It took some time to get him to a bedroom. More time to get him undressed. He was so sweet! He actually wore patterned Jockey shorts and an undershirt.
Rio launched into her specialties. He was more interested in straight screwing.
It was the start of a six-month affair. An affair that had to be kept secret, due to the fact he was a married man.
Rio understood. He gave her the age-old story about how he and his wife just stayed together for appearances, and worldly as she was, she believed him.
After a few weeks she told Billy she couldn’t sleep with him anymore. In fact, because Larry didn’t approve of her setup, she moved out and took an apartment in the Village. It was more convenient for Larry, more private.
Billy gave her a generous allowance and kept the children with him, because they both agreed it was for the best. She visited them every other day.
Eventually Billy decided he wanted her to do a new movie he’d written. After all, she was his superstar.
Larry Bolding said he didn’t want her to do it. He preferred to keep her always available, as he never knew when he could see her.
‘The guy is an asshole,’ Billy warned. ‘He’s going to ruin you.’
But Rio was in love and didn’t listen. Instead she turned very straight for Larry, doing everything he told her to. She gave up drugs, drinking, parties; no screwing (except for him), no outlandish makeup, and no weird clothes.
Larry’s visits grew fewer and fewer. Eventually they stopped altogether.
Rio was destroyed. In vain she tried to contact him, but the barriers were up. There was no way of getting past the many secretaries and aides. Absolutely no way of letting him know she was pregnant with his child.
When she finally realized she’d been used, it hurt more than she ever thought possible. One gloomy Saturday night she slashed her wrists and fortunately was found by a neighbor. The neighbor turned out to be Margaret Lawrence Brown.
It took Rio a long time to get over the way Larry Bolding had treated her. She developed a deep resentment of the way women allowed themselves to be used by men. Especially married men.
She listened to Margaret, and her words made sense. Why waste time brooding about the past when the future was all that really mattered?
Without his ever knowing, she gave birth to Larry Bolding’s baby—a little girl. Billy Express suggested she move back in with him and her other children. It wasn’t the way she wanted to live anymore, and she told him. She also told him she wanted her children to come and live with her. Billy said no, they would stay with him.
This clash of wills resulted in a long-drawn-out court battle that Rio finally won. She got her children back in spite of the abuse Billy Express publicly hurled at her. He was enraged.
They all stood up in the witness box and testified about what a bad mother she was, every one of her so-called friends, the entourage, and Billy’s mother.
Margaret Lawrence Brown testified on her behalf, and in the end she got her children.
It was a juicy court case. The newspapers and gossips loved every minute of it.
Afterward, Rio was inundated with film scripts. Everyone had a project she would be perfect for.
Soon she started to work again and never looked back.
Now she was in London, and she was there for one purpose only.
Angelo Bassalino and the revenge.
She would destroy him as only she knew how.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Old friends though they were, Bosco Sam wanted his money back, with interest, and Dukey K. Williams just didn’t have it.
Dukey was hanging around in New York, still living in the apartment he had shared with Margaret, brooding about her murder.
‘Come on, man, you gotta get back in action,’ his manager pleaded daily.
‘Cancel everything,’ Dukey told him. I’m gonna sit still awhile an’ get my head straight.’ Margaret’s murder had left a deep void in his life. He couldn’t come to terms with her death.
He canceled all his work dates, a European tour, and a recording session for a new album.
Several promoters threatened lawsuits.
Dukey didn’t care. ‘Fuck ’em’ was his only comment. He was not making any money, and the royalties coming in from record sales were going straight into the pocket of ex-wife number one and two ‘ex-children.’ He called them ex-children because his wife—the redheaded bitch—had obtained a court order forbidding him to see them.
Bosco Sam was not prepared to give up. ‘I want my money,’ he said, his tone becoming more threatening as each day passed. If it was anyone but you, Dukey…’
They had struggled through school together, known each other a long time.
‘Let’s meet,’ Dukey suggested, thinking fast. ‘Maybe we can cut a deal.’
