Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  “Paul!” she exclaimed.

  “You look fantastic,” he said, standing back with an appreciative smile.

  “Hmmm…you look different,” she responded, hating the way he looked.

  “Uh, this is my wife, Fenella,” he said, placing a proprietary arm around an anorexic brunette and pulling her into the conversation. “Honey,” he said, “meet Brigette Stanislopoulos. Remember, I told you about her? Nona’s best friend.”

  He obviously hadn’t told wifey dear that they’d once almost been an item.

  “Nice to meet you,” Fenella said in an uptight Bostonian accent. “So you’re Nona’s friend?”

  “Right,” Brigette said, turning her attention back to Paul. “By the way, it’s Brigette Brown now. Please don’t mention that other name.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” An awkward silence. She broke it with, “I hear you’ve got a baby.”

  “A boy,” Paul said proudly.

  Fenella clung to his arm possessively. “Yes, little Military’s the image of his daddy.”

  Brigette stopped herself from laughing out loud. “Military?” she said, shooting Paul a surely-you-can’t-be-serious look.

  “We wanted an unusual name,” Fenella said.

  This is so weird, Brigette thought, once I would have done anything for this man, now I’m standing here talking to a total stranger. A stranger who named his kid Military! What kind of a nerd has Paul turned into!

  “Well, lovely seeing you,” she said, trying for a fast getaway. “Guess we’ll bump into each other later.”

  She moved across the room, feeling Paul’s eyes on her back. Several men tried to start conversations. She ignored them and kept moving.

  At last she spotted Nona holding court by the window. She made her way over, still trying to maintain the walk and the look. From the attention she was getting, it seemed to be working.

  Nona leaped up and embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, smiling mysteriously. “Big things have happened since lunch.”

  “Like what?” Brigette asked curiously.

  Nona pulled a handsome black man dressed in a flowing African robe to his feet. “Meet my fiancé, Zandino!” she announced triumphantly.

  Zandino bowed from the waist and beamed. His teeth were dazzling.

  “Zandino,” Brigette repeated, slightly dazed.

  “Yup. Zan flew in today and surprised me,” Nona said happily. “We met when I was visiting Africa. Zan’s father’s a chieftain, but Zan went to college here, so it’s not like he’s a stranger to America.”

  “Wow!” Brigette said, shaking her head. “This is some surprise.”

  “I know,” Nona said, grinning sheepishly.

  Brigette turned to Zandino. “Will you be living here?”

  Zandino’s wide, toothy smile was irresistible. “I shall be doing so,” he said in very precise English. “I hope to study law.”

  Nona winked at her. “Isn’t he the best?” she whispered, leaning close to Brigette’s ear. “And—he’s got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen!”

  “Nona! This is your future husband you’re talking about!”

  “It’s true,” Nona said, laughing happily. “’Course, that’s not the only reason I picked him. Zan is simply the kindest, sweetest guy I ever met.”

  “That’s great,” Brigette said, gazing around the room. “You know, Nona, I have to make connections tonight. Who do you think I should meet?”

  “Well…I suppose I could introduce you to my boss from MONDO. And there’s a couple of hot photographers here. And…let me see, hmm…Michel Guy—he’s that aging French stud who runs the Starbright Modeling Agency.”

  “I want to meet everyone,” Brigette said, a determined light shining in her eyes.

  “Okay, okay, don’t get anal about it. I’ll take you on a tour, and we’ll hit on anybody who can deliver.”

  Brigette nodded. “What are we waiting for?”

  Leslie Kane lived in a small but charming house on Stone Canyon Road in Bel Air. She’d bought the place as soon as she’d started making money, hired an interior designer, and was more than pleased with the results. For the first time in her life, she had a home, a place that was truly hers. Now all she needed was a man to fill it, and Cooper Turner was the perfect candidate.

  Minor detail: He was married.

