Dangerous Kiss

by Jackie Collins

  ‘Good,’ said the man, relieved. ‘I’ll see if I can find Mr Dollar. He’s making the introduction.’

  ‘Charlie Dollar is introducing me?’ she said, unable to conceal her amusement. ‘Whose brilliant idea was that?’

  ‘It was supposed to be a surprise, but uh . . . due to the delay we had to keep him in the back. I hope he’s still here.’

  ‘You mean you left old Charlie alone with a bottle of Scotch. That was daring!’

  ‘If you’ll wait a few moments I’ll try to locate him.’

  Charlie Dollar was one of Lucky’s favourite people. He was a fifty-something movie star with stoned eyes, and an off-the-wall, irreverent attitude. Women loved him in spite of his generous gut, slightly receding hairline and penchant for eighteen-year-old beauty queens. He’d won an Oscar for his last movie, and kept it propped against the door of his guest toilet. Typical Charlie.

  When they found him he was stoned and drunk – nothing unusual for Charlie. He swayed his way on to the podium with his usual shit-eating grin, trademark tinted shades, and a glass of Scotch in one hand, which nobody had managed to extract. He immediately began speaking.

  Lucky listened with a smile as he extolled her virtues, ending up with, ‘An’ now . . . I wanna introduce you to one of the greatest broads in this town. She’s a friend. She’s a beauty. An’ I love her. May I present – Lucky Santangelo.’

  The audience responded to his introduction with enthusiasm, leaping to their feet and applauding heartily. Charlie was a popular number.

  Lucky took a deep breath as she made her way up to the podium. She’d learned her speech, doing away with any prompters. The only disappointment was that Lennie wasn’t there to hear it.

  The audience were quiet as she reached the microphone, patiently waiting to hear what she had to say. She took another deep breath and started off slowly, telling them how delighted she was to be there and how satisfying it was to have helped raise so much money for AIDS awareness and research. Then she related a story about two very young brothers she’d met who both had the AIDS virus, inherited from their mother who’d been infected by a blood transfusion. The two boys had convinced Lucky to become involved. ‘Mark and Matthew are no longer with us,’ she said quietly, ‘but I do know they’d be happy to see the progress being made to find a cure.’ The audience applauded. ‘On a personal note,’ Lucky continued, ‘I have decided, after a great deal of thought, to step down as head of Panther Studios.’

  This was a bombshell. The audience gasped.

  ‘Many movies and a lot of fun later, I feel the time has come to move on and explore other things. And while I’ll miss the non-stop action in Hollywood, I’ve decided to concentrate on my husband and family. Oh, yes, and maybe write a book about all of you.’ Another gasp from the audience. ‘Seriously,’ Lucky continued, ‘if I do decide I’m capable of writing a book, it’ll be dedicated to women and how to make it in what is still mainly a man’s world. I feel if I did it, anyone can. So . . . I guess there’s nothing else to say except keep up the good work for AIDS research. Good night and thank you. I leave you with good thoughts and may the best studio win.’

  Charlie was waiting to escort her off the podium. ‘You’re freakin’ unbelievable!’ he muttered.

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Walkin’ away from a studio when you’re kickin’ prime ass.’

  ‘I’m bored.’

  ‘Bored?’

  ‘Movie stars are boring.’

  He raised an incredulous eyebrow. ‘You talkin’ to me?’

  ‘No. You, Venus and Cooper are the only exceptions.’

  ‘Sheeit!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re crazier than me. An’ that ain’t easy.’

  Then the press were coming at her, cameras and tape recorders on red alert; a babble of voices and questions.

  She was cool and polite. ‘I’ve said all that I’m going to say,’ she murmured, moving forward, somehow making it back to her table where everyone wanted an explanation.

  ‘Why?’ Venus demanded.

  ‘When?’ Cooper questioned.

  ‘Mom,’ Bobby complained, thinking of all the benefits he’d miss out on, ‘your decision sucks.’

  ‘Thanks, Bobby,’ she said evenly, ‘but here’s the thing of it, it’s my decision, not yours.’

  ‘Congratulations, kiddo,’ Gino said, beaming. ‘You make an old man proud.’

