Lady Boss

by Jackie Collins

  Enzio, Carlo’s father, her godfather. A man so evil there’d been only one way to deal with him…

  She’d known Carlo all her life, and yet she didn’t know him at all. Was he like his sadistic brother, Santino? Or did he take after the truly vicious Enzio?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know.

  What did it matter anyway? They were both dead – and good riddance.

  ‘Well, well, well.’ Carlo strolled into her office as if he owned it. ‘Little Lucky Santangelo, we meet again.’

  She wasn’t about to be polite. ‘What the hell do you want?’ she snapped.

  He grimaced. ‘Nice welcome. Childhood friends, an’ that’s all you have to say?’ He paused. ‘Whaddaya think I want, Lucky?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Carlo. Why don’t you tell me and get out?’

  His hooded eyes darted around the office. The Mickey Stolli chrome and leather look was still very much in evidence.

  ‘Nice place,’ he said. ‘Word is you’re the new owner around here. Seems like you did pretty good for Gino’s dumb little kid.’

  ‘Give it up, Carlo, and get the fuck out.’

  ‘Still the perfect lady, huh?’

  ‘You wouldn’t know a lady from a ten-cent hooker.’

  He stared at her. ‘Right…’

  She contemplated buzzing Otis to throw the asshole out – but why start trouble for no reason?

  ‘Panther owes me a million bucks,’ Carlo said, sitting down. ‘It’ll be a pleasure taking your money.’

  Lucky stood up. ‘Out,’ she said sharply. ‘I’m not in the mood for blackmail.’

  ‘I’m not sure you understand,’ he replied, making no attempt to move.

  ‘Oh, yes, I understand perfectly well. I know all about what was going on here before I took over. You had a deal with Eddie Kane, and Eddie stole from you. Right?’

  Carlo regarded her from under drooping eyelids. For a moment an image of Enzio flashed before her. Enzio’s face, just before she shot him…

  It was self-defence. The case never even came to trial.

  But still… his face…

  ‘Get out of my office,’ she repeated.

  ‘Lucky, you got it all wrong. My company performed certain services for Panther, legitimate services, an’ in return they signed a note. Your studio owes me a million bucks. I’m here to collect.’

  ‘Panther owes you nothing.’

  They locked stares.

  He reached into his pocket and drew out a copy of an official deal memo which he placed on her desk. ‘Read it,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’ll be back to collect.’

  Without another word he walked out of the office.

  Otis put his head around the door. ‘Everything all right?’

  ‘Yes, Otis. Thank you.’

  ‘Who was that guy?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  She picked up the document and began to read. It appeared to come from a legitimate firm of lawyers in Century City.

  Her eyes scanned the page. It was a legal paper stating that Panther Studios owed Bonnatti Inc. a million dollars for services rendered. And it was signed by Mickey Stolli.

  What services? What kind of scam was this?

  She looked at the date. It was dated a month earlier.

  Impossible. It couldn’t be true. As Luce, she’d sat in the outer office listening in on every conversation. She knew Eddie Kane owed the money and that Mickey had refused to accept responsibility for Panther. If this deal memo existed, how come Mickey had backed off? He must have known about it.

  Something was going on. The document had to be a phony.

  She called up Business Affairs and reached Teddy T. Lauden.

  ‘Teddy,’ she said, ‘can somebody check through the files on outstanding debts? Let me know if we’ve got anything on Bonnatti Incorporated. If so, send it over.’

  Sure enough Teddy sent over the original of Bonnatti’s deal memo. He attached a note saying this was a Mickey Stolli deal he wasn’t aware of.

  So Mickey had paid old Abe Panther back and stuck it to her at the same time.

  Son of a bitch!

  She had no intention of giving Carlo Bonnatti one red cent. She knew what was right and what was wrong, and there was no way she was going to give in to this.

  As far as Lucky was concerned it was a matter of principle.

  Chapter 82

  The media bombarded them. Everywhere they went, Deena and Martin Swanson were swamped with questions from intrusive journalists.

  ‘I can’t live my life like this,’ Deena said icily. ‘I’m going away to a health spa.’

