He groaned. ‘Don’t ruin my day.’
‘Is Lucky in L.A. with you?’
He feigned exasperation. ‘What is it with the questions? Are you needlin’ me because you’ve nothing better to do, or what?’
She smiled. ‘Don’t you know – I live to piss you off.’
Laughing, he said, ‘Well, keep on livin’, and I’ll call you next week with more plans. OK, bait?’
‘OK, dirty old man.’
Lennie always made her feel terrific, especially when he called her ‘bait’, an abbreviation of ‘jail bait’ – his pet name for her. She always retaliated with ‘dirty old man’. It was their private game, their way of saying the past meant nothing. ‘You gotta laugh about something an’ it’ll go away,’ Lennie had often told her.
Maybe he was right, but it didn’t mean she had to let her guard down. She was Brigette Stanislopoulos. Person. Heiress. Always an heiress. No getting away from that.
With a deep sigh she returned to the dormitory – a prison shared with three other girls. There was a stack of homework piled on the table next to her bed, and on her side of the wall hung a single poster of Boy George smiling shyly in full makeup and ringlets. She liked his music, and she liked the fact that he didn’t seem to give a damn. Her kind of person.
The other girls had posters and pictures of everyone from Rob Lowe to an almost naked Richard Gere. So what? Romantic involvements were something Brigette never wanted to experience again.
For a moment she allowed her mind to drift back in time. First there was Santino Bonnatti’s face – always there – that evil, sneering face. And then there was Tim Wealth. Handsome and young. A would-be famous actor who’d had the bad luck to try and pull a scam with Bobby and herself as the central characters. The newspapers had never connected the murder of the young actor with the Bonnatti events.
Thank goodness, Brigette thought with a shudder. She’d loved Tim, and he’d tricked her. Unfortunately he had paid with his life. No fault of hers. Bonnatti’s men had done what they were told, and they were told Tim Wealth was in the way.
Don’t think about it, she scolded herself silently. For two months they’d made her see psychiatrists. Don’t think about it, the last one had told her – the only good advice she’d received. All that talk about her real father being dead and then her mother leaving her, causing her to feel like an abandoned child, meant nothing.
She wasn’t abandoned – she was strong. A survivor. Brigette Stanislopoulos didn’t need anyone.
Chapter 7
Sitting still for an interview had never been Lennie’s favourite pastime. Especially when the interviewer insisted on intruding on the set, watching everything, eavesdropping, and making copious notes.
Shorty Rawlings, the PR on the movie, had talked Lennie into it against his better judgement. It was a cover story for People or Us, he couldn’t remember which, and the interviewer was a horse-faced woman who kept on skirting dangerously near his private life – a subject he never discussed, a fact always made very clear up front.
Not that his private life was a secret. Marrying Olympia Stanislopoulos, and then Lucky Santangelo, did not exactly help him maintain a low profile. What the hell – he refused to fuel the gossip – better to keep quiet.
Lucky was paranoid about staying out of the press. She refused to give interviews, and like her father, Gino, she went to a great deal of trouble to avoid being photographed. ‘I’m not a public person,’ she’d warned Lennie before they were married. ‘And I intend to keep it that way.’
Not that easy when you marry a movie star – he’d wanted to say. Especially when your previous husband was one of the richest men in the world and your father made plenty of headlines in his day.
Somehow Lucky had succeeded in holding on to a certain amount of anonymity. Not many people knew what she looked like – her name was better known than her face.
‘How’s your wife?’ the horse-faced reporter threw in casually, tracking his thoughts. ‘Is it true you’re separated?’
Lennie fixed her with his disconcertingly green eyes. ‘I gotta get back to work,’ he said, rising from his canvas chair. He’d had enough.
Undaunted, the reporter pressed on. ‘Lucky Santangelo. Quite a woman. Is she in L.A.?’
‘Ever thought of getting a tongue job?’ Lennie asked sharply.
The woman was startled. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Y’know, a little snip at the end? Just to stop you asking those personal questions you’ve been told not to ask.’
Before she could respond, Shorty Rawlings appeared, and Lennie stalked off without saying another word.
