Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  Jesus! She didn’t even remember him. And he was supposed to get a hard-on?

  ‘Look,’ she said impatiently, hand on the doorknob, ‘I’m sure we’ve all made mistakes before. Why don’t we just forget the whole thing?’

  Lennie had been through a lot of women in his time, but this one took the prize. Even Eden would never behave like this.

  He wished she wasn’t so goddamn horny-looking. How could he let her walk out when she was offering a trip he’d probably never forget?

  He decided to put a little charm back into his act. ‘You know what I think?’ he said. ‘I think that maybe we should start from page one, go downstairs, find a bar, have a drink, and get to know each other. Hey – at least exchange names. And then, beautiful lady, we can have really great sex. What do you say?’

  She was bored with Lennie Golden. The entire incident was a mistake. She opened the door and headed for the elevator. ‘Let’s just forget it,’ she said off-handedly.

  He followed, grabbed her by the arm. ‘Let’s not.’

  Now that he couldn’t get it up he was not going to be easy to shake. Masculine pride or some such crap. ‘Hmmm . . .’ she said. ‘That’s not a bad idea.’

  He had her. They were all easy. One drink, maybe two, then they would go to bed with him calling the shots.

  ‘You go on down to the Bahia, order me a Bloody Mary. I just want to freshen up.’ She smiled. ‘Five minutes, okay?’

  * * *

  Lennie leaned across the green baize of Jess’s blackjack table. She dealt like greased lightning, her eyes never leaving the shiny box known as the shoe, which held the cards.

  ‘Don’t bother to wait, I won’t be coming home tonight,’ he said.

  ‘Why not?’ she muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Why do you think not? The Golden charm works again.’

  ‘Really? Who’d you score with this time?’

  ‘Are we playin’ or talkin’,’ demanded a belligerent blonde in a sequinned tank top. ‘Gimme a card.’

  Jess grimaced, pulled a three from the shoe, with sleight of hand magically turned it into a nine – thereby putting sequinned tank top over twenty-one and out.

  ‘Aw, crap!’ the woman exclaimed loudly.

  Jess allowed herself a secret wink in Lennie’s direction. ‘Call me,’ she mouthed. She didn’t usually play God with the cards, but sometimes she just couldn’t help it.

  Lennie grinned and strolled away. Now that his evening was set he felt pretty good. They had loved him in the Bahia lounge – given him a great reception. His two week gig was going to be a big success – he could feel it. Now he had this wild-looking female to deal with – and she looked like more than enough to occupy him for two weeks. Maybe even make him forget Eden, although he doubted if she could do that. He wondered what her name was, what she was doing in Vegas, what she would be like in bed . . .

  Yeah . . . a two week relationship would suit him fine. He had had it with heavy involvements. First they stayed the night, next the weekend, finally they took over everything, until taking a shower was one long obstacle course strewn with panty-hose and bras.

  He hurried into the Bahia lounge, ordered himself a beer and a Bloody Mary for her . . . whatever her name was. He would know soon enough. He would know more than her name.

  * * *

  Matt Traynor’s apartment was decorated in early nouveauriche. A lot of ornamental gilt, black fur, fake marble, and damask couches. A sign behind the bar read ‘Matt’s Place’, and his lead crystal glasses were embossed with his initials, as were his shirts, socks, undershorts, sheets, towels, and pyjamas.

  ‘Wow!’ exclaimed his date, six months out of Ohio and impressed. ‘What a fabulous place.’

  He poured her undiluted Scotch, switched Sinatra on the stereo, and adjusted the pink lighting to low.

  ‘Wow!’ said Miss Ohio. ‘What a fabulous singer. Who is it?’

  ‘Are you jesting with me, young lady?’

  ‘What?’

  He wondered if she gave blow jobs.

  ‘Sinatra,’ he said.

  ‘Oh. Fabulous!’

  ‘You’re fabulous.’

  She giggled inanely, and sucked suggestively on an ice-cube.

  ‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘you’re the most fabulous girl I’ve seen all year.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  He reached for her left boob and circled the nipple with his thumb.

