Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  Lennie was not into drugs, but tonight he felt like it. The hell with everything.

  What would Alice the Swizzle say if she could see him now? Here he was, Lennie Golden, back in his hometown. Only now he was King of the whole fucking heap.

  He was a star.

  He was in bed with one of the richest women in the world.

  And he was loving every minute.

  ‘We should do something wild,’ Olympia decided. Her blue eyes shone brighter than diamonds. ‘Something really wild.’

  ‘I thought we just did!’ he joked.

  Olympia jumped from the bed. She looked very Rubenesque with her ripe curves and huge breasts. ‘Let’s get married,’ she said. It came out easily, she was becoming used to saying it.

  ‘Let’s get what?’ He was stoned, but not that stoned.

  ‘That’d give ’em all something to think about,’ she giggled. ‘Can you imagine? We’d make every front page.’

  ‘Hey . . . slow down. I am not even remotely interested in getting married.’

  She was genuinely surprised. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because . . . uh . . . well it’s just not something I’ve ever thought about.’

  ‘I’ve done it three times,’ she observed solemnly. ‘With three losers.’ She moved back to the bed and sat beside him, stroking his chest. Her eyes were wide and serious and cobalt blue. ‘What have you got to lose? It would be an adventure, and who knows, you might even like it.’

  He began to laugh. It was such a crazy idea. ‘C’mon . . .’ he started to say.

  She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled her luscious breasts against his naked chest. ‘I’m not little Miss Nobody, Lennie. You know who I am. You know the kind of life we could have. And if it doesn’t work out . . . no strings, no alimony, none of the usual crap. Who else could offer you a sweet deal like that?’

  He thought about it.

  Seriously.

  Well, as seriously as he could after overdosing on champagne, grass and coke. Not to mention half a bottle of vodka earlier in the evening.

  If Lennie Golden married Olympia Stanislopoulos, Eden would freak. The ultimate revenge! Christ! He could do it if he wanted to. She was right, what did he have to lose?

  One-night stands. A mother who never cared. Star-fuck groupies. An apartment in L.A. with a senile maid. Lonely nights thinking of Eden.

  ‘Look,’ he said, trying to get his thoughts straight. ‘We don’t know each other. We’re a couple of strangers who just had a good time in bed.’

  ‘That makes it particularly exciting doesn’t it?’ she sighed dreamily. ‘A real magical mystery trip. What more could one ask?’

  * * *

  ‘I’m not going to do it, you bastard,’ Eden hissed. ‘You can’t make me.’

  Santino picked at his teeth with a fingernail, and regarded her stonily. They faced each other in the bedroom of their hotel room. Outside in the living room sat his two greasy Vegas friends.

  ‘Y’would think I was askin’ ya to run naked down the frig-gin’ Strip,’ complained Santino, his left eye twitching. A signal Eden knew meant trouble. ‘All I wancha t’do is take off your clothes an’ parade through the other room in ya high heels. Is that such a big friggin’ deal?’

  ‘You want me to put on a show for your lousy cheap friends,’ she said tightly. ‘And I will not do it.’

  ‘Like hell ya won’t,’ snapped Santino. ‘If ya wanna be in the friggin’ movie, ya better.’ In one swift movement his pudgy hand reached into the bodice of her new gown and tore downward. The silver material ripped.

  ‘You bastard!’ Her voice was low.

  He slapped her lightly across the face. ‘For openers,’ he said calmly. ‘You want more – then just keep up the dumb cunt act.’ He walked to the door, and turned to stare at her. His eyes were the smallest meanest eyes she had ever seen. ‘I wancha to parade through the other room, ass naked, like ya’ don’t know nothin’s goin’ on. Fix yerself a drink, an’ walk back in here. Ya got it?’

  ‘Then what do you want me to do. Sleep with them?’ she blazed.

  ‘Honey. You fuck anyone else an’ I’ll kill you.’ He left the room.

  She bit down on her lower lip trying to control a surge of anger. Who did he think he was?

  She swept into the bathroom and stepped out of her ruined dress. The mirror showed her Santino’s hand had left only a slight imprint on her pale skin. She added more powder, covering the redness. Then she applied blusher and lip gloss, and smoothed down her fine blonde hair.

