Lucky

by Jackie Collins

  Her offer offended him. Was he starting to look like a john?

  ‘No, thanks,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Fifteen,’ she whispered hopefully.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ten,’ she pleaded. ‘I’ve gotta kid. He needs things.’

  ‘What kind of things?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘Oh,’ she looked around furtively. ‘Food, clothes. You name it.’

  ‘Bull.’

  ‘I’m not shittin’ you.’

  ‘Eh – Desiree,’ the barman yelled. ‘What’s goin’ on over there? You takin’ another order or what?’

  She froze like a cornered rat.

  ‘That’s okay,’ Steven said, ‘bring me another drink.’

  On stage the Scandinavian made way for an action-packed Puerto Rican with startlingly white teased hair. She was clad in a cowboy outfit which stayed on her nubile body for exactly three and a half minutes. Then she stripped, until all that remained were tassles on her nipples and crotch. She squatted down and began to twirl, while the audience of men shouted ribald encouragement.

  Desiree returned with his second drink.

  ‘How old is your kid?’ he asked.

  ‘Nearly two.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘How old do you want me to be?’ she replied coquettishly. ‘I can play schoolgirl or whore. You wanna come back to my place later an’ find out? It’ll cost you fifty – but it’ll be worth every dollar. If you wanna pay me sixty I can quit now, I’ll tell ’em I’m sick.’

  ‘Desiree!’ screamed the bartender.

  ‘Well?’ she asked anxiously.

  His curiosity was aroused. ‘Quit now’, he decided.

  ‘The parking lot in five minutes’, she mumbled, and scurried away.

  He sat through a few more minutes of twirling nipples. But when the woman on stage began to pick up rolled dollar bills with her crotch, he got up and went outside.

  The air was balmy and rich. He stood by his rented car and waited.

  Desiree eventually appeared, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her stringy hair tied back in a ponytail. Now she looked twelve. She walked toward an old Pontiac. ‘Hand over the money and follow me in your car,’ she instructed.

  He did not have a large bankroll by any means, but he was caught up in the game. ‘Half now, half later,’ he bargained.

  ‘You’re not gonna stiff me?’ she pleaded.

  ‘You’re not going to run off on me?’

  ‘No way, man. I like you. I’ll make you feel real satisfied.’

  He didn’t want to tell her he had no intention of having sex with her. She would consider him a weirdo and run.

  Maybe that’s what he was turning into. A fucked-up weirdo who spent his time cruising hooker bars and searching for a father it was too late to find.

  Desiree lived in a run-down apartment on a street off Santa Monica. She double-parked her car and told him it was okay to do the same. ‘You’ll hear ’em holler when they wanna get out,’ she stated matter-of-factly.

  He followed her up rickety stairs to a small room which contained her life – including a toddler asleep in a battered cot pushed into one corner, and a ragged-looking cat dozing in another.

  She switched on a lamp, and said matter-of-factly, ‘You’re not a cop are you?’ And when he shook his head she recited, ‘Straight sex only for sixty. Anything else will cost you extra.’

  He indicated the baby. ‘What about him?’

  ‘No kiddie porn,’ she answered quickly, her blank eyes alarmed.

  Steven felt helpless. And very very angry.

  ‘I meant,’ he said slowly, ‘does he stay in the room? What if he wakes up?’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because he just won’t,’ she replied stubbornly.

  ‘Who looks after him while you’re out working?’

  ‘He sleeps all the time.’

  ‘Are you telling me you simply walk out of here and leave him alone?’

  ‘He never wakes up.’

  ‘How are you so sure?’

  ‘Because I give him a sleeper – it knocks him out cold.’ She glared at him. ‘Does that satisfy you?’

  He sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Jesus!’

  She took this as a sign, and began to pull her T-shirt over her head.

  ‘Don’t undress,’ he said quickly.

  She pulled her T-shirt back down. ‘I gotta take off my jeans,’ she complained, fiddling with the zipper.

  ‘I just want to talk,’ he said. ‘Nothing else.’

