Tim Wealth was asleep.
His satisfied snores followed her out the door.
* * *
‘I want to phone Lennie’, Jess said.
Matt smiled. ‘You know, I used to think you were having an affair with him. I tried to like him, but I was jealous as hell.’
‘Idiot!’ She grinned. ‘Why has it taken you all this time to tell me how you feel?’
He threw up his arms. ‘Listen to you! Anyone would think that you welcomed me when I first came on to you. Your attitude was a killer, my dear.’
‘Well you were a jerk.’ Hastily she added, ‘Then.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘I wish we were in Vegas now, we could do it tonight.’
Her grin widened, ‘Oh, we’ll do it tonight.’
‘We will?’
‘You betcha ass, Mr Traynor.’
* * *
‘There you are!’ exclaimed Lucky. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Exploring,’ replied Brigette, innocently, her cheeks flushed, but other than that her appearance quite normal.
‘I don’t like you disappearing,’ Lucky admonished. ‘If you want to go off exploring, tell me, and I’ll arrange for someone to go with you.’
‘I’m not a baby,’ Brigette objected, thinking to herself that at last she was fully grown up, for surely the sensations she had recently experienced with Tim Wealth made her a real woman. He had taken her virginity, and she was glad it was him and not some creepy village boy.
‘I know you’re not,’ Lucky said patiently. ‘But you are a very important young lady, who, one day, is going to inherit a great deal of money. And you can’t just wander off without telling me where you’re going. Your grandfather would throw a fit.’
‘I understand,’ said Brigette, although she didn’t at all. Sometimes Lucky could be as dumb as all the other adults. ‘Actually, I’m kind of tired. Is it okay if I go to bed now?’
‘Certainly,’ agreed Lucky, relieved to have the responsibility of Brigette off her hands for the night.
* * *
‘I’m getting married,’ Jess announced, long distance.
‘To Matt?’ Lennie replied, delighted for her.
‘No! The bellman at the hotel, asshole!’
‘When?’
‘Soon.’
‘Hey – are we having a big wedding?’ he joked.
‘I don’t know what we’re having, but whatever it is I want you to be my best man.’
‘The groom has a best man – you have a maid of honour.’
‘Screw tradition. I want a best man,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Then you shall have me.’
‘Now you offer yourself!’
He tried to keep his voice casual. ‘What’s the hotel like?’
‘Amazing.’
‘Have you seen Lucky?’
‘Sure.’
‘How does she look?’
‘Amazing.’
‘You really are a mine of information.’
‘I’ll tell you all when I return.’
* * *
By three-thirty a.m. the last stragglers left the party. Lucky sat at a table with Matt and Jess, Gino, and a pretty showgirl he had charmed.
The indefatigable Gino. Was there no stopping him?
Obviously not. He rose to leave, the showgirl in tow. ‘This is a late night for me,’ he said, putting his arm around the girl. ‘I’m an old man. I’m not used to all this activity.’
‘Oh yes you are,’ grinned Lucky.
Gino winked and kissed his daughter. ‘You’re one of life’s winners, kid,’ he whispered affectionately. ‘Don’t ever forget it.’
‘He’s really something, my old man,’ she sighed as he departed.
‘We should all have such . . . uh . . . energy at his age,’ admired Matt.
‘Is that what they call it?’ said Lucky jauntily.
Jess sipped the remnants of champagne from a glass on the table. ‘When I worked at the Magiriano,’ she said, ‘all the girls lusted for a night in Mr Santangelo’s company.’
‘Really?’ Lucky smiled, although she wasn’t surprised.
‘And the ones who made the trip never returned disappointed!’
‘I don’t know if I should be hearing this,’ Lucky laughed.
‘I thought I was the resident stud,’ interjected Matt.
‘You were the resident joke!’ teased Jess.