‘Yeah, let’s do that.’ An ominous pause. ‘While you’re still alive.’
They met at the zoo. Bosco Sam had a thing about privacy; he made sure that all his important meetings took place in public venues.
‘I’ll probably get mobbed,’ Dukey complained. It was a crisp October morning, and the Central Park zoo was almost deserted.
They were hardly an inconspicuous pair—Dukey in his calf-length, belted mink trench coat, boots, and huge shades, and Bosco Sam, a camel-hair-coated, three-hundred-pound man with an attitude problem.
‘Fuckin’ park,’ Bosco Sam complained. ‘Only place a deal can get it on anymore.’
‘Here’s the action,’ Dukey said as they strolled in front of the monkeys. ‘Word’s on the street you’re about ready to dance with the Crowns. You and them make sweet soul music while Frank Bassalino gets the short ones plucked. Beautiful. No sweat. So how would it grab you if I did the plucking? Frank, the brothers, Enzio. The whole Bassalino bag of shit.’
‘You?’ Bosco Sam said, starting to laugh.
‘Jesus! You sound like an elephant farting!’
Bosco Sam heaved with even more laughter.
‘Listen, man,’ Dukey continued. ‘I ain’t layin’ no shit on you, you hear me talkin’? I’m serious. For the two hundred thou—you’re out of it. Your hands are clean. There’ll be no heat knockin’ on your door. Nobody’s gonna know ’bout our little deal ’cept you an’ me. Am I reachin’ you, bro?’
‘Yeah,’ said Bosco Sam thoughtfully. ‘Yeah…’
‘It’ll be cool. Keep up the pressure till it blows. An’ you with a powdered fuckin’ ass nobody can suspect.’
Bosco Sam started to laugh. ‘You still cut it. Big fuckin’ star, but you still foxy as Puerto Rican tail!’
‘Hey—I’ll throw in a song or two at your daughter’s wedding.’
‘The kid’s only ten.’
‘So I’ll be around when I’m needed. How about it? We all set to jive or what?’
‘Yeah, I’ll give you a shot at it. Why the fuck not? We go back a long way. Just remember—you give me results or no deal. Understood?’
‘Right on.’
‘Who you gonna use?’
‘I got my own ideas.’
Bosco Sam spat on the ground. ‘If you’re smart you’ll use Leroy Jesus Bauls. He’ll cost you, but that black motherfucker don’t know no fear—that’s why we call him Black Balls!’
One of the monkeys let out a loud screech.
‘Shit!’ exclaimed Bosco Sam. ‘That fuckin’ monkey just pissed all over me!’
‘It’s lucky,’ Dukey said, managing to keep a straight face.
‘It better be,’ Bosco Sam grumbled. ‘Or your bones gonna be dead fuckin’ bones.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Lara’s effect on Nick was slow but lethal.
They met again at the party Jeanette and Les threw for her, and then again at a screening of a new movie.
Lara was seeing Sammy Albert, fighting him off, because to get involved with him sexually was a diversion she did not need. It was at her suggestion that Sammy invited April and Nick to dinner at a restaurant.
Con
fident that this was the night, Sammy was in a buoyant mood.
Lara put on her Yves Saint Laurent black-velvet jacket, cut man’s style, and underneath it a high-necked blouse in black chiffon which, when you looked closely, was see-through. Underneath she wore no bra, and the effect was incredibly sexy because as she moved the jacket moved, too, exposing her and then falling back into place.
‘Now you see them, now you don’t,’ Sammy announced proudly at the beginning of the evening.
Nick and April started to fight halfway through dinner, a whispered argument no one was supposed to hear, because above all April would never blow her image by showing a jealous streak.
The champagne Sammy had insisted on was beginning to have its effect. ‘For God’s sake, get your eyes off her bloody tits!’ April hissed angrily at Nick.
Nick, who had been making a concerted effort not to look, was insulted. ‘Cool down, April,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t make a fool of yourself.’