  ‘Is Lennie here?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then I guess he doesn’t know,’ she said, disappointed that he still hadn’t shown up. She hoped nobody would tell him on his way in – that would really go down well.

  Now she was regretting that she hadn’t discussed it with him first because, knowing Lennie, if he heard it elsewhere, he’d be pissed – maybe even hurt.

  She’d been thinking about doing it for months. Being the head of a studio took up too much time and energy. There were always decisions to be made, producers and agents on her case trying to sell her this movie, that star. Problems with backend, development, giant egos, distribution. Since she’d taken over at Panther she’d turned the studio around, which is exactly what she’d planned on doing. She’d made several movies she was extremely proud of, movies that portrayed women as strong, independent, sexually equal beings who could achieve anything they set their minds to. And in this day of ageism and sexism, that was quite something.

  Now all she wanted to do was nothing for a while.

  Maybe she would write a book, it could be a challenge, and she always had relished challenges.

  Perhaps Lennie would help her.

  No. Bad idea. She didn’t need any help.

  She glanced across the table to see how Alex was taking the news. He appeared to be deep in conversation with Pia, which Lucky knew meant he was ignoring her on purpose, probably because he was pissed she hadn’t confided in him.

  Jeez! How many people did she have to check in with before she made a move?

  She slid into her seat beside Gino, just as the David Foster-produced show commenced. The MC was the adorable and very funny Howie Mandel, who was set to introduce talented singer and producer, Baby Face, the scintillating Natalie Cole, and finally Price Washington, the superstar comedian. Quite a line-up.

  Lucky settled back to enjoy the entertainment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fuck, she drove fast! The boy had a strong urge to throw up, his stomach couldn’t take it. But he managed to control the feeling, because barfing all over her would not be a cool move, and tonight he was determined to make her realize he was cool – in spite of all her criticisms.

  He’d been away in New York for eighteen months, back for ten days, and this was the first time she’d taken any notice of him. Bitch! But he’d get her attention tonight. Oh, yeah! He’d get her attention big time.

  ‘Where we goin’ now?’ he asked.

  ‘Cruisin’,’ she replied vaguely. ‘Lookin’ for an opportunity.’

  ‘An opportunity for what?’

  ‘For whatever comes along, jerk,’ she said, throwing him a disdainful look.

  He had no clue what she was talking about. But who cared? This was good. He was with her. He’d forgotten all about his controlling father, who was more than likely pissed that he hadn’t turned up for their early dinner. So what? He didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to. And that included graduating high school and going on to college. His dad had never attended college, so why did he have to? His plan was to get out and enjoy himself, not be stuck in some boring classroom learning useless crap for several more years.

  The girl raced the jeep towards a yellow light, trying to make it. Too late. The light turned red and she pulled up with a sharp jerk.

  It occurred to him that maybe he should fasten his seatbelt. But no, she’d think he was stupid if he did that. Stupid and afraid.

  ‘I gotta take a piss,’ he mumbled, feeling the urge.

  ‘What?’ she
said.

  ‘Gotta go t’ the john.’

  ‘Jesus H,’ the girl said excitedly. ‘Take a look at the diamonds on that bitch in the car next to us.’

  Now he knew for sure he had to take a leak immediately. There was no waiting.

  ‘Take a look,’ the girl repeated, speaking low and fast.

  He leaned across her, peering into the neighbouring car. He saw a pretty black woman sitting in the passenger seat of a silver Porsche. She had on a low-cut dress, diamond necklace and sparkling earrings.

  ‘So?’ he said.

  ‘So,’ the girl said, looking around and observing they were the only two vehicles on the street. ‘We’re gonna take ’em.’

  ‘Take ’em where?’ he asked blankly.

  ‘You’re so fucking stupid,’ she spat in disgust. ‘We’re gonna take her necklace and earrings an’ make ourselves big bucks.’

  ‘No way,’ he scoffed, sure she was joking.

  ‘Wanna get your dick sucked?’ she said.

  His eyes bugged. ‘Huh?’

  ‘You heard. ’Cause if you’re chicken, I ain’t doin’ it.’

  Jesus! She was serious. ‘Sure,’ he said quickly, before she changed her mind.