  She took a swig of Scotch, put the glass down, and leaned back on the couch.

  He kept his thumb twirling, and bent to kiss her.

  She responded nicely while Sinatra crooned ‘Strangers in the Night’.

  He manoeuvred her boob from the confines of her scoop necklined sweater, and bent his head to the erect nipple.

  ‘Fabulous!’ she murmured.

  He unzipped his fly allowing what he considered to be a healthy hard-on to escape. Then he took her right hand and placed it where it would find gainful employment.

  The phone rang. He had forgotten to put on the answering machine.

  ‘Goddamn it!’ he said.

  ‘Don’t answer,’ she said.

  His hard-on deflated. He picked up the offending instrument. ‘Yes?’ he snapped.

  ‘Matt. This is Lucky. I want you here. Now. There’s something I need taking care of.’

  ‘Can’t it hold until tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  For the second time that night he was more than pissed off with the Santangelos. First Gino, now Lucky. The pair of them were a pain in the ass.

  ‘If it’s important—’

  ‘It is. Come to my apartment.’

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Fast.’

  He banged the receiver down and stood up. His penis hung out of his trousers, a sorry reminder of what might have been. Quickly he zipped it from sight.

  ‘I’ve got to go out,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, what a shame!’

  ‘Can you wait for me?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘There’s television, and you can have fun in the jacuzzi. I won’t be long.’

  She wasn’t hard to persuade. ‘Fabulous!’ she said, and Sinatra crooned on.

  * * *

  Lennie glanced at his watch. Half an hour had passed and she obviously had no intention of showing up. Bitch! They were all the same. And this one was a whacko anyway, it was better she didn’t show.

  But still . . . he was mad – at himself more than anything. If he thought she was so horny-looking why hadn’t he taken her up on her offer? Wham bam thank you ma’am. And goodbye, Charlie.

  For Christ’s sake, what was so threatening about a woman instigating the proceedings? He could deal with that.

  She had probably not shown because she figured him for a jerk. And rightfully so. No doubt he had turned down a great experience. Jesus! He couldn’t wait to tell Jess about it. They would at least get a few laughs out of Lennie Golden – the reluctant fuck! Hey – he might be able to work it into some great comedy schtick.

  He thought he might call her. What did he have to lose? And maybe it wasn’t too late.

  Suite eleven twenty-two – the memory never let him down. He hurried to a house phone. No answer. Maybe she was out cruising, busy finding a replacement for Mr Reluctant.

  Why was he feeling jealous of someone he didn’t even know?

  Why could he see her face, that beautiful face?

  And why could he feel her lips, full and sensual and . . .

  Knock it off, schmuck. You blew it. Don’t sweat it. Forget it. At least his routine had been a smash.

  Tonight the Magiriano.

  Tomorrow the Carson Show. Why not?

  He had worked his balls off for it.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Fire the comedian,’ said Lucky.

  Matt frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘Lennie Golden. That’s his name isn’t it?’

  ‘You mea
n Lennie Golden who went on tonight in the lounge?’

  ‘Do we have two Lennie Goldens working for us?’

  ‘I don’t understand. He opened great. The audience loved him. Even you said he was good.’

  Coolly she lit a cigarette and stared out at the spectacular view over the Strip. ‘I never said he wasn’t good. I just said I want you to fire him.’

  ‘Is that what you summoned me for?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Lucky.’ A vein throbbed angrily near his temple. ‘Jesus Christ! I’m not some lackey you can jerk around on a string. It’s two o’clock in the morning. Why didn’t you tell me on the phone?’

  She wondered if he would dare speak to Gino like that. Decided he wouldn’t.

  ‘Do you like your job here?’ she asked mildly.

  ‘It’s not a job. I got points in the place. I’m a director of the company.’

  ‘Sure. I made you a director, and I can move you out any time I want.’

  ‘So do it,’ he snorted.

  ‘Maybe I will.’

  They glared at each other. He broke the stare first. Working for the Santangelos gave him more power than he’d ever had in his life. He didn’t want to blow it. ‘So what is it you want me to do?’ he said sourly.

