Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  Olympia remembered when she was a child. Many presents. But gestures of affection were always reserved for his latest mistress. Perhaps he was mellowing. Or perhaps he liked Brigette better than he did his own daughter. She summoned Nanny Mabel and dispatched Brigette and the presents from the room.

  ‘How was Las Vegas?’ she asked dutifully. ‘I hear it’s a dreadful place full of terrible little people.’

  Dimitri regarded her critically. She was looking plump. Why didn’t the girl take care of herself?

  ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘But I was merely honouring Francesca Fern, hardly sightseeing.’

  ‘How is Francesca?’ Olympia asked. She was always intrigued by his continuing infatuation with the horse-faced actress. Francesca was certainly lasting longer than any of the others.

  ‘Very fine,’ snapped Dimitri. He had no intention of discussing his personal life with his gossipy daughter. If Olympia knew it was over, she would make sure it hit every society column in the world. ‘I saw an old friend of yours,’ he added quickly, to get her off the scent.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lucky Santangelo.’

  Lucky Santangelo. Ex best friend. Oh, the adventures they had shared! Once. A long time ago. Fifteen years to be exact. They probably wouldn’t even recognize each other now. And they certainly would have nothing in common.

  ‘Where did you see her?’ Olympia sniffed.

  ‘She owns the Magiriano Hotel.’

  ‘Oh. Did her gangster father give it to her?’

  ‘She built it herself while he was out of the country. She’s a very clever business woman.’

  Olympia was silent. She built it herself. Oh, really? With her own two hands. Was he trying to make her feel guilty because she had never done anything except inherit money and marry a series of cretinous fortune hunters?

  ‘How does she look?’ Olympia asked curiously.

  Dimitri changed the subject, it wouldn’t do for his daughter to have knowledge of his latest affair. ‘Who notices such things?’ he said dismissively. ‘I wish to leave for the airport at noon tomorrow. Please do not be late.’

  Olympia nodded vaguely as he left the room. She had no intention of leaving the next day, but she did plan to send Brigette and Nanny Mabel. The two of them were getting on her nerves, she needed a little time alone to recover from the trauma of her mother’s wedding. Oh, the embarrassment of Brigette’s outrageous behaviour. The child was becoming a monster.

  Yes, she would pack them off with Dimitri at noon. He could keep an eye on them in Paris while she purchased an apartment in New York and thought of herself for once.

  Lucky Santangelo a very clever business woman indeed! Ha! Olympia remembered her as a raggle taggle gypsy who couldn’t even find a boyfriend. She, Olympia, had taught her about men and sex and clothes. And a fine lot of thanks she had received for her trouble. Not one word in fifteen years.

  She remembered Lucky arriving at L’Evier, the boarding school they had both attended in Switzerland, a skinny dark-haired kid who had registered under the name of Lucky Saint because no one was supposed to know who her father was.

  As if anyone cared.

  Gino Santangelo.

  The first time Olympia set eyes on him from their window she had shuddered. He was so . . . sinister-looking. Dark like Lucky. On the short side, but very, very sexy with thick curly hair, a strutting walk, and bad, black eyes. It was the first time she had noticed the appeal of an older man.

  For a long time she had fantasized about him. Sometimes, when she indulged herself, she had imagined Gino was in the room with her, sucking on her tits, sticking it to her with absolutely no finesse but a hell of a lot of brutal energy.

  She had never confided to Lucky that she harboured a wish to fuck her father. Lucky would not have appreciated the thought.

  Olympia sighed and recalled the time Gino got himself engaged to Marabelle Blue, a famous blonde movie star. He had informed Lucky on the telephone, and she had crawled into bed sobbing. At the time Olympia was not supposed to know who she was. She did, of course. She had found out by skimming Lucky’s diary two days after she arrived at school. Lucky was sobbing, and Olympia couldn’t sleep, so she went to her friend and comforted her, softly at first, but the softness had turned into passion, and before long the two schoolgirls were entwined like lovers.

  One night of warm wet sweetness. The next morning things were back to normal. Neither of them had ever mentioned it. It was as if their lovemaking had never taken place. Sometimes Olympia thought of it. Over the years there had been a few women. Not one of them came close to the night of illicit passion with her school friend . . .

