Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge

by Jackie Collins

  “How about buying me a drink?” A short pause, then, “Say…in your room.”

  “My mother told me never to drink with strangers,” he said, trying to make light of what could turn out to be an awkward situation.

  “I wouldn’t be a stranger for long,” she replied, her sexy voice full of promise.

  “Hey—you know what,” he said shortly, “maybe tomorrow, when my wife’s here, we’ll both have a drink with you.”

  The blond chuckled softly. “Ooohh…you like three-somes. Très cozy!”

  “Honey, go hit on somebody else,” he said, realizing this was not an easy one to get rid of. “I’m not interested.”

  “You would be if you saw what I had to offer.”

  “I’ve seen it,” he said sharply. “So has everyone else.”

  She still wouldn’t go away. “So…you are Mr. Straight and Faithful.”

  “Get lost,” he said, slamming the phone down. A few minutes later, it rang again. He almost didn’t answer, thinking it was Miss Persistent. “Yeah?” he snapped.

  “Ha! You sound in a good mood.”

  “Oh, Jennifer. What’s going on?”

  “I got your call changed. You’re free to go to the airport tomorrow. I have a car picking you up at noon. Your new call’s two P.M. Don’t forget.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sounding pleased.

  “By the way—d’you remember the blond? The one who was trailing me on the set today?”

  “What about her?”

  “Can you believe she just called my room?”

  “Yes, Lennie.” Jennifer sighed. “I can believe anything about the army of silicone blonds who follow you day and night.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Let me see—” he said sarcastically. “Oh, yeah—I told her to come up to my room with a bottle of vodka and a supply of condoms. What do you think I told her?”

  Jennifer was unamused. “Would you like me to accompany you to the airport?”

  “No,” he said dryly. “I’m sure I can manage a reunion with my wife by myself.”

  “Don’t forget, Lennie, your new call is now two P.M.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “I know what you’re like—write it down.”

  “Got it.” He replaced the receiver, reached for his script, and started reading.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He knew it was Jennifer. She didn’t trust him and was personally delivering his new call sheet to make sure he had it right.

  He grinned, got off the bed, and opened the door. Standing there was Miss Silicone City herself, wearing nothing but high heels, a loosely belted terry cloth robe, and a seductive smile.

  “I’m sure you are lonely,” she purred. “Big American movie star all by himself—it’s not right.”

  This woman never gave up. “Listen,” he said patiently, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I am perfectly happy, so go home—wherever that might be.”

  “Are you sure, Lennie?” she said, staring directly into his eyes as she untied her robe, allowing it to fall open. Naturally, she was wearing nothing beneath it.

  “Oh, shit!” he muttered, taking in every inch of her incredible curves.

  “Am I changing your mind, Lennie?” she said, sexy voice at full throttle.

  “Listen,” he said sternly, “do everyone a favor and get out of here.”

  She had no intention of going anywhere. “You don’t mean that,” she said confidently, a woman used to getting results.

  “Yes, I mean it. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to touch it. So make a fast exit, okay?”

  She licked her index finger, bringing it down to caress an erect nipple. “Don’t you like what you see?”

  “I’m calling hotel security if you don’t leave right now.”

  She shrugged off her robe. It fell in a heap at her feet, leaving her totally naked. “Go ahead, Lennie. I’ll tell them you lured me to your room and attacked me.”

  Now he was angry. “Get the fuck away from me,” he said, attempting to slam the door on her.

  Before he could do so, she flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him tightly.

  From the end of the corridor a photographer appeared, camera flashing.

  Lennie struggled to shove her away, realizing too late that this was a setup.

  Managing to disentangle himself from the naked blond, he made a run for the photographer.

  The man with the camera immediately took off.

  Lennie started to give chase before realizing that all he had on were his undershorts. What a picture that would make. Better to deal with the blond and find out what her game was.

  He turned around, sprinting back to his room.

  She was gone. They’d gotten their pictures and now they’d both vanished.

