Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  The blonde heiress was dressed for business in a white lace dress with pink flowers festooned in her hair. She was trailed by several sales people carrying suits hidden beneath protective polythene, an array of shirts on hangers, and an assortment of boxes.

  ‘I’m Lennie’s manager,’ Jess said. ‘And what is—’

  ‘Hmmm . . .’ Olympia destroyed her with a sweeping look. ‘I expect you’ve heard our news then.’

  ‘Yes, and—’

  Olympia ignored her and turned her attention to the minions with the clothes. ‘Leave everything on the couch and go,’ she commanded.

  They did as they were bade.

  When they had departed, Olympia once again directed her cool gaze at Jess. ‘Now,’ she said crisply, ‘there are several arrangements I want you to double check. The reception is arranged for three this afternoon. The hotel is supposed to be taking care of the food and flowers – but make sure it’s done properly. And treble check the press attendance. I want to be certain this is covered by the best. Several journalists are flying in from L.A. I need a limo to meet their plane, and they must be taken care of while they’re here.’ She paused for breath. ‘You don’t look like a manager,’ she added disparagingly. ‘Anyhow, I suppose Lennie knows what he’s doing. Where is he?’

  Jess was almost speechless. Was this what Lennie had married? This shrill bossy kewpie doll, with fat legs and enormous boobs. Lennie, who had always had the cream. Class A ladies only.

  She gestured helplessly toward the bedroom. ‘In there,’ she said. Let him deal with it. He was the one who had married it.

  * * *

  Vitos awoke to the sound of his own voice. It soothed him to re-enter the world listening to his soft caressing tones.

  The tape/alarm clock did its duty at twelve noon precisely. He rolled over in bed and drifted in and out of sleep for a while, then he arose, exercised, showered, shaved, glued his hairpiece into place, put his bridgework in, and summoned room service and his manager. They arrived simultaneously.

  While Vitos tackled fresh grapefruit, scrambled eggs, and lemon tea (he had to watch his diet at all times) his manager nervously paced the room. He had discovered Vitos when he had caught his Mexican maid drooling over the singer on a Spanish TV station.

  ‘These wimmen in America, they lova me so much,’ Vitos crooned, reflectively sipping his tea.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed his manager, wondering how to break the rumour that was buzzing all over the hotel.

  ‘Sometimes is so difficult maka the universal language offa lova. I thinka everyones, they unnerstanda me so well.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah . . .’ Vitos sighed. ‘Wimmen. They lova me.’

  ‘Where is Olympia?’ his manager asked quickly, seizing the opportunity.

  ‘You hava my papers from Spain?’ Vitos inquired, rising from the table and admiring himself in a nearby mirror. He practised his smile, liked what he saw, and proceeded to do a few facial exercises guaranteed to get rid of any lurking double chins. Not that he had any – but you could never be too careful.

  ‘The papers haven’t arrived yet.’

  ‘Too bad.’ Vitos thrust his chin forward and back. ‘Maybe nota too bad. Thisa marriage, you really thinks I should do it? The wimmen be – how you say – broken in six.’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  * * *

  ‘Good morning!’ Olympia flung open the shower door. ‘And how are you this morning?’

  Lennie regarded his bride, who seemed to be feeling no pain. She looked fresh, bright and exceptionally pretty – if a little plump.

  ‘I feel like camel dung,’ he said dourly. ‘Did we really do what I think we did?’

  She selected a large towel and held it open for him to step into. ‘We did.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘You’re not sorry, are you?’ She widened her blue eyes and managed to look hurt and vulnerable at the same time.

  ‘Jesus! I don’t know.’ He knotted the towel around his waist and tried to review the situation. Here he was in the bathroom of a Las Vegas hotel with one of the richest women in the world whom he had known for less than twenty-four hours and they were married! Any moment he expected to wake up. This wasn’t real life, as Jess had so eloquently pointed out – this was insane.