  ‘Mama!’ Brigette entered her train of thought. ‘Look!’ The child thrust an expensive Cartier watch at her.

  Olympia glanced at the watch. It must have cost over a thousand dollars. Why did Dimitri buy such presents for a nine-year-old?

  ‘Don’t want it,’ Brigette whined. ‘Want a Snoopy watch, mama. Want to go to Disneyland.’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Olympia, taking the watch and tossing it to one side. She would send the chauffeur out for a Snoopy watch and give it to Brigette just before the child departed the next day. This would circumvent a nasty scene, for Brigette would not be pleased when she discovered Olympia had no plans to accompany her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Now Lucky found it was just a question of waiting for Gino to return so she could tell him she was moving on. The only problem was that he seemed to have no intention of doing so.

  She steamed in the Las Vegas heat while the days passed slowly, and the nights even more so. Eventually she could stand it no longer. Atlantic City was over . . . play the game or leave the field . . . she had been forced to leave the field.

  Angrily she collected some of her favourite books, a tape machine, and a stack of soul tapes. Then she got on a plane to Palm Springs, and holed up in the Canyon Club Hotel where she was given her own house and pool, and complete privacy. ‘Call me the instant Gino returns,’ were her instructions.

  The solitude was strangely welcome. She lay out by the pool all day with Bobby Womack and Teddy Pendergrass and Marvin Gaye for company. And at night she settled into bed with Mario Puzo, Joseph Wambaugh, and early Harold Robbins (always a kick to reread A Stone for Danny Fisher and The Adventurers). She turned off completely. Ordered only healthy foods. Did not smoke or drink. Wore no makeup. And treated her bronzed body to a morning spa, half an hour of vigorous exercise, and an evening sauna.

  She was never lonely. She had learned at an early age to be satisfied with her own company. And although sometimes she thought about how pleasant it might be to have a sister or a brother – she could still remember the closeness she and Dario had shared as children – it was okay. She was content.

  Waiting seemed interminable. But waiting her way was certainly more tolerable. Somehow she revelled in the peace and the quiet and the aloneness, because soon she knew everything would change. Soon she would be starting over.

  * * *

  ‘I gotta get back,’ Gino said often.

  ‘Why?’ Susan would reply. ‘You have people to run everything for you. Surely it is more pleasant to stay here with me?’

  He had to admit it was. But he was beginning to feel guilty about Lucky. He knew she was angry at him, therefore he didn’t even bother to call, reasoning that he would be better off to deal with her face to face.

  Life in Beverly Hills was like one long vacation. Living in Susan’s house he found a freedom from responsibilities. For once the phone wasn’t always ringing, people weren’t bothering him with minor problems, he could relax and do what he wanted.

  Long ago he had surrounded himself with the best lawyers, accountants and executives money could buy. It was called taking care of business without actually having to do anything. He had learned that lesson while marooned in Israel for seven years. Delegate, but never lose touch. Besides, while he was away, Lucky would watch over everything. The
kid was as smart as any man. He felt sorry about disappointing her on Atlantic City – but if he was going to get married, becoming involved in major new projects was out. For the time being anyway.

  Lucky would understand. She would have to.

  Susan had still not mentioned that they were planning to marry to her children.

  ‘C’mon,’ Gino complained. ‘Get it over with. Can’tcha see they love me!’

  She told them over dinner at Chasen’s with Gino present. The two of them made polite noises and kicked each other under the table.

  ‘Y’see,’ Gino said later, ‘they think it’s fine. Now I gotta get back to Vegas, tie up a few things. We’ll leave tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t leave,’ Susan said quickly.

  ‘Why not?’

  She lowered her eyes. ‘It’s just not possible. When Tiny passed away . . .’ She paused. ‘. . . I didn’t really want to mention this to you, but he left what my lawyers are beginning to call a financial nightmare . . . It’s something I have to try and deal with myself, and since we’ve been together I haven’t paid any attention to sordid business matters. If you return to Las Vegas, then I—’

  He interrupted her, slamming his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘Jeez! Why didn’t you tell me? Christ! We’re together, aren’t we? We’re gonna get married for crissake. I should have asked you if everything was alright.’