  Grabbing the phone, he demanded security.

  A few minutes later, the manager of the hotel was at his door. “Yes, Mr. Golden?” the manager said, trying to appear formal, although it was obvious he’d been roused from a deep sleep.

  What was he going to say? That there was a naked woman in his room with a photographer? Somehow it didn’t sound like anyone would believe him.

  The smart move was to forget it and hope the photographs wouldn’t surface, although he had a nasty feeling they would.

  “Uh…thought I heard someone trying to break in,” he said lamely.

  “I will take a look around personally, Mr. Golden,” the manager said with an imperceptible bow.

  “You do that.”

  Lesson to be learned. The paparazzi would go to any length to get the pictures they needed to sell to the tabloid rags back in America. Tomorrow he’d call his lawyers, tell them exactly what had taken place so they’d be prepared to stop publication if the pictures surfaced.

  He picked up the phone and tried Jennifer’s room.

  “Yes, Lennie?” she said patiently.

  “What was that blond’s name?”

  “Lennie!” Jennifer scolded. “Your wife’s coming in tomorrow. I thought you were one of the nice guys.”

  “Get me her name and phone number.”

  “Oh, yeah, right,” Jennifer said sarcastically. “How about her measurements and diaphragm size?”

  “It’s not what you think.”

  Jennifer gave an “all men are pigs” long-suffering sigh. “Whatever you say, Lennie. You’re the star around here.”

  He knew she didn’t believe him, but Lucky would, and that’s all that mattered.

  In the morning, he was up long before it was time to leave for the airport.

  This weekend he was going to make his wife a very happy woman indeed.

  Lucky was dreaming. In the dream she was lying on a raft in the sea while the water gently rocked the raft back and forth. Then Lennie was beside her, massaging her shoulders, telling her he loved her.

  “Miz Santangelo…Miz Santangelo. We’ll be landing in an hour. Thought you might want to freshen up.”

  She opened her eyes with a start. Tommy, the plane’s steward, was standing over her. Lennie had merely been a dream.

  “Coffee and orange juice, Miz Santangelo?” Tommy inquired solicitously.

  She yawned, still half asleep. “Great, Tommy. I’ll take a quick shower and be right out.”

  The Panther jet was equipped like a luxurious hotel suite. In the bathroom, she stood under a cold shower, jolting herself awake. When she emerged, she felt refreshed and full of energy. She applied fresh makeup, fixed her hair, and dressed in a loose silk top and wide pants.

  It was crazy, really, she and Lennie had been married four years, yet she was as excited about seeing him as if they were going on their first date.

  Who ever said passion didn’t last?

  “Is my car here?” Lennie asked the doorman.

  The doorman snapped his fingers, and a chauffeur-driven old Merce
des pulled up. Different car, different driver.

  “Where’s Paulo today?” Lennie asked, getting in the backseat.

  “Sick.”

  “We’re going to the airport.”

  “I know,” the driver said as the Mercedes took off fast.

  The Panther jet zoomed in for a smooth landing at Corsica’s Poretta Airport. Lucky couldn’t wait to disembark, to feel Lennie’s arms around her, see his face, just to hug him.

  She hurried off the plane and was disappointed to discover he wasn’t at the airport. An airport official asked if she’d like to wait in a private room. She agreed, although she was wild with impatience.

  The first thing she did was call Lennie’s hotel. They put her through to his room. A breathy female voice said, “Hello.”

  “Lennie?” Lucky questioned, frowning.

  “Oh…Lennie…he left early this morning,” the voice said.

  Lucky detected a faint French accent. Could it be the maid? “Who’s this?” she asked suspiciously.

  “A friend of his. Who’s this?”

  “His wife.”

  Whoever it was hurriedly hung up.

  Lucky began to steam. Was it possible Lennie was screwing around?

  No way. He wasn’t the kind of man who would let her down. They had something special between them, they trusted each other. They had a special bond.