  ‘The Golden Door?’ Martin asked.

  ‘No. There’s a new place in Palm Springs I hear is excellent. I need to get away, Martin. You’ve been honest with me and I appreciate it. Now I must be alone.’

  He nodded. Deena was taking this better than anticipated. He hadn’t actually come right out and said he wanted a divorce, merely asked for time to make a decision. But if he were truly honest he’d admit he was quite enjoying all the publicity. It was a real ego boost to be regarded as a Don Juan. And quite frankly, it wasn’t so bad for business either. Orders for his new car, the Swanson, were pouring in – and that was before they’d even presented it to the public.

  A divorce. He’d never thought about it seriously before. But if Deena was prepared to let him go…

  Not that he’d pay her half his money. She must be crazy even to contemplate that. But the lawyers would work out a fair settlement.

  ‘So you’re not coming to Detroit for the launch of the Swanson?’

  ‘Definitely not,’ she replied coolly. ‘I’m sure you’ll manage on your own.’

  ‘How long do you plan to be away?’

  ‘Ten days or so.’ She gave him a long cool look before adding, ‘And you’ll be in Detroit?’

  ‘Yes. And then I’ll fly to Los Angeles to make arrangements at Orpheus. When I get rid of Zeppo I’m putting Mickey Stolli in to run it. I’ll oversee appointing the other executives while I’m there.’

  ‘Martin,’ she said quietly. ‘Promise me one thing.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t make a decision until I return. Or any statements. If we’re going to separate, then we have to announce it together in a dignified fashion. Agreed?’

  He nodded. ‘I wouldn’t embarrass you.’

  ‘It will certainly embarrass me if you see Venus Maria while you’re on the Coast. So kindly don’t. When we make our decision you’ll be free to do whatever you want.’ She paused. ‘It’s not much to ask, is it?’

  He nodded again. ‘As you wish.’

  She fixed him with her dead blue eyes. ‘I’m asking for your promise.’

  ‘Isn’t—’

  ‘Your promise, Martin.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said reluctantly.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Upstairs in her bedroom she instructed her personal maid which clothes to pack for her trip.

  ‘Will you be away long, Mrs. Swanson?’ inquired her maid.

  ‘Just long enough.’

  When the maid was gone she went to her safe and selected a few pieces of jewellery to take with her. Hidden in the back was the gun she’d purchased under an assumed name six months earlier – just in case. It was always good to be prepared, although she hadn’t really expected the day would come when she’d be forced to use it.

  Locking herself in her bathroom she expertly loaded the weapon, clicking on the safety catch, and hid it in the bottom of her carry-on bag.

  When she re-entered the bedroom, Martin was preparing for bed. He wore blue silk pyjamas and a satisfied smirk.

  She stared at her errant husband. What forced him into the arms of other women? Had she been such a terrible wife? She was attractive, perfectly groomed, beautifully dressed. She loved him, looked after him, she was available for him sexually when he wanted her. What was it?

  ‘Did you see this?’ He handed
her a magazine in which he was profiled. ‘The photo’s not so good. They caught my bad side.’

  Who did he think he was, a movie star?

  Hollywood was going to Martin Swanson’s head. His publicity was taking over.

  In the morning, Martin had left for the office before Deena departed. She’d told him she wished to use the Swanson jet, and it was waiting at the airport. She boarded, nodded to the captain and crew, and sat quietly in a window seat. When this was all over, she decided, she would redecorate. First the plane, then their New York town house, followed by their summer retreat, and then their house in Connecticut.

  The plane flew her directly to Palm Springs. It was a smooth flight. She read a few magazines and slept a little.

  When they arrived, there was a car and chauffeur to meet her. It took her straight to the Final Resort Health Spa.

  What an aptly named place, she thought to herself.

  The Final Resort…

  * * *

  Emilio strutted around his old neighbourhood like a king. He’d bought himself a camel-hair coat and a white fedora with a black band. He wore the fedora gangster-style, the coat flung casually over his shoulders.