‘Cool down,’ she mimicked. ‘Just who do you think you’re talking to, little man?’
‘I’m talking to you, and goddamn it—you’ve had enough.’ He gripped her wrist as she lifted her glass.
Furious, she tried to shake free, and the champagne spilled down the front of her dress.
‘Oh, dear.’ Lara was the first there with a napkin, dabbing it dry. ‘I don’t think it will stain.’
‘It’s only an old rag,’ April said, recovering her composure and shooing Lara away. ‘Nick, dear, you’re so clumsy.’ She turned her back on both of them and began to talk to Sammy on her other side.
Lara glanced at Nick and smiled sympathetically. He grinned back, allowing his eyes to drop briefly to her breasts. If he was going to get accused, he might as well do it.
She was still looking at him, her green eyes probing and interested.
He felt a sudden uncomfortable tightness in his pants, a feeling he had long ago learned to control. Christ, this girl was really something—she was getting to him in no uncertain way. In the year he’d been with April he’d only taken chances twice. Once, on a business trip to Vegas, a faceless showgirl with incredible legs. The other, a redhead he’d met at the beach on one of his rare afternoons off. Neither of the girls had known who he was or anything about him. That way there was no risk of April ever finding out.
‘Let’s go to The Discotheque,’ Sammy was saying.
‘Yes, marvelous idea,’ April agreed, downing another glass of champagne.
Nick didn’t try to stop her. Tonight it was her problem, let her get good and boozed up. She would be sorry in the morning.
There was more champagne at The Discotheque, and Lara noticed that even Nick was drinking, something she had never seen him do before.
She danced with Sammy and was embarrassed by his convulsive, almost obscene way of moving. One thing about European men, Prince Alfredo especially—they knew how to keep their cool on the dance floor. Sammy hopped about like a baby elephant jerking off.
When she sat down April invited her to accompany her to the ladies’ room. She went, because half the initial battle was remaining friendly with the aging movie star.
‘I think you’re right, darling,’ April observed, studying herself in the mirror. ‘Look at my dress—all dry and not a stain in sight.’ She produced a lethal tube of scarlet lipstick from her purse and jammed it on, going above and below her natural lip line as a series of studio makeup artists had taught her to do.
They stood side by side, observing themselves in the full-length mirror. April could easily have been Lara’s mother, but she didn’t realize this. As far as she was concerned, her reflection was just as smooth and youthful as that of the girl beside her.
‘Isn’t Sammy a darling boy?’ she commented. ‘Such fun. I do hope you realize how lucky you are.’
‘Lucky?’ Lara questioned, brushing her hair.
‘Well, of course, darling. Sammy’s very much in demand, and I can see he’s absolutely crazy about you.’
Lara smiled slightly, sensing what was coming next.
‘Real men are few and far between in this town.’ April hiccupped elegantly, ‘I should know, I married four of them.’ More lipstick. ‘Now take Nick, for instance. He’s good-looking enough, but what does he have to offer, darling? There’s more to it than just being a good fuck. Confidentially, I need a little more from a man, you know what I mean?’
Lara nodded. ‘Yes, I know what you mean.’ She knew exactly what April meant—stick with Sammy and keep your hands off my Nick. He’s taken.
Leaning forward, April examined her teeth closely in the mirror, removing any telltale lipstick stains. ‘I adore your blouse, darling, you must tell me where you bought it. Of course, Nick’s not a man for boobs, he’s a leg man.’ April hoisted her skirt, exposing still-perfect legs. ‘Although I doubt very much if he’d allow me to wear a top like that. He’s really very prudish. It’s the Italian side of him, you know.’ She stepped back, liked what she saw, and added, ‘Ah, well, back to the champagne.’
Lara lingered in the ladies’ room. April didn’t have to tell her about Italians; the only time they were prudish was if you were their wife.
She wondered if Nick wanted to marry April. The woman was still good-looking for her age, and of course there was the fame thing. April Crawford was a name that had once been right up there with Lana Turner, Ava Gardner, and the other famous Crawford. That had to be the attraction.
