Lucky (26 page)

Rainbow was standing at the side when he came off. She jerked her head toward the pay phone in the corner. ‘Somebody belled you from Las Vegas. I told them to call back in ten minutes.’

‘Who was it?’ he slurred.

She wrapped her robe tightly around herself. ‘Do I look like a secretary?’

‘You look like a hot piece of ass.’ He lurched in her direction.

‘Aw, cut it out, Lennie.’ She gave him a disgusted shove. ‘If Foxie were around he’d skin your balls.’

‘At least I’ve still got ’em.’

She laughed aloud. ‘Sonny, you’ll never have balls like Foxie.’

The pay phone rang, saving him from summoning up a smart retort.

He wondered who was calling him from Vegas, and hoped it was Jess. He needed to talk. Once and for all he had to get Eden Antonio out of his system.

Matt said, ‘I’d really like you to come to the funeral this afternoon. Jess is falling apart. You being there would mean a lot to her.’

‘I hardly know the girl,’ Lucky replied.

‘She’s worked for us for over two years. Can’t you show her this kindness? I want her to know we care.’

Lucky wondered at his involvement. Sophisticated, jaded, Matt. When did he develop heart? ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll come.’ And then she added with a sudden rush of sympathy for Jess. ‘Is there anything else I can do?’

‘Just be there – that’s enough.’

She nodded. ‘Perhaps we can arrange for her to have three months’ paid vacation. Send her away somewhere to think things out . . . It’s going to take time . . .’

For a moment she remembered Marco. His smile, and the way his black hair curled over the back of his collar, and the way he used to look at her.

Oh God. She still dreamed about him. On nights when she was so lonely that only
he
could keep her company.

‘I know,’ Matt said. ‘I was going to suggest that I take her to Europe.’ He paused hopefully. ‘You could manage without me for a few weeks, couldn’t you?’

She wondered if now was the time to tell him she wasn’t going to be around. Decided it wasn’t.

‘How involved are you?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I’m involved. She’s not.’

‘Well . . . I hope it works out for you.’

Matt wanted to talk. Quickly he said, ‘I know she’s twenty years younger than me and we’ve got nothing in common. She’s not even my type, but Jesus, when I look at her it’s all over. She could make me a very happy man.’

Lucky stood up. She wasn’t feeling great. ‘Why don’t you tell
her
, not me?’ She walked him toward the door, not wanting to appear rude, but also not inclined to hear the confessions of a reformed chauvinist. She almost had to push him out.

When he was gone she ordered tea and toast from room service and sat down at her desk to go over some papers.

She felt horribly nauseous. Just nerves. Once she was on her way things would be different.

*   *   *

Matt hurried back to his apartment where the maid was keeping an eye on Jess. She sat on the couch staring blankly into space.

‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘Lucky Santangelo wants to attend the funeral. That’s really something. You must have made a big impression over the years.’ He walked to the bar and began pouring a hefty slug of brandy into a glass. ‘A lot of people are going to show up. Most of the croupiers, some of the showgirls, a couple of waitresses. Oh, and Manny – you know – your favourite pit boss. He’s definitely coming.’ He handed her the glass.

‘It’s not a party,’ she said, her voice a whisper.

‘Drink up, it’ll make you feel better.’

‘It’s not a party,’ she repeated sadly.

He held her hand. ‘I know that, sweetheart. But believe me, people care about you. They want to show their respect.’

She took a gulp of brandy. ‘You turned out to be a very nice man,’ she murmured.

He was embarrassed, thinking that he wasn’t so nice after all.

‘I contacted your friend in Los Angeles,’ he said quickly. ‘It took me several phone calls, but I tracked him down at Foxie’s. He’s flying in today, and should be arriving about now. I’ve arranged a car to meet him and bring him straight here.’

For a moment there was a flicker of a smile. ‘Lennie,’ she said quietly, ‘is my best friend in the world.’

‘I understand,’ Matt said reassuringly. ‘You told me yesterday. That’s how I knew you’d want him here.’

Since hearing the news, Matt had taken charge. It was he who had collected Jess from the police station, summoned a doctor who had doped her up with sedatives, watched her as she slept restlessly in his bed, listened as she rambled on about her life.

It was he who had arranged for the funeral, organized cars and what he hoped would be a suitable turn-out.

It was he who had fed her hot soup, and held her as she sobbed the night away.

The day before she had been hysterical. Now she was quiet, almost child-like.

‘Lennie’s my best friend,’ she repeated. ‘We grew up together, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know. You told me all about him.’

He dared not ask whether that best-friendshipness had ever been sexual. What if she ran off with the guy? And he, Matt Traynor, the jerk, had brought him back into town.

No time to worry now. He had too much to organize. The funeral was in three hours, and he wanted to make sure everything went smoothly.

*   *   *

Lucky decided a letter to her chief executives would be best. She drafted several, but ended up throwing them away.

Matt phoned to inform her that he had arranged for Boogie to pick her up at two o’clock. He was certainly concerned enough, making arrangements with
her
driver. Any other time she would have balled him out.

