Lady Boss

by Jackie Collins

  Nona giggled. ‘What makes you think we’d bring boys up here?’ she asked innocently.

  ‘I was your age once. The memory doesn’t go – just the body. Know what I’m saying?’

  Both girls nodded and laughingly escorted him to the door. ‘Yeah, yeah, Lennie, now get the hell out. Goodbye!’

  He felt really good, like a weight had been lifted. It was all going to work out. He knew it.

  Downstairs he had the doorman get him a cab, then he set off for the beach. He tried to think of a great opening line. How about I’m home? That should do it.

  * * *

  Martin Swanson was met at the airport by Ken, proud to be assigned such an important task.

  ‘Venus Maria has no idea you’re going to be at the party,’ Ken offered. ‘In fact, she has no idea about the party.’

  ‘No photographers. You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Absolutely sure,’ replied Ken, guiding Martin to a waiting limousine.

  ‘I can’t be photographed,’ Martin repeated his fears. ‘I’ve had it with the press. Publicity is exactly what I don’t need. It’s becoming ridiculous.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Ken, wishing the press would hound him for a change. ‘We understand perfectly.’

  ‘Good,’ said Martin. He was not in a talkative mood.

  ‘The surprise will be worth it,’ Ken said, putting on his Ray-Bans, even though it was after dark.

  ‘I’m sure,’ replied Martin, less than modest.

  * * *

  Although neither of them was aware of it, they passed on the highway – Lucky and Gino heading for Beverly Hills, Lennie in a cab on his way to Malibu.

  When Lennie arrived at the house he was disappointed to find it empty. After letting himself in with his key he looked around. The place was a mess. Had Lucky been entertaining?

  He yelled for Miko a few times and then realized that even he wasn’t home.

  Shit! He should have told her he was coming. What made him think she was sitting around every night hoping he’d appear?

  God damn it! Well… she’d be home eventually and he’d be waiting.

  * * *

  On another highway, a short distance outside of Los Angeles, Deena sat behind the wheel of her rented Ford and headed towards her destination.

  Chapter 97

  The throbbing rhythms of a half-naked bongo player welcomed the guests into Ron’s somewhat eclectic home. He had a passion for high ceilings, black granite, mirrors, and huge expanses of glass. His home was dramatic, to say the least.

  The guests had been instructed to arrive before eight, giving Ron plenty of time to see that they were served drinks and a wonderful array of hors d’oeuvres.

  An army of servants worked flat out while a parade of Hollywood luminaries arrived at the door. Ron didn’t know everybody, but Venus Maria’s name was enough to get them all out.

  Among the first to arrive were several married couples – the Tony Danzas, Roger Moores, and Michael Caine with his dazzlingly beautiful wife, Shakira. They were followed by a smiling Susie Rush in the company of her husband. Singing star Al King entered next with his exotic-looking wife, Dallas. And then came a few studio executives, including Zeppo and Ida White, Mickey Stolli, and a rough-looking Eddie Kane, whom Ron couldn’t remember inviting.

  The vibrations were good. There was a definite buzz in the air.

  Ron personally greeted legendary film director Billy Wilder with his elegant wife, Audrey, unquestionably the chicest woman in town. He waved at the Jourdans, Poitiers, and Davises. The evening was shaping up.

  * * *

  Johnny Romano’s silver limo snaked its way along the driveway. Warner sat beside him, knees firmly together, skirt riding high somewhere near the top of her thighs.

  ‘Hey, baby, how about a little feel?’ Johnny encouraged, trying to wriggle his hand between her tightly closed knees.

  ‘Not now,’ she objected. ‘Later.’

  ‘Now, baby,’ Johnny said, fingers fighting their way towards his goal. ‘Johnny says so. C’mon, baby, open up for Daddy.’

  She slapped his hand away.

  ‘Oh boy, you got a sharp slap.’

  ‘I’ve been practising.’

  He grinned. ‘Yeah?’

  His bodyguards travelled in the car behind. At private functions they attempted to make themselves unobtrusive. Not easy – but insisted upon by most of the hosts.

  ‘You ever fucked in the back of a limo?’ Johnny asked, leering all over her.

  She didn’t want to tell him that this was the first time she’d been in a limousine, although she’d given out a few tickets in her time. ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Hey – baby – Johnny says your education is not complete. Johnny’s gonna help you out!’