  Restlessly she picked up the scraggy cat, opened the door and threw it out. She was uncomfortable with talk. At least with sex she knew what she was dealing with. ‘I want the rest of my money,’ she whined.

  He handed it over, and said, quietly, ‘Do you know that giving a small child sleeping pills is very dangerous?’

  ‘What are you – a social worker?’

  ‘It could be fatal. And so could leaving him alone in this fire trap.’

  ‘Don’t jinx me, man.’

  ‘Who is his father?’

  She laughed aloud. ‘I don’t know. I don’t even care. Who gives a shit anyway?’

  ‘Maybe he will when he’s old enough to ask. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘Listen, man.’ Suddenly her dull eyes were alive. ‘I look after my kid. You may not think it’s much – but it’s the best I can do. When he’s old enough to ask, I’ll tell him the truth. I’ll tell him that I kept him with me, paid his way, and he has nobody to thank but me – because if it wasn’t for me he’d be in some stupid state orphanage without anyone caring.’

  Steven didn’t stay around to talk or anything else. He left, her shrill words ringing in his ears . . . If it wasn’t for me he’d be in some orphanage without anyone caring . . .

  If it wasn’t for Carrie that would have been his fate. And how was he repaying her? By dragging her around the country searching for a dream or a nightmare. And she was beginning to hate him for it, he knew it, and who could blame her? He was subjecting her to an ordeal that would alienate her – perhaps forever. For the first time he began to realize just how much she meant to him, and how he was making her suffer. He had shut her out. Maybe the time was right to start opening doors. This chase – this quest for the truth – was heading nowhere.

  Early in the morning he called Jerry in New York. ‘I need help,’ he said.

  ‘What’s happened now?’ sighed Jerry wearily.

  ‘We’re here in L.A. Gino Santangelo’s not. I called his house and found out he’s away for two weeks. And you know something? I guess I finally realized you’re right – if I turn up at his front door with my story, he’s going to call the cops and bust my ass. Why shouldn’t he?’

  ‘You had to go all the way to California to find that out?’ Jerry commented dryly.

  ‘I drove by his house. There are gates, closed-circuit TV, and armed patrol.’

  ‘Which means you – with your black face – are not going to get near the sonofabitch.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So you’re calling me for help.’

  ‘Right.’

  There was a long silence, broken finally by Jerry. ‘Steven,’ he said harshly. ‘I’m getting sick and tired of lending you money, handing out free advice, and listening to you bitch.’

  ‘I agree with you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said I agree with you. If I were you, I’d have given up on me a long time ago.’

  ‘Am I about to hear that you are abandoning this cocka-mamie search and regaining your senses?’

  ‘I still need to find out who my father is,’ Steven replied seriously. ‘But I’m releasing Carrie from the responsibility. I’m through dragging her around the country. And – if the offer is still open – I’m coming to work for you. It’s time I started paying my debts.’

  ‘I don’t believe this!’ Jerry exclaimed. ‘One day on the West Coast and you
found God!’

  ‘Cut it out. I need support, not wisecracks.’

  ‘Have you told Carrie?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Do so. At once. And get your ass back here pronto.’

  * * *

  They were staying at the Hyatt Hotel on Sunset. The California sun was blazing and the lobby was full of tourists. Steven had arranged to meet Carrie by the front entrance at ten. He spotted her from a distance – aloof and erect, forever stylish and ageless, she stood apart from the crowd.

  She thought they were going to visit Gino Santangelo. A humiliation she was prepared to go through with for him.

  He approached her from behind and hugged her. She was startled.

  ‘We’re going home,’ he said. ‘Back to New York.’

  She searched his face, knew something had changed, and didn’t ask questions.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Steven,’ she said softly.

  ‘I know,’ he replied. ‘I do know.’

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  From the moment they left the Connaught and set off for London Airport, Olympia was insufferable to everyone, including Lennie. When they reached the plane he had had enough. The first thing she did was insult the stewardess.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, cut out the rich girl act,’ he said in a low angry voice. ‘What are you aiming for? Cunt of the year?’

  ‘I’ve got a hangover,’ she replied sulkily.

  ‘So live with it, and stop taking it out on everyone else.’