  ‘Pay him. Fire him. Get him off the premises.’

  ‘May I at least ask why?’

  ‘Because he’s too good for the lounge. He makes people think. He makes them laugh. He stops them drinking and playing the tables. I want you to fire him tonight and get him out of here.’

  ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘It’s exactly what I want.’

  After he left she finished her cigarette, then went to the bureau and fished out a joint. She would get high instead of laid. Probably more satisfying in the long run.

  How nice to phone Gino now, have a father/daughter chat.

  Ha! She laughed aloud. They had never had that sort of a relationship. Not since she was five years old. Not since her mother was murdered . . .

  Flashes of white hot pain. She could still picture the scene as vividly as if it were yesterday. The pink pool . . . Maria’s naked body floating on a raft . . . her long blonde hair fanning out in the water . . .

  Abruptly she closed her eyes, but the image became even more vivid. For a year she and Gino had been wonderfully close, but never close enough to discuss what had happened to Maria, never close enough . . .

  She began to cry. But she didn’t know she was crying until the tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Lucky Santangelo crying. Never!

  Angrily she wiped her face. Goddamn it! Gino found himself a girlfriend and she went to pieces. She hadn’t even missed him when he was seven years in exile. Hadn’t given him so much as a second thought when she took over his empire. Now he was shacking up and she was breaking down. What was this crap?

  * * *

  In 1977 Gino returned to America. A six-million-dollar settlement with the IRS plus pulling a few strings made it possible. Lucky awaited his return with trepidation. He needn’t think he was taking over. She had worked hard, made her mark, and now she planned to stand firm. Of course, it would mean returning to Vegas, a city she had stayed away from since Marco’s murder.

  Enzio Bonnatti had been wonderful. He had tracked the assassin, dealt with the slime, and taken over the running of the Magiriano until she wished to go back.

  With Gino’s imminent re-entry into America the time had come.

  Costa arranged a meeting two days after Gino’s return. They met at the Pierre Hotel in New York. Father and daughter. Seven years apart. Seven years of silence. Lucky was hostile and uneasy, although Gino seemed friendly enough. He could see at once that this was not the spoiled girl he had left behind. This was a woman, self-assured, confident.

  He smiled and held open his arms. ‘Lucky.’

  She was taken aback. Did he honestly expect it to be that easy?

  He stared at her quizzically and tried to turn his arms into a gesture, a shrug. ‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘look at you. All grown up.’

  She regarded him coldly. ‘I thought I was all grown up when you married me off at sixteen.’

  ‘So it didn’t work out. But it kept you out of trouble, right? You goin’ to hold a grudge forever, kid?’

  She spotted a bottle of Scotch and poured herself a hefty glass.

  Gino did not take his eyes off her. ‘I guess we better talk,’ he said at last.

  She was unnerved by his steady stare. ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. A lot of things have changed while you’ve been away. I’m involved now, I’m part of it.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  She turned to face him, her eyes blazing. ‘I can tell you this – no way are you shoving me out. No way. Vegas is mine, and I’m going back.’

  A little late in the day.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Come on, Lucky – you seem like a smart girl. You gave Vegas to Bonnatti – handed it to him. You think he’ll just step down with a smile?

  ‘I know how to handle him.’

  He laughed aloud. ‘Don’t you realize Bonnatti is no longer our friend?’

  Yes, she knew. Although she wasn’t about to admit it to Gino. Earlier that day, Boogie had flown in from Vegas with stories of betrayal that made her cold with fury and hot for revenge. It seemed she’d been taken for dumb pussy. Bonnatti had arranged Marco’s murder. He had wanted her out of Vegas – and getting rid of Marco did the job. She had fled, just like the bastard knew she would. And now he had control. But not for long, she had her plans. And Gino was not going to screw them up.

  Before they could discuss the matter further, Dario arrived.

  Lucky wasn’t pleased. This was supposed to be a business meeting and it was turning into a family reunion.