  ‘We’ve got to talk,’ he said, walking into the bedroom and searching for a cigarette. ‘Uh . . . I don’t know about you, but I was stoned last night. I mean really out of it. And . . . well . . . Jesus, in the cold light of day it’s not so funny, is it?’

  He fixed her with a hopeful look. He was hopeful she would agree with him, say, ‘What a mistake! I came to tell you I’ve taken care of the whole thing – had the ceremony reversed. We are no longer legal.’

  What she actually said was, ‘I’ve planned the reception for three o’clock today. Not that we need another party, but we want to have photographs and a cake.’ She laughed gaily. ‘What kind of a wedding would it be without that? Oh, and my daughter, Brigette, will be so disappointed if we don’t do anything. She’s adorable, you’ll love her. She’s out with her nanny now, choosing a dress.’

  ‘I didn’t know you had a kid,’ he said blankly.

  ‘There are a lot of things we don’t know about each other, aren’t there?’ She caressed him with an innocent smile. Olympia could play innocent – when it suited her – to the hilt. ‘But that’s going to be half the fun, isn’t it? Finding out.’ She hugged him warmly. ‘I’ve bought you a selection of clothes. They’re in the other room with your . . . er . . . manager girl. I thought you’d want a new outfit for our wedding party. Oh, Lennie, I’m so excited. In one night you’ve changed my life. I was really depressed. I can’t begin to tell you how unhappy I was.’ She lowered her lashes and her voice. ‘Almost suicidal,’ she whispered. ‘But you’ve changed everything. It’s as if we found each other just in time.’

  He had things to say. He couldn’t get them out. How could he tell her it was all a mistake? How could he back out now? Thanks, Eden, look what you got me into this time. He was married to a total stranger and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Chapter Sixty

  Happiness was getting back into action. And Atlantic City was exactly where Lucky wanted to be. She left Roberto in New York with CeeCee and departed for Atlantic City in high spirits.

  She knew what she was looking for, and the real estate agents were eagerly awaiting her arrival. Unfortunately, the location she had been after with Gino was long gone. And prices had zoomed. Atlantic City was taking off in a way nobody had quite imagined. She had known it would be so. Damn Gino. They could have enjoyed the excitement of being in at the beginning. But the hell with it. She would build the finest hotel ever. She would create a legendary palace, a shimmering tower. And she would call it ‘The Santangelo’.

  * * *

  For two days Susan and Gino argued back and forth. He refused to entertain the idea of going on the cruise unless Lucky called him personally. And Susan insisted it was an opportunity she absolutely could not miss.

  Gino had yet to admit it to anyone except himself, but his marriage was over. Susan, the warm and wonderful woman he married had turned out to be an empty shell.

  Wind her up and she dresses the part.

  Press her button and she gives great dinner parties.

  Shove her in the right direction and she spends money like it’s going out of style.

  Lucky had been right about her all along. Why hadn’t he seen it? She’d taken him for a schmuck.

  He thought about Lucky a lot. And he missed her. But there was no going back. She had married Dimitri, given birth to a baby. And not once had she consulted him.

  He called Costa in Miami and complained.

  ‘You get what you give in life,’ Costa said philosophically. ‘What have you ever given Lucky that makes her feel she should turn to you for advice?’

  Gino hung up furious. Costa
was getting senile.

  ‘We’ll go on the goddamn cruise,’ he told Susan. ‘I want to spend some time with my grandson, and this seems to be the only way I can do it.’

  Susan smiled. ‘Yes, dear,’ she replied calmly. And rushed out to spend another few thousand dollars.

  * * *

  Dimitri had just put down the phone on Francesca when his secretary announced that Olympia was on the line.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he roared. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you.’

  ‘I’m in—’

  ‘It’s not good enough, Olympia. You must not vanish for days on end. For all I know you and Brigette could be in the hands of kidnappers. You are a Stanislopoulos, and you must always—’

  ‘I got married again.’

  ‘Christ, girl!’ he thundered. ‘Live with that degenerate rock person if you must. But marriage is out of the question.’