  ‘It’s not your problem, Gino,’ she said firmly. ‘Although I do appreciate your concern.’

  ‘Listen. From now on your problems are my problems. I’ll fly back tomorrow an’ send one of my best accountants to L.A. to meet with your lawyers. He’ll get a handle on the situation, and then I’ll put everything straight. How does that grab you?

  ‘You don’t have to,’ she said, immediately agreeing.

  He caught her in a tight hug. ‘Sure I have to. And next weekend you’ll fly to Vegas an’ we’ll be together.’

  She had never thought it would be so easy. For a moment she tensed, not prepared for another of his vigorous love-making sessions. Then she relaxed, and endured his suffocating embrace. After they were married he would not get within ten feet of her.

  His hands began to reach for her breasts. ‘You’re a sexy broad,’ he said, laughing. ‘Y’know that, don’tcha? You know that, Susie? You’re one helluva gorgeous sexy broad!’

  Inwardly she shuddered.

  Outwardly she succumbed.

  His rough touch did nothing for her. She couldn’t wait until he left.

  * * *

  ‘Thank God the hood has gone!’ announced Gemma, just minutes after Gino departed for the airport. The three of them sat in the breakfast room picking at their food.

  ‘Thank God is right,’ emphasized Nathan. ‘Mother, surely you’re not serious about marrying that gangster?’

  ‘Don’t speak like that about Gino,’ snapped Susan. ‘And kindly accept the fact that now your father is gone I have to make a life for myself.’

  ‘Yes, but not with the hood,’ complained Gemma, crunching a piece of crispbread.

  ‘Certainly not,’ agreed Nathan, downing his orange juice.

  Susan sighed. She had raised two tight-assed WASP snobs. Tiny would be horrified.

  But of course, secretly, she agreed with them. It was ludicrous that she was being forced to commit matrimony with a man like Gino Santangelo. Why hadn’t Tiny taken care of his business affairs? Why hadn’t he looked to the future? Thoughtless man.

  She pulled her silk peignoir tightly across her breasts and eyed her two offspring. Gemma, so skinny and snippy looking. Hardly a beauty, but passable. And Nathan, a Californian boy with floppy hair and a surfer’s body.

  If she didn’t have the two of them to support . . . And they expected every comfort. Children raised in Beverly Hills were different from the rest. Delicately she sipped her lemon tea. Thank God Gino had left, at least he would not be bothering her for a while. She had no intention of returning to Las Vegas at the weekend. There was a wedding to plan, and it would be a magnificent affair. At least she owed herself that.

  If Gino wished to see her, he could return to Beverly Hills.

  She hoped he wouldn’t.

  She knew he would.

  * * *

  Lucky received the message out by the pool. Gino was back. She packed and was at the airport within an hour. A confrontation was long overdue.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  They were to meet on the corner of La Brea and Sunset at ‘Tiny Naylors’ – a drive-in restaurant. Lennie got there first, and sat in his rented car wondering anxiously if she would turn up. It was two-thirty in the morning, hardly time for a reunion. But when he had blurted ‘I’ve got to see you,’ over the phone, Eden had replied, ‘I’m busy tomorrow, but if you like I’ll meet you now.’

  An uncharacteristic gesture. He had expected her to scream because he was calling so late. Instead she had been surprisingly receptive, and now he sat waiting for her knowing it would be a typical Eden move for her to get him out, and then not turn up at all.

  He lit a cigarette and ordered a burrito and a coke from a tired waitress. Two hookers in matching purple hot pants and open-weave tops sauntered by.

  ‘Wanna fuck or sumpin’?’ demanded one, too exhausted from her night’s activity to suspect he might be a cop.

  ‘Not tonight, ladies,’ he replied civilly. Although that was a lie. He wanted to fuck Eden.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded the other hooker, a plump Mexican with a gold front tooth. ‘I give you a preview, honey. You shit your pants.’ She raised her open-weave top and flashed two globules of golden flesh at him.

