Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  “This is my friend,” she announced. “Brigette’s the hottest model in L.A.”

  “Really?” Aurora said, raising a thinly penciled eyebrow. “How many covers have you appeared on, dear?”

  “Actually,” Brigette said, thinking fast, “I recently returned from Europe.”

  “How many European covers were you on?”

  “Oh, God!” Nona said, quickly butting in. “You can’t even count them, there were so many!”

  “Why haven’t you mentioned Brigette before?” Aurora inquired.

  “She wasn’t in the country. Thing is—Aurora, I had this brilliant idea that MONDO should be the first to use her. I mean, she’s going to be huge. Michel Guy wants to sign her.”

  Aurora nodded agreeably at Brigette. “Come along to my office tomorrow, dear, we’ll take tea together.”

  “I’d love that,” Brigette said, bright blue eyes shining with enthusiasm.

  “Bring your portfolio,” Aurora said. “So I can peruse your covers. And don’t forget your test sheets.”

  “I’ll be there,” Brigette assured her.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Nona said, “Have you got photographs?”

  “I didn’t think I’d need them until I landed a job.”

  “You’re impossible,” Nona said, shaking her head in disbelief. “Surely you knew you had to be prepared? No wonder nothing’s happened for you.”

  “It’s not as if I’ve been doing this all my life,” Brigette said huffily.

  “Okay, okay, everything’s under control, ’cause I’ve come up with a cool idea.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m going to be your manager.”

  “You?” Brigette exclaimed, choking back a derisive laugh. “What do you know about being a manager?”

  “Who got you an intro to Aurora Bora Alice?” Nona said. “Who fixed you up with Michel Guy? Who’s gonna get you test shots?”

  “Well, since you put it like that…”

  “Ten percent,” Nona said firmly, “which right now is ten percent of nothing. A deal?”

  “I guess we could give it a try,” Brigette said hesitantly; after all, she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The truth was, there was nobody pushier than Nona.

  Nona nodded, satisfied with her reply. “There’s Luke Kasway. I’ll do the talking. The good news is, he’s gay. The bad news is, he can be a bit testy. If he insults you, take no notice.”

  “Why would he insult me?”

  “It’s his way. He calls it ‘constructive criticism.’ Luke is such an awesome photographer that he gets away with it.”

  Luke Kasway was short and compact with a spiky crew cut. He wore a multicolored Versace shirt, baggy blue jeans, white sneakers, and owl-like rimless glasses. Two gold earrings adorned one ear, while the other featured a small diamond stud.

  Nona did her usual introduction, praising Brigette big time.

  Luke didn’t fall for it. “Get real, Nona, your friend’s never modeled in her life.”

  “She’s big in Europe and L.A.,” Nona insisted.

  Luke laughed disbelievingly. “I’m in L.A. all the time, I’ve never seen her.” He gave Brigette a penetrating stare. “Be honest, have you done anything at all?”

  Brigette brushed a nervous hand through her hair, wondering which way to play it. “Actually,” she confessed, “I haven’t.”

  “I like a girl who tells the truth,” Luke said, pushing up his glasses, which had a habit of slipping off his nose. “When I’ve got time, we’ll take some test shots, ’cause I gotta admit—you do have a certain quality.”

  “Told you!” Nona said triumphantly.

  “Whether that quality will shine through the lens is another thing,” Luke continued. “Some girls can be insanely sexy in real life, trouble is—if they can’t make out with the camera, they’re dead meat.”

  “When can we do this?” Nona asked, grabbing the opportunity. “She’s got an interview with Michel Guy tomorrow, and Aurora’s considering her for a cover.”

  “I’m booked for the next three weeks,” Luke said. “Then I’m off to the Caribbean, where I’m doing nothing but lying on the beach checking out hot young cabana boys.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Luke,” Nona wheedled. “You can do this favor for me.”

  “Can’t, sweetheart,” he replied, regretfully shaking his head. “I’m booked solid.”

  “What about now?” Nona pleaded. “Let’s go to your studio and take a few shots tonight. Pleeese, Luke, it means so much to me.”