  THEN WHO THE FUCK WAS IN HIS ROOM?

  She marched from the little office and found the airport official. “Get me a car and driver,” she said. “I’ve decided not to wait.”

  13

  VENUS DIDN’T HAVE A HOT DATE WAITING AT HER house, she’d made that up to infuriate Cooper. When she arrived home, she wished that she had arranged for Rodriguez to be there. She needed a warm, sensual body. She needed to know somebody loved her.

  Was it too late to call him?

  Yes. It wouldn’t do to look desperate.

  God! Cooper’s face. She’d certainly rattled his ego. All his life he’d screwed around on every woman he’d been with, never suffering the consequences. The day they’d gotten married he’d promised that things would be different.

  Well, guess what? He hadn’t changed, and she wasn’t waiting around for it to happen again.

  So now she was alone in her mansion, Cooper’s clothes and personal possessions packed up and gone, his presence removed as if he’d never lived there.

  Kicking off her shoes, she wandered around the house barefoot, staring at the numerous photos of them together.

  It was too soon to remove his image from the silver frames, but she was sure she’d never take him back.

  In the morning she was up at six to jog with Sven. Jogging prepared her for the day, made her feel alert and focused.

  They toiled up and down the Hollywood Hills, puffing and sweating. Back at the house they headed straight to the gym, where Sven put her through a vigorous workout that included an hour on the treadmill and three quarters of an hour working her upper and lower body with free weights. Ha! And people thought it was easy getting this body.

  At nine o’clock, she asked Sven to put on the TV so she could watch Kathie Lee and Regis—their early-morning banter was always an entertaining exchange—especially when Kathie Lee was in one of her feisty moods.

  The talk-show hosts were just getting into it when they were interrupted by a special news break.

  Venus watched and listened to the newscaster’s words in shock.

  MOVIE STAR LENNIE GOLDEN WAS REPORTED KILLED EARLY TODAY IN A FIERY CAR WRECK ON THE ISLE OF CORSICA, WHERE HE WAS CURRENTLY ON LOCATION SHOOTING HIS LATEST MOVIE. A SPOKESPERSON FOR WOLFE PRODUCTIONS ISSUED A STATEMENT…

  Lennie Golden killed.

  Lennie, Lucky’s husband.

  Lennie, her good friend.

  “I’ve got to get to Lucky,” she mumbled, frantically running from the room.

  Cooper had not bothered going back to his house. If Venus said she’d moved his clothes and changed the locks, he sure as hell knew she’d done it.

  After leaving Leslie’s, he’d driven directly to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where he’d found himself already prechecked into a bungalow. Venus had thought of everything.

  Leslie had begged him to stay, something he’d had no intention of doing.

  “How did Venus find out?” he’d asked. “Who did you tell?”

  “No one. People aren’t stupid. They saw us together.”

  He’d paced around the room trying to figure out how he’d gotten screwed. “You wanted her to find out, didn’t you?” he’d demanded.

  “No,” she’d said stubbornly. “It’s the last thing I wanted.”

  “Well, anyway, Leslie, it’s not smart for me to stay.”

  Her eyes had filled with tears. “But, Cooper, I need you.”

  “You should’ve thought about that before.”

  He’d left her house, cursing himself for being so indiscreet. All he could think about was how he could make things right with Venus, because the truth was, he truly loved her.

  After sleeping fitfully, he awoke late, immediately groping for the phone. He called room service requesting bacon, eggs, orange juice, muffins, and coffee—the kind of breakfast Venus never allowed because she was always on a health kick.

  When the waiter entered his bungalow, Cooper greeted him curtly. The man looked like a talker, and he wasn’t in the mood.

  “Terrible news about Lennie Golden,” the waiter remarked, removing the eggs and bacon from the hot plate under the room service cart. “He often used to lunch here. Everyone’ll miss him.”

  “What news?” Cooper asked, pulling up a chair.

  “He was in a bad car accident.”

  “He’s all right, isn’t he?”