‘Well, really!’ the woman said, her face flushed. ‘Did I hit a nerve?’
‘I sure hope not,’ Shorty replied anxiously. This movie was giving him ulcers – what with Joey Firello laying everything in sight, Grudge Freeport drinking himself into oblivion, Marisa Birch shacking up with her female stand-in as well as the producer, and Lennie Golden behaving like he didn’t have to do publicity. And this was on home ground – Christ knows what they’d all be like on a five-week location in Acapulco.
Shorty frowned. Lennie Golden wasn’t Nicholson or Redford, for chrissake. He was just the new schmuck on the lot with a couple of money-making movies behind him and no solid track record.
Shorty Rawlings was fifty-two years old, he’d seen them come and he’d seen them fade – real fast. Plenty of publicity kept you up there, and Lennie Golden better wise up.
Shorty threw his arm around the journalist’s shoulders. She was a tall woman with greasy hair and a bad nose job. Probably a failed actress – Hollywood was full of ’em, and they all ended up doing something else. ‘C’mon, honey,’ he said expansively, ‘I’ll buy you a drink.’ An’ maybe you’ll give me a blow-job, he added silently. After all, this was Hollywood, and the perks of the job were many.
* * *
‘What’s going on, man?’ Joey Firello caught him on the way back to his trailer.
Lennie shrugged non-committally. ‘Some stupid cow of a reporter.’
‘Fuck ’er,’ Joey said, cavalier as ever.
‘No, you fuck her,’ Lennie retorted.
Joey was not averse to the idea. ‘What does she look like?’ he asked.
Lennie couldn’t help laughing. Joey would screw a table if it eyeballed him nicely. ‘I’m going home,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Home.’ Joey repeated home as if it were a dirty word. ‘How about my party?’
‘I told you, I can’t make it.’
‘You’re missin’ out on a wild time.’
Lennie was not into Joey’s bad behaviour. ‘I’ve had enough wild times to last me several lifetimes, thank you,’ he said.
‘You don’t know what you’re missin’!’
‘That’s just it, Joey. I do.’
He bumped into Cristi on the way to his car. She certainly was a prime California girl. All bronzed limbs, pale hair, and white gleaming teeth. He couldn’t help noticing that her legs ended at her neck.
‘Good night, Mr. Golden,’ she said politely.
Mr. Golden! Was he that old?
Climbing into his Ferrari he realized he not only missed Lucky, he needed her. She’d promised to spend a couple of weeks at the Acapulco location, and he couldn’t wait.
Being together – wasn’t that what marriage was supposed to be all about? For eighteen months they’d spent most of their time apart. OK, so he’d known up front that Lucky wasn’t the kind of woman to drop everything just to be with him. She had a multi-billion-dollar business to watch over, and a son and a father she liked to spend time with. But somehow he’d always imagined he could handle it, that it didn’t bother him. Lately he’d been realizing this wasn’t exactly turning out to be true. He’d been missing her plenty. And a more traditional marriage didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He enjoyed being married. It gave him security and balance, made him feel centred for once in his life. And after his
crazy childhood he needed a stabilizing influence. He certainly hadn’t found it with Olympia. Lucky was supposed to be it.
Maybe the time had come to think about having a kid of their own. A Golden kid – with Lucky’s looks and his humour. He’d mentioned it a couple of times and Lucky had changed the subject before they’d really had a chance to get into it.
Yes, he decided, Acapulco was the time and the place. The more he thought about it the more sure he was. Fun times in the Mexican sun, talk her into a baby, and after the movie was finished they’d spend a couple of weeks in Malibu with Brigette and Bobby, and then take the summer off and drift around Europe doing nothing.
He remembered the first time he and Lucky had made love. What a memory! It was a late afternoon in St. Tropez. Calm sea, deserted beach, balmy weather. Some great trip!
God damn it! The memory was making him horny.
He screeched the Ferrari to a stop at a red light and craved a cold shower.
‘Hi!’ A girl in a white convertible pulled alongside him. She wore a purple tank top and matching visor.
Before he could decide whether he knew her or not, she solved his problem. ‘I looove your movies,’ she purred. ‘You’re sooo funny and sooo sexy.’