  Santino Bonnatti wanted a show.

  She would give the bastard a show.

  With great care she rouged the nipples of her small breasts so that they stood out bright red and erect. Then she removed her panty hose and fluffed out the golden triangle between her legs. Next she took an atomizer-of baby oil and sprayed herself all over until her body gleamed. Several spritzes of ‘Shalimar’ completed the effect. All she had to add were stiletto silver sandals, and a thin silver chain around her waist.

  When she considered herself ready she stood back and surveyed the result. You’re playing a role, she told herself. Go for it. Make it work. Don’t let the sonofabitch get to you. With haughty dignity she threw open the door to the living room and sauntered in.

  Santino and his two cronies were talking. They all stopped and stared.

  She ignored them and strolled to the bar.

  Santino started speaking again, as if nothing was going on, but he had completely lost his companions’ attention.

  Coolly Eden fixed herself a glass of white wine with ice. Then just as coolly she walked back to the bedroom door, where she paused for a moment. ‘Goodnight, guys,’ she murmured huskily.

  What an exit! In a funny way the whole thing was a turn on. She had enjoyed giving them a free show . . . God, talk about drooling!

  She wished she was with Lennie now. She was hot and ready and . . .

  Santino flung open the door. He was in a hurry, dropping his pants as he came toward her. He didn’t say a word as he forced her to her knees in front of him.

  * * *

  His manager informed Vitos that Olympia Stanislopoulos had retired to her suite. Vitos was hardly sorry, it had been a long day and he was not up to Olympia’s aggressive demands in bed. He left the party smiling all the way. Several women tried to leave with him – one of the hazards of being an international sex symbol. But he managed to extract himself with charm and good grace and lousy English which seemed only to enhance his appeal.

  Alone at last he let the smile drop. Thankfully. Without it he was a dour-looking man in his thirties with melancholy eyes and a weak mouth. Alone at last he was able to unglue the small hair-piece which covered the tiny but alarming bald spot on the back of his scalp.

  Alone at last he removed the bridge which held three of his gleaming white teeth in place.

  Alone at last he undressed, and happily he did not have to hold his stomach in and shoulders erect.

  Alone at last he was not obliged to create a hard-on and prove his manhood.

  For once the sex symbol could relax. And he did.

  And he did.

  * * *

  ‘Breakfast?’ Matt suggested.

  ‘Why not?’ Jess shrugged. Vitos’ guitar player had turned out to be a crazy gambler, and after trailing him around the tables for a while she had given up and returned to the party to find it breaking up. Matt caught her at the door. There was no sign of his girlfriend.

  ‘Nice evening,’ Jess said.

  ‘Not bad,’ Matt agreed.

  They both wanted to say more, but the moment wasn’t right.

  * * *

  ‘I do’, said Olympia. She was still stoned, but knew exactly what she was doing.

  ‘I do’, said Lennie, slipping a cheap plastic ring on the third finger of her left hand. He had bought it at the door of THE WEE WEDDING CHAPEL OF LOVE AND HONOUR. WE WILL SERVE YOUR NEEDS 24 HOURS. He was still very stoned, and feeling
no pain.

  ‘I pronounce you man and wife,’ said the female preacher – a vision in hair curlers and a thick velour robe. ‘You may kiss the bride.’

  Lennie grabbed Olympia, bent her backward in an exaggerated tango stance, and laid one on her.

  Both collapsed in gales of laughter. The female preacher was unamused. It was five o’clock in the morning and she wanted to get back to bed.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Dinner was being served in the Stanislopoulos’ New York apartment. Three servants attended to Lucky and Dimitri’s every need.

  ‘I can’t find Olympia,’ Dimitri said with a grunt of disapproval. ‘She’s departed from New York with Brigette and left no word where she is.’

  ‘Olympia’s a big girl,’ Lucky commented, picking at her salad. ‘You don’t want her to check in every time she makes a move, do you?’

  ‘I expect to be able to reach her if I need to,’ he grumbled indignantly.

  ‘She’ll be in touch. You said she always comes on your summer cruise, and that’s only a couple of weeks off.’