Lara sighed. She knew quite a bit about Nick, but there was still plenty to find out.
By the time she returned to their table April was dancing with Sammy, while Nick sat alone.
‘Hi.’ Sliding into her seat, she shrugged off her jacket, allowing him the full view.
He looked. He couldn’t help himself.
‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’ she said, although there was no reason to make an excuse.
‘Very.’
They locked stares, holding the look for several beats too long.
‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
They got up, and he took her by the arm, steering her to the small, tightly packed dance floor. The Stones were at full shout.
Facing each other, they went through the ritualistic moves. He was a good dancer, tight, controlled, and at ease. The sounds were too loud for talk. Across the floor Sammy Albert and April Crawford made fools of themselves. Suddenly the music changed, and Isaac Hayes was singing ‘Never Can Say Good-bye.’ It was slow, throbbing, and sensual.
Nick stared at her again, his brown eyes intent and moody. He pulled her slowly toward him, his nails digging into her flesh under the black chiffon.
Lara shivered slightly; this man was dangerously good-looking. When she was close to him she felt the proof of his attraction, and for one short moment the music, the feel of his maleness, it all combined to make her want to forget everything and just be with him. Surrendering to the feeling, she pressed close against him.
‘Hey, baby, I don’t have to tell you how I feel,’ he muttered. ‘No—I don’t have to tell you—you know—you knew from the first time we saw each other.’
Managing to push him away a little, she shook her head.
‘I’ve got to see you,’ he said urgently. ‘How about lunch tomorrow? We could meet at the beach, somewhere quiet where no one would see us.’
‘Wait a minute.’ She took a deep breath, pushing him away completely. They stood in the midst of the swaying dancers. ‘I can see you any time,’ she said challengingly. ‘I’m not tied down.’
He pulled her back into a tight embrace.
‘Listen, baby, you know my scene with April. She’s a great lady. I wouldn’t want to hurt her.’
‘Then don’t,’ Lara replied crisply, back in control.
‘Ah, come on,’ he said. ‘You feel the same way I do, I know you do. If I was to slide my hands under those tight pants of yours, I could prove it to you—you’d be—’
She cut him short, her gr
een eyes wide and appealing. ‘Nick, I’m not arguing. Let’s go home now. You say good-bye to April, and I’ll kiss Sammy on the cheek. Then I’ll take off my tight pants for you and—’
‘Hey, you’re beginning to sound like a bitch.’ He was angry.
Her eyes gleamed. ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you like it when I’m honest? If we both want each other so much, what’s the big hang-up?’
‘You know the hang-up,’ he groaned.
‘Yes, I think I do, and I’ll tell you something, Nick, it’s all yours.’ She walked off the dance floor and rejoined April and Sammy at their table.
With a jolt she realized for a moment she’d almost lost control. What a stupid thing to do. Purely physical.
‘Having fun?’ April asked tensely.
Lara grabbed Sammy’s arm. ‘Not nearly as much as I’m going to. Right, Sammy?’
He couldn’t believe his luck. The ice queen was finally thawing. ‘You’d better believe it, honey. They don’t call me action man for nothing!’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The only time Beth saw Frank Bassalino was on Sundays. It appeared to be the only day he spent at home. Weekdays he was up and away before anyone was awake, returning late in the evenings after the household was asleep.
Sundays he spent with his children. In the morning he took them to the park, then home for a huge lunch of various pastas that Anna Maria spent the morning preparing. In the afternoon he played with them, absorbing himself in their interests. Cars and trains with the two boys, perhaps a game with his six-year-old daughter—his obvious favorite—and complicated building stacks with the two-year-old.
He was a good father, if you could call devoting one day a week to his children being a good father.
Anna Maria was a placid, almost stupid girl. She had no particular desire to learn English. Frank and the children conversed with her in Italian, and since they were her whole life, what was the point in learning to speak to other people? She spent her days baking, sewing, and writing letters to her family in Sicily. It was a rare day when she left the house.
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