  ‘Not now,’ she repeated vehemently.

  ‘When?’ he demanded. ‘Tomorrow? You want I should send the car for you in the morning?’

  She was planning to spend the night. ‘I’ll be with you in the morning, won’t I?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, sure, baby, if that’s what you’d like.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I’d like, Johnny.’ Warner Franklin was not about to get fucked in the back of his car and sent home.

  ‘OK, I’ll tell you what, baby. We’ll drop by the party, stay an hour, an’ when we leave I’ll fuck you in the back of the limo. Hey – I’m gonna fuck you all the way home. How about that?’

  Warner couldn’t help getting excited at the thought. As long as it was his home.

  There was something about Johnny Romano that turned her to jelly.

  * * *

  Adam Bobo Grant wouldn’t have missed this party for the world. He’d got word of it in New York, telephoned Ron personally, and requested an invitation.

  Ron had been only too delighted to oblige. Bobo had hopped a plane and flown right out. He was certainly not regretting it. There were stars everywhere. Enough to fill his column for a month.

  He cruised the room with a happy little smile and a retentive memory.

  ‘Amazing house,’ he complimented Ron. ‘Simply… different.’

  Ron was pleased. ‘Do you really like it?’

  ‘I just said so, didn’t I?’ Bobo said tartly, spotting Lionel Richie and his pretty wife, along with Luther Vandross and the Bacharachs.

  ‘Then maybe you’d consider being my house guest, perhaps sometime in the future?’

  Bobo didn’t commit himself either way. He waved at Tita and Sammy Cahn, who were just coming through the front door, and took off in pursuit of Clint Eastwood.

  * * *

  Eddie wandered around looking for people he knew. Anyone who would talk to him, in fact. Word spread fast, and it was general knowledge that he was out at Panther.

  He bumped into an actor friend.

  ‘Hey, man, how you doin’?’ said his friend.

  ‘Good.’ He nodded, managing to control his twitch.

  His friend glanced around before asking, ‘Got any blow?’

  What was he? A fucking dealer? Why was this schmuck asking him! As a matter of fact he didn’t, and if he did he certainly wouldn’t share it with this asshole.

  He tried to spot Arnie or Frankie, but they were nowhere to be seen.

  Mickey was at the bar talking to Zeppo White. Eddie was surprised they were still talking. He’d heard that Zeppo had no intention of quitting Orpheus without a battle. Right now Mickey was out of a job – unless Martin was paying him for doing nothing.

  But this was Hollywood, and in Hollywood you put on a good face and hoped for the best. Mickey was a survivor – just like the rest of them.

  * * *

  A long line of cars approached the driveway.

  ‘Are you sure we’re invited?’ Rita asked yet again, anxiously checking her reflection in her compact mirror. ‘What if we’re thrown out? I mean, I couldn’t stand it, Emilio. I’ve never been thrown out of anywhere in my life.’ Which wasn’t strictly true, because Rita had been fired from three job
s and thrown out of a topless bar for refusing to sleep with the owner. This, of course, was in her past, long forgotten. After all, she’d had three speaking roles in movies. She was an actress now.

  ‘What’s the matter, don’t you trust me or something?’ Emilio snapped. ‘I’m telling you, me and Venus are real tight.’

  ‘Did she give you her permission to write all those things about her?’

  Emilio wished Rita would quit with the nagging. ‘I don’t have to ask. She understands. When I get the money I’ll probably share it with her.’

  ‘Oh, like she needs it. Right,’ said Rita sarcastically.

  ‘So I won’t give her any. It don’t matter. We’re family. Will you shut up?’

  Rita sighed. ‘If you say so. But what about the new story? All that sex stuff Tony told you? Like how she is in bed, and the first time she did it – all of that?’

  Christ! What did he have to do – gag her? ‘Who cares? She won’t.’

  ‘I don’t see how they’re going to print it anyway,’ Rita added, clicking her compact shut.

  Emilio wished he could click her mouth shut. She talked too much.

  Their car reached the front of the house and valet parkers leaped to attention, opening both doors.

  Rita slid from her seat, stood still for a moment, and pulled her dress down over her hips. Two of the valet parkers nearly collided. And then – head held high – she took Emilio’s arm and entered the house.