  To really blow everyone’s mind he’d brought Rita with him. Rita, the Hollywood starlet – red hair, fine ass, and a lot of attitude.

  ‘Wear clothes that show it all off, honey,’ he’d encouraged her. ‘I want ’em to see what I got.’

  ‘I know what you got,’ she giggled, always the flatterer.

  Emilio had booked them into a hotel. He didn’t fancy staying at his father’s house, knowing his brothers would all try to come on to Rita. It ran in the family. But what could he do? The Sierra men were a horny bunch.

  When he and Rita appeared for Sunday lunch, relatives and friends filled the house.

  ‘Where’s Venus?’ they all asked when he arrived. ‘Isn’t she coming?’ Disappointment was in the air. Wasn’t it enough that they had the great Emilio, fresh from Hollywood, with his beautiful starlet girlfriend?

  ‘Venus sent me instead,’ he said magnanimously, shrugging off his coat. ‘She’s kind of busy right now, but I got a few days off before I start work on my first movie.’

  ‘A movie?’ shrieked one of his second cousins. ‘You?’

  ‘Yeah,’ boasted Emilio, ‘a Stallone movie. I’m playin’ Sly’s best friend.’

  Rita shot him a look. She’d heard of lying, but Emilio was an expert.

  As expected, his brothers were all over her. When he checked out the women they’d married he could understand why. Thank God he’d made the decision to follow Venus to Hollywood. Thank God he’d gotten out of Brooklyn.

  ‘I’ve been readin’ about you,’ his father said, patting his swollen beer belly.

  ‘You have?’ Emilio tried to appear casual, but he loved being the centre of attention.

  ‘Yeah, that Truth an’… somethin’ shit. Your picture’s in it.’

  ‘It was taken special,’ Emilio said modestly, like his photo turned up in magazines all the time.

  ‘They pay you?’ his father asked, scratching his balls – a Sierra family habit.

  Trust his father to ask about money.

  ‘Sure they paid me, Pa,’ he boasted. ‘They paid me pretty good.’

  ‘So when ya gonna put some in my direction?’

  Emilio hadn’t been planning on doing so, but since he wanted to look like a big man he took out a couple of crumpled hundred-dollar bills and handed them over. ‘Here’s cash, Pa. There’s more where that came from.’

  His father looked at it, was about to make a derogatory remark, changed his mind, and stuffed it in his pocket. He knew he was in luck to get anything out of Emilio. The boy had always been a cheapskate.

  One by one, Emilio took the old gang aside and questioned them. ‘People magazine have asked me to write a piece,’ he lied. ‘On Venus. What do you remember about her? Like when she was a kid. What was she doing? Who was she friendly with? That kind of stuff.’

  ‘She was a good girl,’ said Uncle Louie.

  ‘She was a little slut,’ said his wife.

  ‘She studied hard,’ said one of his cousins.

  ‘She played hookey from school all the time,’ said another.

  ‘I knew her well,’ said a friend from school who Emilio remembered was Venus’s dreaded enemy.

  ‘We were best friends,’ said a girl who hadn’t even been in the same grade.

  Emilio pumped his brothers for information. ‘Who was that greasy guy she was seeing in school? Did she make out with him? Was he her first boyfriend?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember him,’ said one of his brothers. ‘Scrawny little fucker. I caught them necking in the kitchen one night. Hadda throw him out.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Vinnie somethin’ or other…’ said one brother.

  ‘Nah,’ corrected his older brother. ‘It was Tony Maglioni. He’s drivin’ a cab now, hangs out at the pizza parlour every Saturday night.’

  Rita was bored. She didn’t appreciate getting pinched by Emilio’s father and three brothers. She wasn’t enjoying the experience. At first it had been fun. She could act like a star and tell them all about Hollywood. But now it was a drag and she wanted to leave.

  ‘Come on, Emilio, let’s go,’ she whined.

  ‘Come on, Emilio, let’s go,’ imitated one of his brothers with a sly nudge to Emilio’s ribs. ‘Hot stuff,’ he whispered, ‘I wouldn’t mind a piece a that.’