  “You’re pushy, exactly like your mother,” Luke said peevishly.

  “Nobody’s pushy like her,” Nona retorted.

  He laughed. “Okay, okay,” he said, turning to Brigette. “Are you up for it?”

  She nodded. This was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

  “Then let’s go.”

  “Can I bring my fiancé?” Nona asked.

  “Didn’t know you were engaged.”

  “He’s horny and major cute, you’ll fall in love. Hands off!”

  “Bring him, as long as he doesn’t talk.”

  Nona pouted. “You’re so mean, Luke.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  Luke Kasway’s studio was in SoHo—near the Tribeca area. Brigette, Nona, and Zandino arrived by cab, following Luke, who’d gone ahead in his own car. They piled out of the cab outside his building.

  “This is so cool!” Nona said excitedly. “Luke’s the greatest!”

  Zandino rang the bell downstairs. After a few moments, Luke buzzed them in. The three of them climbed into an open freight elevator and rode to the top of the large industrial building.

  “Welcome, kids,” Luke said, greeting them at the heavy stainless steel door.

  “We’re here!” Nona exclaimed. “Ready for action!”

  “I can see that,” Luke said, ushering them into his enormous studio.

  “Incredible space!” Brigette said, taking in the blowup photographs of all the top models adorning the whitewashed walls.

  “Who wants a drink?” Luke asked.

  “I don’t drink,” Brigette replied, still staring at the photographs, wondering if she’d ever be as famous as the girls in them.

  “I’ll have a bourbon and water,” Nona said.

  “That’s a very grown-up drink for a kid I’ve known since she was twelve,” Luke remarked, walking over to a functional all-white and glass-block bar.

  “I’m a very grown-up girl,” Nona retorted, following him.

  “So I can see.”

  “Oh, Luke, this is Zandino, my fiancé,” she said, beckoning Zandino over.

  Luke gave Zandino an appreciative once-over. “Drink?” he said.

  Zandino beamed his toothy grin. “Coca-Cola, please.”

  Luke squinted at him. “Nice robe,” he said.

  “Traditional,” Zandino replied, still beaming.

  Nona giggled. “We thought we’d blow my parents’ minds if he wore it to their party tonight.”

  “Nothing would blow Effie’s and Yul’s minds,” Luke said. “They’re the most liberal couple in New York, and the most interesting.” He handed them their drinks. Then he stepped back, taking a long, critical look at Brigette. “Okay,” he said. “What are we doing here?”

  “You’re the photographer,” Nona pointed out.

  Luke ignored her. “Okay, babe,” he said to Brigette. “Kick off your shoes and go stand in front of the camera over there.”

  She stepped out of her Blahnik pumps, placing herself in front of a plain blue backdrop.

  Luke threw a switch on the stereo and Annie Lennox’s throaty voice flooded the studio.

  “Major point—relax,” he said, loading film into two cameras. “I’ll shoot a couple of rolls of black-and-white, some color, and we’ll see what happens. No big deal. Don’t get nervous on me.”

  Now that she was finally in front of a camera, Brigette felt her confidence
level sink. She was suddenly awkward and unsure about what to do. She’d imagined herself on a Paris runway, strolling snootily along, clad in a top designer’s outfit, giving everybody that disgusted look like they should drop dead because she was so hot. But standing in front of an actual camera was totally intimidating.

  “Imagine the camera’s your lover,” Luke said, positioning himself behind it. “You’ve had a lover, haven’t you?”

  “Of course,” she replied indignantly.

  “Good. So make out with the camera, get those pretty eyes working. Let your hair fall over your face…that’s it…now bring your head down, we’re gonna see if we can create magic here.”

  She began to pose, gradually getting into it as the music swept over her.

  As soon as she did anything Luke considered obvious, he started yelling. “Be natural,” he shouted. “Natural! Natural! Get it?”

  He clicked off several rolls of film, then produced his Polaroid and ran off more photos.

  Nona and Zandino stood on the sidelines, cheering her on.