  ‘I didn’t marry him.’

  She had always been impossible. Spoilt and thoughtless. ‘Who then?’ he demanded furiously.

  ‘Look on the cover of People magazine. Lennie Golden. He’s a comedian.’

  ‘A comedian!

  ‘Stop screaming. He’s better than the other three. I’ve got to go now, we’re having a reception. Can you do me a favour and tell mommy for me?’

  ‘Your mother doesn’t know?’

  ‘She will when you tell her.’

  ‘Olympia—’

  ‘Bye, poppa, we’ll see you on the cruise.’

  Dimitri paced his office. Olympia was the stupidest girl in the world.

  He communicated with his ex-wife who did not seem unduly perturbed.

  He sent his secretary out for a copy of People and studied the latest fortune hunter leering at him from the front page.

  He phoned Francesca in Munich and she laughed.

  Olympia, Olympia. He had not been blessed with a smart daughter.

  * * *

  Lucky returned full of excitement later that evening. Dimitri had just finished a solitary dinner and he was not in a happy frame of mind.

  ‘I’ve found exactly the right site,’ she enthused. ‘Multi-fantastic, and no way can we lose it. You’ve got to put your lawyers on it at once.’ She clasped her arms around his neck. ‘I feel so great. Let’s go in the bedroom and celebrate. Making deals really turns me on.’

  ‘Don’t talk like a cheap whore,’ he said abruptly, disengaging from her grasp.

  ‘What?’ She stared at him in amazement.

  ‘You are my wife now. Kindly try to remember that.’

  She backed away. ‘I don’t think I’m hearing you right.’

  ‘I’ve had an extremely tiresome day,’ he said. ‘And I have no need of further aggravation.’

  He missed the danger in her opal eyes. The sudden storm.

  ‘Olympia got married again,’ he said shortly. ‘She’s irresponsible. She deserves to lose every penny of her inheritance.’

  ‘Hey, man’, Lucky said rudely, affecting a tough New York street accent. ‘Dintja hear me? I feel hooorny. Wanna get it on?’

  His face was carved in granite. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Yeh, man. An’ y’can kiss my ass too.’

  She slammed into the bedroom without a backward glance. No way could he talk to her like that and get away with it.

  He followed her, unused to being answered back.

  ‘Stay out of my way,’ she burned.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Think about it.’

  ‘There is nothing to think about. I corrected you on your behaviour.’

  ‘Corrected me? Corrected me? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?’

  ‘My wife, the mother of my child,’ he hissed. ‘And you will not use language like an alley cat.’

  ‘Jesus H. Christ! What the fuck is going on here?’

  He slapped her face. She sprang at him, clawing with her nails. They raked his skin, drawing blood.

  He was a big man, powerful. He pinned her arms and they fell together heavily on the bed.

  Lucky could not believe what was happening. She had known Dimitri for two years and he had never revealed this side of his character before. She had married an equal, not a fucking father figure who told her how to speak and behave.

  He gripped her wrists and forced them backward.

  She tried to bring her knee up to his balls, but he was too strong for her. She was athletic, certainly no weakling, but the strength faded from her as he concentrated on holding her down.

  And then it happened. She felt his excitement and she didn’t want it. Not this way. Not as the result of their violent scene.

  He attempted to keep her captive while he fumbled with the zipper on his pants.

  She managed to bring her arm up sharply and smash him under the chin.

  He yelled in pain.

  The brief moment was enough for her to roll out from under and lock herself in the bathroom. She was shaking with anger.

  He did not pursue her further.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  There were good days and there were bad. Now that California was a definite yes, Steven felt slightly better. He was living in a one-room apartment on Third Avenue, having rented out his very nice brownstone when he went to Europe.

  His life was a mess and he knew it. Once he had been so full of ambition, but Carrie had ruined everything with her sordid revelations. Since returning to America he had done nothing except think about himself and his problems. He slept late, didn’t eat properly, and hung around his one-room dump watching television. The one friend he had contacted was Jerry Myerson. And only because he needed to borrow money.