If he’d wanted to he could have hit on her with no trouble. She was certainly pretty enough. But those days were over. He was a happily married man with an incredible wife and a baby on the way. Well…. almost.
Flashing her a smile, he muttered a quick ‘Thanks’, and without a second thought floored the Ferrari, making a fast and clean getaway.
Chapter 8
Back in New York, Lucky made her decision. She would do it! God damn it, if that was the only way she could get Panther Studios, she would do it! Go in undercover and find out everything Abe Panther wanted to know. She wasn’t about to tell Abe, but she was beginning to think it was a great idea! This way, when she took over the studio she’d know everything. What an advantage!
Immediately after the meeting with Abe, she’d caught a plane back to New York. Morton Sharkey had accompanied her in the limousine on the drive to LAX. He’d talked all the way – telling her how ridiculous Abe’s idea was, how it would never work, how it was quite obvious that Abe Panther was getting senile.
Morton couldn’t help but notice her silence. ‘You’re not actually thinking of doing it?’ he’d demanded incredulously.
She’d smiled a slow, inscrutable smile. ‘I’ll let you know, Morton.’
Now she was ready to tell him ‘Yes, we’re going for it.’
Naturally Mr. Morton Sharkey would throw a fit: lawyers were always creating problems, studying every legal angle, pointing out the pitfalls.
So what? Lucky Santangelo did what she wanted. And this caper was just the kind of adventure she craved. She was already thinking of ways to change her appearance so no one would recognize her. As Gino’s daughter, the widow of Dimitri Stanislopoulos, and Lennie Golden’s wife, she’d had her photograph in the newspapers from time to time. But not that often. And she’d never cooperated with the press – there were no official posed pictures, only random paparazzi shots.
A wig would take care of her hair. And glasses for her eyes. Dowdy clothes and a subservient attitude. This was going to be fun! Six weeks of play-acting and then Panther Studios would be hers.
There was only one catch. How was she supposed to take six weeks off from normal life? How was she going to explain it to Lennie?
First she decided to confide in Gino.
The Santangelos. Black-eyed Gino, and his wild daughter. They’d been through a lot together – more than most families in ten lifetimes. Lucky loved him with a fierce and enduring passion.
She called him, saying she had to see him urgently. They usually dined together several times a month. Unfortunately she’d had to cancel their last dinner because she’d been in L.A.
‘Paige is in town,’ Gino said, over the phone. ‘Can’t it wait?’
Lucky was insistent. ‘Urgent means urgent.’
‘And Paige in town means an old man’s feelin’ pretty damn good.’
‘So feel good later. This can’t wait.’
‘Lucky, Lucky, you’re a difficult woman.’
‘So what else is new?’
‘Hey – how about I bring Paige with me?’ he suggested.
Lucky stood firm. ‘Absolutely not.’
She wasn’t being possessive, but the last thing she needed was Paige Wheeler knowing what she planned. Who could guess what kind of mouth the woman had? She was, after all, married to a Hollywood producer. One word in the wrong direction could blow the whole setup.
Lucky was determined to make sure nothing went wrong. Acquiring Panther Studios was all-important to her. There could be no tripping up along the way.
* * *
They met at a small Italian restaurant on Lexington. Father and daughter. Lucky so dark-haired, black-eyed, and exotically beautiful. Gino still walking with a swagger, a certain energy and cockiness about him that belied his years.
The man’s still got it, Lucky thought admiringly as he approached their table. He really must have been something when he was young.
She’d heard enough stories about him from Uncle Costa, her father’s dearest and oldest friend. Costa Zennocotti, who’d once been Gino’s lawyer, was now a retired and respectable old gentleman living in Miami.
Ah… when Costa got to talking about the old days it was a treat. To hear Costa tell it there’d never been anyone quite like Gino the Ram. What a nickname! Lucky couldn’t help smiling.
‘What are you grinnin’ at?’ Gino demanded, sitting down and winking at their regular waitress – a big, surly woman who saved all her good moods for Gino.
‘I was reflecting on your lurid past.’
‘Sweetheart, you don’t know nothin’.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘My daughter the lady.’