  After an hour of nonstop activity, Luke was finally ready to quit. He yawned and stretched. “I think we got it,” he said. “Whatever it might be.”

  “When can we see the photos?” Nona asked.

  “Call my assistant in the morning.”

  Brigette was on an adrenaline high. She began wandering around the studio again, still fascinated by all the photos on the walls. Among the models there was a scattering of celebrities: Sylvester Stallone in a cowboy hat, Winona Ryder wearing a red bustier, Jon Bon Jovi bare-chested. “Do you know all these people?” she asked Luke.

  “Of course he does,” Nona replied, picking up a giant blow-up photograph of Robertson and Nature—another famous model, wearing nothing but skintight blue jeans and alluring smiles, their hands covering their breasts.

  “Some picture,” Nona exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” Luke agreed. “That’s the ad campaign I’m doing for Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans—you heard of them?”

  “Nope.”

  “You will. They’re gonna be bigger than Guess and Calvin Klein combined.”

  “Really,” Nona said, her interest perking up. “The only thing is,” she added, studying the photo, “there’s nothing unusual about this ad. Two girls…every guy’s fantasy, only it’s been done a million times. Robertson and Nature have been on every cover, from Vogue to Allure. It’s not cutting edge, Luke. Using them for a hot new ad campaign is, like—you know—kinda old news.” She paused, gazing at him innocently. “You don’t mind me saying that, do you?”

  “Yeah, I mind,” Luke replied, not pleased with her criticism.

  “I’m just being truthful.”

  He pushed his glasses onto his nose. “Do me a big one, Nona—go be truthful somewhere else.”

  “Don’t get uptight. I’m the girl who’s going to buy the product.”

  He looked at her, perplexed. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t buy these jeans simply because the models have appeared in ads for other things?”

  She shrugged. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  He snorted with aggravation. “You’re a pain in the ass, Nona—you always were.”

  “I’m an honest pain in the ass,” she said, taking a long pause before adding, “Now, if Brigette was wearing the jeans.”

  “I suppose you want me to photograph her in them, is that your game?”

  “What’s to lose?” Nona said, wide-eyed.

  Luke sighed. “Okay, Brigette, go in the dressing room. You’ll see a rack of jeans, pick out your size and put ’em on, then come back out here. No top.”

  “I’m not doing nudity,” Brigette objected. Luke Kasway might be a big-deal photographer, but she wasn’t taking off her clothes for anyone.

  “Cover your boobs with your hands,” Luke said. “Copy what those girls are doing in the photo.”

  Nona nodded her approval. “Go ahead.”

  Oh, yeah, fine for Nona to say go ahead, it wasn’t her stripping down.

  She went into the dressing room, found jeans in her size, and wriggled into them.

  She felt like an idiot covering her breasts with her hands, then she assured herself that all models did a certain amount of nudity; after all, it wasn’t as if she were posing for Playboy.

  She emerged, waiting for Luke’s instructions.

  “Okay, over there,” he said, gesturing to a different setup—this time a brick-wall backdrop. “Face the wall, legs apart, swing around when I tell you.”

  She did as he asked.

  Luke peered through his lens, making grunting noises. “Nice one, Brigette. Lower your head, bring your eyes up, lick your lips. That’s it.”

  Zandino, standing on the sidelines, said, “It looks good.”

  Luke glanced at him. “You ever had any pictures taken?”

  Zandino beamed. “Snapshots when I graduated.”

  “Another idea,” Luke said, snapping away. “Does he have a body, Nona?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Does he have a body!”

  Luke grinned. “I should’ve known. We always shared the same taste, even when you were twelve!” He turned back to Zandino. “Go in the dressing room, find jeans in your size.”

  Nona saw the possibilities. “Yes, Zan, do it,” she encouraged, giving him a little push. “It’s just for laughs.”

  “Really?” Zandino asked unsurely.

  “Really,” Nona assured him.

  A few minutes later Zandino emerged. His body was toned, taut, and a delicious deep-chocolate hue. The jeans fit him as if they were sprayed on.