  ‘Then all you gotta do is wave the gun at them, an’ order the bitch to give you her stuff.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Okay, okay, we’ll both do it,’ she said. ‘There’s no one around, we’re alone on the street. C’mon, asshole, if we don’t act now we won’t get another opportunity.’

  He couldn’t think straight. His mind was totally fogged out and he wanted to pee more than anything else. But, still, the fact that she’d offered to suck his dick . . .

  Suddenly the girl hit the accelerator, swerving the jeep in front of the stationary Porsche, blocking it. ‘Move!’ she yelled, opening the door. ‘Gimme the fucking gun.’

  Blindly he groped for the gun stuck in his belt, and thrust it at her. She jumped out of the jeep and ran around to the passenger side of the Porsche, waving the gun in the air. He trailed behind her.

  Chapter Eighteen

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ Mary Lou exclaimed. ‘Lennie – look!’

  He didn’t have to look, he’d already seen. And before he could take any kind of action, a skinny girl with cropped dark hair had pulled open Mary Lou’s door and was brandishing a gun in her face. Behind her hovered a black teenage boy who seemed to be having trouble keeping his balance.

  ‘Gimme your fuckin’ necklace!’ shrieked the girl at Mary Lou. ‘An’ your earrings and rings. Give ’em to me now, bitch – or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off!’

  Jesus! Lennie could not believe this was happening to them. ‘Hand her your jewellery,’ he said to Mary Lou, speaking in a reasonable, calm voice, desperately trying to figure a way out.

  ‘No!’ Mary Lou said stubbornly. ‘Steven gave me these things. I’m not giving them to her.’

  ‘Take off the fuckin’ jewellery, bitch!’ the girl yelled.

  ‘You don’t want to do this,’ Mary Lou said, exhibiting great bravery in the face of a dangerous situation.

  The boy, stationed behind the girl, didn’t move.

  Lennie’s mind was racing. He kept a gun in the glove compartment of his car, but there was no way he could reach across Mary Lou and grab it. The best thing to do was simply comply with their wishes.

  The girl waving the gun was flushed and edgy. ‘You’d better do it, cunt,’ she said, in a low, angry voice. ‘’Cause I’m gettin’ impatient.’

  ‘For God’s sake, give it to her now,’ Lennie urged Mary Lou.

  Reluctantly Mary Lou reached up, attempting to unclasp her necklace. Her hands were shaking so much that she couldn’t quite get it undone.

  In the distance, Lennie heard the sound of a police siren.

  The girl heard it too, which started to freak her out. ‘Gimme the fucking shit!’ she shouted excitedly, reaching over, grasping Mary Lou’s necklace and yanking it off her neck. The boy standing behind her still hadn’t moved. ‘Take it, asshole!’ the girl screamed, thrusting the necklace at him. He stuffed it in his pocket.

  ‘Now the earrings,’ the girl snarled, as the sound of the police siren grew nearer.

  ‘No,’ Mary Lou said. ‘You’ve got my necklace. Take it and go.’

  ‘You dumb bitch!’ the girl shrieked, whacking Mary Lou across the face with her gun.

  That was it for Lennie. He threw himself across Mary Lou, grappling to reach his own gun stashed in the glove compartment.

  The girl saw what he was trying to do and completely lost it. ‘Fuck you!’ she bellowed. ‘Fuck all of you!’ And with that she raised her gun, took a step away and fired, hitting Mary Lou in the chest.

  The explosion was so loud that the boy jumped back a couple of paces and pissed himself.

  Lennie was in shock. It was like he was caught in the middle of a slow-motion nightmare. All he could think of was that at any moment he’d open his eyes and it would all be a bad dream.

  But he saw Mary Lou’s blood soaking the front of her gown, and he knew with a feeling of dread that this was no dream, this was the real thing.

  ‘You’ve shot her,’ the boy cried out in a panic. ‘You’ve fucking shot her.’

  ‘We’ve shot her,’ the girl yelled back. ‘An’ the dumb cunt deserved it.’ Then she reached forward, snatching the earrings from Mary Lou’s ears and began going for her rings.

