out of her in fifteen minutes of pure torture. Three times a week she started her day with him. When he left she usual y luxuriated in the tub for fifteen minutes before dressing to go to her office for an hour or so before lunch.
Lunch was the most important part of Deena's day. She dressed for lunch. She accessorized for lunch. She made sure her makeup, nails, and hair were always perfect.
Deena knew maintenance was a woman's best defense.
Most of Deena's women friends worked for their husbands.
It was the new chic thing to do. They gave their opinions on style, fabrics, perfumes, cosmetics, and in return they were paid a fat director's fee for their input. But al of them found time to lunch.
Deena belonged to that exclusive group of rich New York women who wore only designer clothes, real jewelry, and fur coats if they were sure they weren't going to get a can of paint thrown over them by animal rights activists.
Today, Deena was lunching at Le Cirque. Effie and she had a standing appointment for Mondays.
Deena dressed careful y in a lime green Adolfo suit, Chanel shoes and bag. She then added Bulgari earrings and a choker, plus a huge diamond ring Martin had presented her with last Christmas.
Outside her apartment on Park Avenue, her car and driver waited to take her the few blocks to her office in the Swanson Building, a gleaming tower of modern architecture.
She loved her office. Effie had decorated it in cool pastels--
a tranquil haven away from home.
Deena was proud of the fact that her fashion and perfume business was successful. When she'd embarked on it, she'd surrounded herself with the best executives money could buy. Martin had advised her. But that couldn't change the fact that it was her name on the products the public bought. Deena Swanson: her name sold.
One of her secretaries greeted her with the news that Effie Webster had cal ed and canceled lunch. "Why?" Deena asked, disappointed.
The girl shrugged. "I don't know, Mrs. Swanson."
"Get her on the phone for me," Deena said, quite put out.
For as long as she could remember, Effie and she had always lunched on Mondays.
"Mrs. Webster is not at her office," the secretary informed her.
"Try her at home," Deena ordered.
"I already did. An answering machine picks up.' the girl said.
Deena frowned. Was Effie sick?
She sat behind her bleached-wood desk and counted ten perfectly sharpened pencils in a Lucite holder. The pristine legal-sized pad of white paper with "Deena Swanson"
printed in pink on the top awaited her attention. A silver-framed photograph of her and Martin faced her. There was real y nothing for Deena to do at the office; everything was taken care of.
She cal ed Martin in California. He was not at the hotel.
Then she cal ed another friend of hers, a sleek redhead who made exorbitantly priced belts and other fine accessories.
"Lunch, darling?" she asked.
"Isn't Monday your day with Effie?" her friend replied.
"She's sick," Deena explained.
"Ah, wel , so I'm the substitute."
"If you like. Le Cirque at one o'clock?"
"Why not?" her friend said.
It was arranged. Deena replaced the phone.
"Send Mrs. Webster some flowers," she told her secretary.
"A hundred dol ars' worth. Make sure it's a beautiful arrangement."
"I can't wait to get out of here," Nona whispered. `My mother is in an absolute fury. I warned Paul."
Brigette wasn't exactly delighted herself. She'd nanaged to stay out of the supermarket rags for quite some time, and now they'd sneaked a picture of her and Paul taken with a hidden camera. Not so bad, but above that picture, there was Paul, practical y kissing Mrs. Swanson. It was disgusting!
Effie Webster had taken it personal y: her son photographed in what looked like a compromising position with her best friend. Real y!
She summoned Paul to the house immediately. "What's this?" she demanded, thrusting a copy of Truth and Fact at him.
"Oh, that," he said casual y, as if it didn't matter. "I took Deena out to lunch, big deal."
"It doesn't look like you're lunching here," replied Effie furiously. "You're al over her."
"So?" Paul said. "What's wrong with that? She's a woman.
I'm a man."
"You're a child," Effie emphasized. "And how dare you take one of my friends out! Deena is married."
"I told you, we were lunching--not fucking," Paul retorted sharply. "And may I remind you, I'm nearly twenty-four years old. I'm hardly a child."
Effie didn't take this wel . "Stop asking us for money, and get out of here. You wil not speak to me like that."
>
Paul slouched from the room.
Nona caught him at the front door. "Where are you going?"
she asked.
"I don't have to put up with her talking to me like I'm nothing.
It's not like I live here. There's no way I have to answer to anyone."
"Stop asking for money and maybe she'l leave you alone,"
Nona said, wise beyond her years.
"Butt out. You've no idea what's going on."
"Oh, yes I do. You're trying to score with her best friend. No wonder she's pissed with you."
"I can do what I like."
"Do you want to see Brigette while you're here?" "She's a kid. Quit pushing her at me."
Brigette overheard. Her stomach knotted. Why had she ever set eyes on Nona's stupid brother?
Casual y Nona tried to gloss over things. "Take no notice of Paul," she said airily when her brother had departed. "He's a jerk. Al men are. That should be our new credo. Al men are pigs, don't you agree?" Brigette couldn't help laughing.
"You're right." "Let's get the hel outta here," Nona decided.
"Cal Lennie and see if we can fly to Malibu tomorrow."
Deena was sitting at her desk wondering what to do next when her secretary informed her that Adam Bobo Grant was on the line.
Deena was always delighted to hear from Adam Bobo Grant. Apart from being entertaining, gay, and independently rich, he was also one of the premier gossip columnists in New York.
She grabbed the phone. "Bobo, darling! What can I do for you?"
"You can cal me Adam for a start, it's so much more macho, don't you think?"
"But, darling," Deena protested, "everyone cal s you Bobo."
"Not during business hours, Deena."
"Is this a business cal ?"
"I need your confirmation on something."
"My confirmation about what, darling?"
"About the story."
"What story?"
Bobo paused for a moment, sucking on a silver Cartier pen. "You have seen it, haven't you?" he asked at last.
Deena didn't want to appear slow. She racked her brains going over al the items she'd read in the papers that morning. Nothing of great interest. "Clue me in, Bobo, um . .
Lady Boss (1990) Page 38