  “Wow!” Nona said, pointing gleefully at his crotch. “Terrific view of your assets!”

  Zandino frowned.

  “Lighten up,” she said and giggled. “At least they’re major!”

  “Okay, we’re getting there,” Luke said, running his hands through his spiky hair. “Over there with Brigette. Let’s see how the two of you interact. Do stuff in front of the camera.”

  “Like what stuff?” Brigette asked, nervous of Zandino invading her space.

  “I dunno…back to back, face to face. Zan, put your hands over her boobs, whatever. We need to go for something different.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nona objected. “His hands on her boobs? Forget it!”

  “Listen, didn’t you tell me you were her manager? This could fly.”

  Nona nodded. “I’m getting the idea,” she said. “‘Black and white—Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans.’”

  “Right!” Luke said enthusiastically. “What’s rock ’n’ roll all about? Black music. White music. It’s a fit!”

  At first they were tentative, stiff.

  “Get into it,” Luke screamed. “Relax, for crissakes!”

  Fine for him to say, Brigette thought. He wasn’t standing there with some strange man holding his boobs. Oh, God, she was so embarrassed!

  Sting blasted from the speakers as gradually they started to relax and began working together.

  Luke moved fast, using several cameras as he shot roll after roll of film.

  As soon as she relaxed, Brigette found herself enjoying it—posing was hard work, but fun.

  By the end of the session, everyone was exhausted.

  “Whew!” Brigette exclaimed, grabbing a towel. “I’m dead, but what an experience. Awesome!”

  “Don’t go getting excited,” Luke warned. “This could turn out to be a waste of everyone’s time.”

  “No,” Nona said, very secure. “This’ll be your new campaign. You’ll see, Luke. I’m never wrong.”

  12

  LUCKY SLEPT MOST OF THE LONG FLIGHT TO Europe, not even waking when they stopped to refuel. She’d planned on reading a couple of scripts, viewing the dailies on two of her movies currently in production, in fact, generally getting a lot done.

  It was not to be. Instead she had a light meal, settled back with a glass of Cointreau, and fell into a deep sleep.

  Her last thoughts before drifting
off were that she was going to forget about business this weekend and concentrate on having a wonderful time with Lennie. They both deserved it.

  After being out on the beach location all day, Lennie wasn’t tired, so instead of going straight to his room, he joined some of the cast and crew in the hotel bar and had a few beers.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Lucky arriving. God, how he loved her. There was nobody else in the world for him, and this from a man who’d once been a major womanizer. Things had certainly changed. Now he was Mr. Married and loving every minute.

  “Gotta go,” he told Al, the first AD. “Wanna get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Grab an eyeful of that little beauty!” Al replied, nudging him as a blond with a body that didn’t quit approached.

  Lennie took a look. It was the same blond who’d been parading in front of him on the set earlier. Instead of a bikini she now wore a crotch-high skirt and midriff-baring tank top. Every guy in the bar was immediately transfixed.

  She came right over to him. “Hi, Lennie,” she murmured in her softly accented voice. “Mind if I join you?”

  What was with the “Hi, Lennie” crap? He couldn’t believe she was acting as if they were old friends.

  “No, luv, he don’t mind at all,” said the focus puller—a randy Englishman with a Rod Stewart haircut and a lascivious leer. “’S matter of fact, y’can park it right here—next ta me.”

  “Excuse me?” she said coolly, hardly glancing in his direction.

  “I’m outta here,” Lennie said, quickly getting up. “You guys can do what you like.”

  “Thanks, mate,” Al said with a ribald chuckle. “Didn’t know we needed your permission!”

  Lennie made a swift exit before the blond had a chance to hit on him again. Instinct told him she was big trouble.

  Up in his room he threw off his clothes, lay on top of his bed, and began studying the pages for the next day’s shooting.

  The phone rang. He grabbed it, hoping it was Lucky calling from the plane.

  A provocative purr. “Lennie? Are you lonely?”

  “Who’s this?” he said, although he was immediately aware it was the blond.