  ‘Yes.’ Dimitri reached for a glass of red wine. He had arrived from Paris the day before, and had yet to inform Lucky that Francesca and Horace Fern would be joining them on the cruise. This was the perfect opportunity. He cleared his throat and presented her with a list of guests.

  These included Francesca and Horace, Olympia and Flash, with Brigette and her nanny. A Texas oil tycoon and his wife. And a billionaire Arab fixer with his well-known socialite girlfriend.

  Lucky grimaced. ‘Sounds like a fun group,’ she said, with more than a hit of sarcasm.

  ‘My summer cruise is a social highlight,’ Dimitri said pompously. ‘An invitation is a coveted prize.’

  Lucky burst out laughing. ‘Sometimes you’re so full of crap!’

  ‘Why don’t you invite some friends?’ he asked, anxious to keep her happy.

  ‘Do I have to come?’ she inquired earnestly. ‘Social highlights are not exactly my scene, and I have so much to do. I’m viewing sites in Atlantic City tomorrow, and if I see the right space I need to get right on it. You know, meet with builders, architects. Start things moving.’

  ‘Naturally you must come. You are my wife now, and I want to introduce you to my friends. Even if you found the right site tomorrow, negotiations take time. My lawyers can handle everything.’ He paused. ‘Olympia will be on the cruise. We must tell her our news together.’

  ‘I wonder how she’s going to take it.’ Lucky sighed reflectively, as two servants cleared the salad dishes and refilled the wine glasses.

  ‘You were close once. You can be so again,’ he stated. ‘Perhaps you can be a positive influence on her. This ridiculous affair with Flash is headed for disaster. You can advise her.’

  ‘Oh great. Old friend Lucky reappears and immediately tells her how to run her life. That’ll go down big.’

  ‘Olympia needs guidance.’

  ‘Well she’s not getting it from me.’

  A uniformed maid appeared with a platter of thinly sliced roast beef, and Lucky helped herself. She would have to do something about these formal little dinners for two. A pizza in front of the TV was more her style.

  ‘I have an idea,’ Dimitri said. ‘Why not invite your father and his charming wife on the cruise? I feel this should be a family affair.’

  Lucky almost choked. Gino. On a boat. No way. Mind you, the charming wife would probably love it. Lucky could just imagine Susan frolicking with a clutch of fun-loving elderly billionaires. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘Why not?’ Dimitri persevered. ‘Shall I have my secretary telephone and issue an invitation?’

  She shrugged. ‘Okay,’ she said, knowing full well Gino would never come.

  * * *

  ‘Yes,’ gushed Susan. ‘Tell Mr Stanislopoulos we would be delighted to join him on his yacht.’

  She hung up the phone and immediately thought of clothes. What did she need? What should she take? A full shopping trip had to take place at once. How fortunate that Lucky Santangelo had done one intelligent thing in her life and married Dimitri Stanislopoulos. Although how she had landed him Susan would never know. What could a man like Dimitri possibly see in an uncouth girl like Lucky? She must have tricked him with the baby.

  Susan remembered meeting Dimitri in Las Vegas. For one brief moment she had considered him as a prospective husband – at the time she was shopping. But it soon became obvious that all the stories about Francesca Fern were true – he talked of the woman all night. How had Lucky removed the formidable Francesca from his life? Maybe she would find out on the boat trip.

  Why was she wasting time? Neiman-Marcus was waiting. Saks, Magnins, Bonwits . . . Hurriedly she left the house.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  ’I can’t believe you did this!’ screamed Jess. ‘Are you crazy? Insane? What?’

  ‘A simple congratulations would be enough,’ Lennie groaned.

  ‘You—’ Jess yelled, ‘are positioned to be the next big star – and I mean we’re talking fucking stupendous, man.’

  He was lying on a couch in his suite – watching Jess bounce angrily up and down the thick carpeted length of his room. His head ached. His eyes ached. His body ached. Even his teeth were giving him trouble.

  ‘And what do you do?’ Jess yelled. ‘What do you do? You marry some nympho moneybags who’ll use you to carry her luggage. You are certifiably insane.’

  Lennie moved the cold washcloth from his forehead and requested – ever so politely – that she lower her voice.