  “His car went over a cliff.”

  “IS HE ALL RIGHT?”

  “No, Mr. Turner. He’s…he’s…dead.”

  Cooper shook his head in disbelief. Not Lennie. Not his friend Lennie. This couldn’t be possible.

  “Where did you hear this?” he asked.

  “It’s all over the news. I’m sorry, Mr. Turner, I thought you knew.”

  “No,” Cooper said blankly. “No, I didn’t know.”

  Alex rolled into his offices hungover and late. It was past noon, and he was in a foul mood. All he could remember of the previous evening were his mother’s insults. She did it to him every time, got him so crazy he couldn’t think straight. Now she’d ruined his day because he’d blown a very important meeting with his line producer and location manager and they were both pissed at him.

  He felt like a drink. So far he’d resisted the temptation, last night was punishment enough.

  “Good morning, Alex.” Lili greeted him with a faintly disapproving lilt to her voice. “Or should I say ‘good afternoon’?”

  “I know, I know, I shoulda been here at nine,” he grumbled. “Something came up.”

  “I called your house,” she said pointedly.

  “Had the phone shut off.”

  “Hmmm…”

  France brought him a mug of steaming-hot black tea. “Drink it,” she ordered sternly. “Later you’ll thank me.”

  He held back an urge to throw up all over his desk. “Send Tin Lee flowers,” he muttered.

  “How much do you wish to spend?” France inquired.

  “A lot,” he said ominously. God knew what he’d put Tin Lee through. She probably wasn’t talking to him anymore.

  “Alex,” Lili said. “Have you heard about Lennie Golden, Lucky Santangelo’s husband?”

  “What about him?”

  “He was on location. There was a car wreck.”

  “Where?”

  “In Corsica. The car he was traveling in went over a mountain.”

  “Jesus! When did this happen?”

  “It was on the radio this morning.”

  Alex remembered Lucky had told him she was on her way to visit Lennie. “Was Lucky with him?” he asked urgently.

  “Don’t know,�
�� Lili replied, making a vague hand gesture. “They didn’t say…”

  Alex jumped up. “Get me Freddie.”

  Lili hurried to the phone. “Yes, Alex.”

  Brigette and Nona headed down Madison, laughing and talking nonstop about the previous night’s party and the incredible photo session with Luke.

  Brigette realized how much she’d missed her best friend, and how great it would be having Nona as her manager. Together they could make it happen, they’d always brought each other luck.

  As they passed a newsstand on Sixty-fifth Street, her eye caught the headline on the New York Post.

  LENNIE GOLDEN KILLED

  CAR CRASH IN CORSICA

  MOVIE STAR MEETS FIERY DEATH

  “Ohmigod!” she gasped, clinging to Nona. “Ohmigod! No! No! NOOO!”

  Donna Landsman was not surprised. She read the newspapers and smiled to herself. Everything was working out just fine.

  Lucky Santangelo. How does it feel, bitch? How does it feel to lose your husband, just as I lost mine?

  How does it feel to be left alone with three young children to raise all by yourself?

  Well, bitch, now you’ll find out exactly how it feels.

  And, I can assure you, this is just the beginning.

  14

  LUCKY SAT VERY STILL, GAZING STRAIGHT AHEAD. She knew she should be crying, screaming, anything other than this icy calm that seemed to have crept over her, seeping into every pore, deadening her feelings.

  Lennie was dead.

  Her Lennie was gone.

  And yet…she remained lucid and in control, as if her life moved around her in a kind of blurred slow motion.

  She was numb with grief. Devastated. And yet…the tears didn’t flow.

  She sat on Lennie’s bed in a hotel room in a foreign country and her husband was dead and she did not weep.

  Little Lucky Santangelo. She was five years old when she’d discovered the mutilated body of her mother floating in the family swimming pool; twenty-five when they’d gunned down her first real love, Marco; even younger when her brother, Dario, was shot and thrown from a car.