Lucky feigned a yawn. She wanted to be alone. Much as she liked Matt – and Jess, whom she was gradually getting to know – it had been a long night and she needed tranquillity or anonymous sex. Either would do.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she said. ‘And may I suggest you two do the same?’
‘Good suggestion,’ said Matt.
‘Yes,’ agreed Jess, feeling shy for the first time in years.
Lucky stood up, and so did they. ‘I’m very pleased for you both,’ she said warmly. ‘Very pleased.’
Jess gazed up at Matt – so far from the type of man she usually went for she couldn’t even believe it. ‘So am I,’ she murmured.
As they walked from the ballroom Lucky turned casually to Jess. ‘And how is Lennie?’ she asked in a throwaway manner.
Jess, who of course knew everything – picked her words carefully.
‘He’s well,’ she said slowly. ‘Working hard. Sometimes I think his only pleasure in life is work.’
Lucky digested that piece of information while they said their goodnights at the elevator.
Once upstairs in her penthouse she couldn’t sleep. She thought about what Jess had said . . . Sometimes I think his only pleasure in life is work . . . How true. If she didn’t have Roberto she would feel the same way.
Lennie . . . Lennie . . . Lennie . . . He haunted her thoughts.
She decided to change clothes and go out. There was an all night western bar she knew of where the action never stopped. With haste she stepped from her dress, and as she reached for jeans and a shirt, her phone rang. For one wild moment she imagined it might be Lennie. Quickly she picked it up.
‘Meesis Stanislopoulos.’ A foreign accent, the line long distance.
She had a sudden premonition of bad news and her heart began to beat much too fast. Roberto. Please God let nothing have happened to Roberto.
Her voice was tremulous when she spoke. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘What?’ she screamed, fearing for her son.
‘Meester Stanislopoulos . . . a massive stroke . . . no time to summon you . . . he died an hour ago.’
Chapter Ninety-Eight
Jury selection took days. Every time Steven approved a juror, the opposing counsel would object. And vice versa. But at last a jury was settled upon, and things could begin.
Mary-Lou appeared in court from day one. She sat on the front bench and watched intently as the case unfolded.
It took a week. Moore versus Bonnatti. And at the end of that time Steven felt pretty confident they were going to win. Mary-Lou, as a witness, had conducted herself impeccably, whereas the opposition had presented nothing but men in three-piece suits with weak excuses, shifty eyes and slicked back hair.
Bonnatti himself did not appear. Steven wished he had. He would have liked to have seen his face when the jury returned a verdict of sixteen million dollars in Mary-Lou’s favour.
She was ecstatic. ‘It’s not the money! It’s not the money!’ she kept on repeating excitedly. ‘I feel like Clint Eastwood! I stood up for something on principle and I won!’
‘They’ll appeal,’ Steven warned. ‘With an award this large it could be drastically reduced.’
‘I don’t care,’ she shouted. ‘This is my victory, and nobody can take it away from me!’
He took her out to celebrate. They celebrated all night, and he found himself in bed with a twenty-year-old television star whom he had no intention of getting involved with.
She was disarmingl
y young, and pretty, and sweet.
‘What am I doing here?’ Steven groaned, after they made love.
‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’ Mary-Lou asked, her brown eyes wide and innocent. She knew only too well he had enjoyed himself every inch of the way.
‘What a question!’ he exclaimed, eyeing her gorgeously compact body – the colour of milk chocolate – perhaps a shade lighter than his own skin.
‘I had a perfectly fantastic time,’ she grinned. ‘I guess it’s true what they say about lawyers.’
‘And what do they say about lawyers?’
She giggled. ‘That if you get a good one he’ll be on your case forever! Steven, you sure do have stamina!’
He couldn’t help laughing. God! She was pretty. But of course he must never let this happen again.
He spent the night, and in the morning he informed her sternly that it was not going to work.
She smiled happily and said, ‘I absolutely agree with you.’ Then she wrapped herself around him and he was lost in her sweetness.
Making love to Mary-Lou was special, and he knew it, and so did she.