  Very minor detail: Leslie had supreme confidence when it came to men. After all, she’d been taught by the great Madame Loretta, and Madame Loretta had handled some of the most successful girls in the business—girls who had gone on to marry movie stars and major moguls.

  Leslie knew she was on the right track with Cooper. He was certainly enthusiastic enough, every break they got he was hot to tango. Mister permanent hard-on. Quite impressive for a man his age.

  As she dressed for her dinner party, Leslie thought about Madame Loretta’s three cardinal rules for keeping a man happy.

  Rule One: Find something about him that you consider the most wonderful thing in the world and praise him constantly.

  Rule Two: Make sure you tell him he’s the most exciting lover you’ve ever had.

  Rule Three: Whatever he says, be amazed at his knowledge. Gaze adoringly at him and insist he says the most intelligent and clever things you’ve ever heard.

  Leslie had put these three rules into practice and found it worked every time. Of course, now that she was a famous movie star she didn’t need to impress anyone, men came running merely for the chance to say they’d stood next to her. Not that they got to do anything more than that, because she was extremely choosy. Sleeping around did not appeal to her.

  What appealed to her was a settled relationship.

  What appealed to her was a wedding ring.

  What appealed to her was Cooper Turner.

  She put on a clinging lace dress made especially for her by Nolan Miller. The neckline was demure, but the lace revealed her body down each side, clinging to her curves provocatively.

  Admiring herself in the mirror, she wondered what Venus Maria would wear. Probably something trampy.

  Leslie simply couldn’t understand why Cooper had married Venus. The woman had no class, with her dyed blond hair and slutty looks. Leslie might once have been a whore, but she’d always managed to look like a lady.

  Well…he wouldn’t have to put up with Venus much longer, because when Leslie wanted something, she usually got it. And she wanted Cooper.

  Tonight she’d invited Jeff Stoner, a young, good-looking actor who had a small part in the movie. In the past Cooper had often teased her about Jeff, saying he had a big crush on her, so she knew having Jeff at her house would irritate Cooper and hopefully make him jealous.

  Whenever Cooper had mentioned Jeff, she’d laughed and dismissed him as just another boring actor. But tonight, when Cooper was sitting next to his trampy wife, and she was playing hand on the thigh with Jeff, it would force Cooper into making some kind of decision about their future together. A serious commitment was exactly what she had in mind.

  Satisfied with her appearance, she strolled into the living room, ready to greet her guests.

  9

  “LET’S STOP FOR A DRINK,” ALEX SUGGESTED, HIS nerves already on edge.

  “Won’t that make us late for your mother?” Tin Lee countered.

  “She’ll wait,” Alex said. His throat was so parched he had to have something. Before leaving his apartment he’d popped a Valium and smoked half a joint, not enough to get him through the evening.

  Tin Lee nodded. “Whatever you say.” She liked Alex and hoped he liked her. Meeting his mother was an encouraging sign.

  Alex considered her to be most agreeable. They’d been out on several occasions and she’d never nagged him about anything. He liked that in a woman. A calm acceptance that the man is always right. None of that feminist shit.

  In bed she’d ministered to him, unconcerned about her own fulfillment. There was nothing worse than a woman who expe
cted equal everything, especially in the bedroom.

  He gave his four-door Mercedes to a parking attendant at the Beverly Regent, and entered the bar, Tin Lee close behind him. He’d left the Porsche at home tonight so they could accommodate his mother.

  They sat against the wall on the plush leather banquette seating. Tin Lee ordered cranberry juice, explaining that she didn’t care for alcohol. Alex ordered a double Scotch on the rocks and lit a cigarette. He had all the vices and knew it. He smoked too much, drank too much, popped pills, and smoked grass. The good news was, he’d given up blow and crack. Even Alex knew the danger line. His shrink had explained that if he kept doing the hard stuff, he couldn’t expect to see fifty. Point taken.

  Tin Lee coughed delicately. He continued smoking.