‘Just what you wanted, huh?’
Their eyes met, full of warmth. Gino summoned the waitress and ordered his favourite red wine and hot crusty bread to be brought to their table immediately.
‘It’s on the way,’ the waitress said triumphantly.
He pinched her big ass, making her day. ‘What a girl!’ he said, and then he turned his full attention to Lucky. ‘How’s Bobby – an’ more important, when am I gonna see him?’
Gino was crazy about his grandchild, and never stopped complaining about the boy being educated in England.
‘Bobby is fine,’ Lucky replied. ‘I speak to him every day. Naturally he sends you his love. You’re his favourite, as if you didn’t know.’
‘The kid would be better off in New York,’ Gino grumbled. ‘He’s an American, he should be here. What’s he gonna learn in one of them fancy schmancy English schools?’
She did not feel the time was right to remind her father that Bobby was half Greek. ‘Manners,’ she said.
‘Ha!’ Gino snorted his amusement. ‘I sent you to Switzerland to learn manners, an’ look what happened to you!’
‘Yeah, look what happened to me. I really bummed out, didn’t I?’
The waitress poured a drop of wine for Gino to taste. He sipped, nodded. ‘You’re one hell of a Santangelo,’ he said, facing his daughter. ‘You got my street smarts, your mother’s class, and you’re a looker on top of it all. We did OK by you, kiddo, huh?’
‘Thanks a lot. Don’t I get any credit?’ Lucky asked good-naturedly.
‘It’s all in the genes, kid.’
‘Sure.’
Gino’s eyes scanned the restaurant as he drank his favourite wine and tore into the freshly baked bread. ‘So,’ he said slowly, ‘tell me, what’s so important that I had to leave Paige? She thinks I got another broad stashed away.’
‘At your age?’ Lucky asked, raising a sceptical eyebrow.
‘Listen, kid, age has nothin’ t’do with nothin’. Just remember that. In your head you’re always whatever age you wanna be – an’ I’m stickin’
to forty-five. Capisce?’
My father is a remarkable man, Lucky thought. He’s probably going to die on the job — humping his way to heaven!
‘You’re grinnin’ again,’ Gino said. ‘What’s up? Are you pregnant? You an’ Lennie hit the old jackpot, huh? Is that what you got to tell me?’
‘No way!’
‘OK, OK, so don’t get excited. It’s about time Bobby had a brother or sister, I’m only askin’.’
‘Why is it that whenever a woman has a secret, every man in the world naturally assumes she’s pregnant?’
‘So stab me in the back. I came up with a bad guess.’
Taking a deep breath she made her announcement. ‘I’m going to buy a movie studio.’
‘You’re gonna do what?’
‘I’m buying Panther Studios,’ Lucky went on excitedly. ‘The studio that has Lennie tied to a three-picture deal.’ Her eyes glowed. ‘You see, the truth is he’s hating every minute of the movie he’s shooting now. He wants out, and I’m going to arrange it. Not out – but control. All the control he wants! Isn’t it a sensational idea? I own the studio, and he gets his freedom.’
‘Slow down, kid – an’ correct me if I’m readin’ you wrong. But the thought here seems to be that you’re gonna buy a film studio just ’cause your old man is not havin’ a day at the beach. Am I hittin’ it straight on?’
‘You got it!’ Lucky was on a roll. She felt the adrenaline coursing through her body. Telling Gino was a kick. When she’d financed and built the Magiriano Hotel in Vegas by herself, and her father had seen the results, it had been a real triumph. Somehow, purchasing a movie studio was even more of a thrill.
Gino laughed derisively. ‘What the hell do you know about makin’ movies?’ he asked.
‘What did you know about running a hotel when you put up the Mirage in 1902?’ Lucky countered.
‘It was 1951, smart ass, an’ I knew plenty.’
‘Like what?’ she challenged.
‘Like more than you know about the goddamn picture business.’
‘What I don’t know, I’ll find out. I plan to surround myself with professionals. If you look around at some of the jerks in charge of major studios you can see it’s no big challenge. Panther is coasting along on cheap exploitation flicks and stars’ ego trips. I’m going to turn the studio around and make it hot again.’
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