  Dario did not stay long. He was a jumpy nervous wreck, and after ten minutes of stilted conversation he ran from the room like a thief.

  ‘What the fuck is the matter with that kid?’ Gino stormed. ‘Get him back, Costa. I think it’s about time I straightened the little pansy out.’ Much to his chagrin Costa had relayed his son’s sexual preferences to him.

  ‘Oh,’ said Lucky. ‘I think you’ve left that a bit late. If you had paid more attention to him when he was a teenager—’

  Gino whirled on her. And who do you think you’re talkin’ to?

  She didn’t back down. ‘When Dario and I were little we had no family life. Shut up in that Bel Air mausoleum like a couple of lepers. No wonder Dario is screwed up today.’

  He glared at her. ‘Terrible life you had. A beautiful home. The best money could buy.’

  She raised her voice excitedly. ‘Money. Who cares about money? I wanted you when I was growing up. I wanted you to care – to be with me. I wanted you to be a proper father.’

  Her words cut into him. ‘I always did the best for both of you,’ he growled. ‘The best I knew how—’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t enough,’ she said triumphantly.

  Police sirens wailed in the street outside. Costa went to the window and tried to see what was going on.

  ‘Get the fuck out of here and bring Dario back,’ Gino screamed. Costa left hurriedly.

  ‘I’m going,’ Lucky said. ‘You and I – we can’t communicate. We never could.’

  ‘You talk about me bein’ a proper father,’ he steamed. ‘How about you bein’ a proper daughter? Runnin’ away from school. Screwin’ anything in pants. Goin’ from—’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she interrupted – incensed with fury. ‘And even if I did, so what?’

  ‘So what? she says. So what.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You’re right, Lucky. You an’ I – we just aren’t on the same wavelength. Why don’t you go. Seven years an’ not even a lousy postcard. That’s a daughter.’ He felt suddenly tired. Someone was pounding on the door. He opened it and Costa burst in, white and trembling. ‘Dario’s been shot,’ he gasped, ‘outside the hotel. He’s dead.’
>
  ‘Holy Christ!.’ Gino cried out. ‘Holy mother of Christ!’

  Lucky stood transfixed.

  Suddenly Gino clutched his chest and staggered towards the couch. A low moan escaped his lips.

  ‘What is it?’ Lucky asked urgently. What is it ?’

  He moaned again, his face grey. All at once he looked every one of his seventy-one years.

  ‘I . . . think . . . it’s . . . my . . . heart . . .’ he mumbled. ‘You’d . . . better . . . get . . . me . . . a . . . doctor . . . fast . . .’

  It took her father’s near death for Lucky to realize how much she really loved him. He had his faults but he was still daddy . . . Gino . . . And when he whispered from his hospital bed – where he hovered between life and death – for her to take revenge . . . honour the family name . . . She knew at once that she would do as he had asked with no question.

  Enzio Bonnatti.

  Friend.

  Godfather.

  Assassin.

  Betrayer.

  She drove to his mansion out on Long Island, filled with an icy calm.

  Revenge. Why not?

  Revenge for the Santangelos and for Marco. There was no son to do the job – it fell upon her shoulders, and she did not flinch from family responsibilities.

  The shooting of Enzio Bonnatti was a clear-cut case of self-defence. Apparently the man had tried to rape Lucky Santangelo, and she had shot him with his own gun. The case never even came to court.

  With Lucky by his side, Gino recovered quickly, and gradually they rediscovered the closeness they had once shared before Maria’s death. They moved back to Vegas. ‘You take the Magiriano, kid,’ Gino said. ‘I’ll have the Mirage. One of these days we’ll build a place together.’

  It was a dream. But Lucky always knew it could become a reality.

  For one year they had been inseparable. Now there was the widow Martino to contend with.

  * * *

  An old Clint Eastwood movie played on television. Lucky finished the joint and watched it for a while. She liked Eastwood, he had a sort of silent eroticism that appealed to her. He was probably a great lay.

  Gradually she drifted off to sleep, only to be jolted awake at dawn by a forgotten nightmare.