When he finally left her apartment she said, ‘I’ll cook you dinner tonight.’
‘I told you,’ he replied, ‘this relationship is not going to work.’
‘Sure,’ she grinned. ‘Let’s not make it work together. Be here at seven. I give great Chinese food.’
Within a week she had moved from her apartment into his house.
‘God help you!’ cautioned Jerry.
‘Isn’t she a little young for you?’ ventured Carrie.
Steven agreed with both, of them. But Mary-Lou took the bitterness out of him. He had never been happier in his life.
* * *
‘We have a great offer. A firm offer,’ Anna Robb said. ‘I want you to guess who it’s from.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’
‘That’s good,’ said Anna smugly. ‘Because you’d never guess.’
‘Who?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
It was unlike Anna to be so playful. Carrie was beginning to get aggravated. ‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘Kindly tell me.’
Anna took a deep breath. ‘A half a million dollars. A quarter on signing. A quarter on publication. A quarter on paperback publication. And the rest six months later.’
‘Who bought it?’ demanded Carrie.
‘Fred!’ exclaimed Anna. ‘Can you believe it? Fred Lester. The original tightwad.’
‘Fred,’ repeated Carrie.
‘Yes, my dear. And he bought it because it’s the best biography he’s read in years, and he thinks it will be a giant smash. He says, and I quote, “The honesty in this book made me want to cry.” Now for Fred Lester to say something like that—’
Anna continued talking, but Carrie stopped listening. She was on the road to revealing her story to the world. And it wasn’t just her story, it was Steven’s too, and she should have asked him.
‘. . . Fred wants to see you. Tomorrow if possible.’ Anna beamed, Carrie had never seen her so happy. ‘He has big plans.’
Big plans. Oh God. Perhaps she had made a mistake. Sharing her life’s secrets with Anna was one thing, but spreading them across the country was something else entirely.
‘I don’t know—’ she began.
‘You don’t know what?’ shouted Anna, quite out of character. ‘Smile, for goodness sake. Smile, Carrie. You are going to be the most famous black woman in America!’
Chapter Ninety-Nine
‘Cocksuckers!’ screamed Santino Bonnatti. ‘Whadda they think I am? A dummy? A mark? If they think they’ll ever see two fuckin’ cents of sixteen mill, they’re pissin’ in a high fuckin’ wind. Donatella!’ He yelled for his wife.
She took her time coming into the room. And then she glared at him and his henchmen. ‘Your language. You gotta filthy language problem,’ she hissed. ‘You thinka the kids they no hear?’
Some dumb spade was hitting him for sixteen million big ones and Donatella was worried about the kids. ‘Fuck the children!’ he yelled.
‘Fucka you!’ responded Donatella. She crossed herself and gazed ceiling-ward. ‘Ah God, you shoulda forgive me. I’ma married to a pig!’
‘The pig who pays the bills,’ growled Santino.
‘Whata you want?’ demanded Donatella, placing large hands on ample hips. ‘You want I kissa your ass?’
He glared at her. ‘I’m going out,’ he said grimly. ‘If any reporters call, tell them no comment.’
‘Whatsa no comment?’
‘Just say it. You don’t have to understand it.’ With that he stamped from the house. Goddamn it! He bought her everything she wanted, she lived in a fucking palace, and the fat bitch couldn’t even speak proper English. Was it any wonder he ran to Eden for a little class – and a little ass.
He almost guffawed at his own wit. And then he scowled as he remembered the bad news. His lawyer in New York was a prick. He should have defended the case himself. This was America – you could goddamn well print what you liked – and if the stupid cooze had posed with no clothes on, then he was entitled to print the pictures. And anything else he wanted.
No shithead judge was going to tell Santino Bonnatti what to do.
* * *
Eden had just finished working out when Santino arrived. He stomped into the living room like little Caesar, sweating in his silk shirt and three-piece suit. With a grunt he threw himself into an armchair, spread his legs, unzipped his fly, and commanded, ‘Give me a blow job.’