  Jess responded with a malevolent glare. ‘Asshole!’ she muttered.

  ‘Rich asshole,’ he responded wearily.

  ‘Dumb rich asshole,’ she shot back. ‘Marrying Olympia Staniswhateverhername is just a bad joke. How many husbands has she had? How many famous boyfriends? Join the list, Lennie. You are now one of a very big crowd. She’s the female Warren Beatty of the jet set without the talent. How does it feel to be one of many?’

  ‘Jess,’ he said quietly. ‘Do me a favour and piss off.’

  ‘I only wish I could.’

  ‘Force yourself. There’s an army of gorillas stamping through my head and I think we need to be alone together.’

  ‘Oh, Lennie,’ She sat down beside him and took his hand. ‘I suppose you were stoned and in heat. Why didn’t you just fuck her instead of marrying her?’

  ‘I think we did that too.’

  Jess shook her head despairingly. Lennie. Best friend. Always capable of falling in the mire when it came to women.

  She had arrived in his suite an hour earlier to find him sprawled on the couch, asleep, fully dressed, with the washcloth dripping on his forehead. It was eleven o’clock in the morning and she had attempted to move him into the bedroom. He had prised open his bloodshot eyes, and said, ‘1 think I’ve done something I’m not going to like.’ Then he confessed, and there was the marriage certificate on the floor to prove it.

  Now the screaming was over she tried to collect her thoughts and look at the situation logically. ‘Where is Olympia?’ she asked, sounding far calmer than she felt.

  ‘I dunno’, he moaned, getting up and staggering into the bathroom. He peed, took one look at himself in the mirror, and lurched into the bedroom where he threw himself face down on the bed. No more drugs. Never again.

  Jess followed him in. ‘I’ve ordered breakfast,’ she said. ‘You’ll feel better when you eat.’

  ‘Don’t mention food.’

  ‘Get up. Take a shower. We’ve got to sort this mess out.’

  ‘Piss off, Jess.’

  ‘Don’t keep on saying that. I’m here to help you.’

  He scratched his head, sat up and reached for a cigarette. ‘I think you’ve left it a little late.’

  * * *

  Olympia did not sleep. She had learned a useful secret from Flash. After an all-night session of drinking and dope, the only way to face the new day was with a little help from a co
uple of large white pills. Quaaludes.

  She took two on returning to the hotel, and by the time she had bathed and changed her clothes she was ready to set things in motion. First she called her lawyer in New York. Then the Magiriano’s publicist. And – because she was not lacking in good manners – Vitos.

  ‘Mr Felicidade is accepting no calls before twelve noon,’ the operator twanged.

  Tough. Mr Felicidade would just have to find out the hard way.

  * * *

  Eden awoke early and slid from bed like a conspirator. Santino slept on his back, snoring loudly.

  Quietly she took some clothes from the closet, crept into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Why hadn’t she spoken to Lennie at the party? Why hadn’t he spoken to her?

  She rinsed her face with cold water. The mark of Santino’s slap was gone, she looked as beautiful as ever with her porcelain skin, topaz eyes and exotic cheekbones.

  She applied a touch of brown shadow, blusher, and dash of lip gloss. Then she tied her fine blonde hair back in a ponytail. The young unsophisticated look. Lennie loved it.

  She dressed in white cotton pants and a silky T-shirt.

  Almost holding her breath she slid back into the bedroom. Santino still slept. On a table beside the bed lay a wad of bills, several items of gold jewellery, and a snub-nosed revolver. Carefully she ignored the gun and jewellery, and took several hundred-dollar bills from the stack. Then, going over to the desk, she scribbled a short note, GONE SHOPPING, BACK SOON. He wouldn’t like it, she knew that, but she needed to get out without being followed. And hopefully Zeko was not sleeping outside their door.

  Santino was a dangerous man. Obsessive and unpredictable. She had put up with him for two years, and she was prepared to continue to do so until the movie was made. But obviously, after last night’s performance, she needed insurance. And what better insurance than Lennie Golden. Especially now he was riding high.

  ‘Who are you?’ Olympia demanded imperiously as she swept past Jess into Lennie’s suite.