  “Alex,” Tin Lee said, placing her hand on his thigh. “Is something bothering you?”

  Nothing that my mother dropping dead won’t cure.

  “Bothering me? What would be bothering me?” he asked, a feeling of irritation crawling over his skin.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I ask.” A wistful pause. “Is it something about me?”

  Aw, shit, he was in no mood for a talk about “their relationship,” such as it was. And he knew it was coming. Women always took everything personally.

  “Nothing’s wrong with you,” he assured her, hoping he sounded sincere enough to stop her carrying on.

  “Then why,” Tin Lee asked plaintively, not quite smart enough to leave a good thing alone, “haven’t we made love since the first time?”

  No different than any of the others. Talk, talk, talk. Sex, sex, sex. Was that all women ever thought about?

  “Don’t I please you, Alex?” she asked, twirling a thin gold bracelet on her tiny left wrist.

  He picked up his glass and gulped a couple of mouthfuls of Scotch as he contemplated his reply. Had to be careful, he needed her around this evening.

  “No, honey, it’s not you,” he said at last. “It’s me. I’m always tense when I’m preparing to shoot a new movie. I’ve a lot on my mind.”

  “Sex is good for taking things off your mind,” Tin Lee said boldly. “Perhaps, later tonight, I can relax you with a massage. A very…personal massage.”

  She wanted to be in his movie, that was for sure. And why not? Everybody wanted something.

  A dark-haired woman entered the bar. He noticed her passing, and for one unsure moment he thought it was Lucky Santangelo. Something about the way she moved across the room reminded him.

  No. Lucky was much more beautiful—in a wild and intriguing way.

  “One more drink and we’re on our way,” Alex said, gesturing for the waiter.

  “What’s he doing here?”

  Cooper’s furious whisper was enough to satisfy Leslie. “Why shouldn’t he be here?” she said guilelessly.

  “You know he wants to fuck you,” Cooper said, steamed.

  “So do a lot of men,” Leslie responded calmly. “That doesn’t mean I have any desire to return the compliment.”

  He frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” she said, waving a greeting at a well-known country singer and his plain wife as they entered her house. “Excuse me, Cooper,” she said, secretly thrilled she’d gotten to him. “I must go greet my guests.”

  He watched her walk away in her tantalizing gown with half her body on show, and he couldn’t help but feel a small frisson of jealousy—even though he knew she was doing it purposely, trying to piss him off because he was with his wife.

  Meanwhile, Venus was settled at the bar downing shooters while charming Felix Zimmer, an aging producer known for his quirky habit of telling every woman he met that his specialty was eating pussy. Felix was oversized and no Mel Gibson—but his conversational gambit sure helped him score with a lot of women, that and the fact that he was a very successful producer.

  “Hey, babe,” she called, beckoning Cooper over. “Do you know Felix?”

  “Know him,” Cooper said with a thin smile, “I taught him everything he boasts about!”

  Venus laughed. Cooper thought she looked exceptionally pretty tonight in gold lounging pajamas with her hair piled casually atop her head. He decided he really should consider spending more time at home.

  Leslie had put together an eclectic group: Felix and Muriel, his “rumored to be a lesbian” wife; the country singer and his wife; Cooper and Venus; a hot director with his extremely young model girlfriend; a sulky-faced woman who designed clothes for an Emmy-nominated TV show; and Jeff Stoner.

  Cooper suspected Leslie had arranged the party solely for his benefit. For some perverse reason, she wanted Venus in her house.

  For a moment, he felt guilty. How would he feel if Venus did the same thing to him?

  She wouldn’t. Venus might appear sexually over the top and outrageous in her videos and movies, but in real life she was the perfect, faithful, supportive wife. He could trust her, and he did.

  “My son,” Dominique Woods announced, fluttering diamond-beringed fingers. “Used to be the most handsome man in the world—just like his father. Now look at him, he’s dissipated, old—time has not been kind to my Alex.”