  Lennie roared into action, struggling to grab the girl and stop her. Cold-bloodedly she fired again, the bullet catching him in the shoulder.

  He fell back, groaning with a sudden onslaught of sharp pain.

  ‘Let’s get outta here,’ yelled the girl, and the two of them began running back to the jeep.

  Somehow or other Lennie managed to hoist himself up, frantically trying to catch a glimpse of their licence plate.

  The numbers danced before his eyes. Then he slumped back in his seat and passed out.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Brigette stirred, almost awake, but not quite. She’d been dreaming – vivid sensual dreams about love and passion. She rolled over and opened her eyes with a start. The room was dark. Reaching for her bedside clock, she pressed the top button to illuminate the time. It was just before one a.m.

  She tried to collect her thoughts because the last few hours were a complete blur. Dinner with Lina, Fredo and his cousin. A club or two, and after that – nothing.

  Hmm . . . she thought. Aren’t I a bit young for short-term memory loss?

  She stepped out of bed and padded into the kitchen to get a glass of water, suddenly realizing she was completely naked.

  She never slept naked. Had she been drinking?

  She couldn’t remember.

  She poured a glass of water and drank it down in several large gulps, quenching a raging thirst. Then she started going over the events of the evening one more time. She remembered the restaurant where they’d had dinner, drinking champagne, dropping by a couple of clubs. She had a vague memory of Lina and Fredo heading for the dance floor, and Carlo talking to her. After that it was all one big blank.

  Oh, God! Am I losing my mind?

  She gulped down another glass of water, satiating her incredible thirst. Then she went back into her bedroom, put on a robe and sat on the edge of the bed desperately trying to recall at least something.

  Had she gotten sick? Drunk? What the hell had happened?

  This was ridiculous. She couldn’t remember a thing. Someone must have brought me home, she thought. Maybe Lina.

  She wondered if Lina was home. Probably not. When Lina didn’t have to work the next day she was into partying all night and sleeping until past noon the following day.

  Brigette tried her number. No response. She kept trying until the service picked up. Then she left a message for Lina to call her.

  She felt . . . different. Her breasts were tender, and when she parted her robe she discov
ered bruises on the insides of both her thighs.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think I’d been making love, she thought. But that was impossible.

  And yet . . . she felt as if she’d had sex.

  Her mouth was so dry she needed more water. She ran back to the kitchen, panicking slightly. Something had happened and she wasn’t sure what.

  Fredo would know. She hurriedly dialled his number. He mumbled hello.

  ‘This is Brigette,’ she said urgently.

  ‘I’m asleep.’

  ‘Sorry, but I need to talk to you.’

  ‘You and Carlo deserted us,’ he said, between yawns. ‘Lina is very furious.’

  ‘I . . . I left with Carlo?’ she questioned, her stomach sinking.

  ‘We go dance, come back, you’re both gone.’ Fredo snorted his annoyance. ‘Why you wake me at this time? Call Lina.’

  ‘She’s not home.’

  ‘Maybe she found Carlo,’ he said slyly. ‘If you let him free, I’m sure she would’ve taken him into her bed.’

  ‘Y’ know, Fredo,’ Brigette said irritably. ‘It’s not all about sex.’

  ‘Ah, my sweet little naïve one.’ And he hung up.

  So, Fredo seemed to think that Carlo had escorted her home. Maybe so, easy enough to find out. She buzzed downstairs to the night porter. ‘What time did I get in?’ she asked.

  ‘Must’ve been around eleven, Miss Brigette.’

  ‘Was I . . . uh . . . was I with someone?’

  ‘A gentleman.’

  An inward groan. ‘How long was he in my apartment?’

  ‘About an hour.’

  Oh, God! Here was the deal. She must have been drunk, had sex with Carlo, and couldn’t remember. Totally humiliating.

  Yet how was it possible? She’d had too much to drink before and never completely blanked out.

  It occurred to her, with a feeling of deep dismay, that she might have been drugged. Some of the models had been talking lately about a dangerous new pill doing the rounds. Rohypnols – known on the street as ruffies. Apparently the pills were colourless and odourless, and guys were slipping them in girls’ drinks so they could take advantage of them. One of the effects of the drug was total memory loss.