  * * *

  ‘Who the fuck is that?’ Ron muttered, watching Rita sashay into his front hall. She looked like a Hollywood Boulevard hooker. At least Madame Loretta’s hookers presented themselves like ladies.

  Ron groaned inwardly when he noticed Emilio on her arm. This kind of a move took balls – and Emilio didn’t have any.

  As Ron began to head towards them he was cut off by Antonio. ‘Ah,’ said the diminutive photographer, ‘where is your friend? I talk to him about the photo.’

  Ron was enraged. Was this midget Italian creep still after Ken? ‘He’s not here,’ he said disdainfully.

  ‘Not here? I don’t understand,’ replied Antonio, confused.

  ‘Do you have a message?’ Ron said. ‘I’ll see he gets it.’

  Antonio was not to be fobbed off. ‘Ah, no, I promised to talk with him personally.’

  Lecherous little brute. Ron stalked off, forgetting that his purpose had been to throw Emilio and his trampy girlfriend out.

  By the time he remembered, they’d vanished into the crowd.

  * * *

  Rita was hot to cruise. They’d actually gotten into the party, and she wasn’t about to hang around with Emilio in his cheap leather outfit. He resembled a Hollywood Boulevard pimp!

  ‘Get me a drink, honey. I’m going to the powder room,’ she purred. ‘I’ll meet you at the bar.’

  Before he could object she wiggled off.

  Heads turned as she passed. She knew she looked outstanding. Why else were they staring? Tonight was the night to make a very big impression. A career impression. Rita was all set to knock ’em on their Hollywood asses!

  Chapter 98

  When Saxon arrived to collect Abigaile Stolli he was faced with a truculent thirteen-year-old girl.

  ‘Who are you?’ Tabitha demanded, staring him down.

  What a precocious child. ‘Saxon,’ he replied.

  ‘You don’t look like any of my mother’s friends,’ Tabitha said rudely.

  Thank God for that, Saxon thought to himself. ‘Is your mother around?’ he asked. ‘I’m supposed to be taking her to a party.’

  Tabitha laughed aloud. ‘You’re taking Mommy to a party? Huh! Wait till Daddy hears about this.’

  ‘Aren’t your parents separated?’ Saxon remarked.

  ‘None of your business,’ Tabitha sneered.

  Fortunately Abigaile chose that moment to appear, quickly waving Tabitha away.

  But Tabitha was having none of it. She glared at her mother. ‘You look stupid,’ she said. ‘Why’ve you got all that makeup on? It doesn’t suit you. It’s gross. Ugh!’

  ‘Goodnight, dear,’ Abigaile said through clenched teeth.

  In the car she apologized for her daughter’s behaviour. ‘Tabitha’s upset. It’s been a most embarrassing time for all of us. I’m sure you heard about my husband’s… indiscretion.’

  Heard! The entire salon had talked of nothing else for days! He shrugged. ‘These things happen.’

  Abigaile was wearing a chic Valentino suit, lots of real jewellery, and an abundance of Joy.

  ‘You smell good, Mrs. S.,’ Saxon said, sniffing the air.

  ‘Thank you.’ She stared straight ahead. It wouldn’t do to encourage him too much. After all, he was merely her escort for the evening, nothing more.

  When they arrived she noticed a few heads turn. Saxon was tall, good-looking, and hardly the man anybody would have expected to replace Mickey.

  Abigaile revelled in the attention.

  Spotting Zeppo and Ida White, she took Saxon by the hand and dragged him over.

  Ida’s lecherous eyes checked him out. Then she drew Abigaile to one side and whispered in her ear, ‘You came with your hairdresser? It’s not on, darling, don’t do it again. I know you must be desperate to get back at Mickey – but this kind of behaviour is not acceptable.’

  Abigaile bristled. How dare Ida White give her advice? The permanently stoned old cow!

  ‘He’s not my hairdresser, he’s my lover,’ she spat.

  Ida’s eyebrows shot up. She was shocked. ‘I’m sorry, I… I didn’t realize,’ she stuttered.

  Abigaile smiled. ‘Why do you think Mickey had to go to a whorehouse? I haven’t slept with him in months. Saxon and I are very close.’ She leaned towards Saxon and gave him an intimate squeeze.