  She liked forceful men. It was a shame there weren’t more around. ‘Sorry,’ she answered contritely. ‘I’ll behave.’

  But she didn’t, and by the time they arrived at Nice airport he was fuming. A helicopter was waiting to take them on to St Tropez and the yacht. Olympia climbed aboard, and promptly fell asleep.

  Lennie brooded about the wisdom of what he had done. Jess – who rarely called a shot wrong – had said he was insane. If this was a taste of things to come, she was right.

  The luxury and opulence of the Stanislopoulos yacht amazed Lennie. Only in movies had he seen anything like it. The Greek was a floating palace.

  Alice ruined everything. She was the first to greet them as they came aboard – a bizarre picture in a red striped romper suit worn with stiletto heels, fish-net tights, and an abundance of make-up – including false eyelashes. ‘Welcome,’ she said graciously, as if it were her boat. ‘Make yourselves at home.’

  Olympia threw her a withering look. ‘Alice, dear,’ she said. ‘This has been my home for most of my life. I don’t need you to welcome me. Where is Brigette? And why aren’t you with her? She is the only reason you’re here. I’m sure you’re aware of that.’

  Olympia did not believe in holding back – she wanted Alice to get the message up front.

  Lennie couldn’t care less. He looked around. Servants seemed to be appearing from everywhere, taking their luggage, offering cold champagne on silver trays.

  ‘Where is my father?’ Olympia demanded of a man in a white uniform.

  ‘He’s gone ashore, Miss Olympia,’ replied Captain Pratt. ‘For lunch. He’s due back shortly. He said you should meet him in the upstairs bar at three o’clock.’

  ‘He’s taken Brigette,’ added Alice. ‘I wanted to go with them, but your daddy said I should stay here.’

  ‘Wise man,’ murmured Olympia. She turned to the captain and said haughtily, ‘And where are the rest of the guests?’

  ‘Most of them are ashore, Miss Olympia.’ Captain Pratt gave Lennie a quick once-over while Olympia yawned and complained about the trip. ‘Will you be wanting lunch, miss?’ he added.

  ‘No,’ she replied, not even, consulting Lennie. ‘I need to rest.’

  Alice laughed gaily. ‘Well, Lennie, well my hoychick. What do you think of all this?’

  ‘I think I want to take a piss and change my clothes,’ he replied dourly. She had not caught him at the right moment.

  * * *

  St Tropez was at the height of the season. Tourists mixed with the natives on the cobbled harbour streets lined with fashionable boutiques and open-air restaurants. Yachts jostled for position along the small harbour, and their occupants sat out on deck sipping margueritas and watching the passing crowds. By noon there was a lunchtime parade of nubile bodies clad in the latest fashions.

  Dimitri strolled with his pretty blonde granddaughter, Brigette, Saud Omar, and Jenkins Wilder. Between them the three men could buy and sell France. Easily. Several paces behind hovered various bodyguards trying to appear unobtrusive in city clothes with hidden shoulder-holsters.

  All three men eyed the passing female parade with a mixture of boredom and half-hearted lust. Money had taught them most women were available – for a price. Whether the price be a new dress or a fleet of Mercedes was up for discussion. But the fact remained that the excitement of the chase was never really there, because the prize was always a foregone conclusion.

  Brigette skipped happily along, holding on to her grandfather’s hand. She loved being with Dimitri, he called her his little Diamond Princess and bought her anything she wanted. Anything at all. She was glad to be off the boat. Things were different this year. Dimitri had married again, and had a disgusting baby called Roberto.

  Stupid name.

  Stupid baby.

  Brigette hated them both, and wondered why her mother hadn’t told her about them. After all, the dumb baby had taken over her old room with his stupid black nanny. But that was okay really, because she had a new room, a grownup room with blue wallpaper and a bubble jet tub. And, best of all, she didn’t have Nanny Mabel sharing it with her – she had her new friend, Alice, and Alice was lots and lots of fun and stayed up all night long talking. Brigette didn’t understand half of it, but that didn’t matter. Alice was fun even if she did look a little screwy, smelled kind of odd, never stopped talking, and wore more make-up than Miss Piggy.