Eden was outraged. Zeko was in the corner of the room playing solitaire. The maid was vacuuming out in the hall. A pool man worked outside.
‘I’ve had it with you,’ she hissed bravely. There was nothing he could do to her with all these people around.
Before she even realized it he was up from the chair and upon her, short arms flailing wildly.
Slap. Slap. Shove. Slap.
She fought back. ‘You bastard!’
The diamond pinky ring on his little finger ripped into the smooth skin of her cheek and drew blood.
‘I hate you!’ she cried in a fury, clutching her cheek. Zeko did not look up from his game. The maid continued to vacuum. The pool man shook solution into the pool.
Eden rushed into the bathroom and stared into the mirror in horror. Her face was ruined.
Santino followed her, a plaintive whine in his voice. ‘Whydja always gotta give me a hard time?’ he questioned. ‘Ya ask for trouble. I got other things on my mind.’
She soaked cotton wool in witch hazel and carefully bathed her cheek.
‘I gotta put up with shit at home. I come here t’get my rocks off an’ relax.’ She ignored him.
He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror beside her, and straightened his tie. It pissed him off that he was practically bald, but what was it they said? Bald head, big prick. Talking of which: ‘Get down on ya knees, honey.’
Honey? He was calling her honey. He was asking her to suck him off after what he’d done. No way.
She was through.
Somehow she had to get out.
* * *
Two days later Santino informed her the perfect part had finally arrived. He threw a script at her.
She had not forgiven him for messing up her face, but she read the script anyway and cringed. Pure pornography.
‘Tits n’ass,’ he argued. ‘Soft porn. There’s a big difference. Ya don’ wanna do it, I’ll find someone else.’
She read the script again. Maybe with a few changes here and there, cut out the rape scene, work on the girl’s character. It was a starring role.
‘Who’s the director?’ she demanded.
‘Ryder wants to take a shot.’
‘He’s a producer.’
‘Reagan was a fuckin’ actor. Look at him today.’
‘Who’s my co-star?’
‘A kid by the name of Tim Wealth.’
She tried to kee
p her face impassive. Tim Wealth. The young actor she had run away to L.A. with when she dumped Lennie in New York five years ago.
‘Ya ever heard of him?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she lied.
‘Nor have I,’ spat Santino. ‘But they say he’s good. Ya wanna do it or what?’
She sighed.
And said yes.
Tits ‘n’ ass was better than nothing.
Chapter One-Hundred
The funeral of Dimitri Stanislopoulos, held on his private island, was a sombre affair. The day was overcast and foggy in a week filled with sunshine. His friends and business associates came from all across the world to pay their respects. Lucky, dressed in black, held the hand of Roberto – who really didn’t understand what was going on. Brigette, denied a trip to visit her mother, stood nearby as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Gino had insisted on accompanying Lucky to the island to lend his support. And so had Costa and his wife. Olympia had failed to show up, a sign of disrespect that would have horrified Dimitri.
‘I understand that Mrs Golden is sick,’ the family lawyer informed Lucky.
‘What’s the matter with her?’
The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘I don’t believe she has fully recovered from her accident.’
‘That was three years ago,’ Lucky pointed out.
‘I know,’ the lawyer replied sagely. ‘But I understand that she plans to be well enough to attend the reading of Mr Stanislopoulos’ will.’
Sarcasm scorched her voice. ‘Naturally.’
Burying Dimitri was a strange sensation for Lucky. She did not feel like a bereaved widow. She felt as if she had lost a friend – for once she had accepted Dimitri’s terms concerning Roberto, they had gotten along pretty well. Since Francesca’s death he had been neither husband nor lover. But he had been a wise advisor and an excellent father to his son. She would miss him.
What now? She had her freedom and Roberto. She could take him wherever she wanted. The world was wide open.
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