  Saxon was as surprised as Ida.

  ‘Come along, darling.’ Clinging to his arm she led him away, leaving an open-mouthed Ida behind.

  * * *

  It was almost time for Venus Maria to arrive. Ron checked out the guests. Everybody appeared to be having a good time, and most people seemed to have arrived. The only person missing was Martin, but Ken would be bringing him from the airport in time to surprise Venus Maria.

  Ron knew Cooper had the plan down pat. He was to collect Venus Maria, make out they were going to dinner, and in the car, say, ‘I have a surprise for you,’ blindfold her, and bring her straight to the house.

  Venus Maria would go for it. She loved intrigue.

  Ron had instructed everyone to be quiet when she arrived. He planned to take her into the middle of the room, whip off the blindfold, and have everybody scream, ‘Surprise!’

  He made a little announcement to that effect. There was a smattering of applause and some laughter. But they would go along with it. This was Hollywood, after all. And Venus Maria was a superstar.

  * * *

  Warner held tightly onto Johnny Romano’s arm as he made his usual flamboyant entrance. Heads turned. What a couple!

  Warner wished her family in Watts could see her now, strolling into a big Hollywood party on the arm of a movie star. And not just any old movie star. Johnny Romano! The King!

  She wondered how many people in the room she’d given parking tickets to when she was a traffic cop. This was something. This was really something.

  Warner Franklin and Johnny Romano!

  Johnny had a big smile on his face. Tonight was an important night for him. It was the first time he’d been out in public since the Motherfaker receipts had dropped so disastrously at the box-office.

  Gotta put on a face.

  Gotta show them that he didn’t give a flying fuck.

  And with Warner by his side he felt pretty damn good. She wasn’t just another Hollywood bimbo. She was a woman. All woman. Six foot of woman.

  The first person they ran into after Ron greeted them was Mickey Stolli.

  Mickey was shocked.

  Warner was delighted.

  After saying hello, Micke
y was about to make an excuse and escape, when who should come up behind them but Abigaile, dragging some long-haired hunk behind her.

  She ignored Mickey altogether. ‘Warner, dear!’ she exclaimed, as if they were the oldest of friends. ‘How are you? And Johnny, you’re looking handsome as usual.’

  Mickey could hardly believe this little scene. When had this group gotten all pally?

  He threw Abigaile a low aside: ‘What are you doing here? And who’s the creep?’

  ‘Creep?’ She looked puzzled. ‘I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘The jerk with the heavy-metal hairstyle?’

  ‘Oh, do you mean Saxon? Haven’t I ever mentioned him to you before? Saxon owns that wonderful salon on Sunset. Ivana’s. Are you sure I haven’t mentioned him, Mickey?’ At which point she grabbed Saxon’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Darling, meet my soon-to-be ex-husband, Mickey Stolli.’

  Saxon towered over Mickey, as did Warner. ‘Hey, man, nice to meet you,’ he said. ‘Heard a lot of things about you.’

  ‘Come on, Saxon,’ Abigaile said gaily. ‘We have to circulate.’ She favoured Mickey with a triumphant smile and swept off.

  He didn’t believe what was going on. Abigaile? Enjoying a party? Smiling? Dragging some guy around?

  Abigaile was supposed to be sitting in her Hollywood mansion sulking.

  Mickey Stolli decided this wasn’t his night.

  * * *

  Rita caught Mickey on the rebound. ‘I know you,’ she said, excitedly pouncing. ‘I saw your picture in the paper. You’re… you’re Mickey Sully. Yes?’

  ‘Stolli.’ He stared at the cheap-looking girl in the red dress. Too tight. Too much makeup. Too much hair. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Rita.’

  ‘Rita who?’

  ‘Rita, the girl who’s gonna be the next Venus Maria,’ she said, taking a random shot. ‘I dance, I sing. In fact’ – she moved in a little closer – ‘anything you want, I do.’ In case he didn’t get the message she added, ‘And I mean anything.’

  Before Mickey could reply, Emilio marched over and yanked her away. ‘I was waitin’ for you at the bar,’ he said accusingly. ‘Where were you?’

  Rita looked at Mickey apologetically. ‘My friend – he’s a little uptight,’ she tried to explain.