  ‘We’ll stop for lunch here,’ Dimitri decided, pausing in front of a fashionable restaurant. Quickly a front table was cleared for them, while the bodyguards settled nearby.

  Brigette had spotted an Aladdin’s cave of trinkets next door. ‘I want to go shopping, grandpappa,’ she announced sweetly.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Dimitri said dismissively. ‘One of the women will take you.’

  ‘I want to go now.’ She managed to make her bottom lip quiver. ‘I can go by myself. The store’s right there. Look. See?’ She pointed.

  ‘All right, if you’re quick.’

  ‘I don’t have any money, Grandpappa.’

  Dimitri groped in the pocket of his sports shirt, but like most very rich people, he carried no cash.

  ‘Here you go, honey,’ boomed Jenkins Wilder, reaching into a Gucci clutch he carried everywhere and producing a stack of hundred-dollar bills. ‘How many will make you happy? Two? Three?’

  She grabbed three hundred dollars.

  ‘Too much,’ grumbled Dimitri.

  ‘I’m buying presents, grandpappa,’ Brigette explained patiently, and skipped off.

  Dimitri nodded at one of the bodyguards to follow her.

  Jenkins Wilder sat back and grinned. ‘Crrazee lookin’ broads, here,’ he remarked. ‘If n I wasn’t a marrried man I might have myself a time.’

  ‘French women expect too much attention,’ Saud said, his oily eyes watchful. ‘And usually they are not worth the trouble.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Dimitri. ‘English women are the most sensual.’

  ‘God-darn – you just got yourself hitched to an American gal,’ Jenkins pointed out.

  This was true, Dimitri reflected, and Lucky was certainly an unusual beauty. But she was not Francesca, and he still harboured a deep passion for Madame Fern. A passion which never seemed to cool.

  He was beginning to think that inviting her on the cruise was not such a good idea. Now he and Lucky were married, it was impossible to spend private time with Francesca. Before, with only Horace to contend with, it had never been a problem. Horace
never dared interfere.

  Dimitri half hoped Lucky would tire of the cruise and fly back to New York. He preferred their relationship when it was not quite so permanent – but he had to marry her because of Roberto. No son of his was going to go through life without the protection of the Stanislopoulos name.

  ‘I have also found in life,’ Saud Omar contemplated, ‘that English women are indeed the most erotic in the bedroom when you penetrate their natural reserve.’ He lingered over the word penetrate, while his olive-oil eyes surveyed the bouncing breasts of two teenage girls passing by, wearing thin knit tank tops and minuscule bikini bottoms.

  ‘Ah never had myself a limey chick,’ ruminated Jenkins Wilder. ‘Ah was stationed outside of London with the army way back in fifty-one – but I was too doggawned scared of catching the clap!’

  * * *

  Lennie showered and changed into Levi cut-offs and a faded denim shirt, while Olympia lay on the bed and complained.

  She complained about her father not being there to greet her.

  She complained about Alice.

  She complained about Captain Pratt. ‘I’ve told poppa to get rid of him for years. He’s got nasty little eyes.’

  She complained about Captain Pratt’s wife. ‘A terrible cook. Why do you think I refused lunch?’

  ‘C’mon,’ said Lennie, trying to ignore her bad mood. ‘Loosen up. We’re supposed to be on vacation. Let’s hit the streets and explore.’

  ‘Explore?’ she sneered derisively. ‘I hate St Tropez, it’s full of boring tourists and hookers.’

  ‘I want to explore,’ he said stubbornly.

  ‘Go ahead. I’m not stopping you. But I do expect you to wait until after you’ve met Dimitri.’

  He looked at the time, it was a quarter to three. ‘That’s the reason I’m here, isn’t it?’

  She got off the bed and started to primp in front of the mirror. She wanted to snort some coke, but once again she didn’t care to share it. Casually she smuggled her supply into the bathroom, locked the door, and laid down two lines.

  Relief was immediate. She had been feeling lousy all day with just a few Valium to keep her going. Like a fool she had packed her supply of coke, and had only now been able to get her hands on it.