  “Excuse me?” Tin Lee said politely, shocked by the older woman’s harsh words.

  “It’s true, dear,” Dominique continued matter-of-factly. “He had enough talent to have been a famous actor like his father. The tragedy is that he threw it all away.”

  “I never wanted to be an actor,” Alex said grimly. “Always wanted to direct.”

  “It’s a damn shame,” Dominique said, her voice rising. “As an actor you could have amounted to something—received real recognition.”

  Jesus Christ. Six Oscar nominations were not enough for her. This woman wanted blood.

  “Anyway, it’s too late now,” Dominique continued, a cruel twist to her mouth. “You lost your looks years ago; soon you’ll be losing your hair.”

  Every time, the same thing. What was her fucking problem? Anyone could see that his hair was thick, dark, and wavy—no way was he anywhere near losing it.

  His mother was insane—she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in putting him down. His shrink had advised him that fighting with her was pointless. All he could do was ignore her dumb comments.

  “Alex has lovely hair,” Tin Lee said, rallying to his support.

  “For now,” Dominique said ominously. “However”—a meaningful pause—“baldness runs in the family. His grandfather was as bald as an ape’s ass.”

  “When he was eighty-five,” Alex muttered, ordering another drink.

  “You can’t avoid the march of time,” his mother said. “I fight it every day.” Now she turned coy. “And I’m winning,” she added, focusing her attention on Tin Lee. “Can’t you see I’m winning, dear?”

  Tin Lee nodded, too startled to say anything else. Alex took a long, hard look at his mother. She was thin and very chic. Fashionably dressed, she wore a short-cropped black wig over thinning hair. Her problem was too much heavy makeup for a woman her age. Her skin was as white as alabaster. Her lips as red as blood. And her eyes were surrounded with black charcoal—giving her an overly dramatic Norma Desmond look. From a distance she could pass for a woman in her late fifties, but close up, the game was over. To his knowledge she’d had her face lifted at least twice. Even at seventy-one, appearance meant everything to Dominique.

  Alex had often tried to figure out what she was so bitter about and why she took it out on him. Was it because his father had died, leaving her with a child to raise by herself? Was it because she’d never married again? According to her, no man had been prepared to take on the responsibility of a woman with a son. Over the years she’d constantly reminded him. “Who would have me when I had a boy your age to raise? It’s your fault I’m alone now. Remember that, Alex.”

  How could he ever forget when she was constantly reminding him.

  Fortunately, she’d always had a certain amount of money. Not that she’d ever
put any in his direction. Not that he’d ever wanted any.

  Tin Lee rose to her feet. “I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she said.

  His mother had the grace to wait until Tin Lee was out of earshot before she launched into her usual stream of criticism. “Don’t you know any American girls, Alex? Surely some of the actresses in your films would be suitable for you to take out? Why are you always with these Asian women? They arrive here searching for the good life however, I’m sure you’re aware that in their own country most of them were no better than cheap street prostitutes.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, trying not to get too pissed off at her stupidity.

  “I certainly do,” Dominique replied, tapping a talon-like finger on the table. “I’m the disgrace of my ladies’ bridge club because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, Alex, you. They read about you in those tabloid papers. They tell me appalling things.”

  “What things?”

  “Why can’t you settle down with a decent American girl?”

  How many times had they had this conversation?

  How many times had he blown up and screamed at her?

  He’d learned, after years of therapy, that it simply wasn’t worth it anymore. What she said was completely meaningless, and he refused to take any notice of her cruel barbs.

  By the end of dinner, he was drunk. When they left the restaurant, Tin Lee automatically slid behind the wheel of the Mercedes.

  “I can drive,” he objected, teetering on the sidewalk.

  “No, you can’t,” she said, firm but nice. “Get in the back, Alex.”

  “Smart little cookie, this one,” his mother murmured, climbing in the front passenger seat.