  ‘You gotta wife an’ kid,’ reminded Emilio.

  ‘I can wish, can’t I?’ drooled his brother, making sucking noises with his lips.

  Emilio took Rita back to the hotel.

  If he could get hold of this Tony guy, maybe he’d have a story.

  * * *

  Martin took his plane out of New York the next day and flew straight to Detroit, ready to launch the Swanson. It seemed all the publicity linking him with Venus Maria had only helped the enormous press coverage he was receiving. If it sold more cars, why object?

  It occurred to him that if he’d persuaded Venus Maria to attend, the publicity would really explode.

  That would be something, except that Deena would be furious. As it was she was talking about getting half his money.

  No chance. He’d already spoken to his lawyers. Deena would get a reasonable settlement and that was all.

  He contemplated what it would be like to be married to Venus Maria. Exciting, that was for sure. Different… Stimulating…

  He’d be sorry to lose Deena. In a way she was an asset. But he was forty-six years old and it was time for a more exciting life.

  Martin loved being headline news.

  * * *

  Settled into the health spa, Deena felt perfectly calm. She had a simple solution, and soon she would put it into action.

  She was getting closer every day.

  Chapter 83

  Saxon was fixing Venus Maria’s hair at her home in preparation for a major shoot with the great Antonio.

  ‘I feel like a prisoner,’ she complained. ‘I can’t take a step out of here without being stalked. It’s ridiculous.’

  ‘I know,’ Saxon agreed sympathetically.

  How could he possibly know what it was like to be emblazoned all over the supermarket rags? Let alone on the cover.

  God! If she ever got hold of Emilio again, she’d personally strangle the traitorous son of a bitch. How dare he! HOW DARE HE!

  She’d tried to find him, but it appeared he’d run off to hide, for all she could get was his goddamn answering machine.

  The second instalment in Truth and Fact was a real put-down. A lot of crap about how she wore curlers in her hair, walked around without any makeup, admired herself in the mirror for hours, sometimes wore men’s underwear, and liked to swim naked. She felt as if someone had broken into her home. It was such an intrusion.

  Saxon strutted around her – moussing and blow-drying, tossing his own mane of thick hair, which was
more impressive than any of his clients’.

  ‘Are you gay?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘No, darling, just happy,’ he replied, without taking a beat.

  ‘Seriously,’ she demanded.

  He massaged the creamy mousse into her scalp. ‘That’s a very personal question.’

  Ha! Did he want to talk personal? How would he like to be all over the papers?

  The truth was he’d probably love it!

  ‘Well, are you?’ she persisted.

  ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business,’ he replied, frothing her hair with his hands.

  ‘Come on, Saxon, tell me,’ she teased. ‘Maybe we could get it on.’

  ‘You’re such a bitch.’

  ‘And so are you.’

  ‘If you must know,’ he said, enjoying her attention, ‘I swing both ways.’

  ‘I love that expression,’ she squealed, ‘it’s so old-fashioned. Swing both ways. You know, it kind of brings back memories of the playground. Playing on the swings and the roundabouts – that choice – right? What exactly does it mean? And isn’t it awfully dangerous right now?’

  ‘You ask questions nobody else would dare.’

  ‘That’s why I’m me. Anyway, what is your preference?’

  He began to laugh. ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Aw, come on,’ she wheedled. ‘If you had a choice between, well, say, me and Ron, who would you choose?’

  ‘Both of you,’ he said, wielding his brush.

  That shut her up. Grinning, she watched him in the mirror as he attended to her hair.

  Saxon had a lot of admiration for Venus Maria. Not only was she a superstar with a full work schedule, but she also found time to support causes and charities she believed in. She worked hard for AIDS and also Mothers Against Drunk Driving and the Rape Crisis Center. She preferred to keep her efforts quiet so they were not construed as publicity opportunities.

  ‘Since we’re on the personal-question kick,’ he ventured, ‘what’s happening with you and Martin Swanson?’

  ‘Now you sound like Ron,’ she groaned. ‘That’s all he wants to know.’

  ‘You can confide in me. Who am I going to tell?’