  Women, he picked up at random. Once so particular about his female companions, he now favoured any girl he didn’t have to make conversation with.

  What a difference to his past life. Fine upstanding Steven Berkeley. Hard working, an assistant D.A. with nowhere to go but up. Life was strange. He remembered with bitterness arriving at Enzio Bonnatti’s Long Island mansion that fateful afternoon in 1977, set for action.

  Only Lucky Santangelo got there first.

  The same Lucky Santangelo he had been trapped in an elevator with only days before during the great power black out.

  The same Lucky Santangelo who might – just might – be his half-sister.

  Lucky.

  She was difficult to forget with her smart mouth and dark gypsy looks.

  Lucky.

  Thank God they hadn’t –

  He didn’t even want to think about what had nearly happened between them.

  He wondered how she would feel if it turned out they were brother and sister. Would she even remember him?

  Oh yes, she’d remember him, his pride told him that.

  What pride?

  He looked terrible. He had to get himself together, back to work, and put the past behind him.

  Soon.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  All things considered, Vitos Felicidade took the news well enough. Really, there was nothing he could do but smile for the cameras (of which there were many) and pretend it was he who had encouraged the ‘instant love’ match.

  In private, he brooded. What was wrong with him? Why had Olympia spurned him. Twice. Did she perhaps see behind the facade? Did she alone know that beneath the throbbing sex symbol hovered an insecure, plain, and ordinary man?

  He did not wish to think about it. He attended the wedding reception for an hour, and then retired to his suite where he sat and sulked.

  Jess did not take it so well. She sought Matt out and complained hotly. He agreed with her, and pointed out that nothing could be done.

  Back at the Sands Hotel, Eden stared numbly out of the window, while Zeko played solitaire nearby. She had crept out in the morning fully intending to see Lennie, but just as she was about to enter a cab, Zeko had appeared from nowhere, and announced that the boss had said he was to accompany her everywhere she went. She had alm
ost screamed with frustration. Instead she had smiled glassily and allowed the dumb ox to trail her around a parade of tawdry shops. Las Vegas was the pits. She couldn’t wait to leave.

  Paige had invited her to lunch, and she was allowed to go. But while digesting a tuna salad the news had spread about Olympia Stanislopoulos and Lennie Golden.

  Hot gossip.

  She had wanted to throw up. Now she was gazing out at neon and desert, wondering if she had made the right choice.

  Santino Bonnatti.

  Lennie Golden.

  She hoped she had backed the winner.

  She had a horrible suspicion she might not have.

  * * *

  ‘You stink,’ sneered Brigette.

  ‘You’re kidding. I took a shower ‘specially,’ replied Lennie, deadpan.

  ‘I said you stink,’ Brigette repeated.

  ‘You sound like a broken record.’

  She gazed up at him. Huge blue (her mother’s) eyes in a heart-shaped face. ‘I hate you,’ she uttered spitefully.

  He grimaced. ‘Can’t win ’em all,’ he said with an engaging smile.

  Nanny Mabel, embarrassed, said, ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Golden. She’s tired, it’s late, and—’

  ‘C’mon,’ Lennie interrupted mildly. ‘It’s four-thirty in the afternoon. If the kid wants to hate me – no excuses, let her do her thing.’ He bent to speak to the child. ‘Y’know something, Brigette is a very pretty name, and you are a very pretty young lady.’

  Brigette blinked several times. Why was this one talking to her? Usually she told them they stunk, they glared at her, ignored her, and she never had to talk to them again – which was the way she liked it. Mama’s boyfriends were pigs. She hated them all.

  Lennie didn’t wait around for a response. He was off and running. Olympia had assembled enough press to launch a hit movie, and she was loving every minute, posing for pictures like a professional. But then, in a way, she was. She had grown up with photographers on her doorstep. Olympia Stanislopoulos. Heiress. Fair game for the paparazzi and gossip columnists of the world.