  He nodded approvingly and repeated, ‘Not tonight, ladies.’

  ‘Fag!’ spat the Mexican.

  ‘Shithead!’ said the other one.

  They spotted a motorcycle with two greasers astride, and went on their way.

  The waitress brought his burrito and coke. He wolfed it, then glanced at his watch. She had said twenty minutes. Half an hour had passed. How long was he going to wait?

  The hookers were doing business. The plump Mexican linked arms with one of the greasers and they vanished into the shadows. The other one leaned across the handlebars of the bike and whispered promises to the rider.

  Eden wasn’t going to come. Why should she? She hated him. She had told him so that last night in New York.

  ‘You’re a loser,’ she had said. ‘A nothing, a lousy lay.’

  Eden had a way with words.

  But he wasn’t exactly blameless when it came to name-calling. He had called her everything from a stupid cunt, to a talentless dumb bitch.

  They had not parted on the best of terms.

  And yet . . .

  He could remember the good times.

  When Eden wanted, she could be the sweetest female in the world. She could make a man feel like a king, top of the whole fucking heap. In the three years they were together, the good times outweighed the bad. And the sex was great. Eden with her thin body, long silky hair, heart-shaped face, and sly topaz eyes.

  She was a killer. She had an exotic beauty that he just couldn’t get enough of.

  As if on cue, her pale pink Thunderbird slid into the slot beside him. She lowered her window and smiled. Her eyes were obscured by Jacqueline Onassis sunglasses, and her hair hidden beneath a silk scarf. ‘Hello, Lennie,’ she drawled in her best Lauren Bacall husky voice. ‘I bet you thought I wasn’t coming.’

  * * *

  Matt Traynor did not behave like a perfect gentleman. He met Jess in the parking lot as arranged. He took her to a Polynesian restaurant for dinner. He plied her with Scorpions and Navy grogs until she could hardly walk. And then he took her back to his apartment and tried to screw her.

  She did not object.

  She did not know.

  As soon as they arrived she passed out on his couch. He lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, and was just about to force himself aboard when his conscience got the better of him. What the h
ell was he doing?

  Frantically, he went into action, pulling her panties back up and re-arranging her skirt. He felt like the world’s worst heel. Groaning to himself, he poured a straight bourbon, and hoped to God she never realized he had almost committed a dirty act. Then he threw a leopard skin rug over her and nervously paced the apartment.

  She stayed unconscious until five-thirty in the morning, when she woke, swore loudly, demanded his car keys, and rushed off into the early morning light with a parting, ‘I’ll leave your keys under the front seat.’

  He was destroyed. He had expected, even quite looked forward to the Doris Day/Rock Hudson scene.

  Doris (distraught): ‘Oh dear! What happened? Tell me now. Did we . . . do anything?’

  Rock (with a manly knowing smile): ‘Did we do what?’

  Doris: ‘Don’t torment me. You know what I mean.’

  Rock (reassuringly): ‘Of course not. What kind of a man do you take me for?’

  Doris (relieved and grateful): ‘You’re my kind of man.’

  Fade out.

  Now she was gone. And she hadn’t even asked. Didn’t she care?

  He entered his stainless-steel kitchen and fixed instant coffee. His back hurt. All that bending over. His eyes ached. All that tension.

  He wondered if she would ever talk to him again.

  * * *

  ‘I knew you’d come,’ Lennie said, although he hadn’t known at all. He got out of his car and climbed into the passenger seat of the Thunderbird. Eden was wearing a skimpy sundress, and high-heeled sandals. He reached over and took off her sunglasses. She wasn’t wearing make-up but she still looked great.

  ‘Hey,’ he reached over and touched her hair beneath the scarf, ‘Good t’see you.’

  She stared at him long and hard. ‘Hello, Lennie. You’re a surprise, but a nice one.’

  She knew how to push his buttons, she always had.

  ‘I thought we might drive to the beach,’ she suggested, ‘and you can tell me what you’re doing out here.’

  Well Eden, I came to the coast so that I could make love to you again. The hell with my career.