The last thing she felt like doing was attending a funeral, especially when the normally blue desert sky was turning grey, and the weather stations predicted thunderstorms. But she wouldn’t let Matt down now.

She was just so
tired
, as if every ounce of energy had been drained from her body. All she wanted to do was sleep.

It occurred to her she should visit her doctor, have a physical, get a little vitamin therapy. It was no use running off to conquer New York feeling like a dead camel. She called her doctor and made a morning appointment.

Gino had returned to L.A. for a few days.

A few days. Sure. More like a few weeks.

Susan beckoned.

He came running.

How nice to have a permanent hard-on at his age. Maybe it ran in the family.

She laughed dryly. Sex was the last thing on her mind. She wanted to build an empire – her
own
empire – and then maybe think about her non-existent sex life. There had been no one since Dimitri Stanislopoulos. Yet she didn’t care.

Sex was important when she wanted it to be.

Only then.

The plane ride was bumpy, and by the time they prepared to land it was raining.

Nothing like a desert rainstorm, Lennie thought. Black clouds, tough stingy hailstones, and a humid heat that never quit. He had a hangover. And the memory of a fierce fight with Isaac Luther when he had told him he couldn’t do the
Griffin Show.

‘What do you mean, you
can’t
do it?’ Isaac had yelled.

‘I can’t do it because a friend needs me in Vegas, and I gotta go.’

‘Screw friends. This is the big break, man. If you blow this you’re crazy.’

Lennie shrugged. ‘Some things in life have to take priority. Maybe they can reschedule my spot.’

‘They’re more likely to reschedule your ass,’ Isaac exploded. ‘You’re letting them down at the last minute. Don’t do it, Lennie.’

He had gestured impatiently. ‘No choice.’

Foxie had been more agreeable in his own inimitable way. ‘Go. Stay there. An’ don’t come back until you got yourself straight. I don’t like drunks, an’ I don’t stand for no shit acts in my place. These last two nights you’ve given me both.’

No arguing with that.

So here he was, back in Vegas, with the rain pissing down, and a lousy taste in his mouth.

In L.A. the sun was shining and he would have been preparing to go before the TV cameras.

He would also be getting no reply from the lovely Eden. A true cunt. As always. The hell with her. She was unimportant. What was going on in Jess’s life was all he cared about.

Matt Traynor had called him the previous evening. The same Matt Traynor who had fired him. ‘Jess needs you here,’ Matt said, and then given him a sketchy rundown on what had happened.

Jesus. Just looking at that freak Jess was married to had given him bad vibes. Wayland. A stoned creep scoring off the money she brought home. Why hadn’t he said something to her? At least taken the time to find out what was going on.

But no. He hadn’t done that. He had rushed out of town with a bug up his ass because he got canned, and only he, Lennie Golden, mattered.

Goddammit.

She had needed him.

He never stayed around to care.

And now her baby was dead, and maybe he could have prevented the tragedy.

A car waited for him. An Oldsmobile driven by a retired showgirl in a purple sequinned uniform. Ah . . . Las Vegas . . . City of bad taste.

The ex-showgirl drove like Paul Newman on the track, and by the time they arrived at Matt’s apartment, Lennie was a nervous wreck. Thunder and lightning greeted him as he left the car. He pulled up the collar on his jacket and ran inside.

*   *   *

Matt glanced around the assorted gathering which huddled graveside and made a mental note to repay the favours of those who had turned up. It wasn’t a huge group – maybe twenty people. But it was a respectable number, and he was pleased. Lucky – God bless her – was there. She hadn’t let him down. She stood beneath a large black umbrella, her head bowed as the pitifully small coffin was lowered into the ground.

Lennie stood to one side of Jess, supporting her, and Matt was on the other. He could feel her body shaking with silent sobs and he didn’t know what to do. She made him feel helpless. He just wanted to protect her from the world. And if she would let him, that’s exactly what he planned to do. As the second Mrs Traynor she would have more than enough protection.

Wayland was not present. Wayland was even now hitching a ride out of town, which Matt had assured him would be the healthiest thing he could possibly do.

The rain was relentless. It would have to rain, Matt thought, adding even more misery to the pathetic scene. After the ceremony he had arranged refreshments in a nearby restaurant. It was a mistake. Everyone just wanted to get the hell out of there.

*   *   *

For a moment Lennie did not recognize the woman. Her jet hair was pulled back tightly, and dark shades covered her expressive eyes. Her body was concealed beneath a long black leather coat, tightly belted. She looked like a spy out of a Le Carré novel. Beautiful, mysterious, and ice-cold hot.

Then he remembered. The girl from the casino. The nearly one-night stand. Why was she still in Vegas?

As soon as he could he edged toward her. She stood at the bar gulping a Pernod on the rocks.

‘Hey,’ he accused. ‘You stood me up.’

She did not remove her black shades so he could not tell if she was looking at him or not.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked coldly.

‘We almost made history, only you wanted to start the course before I was ready. Lennie Golden. Remember?’

An imperceptible nod.

‘So what happened? You were supposed to meet me in the bar.’

‘Maybe someone more willing to learn came along. Excuse me.’

She brushed past him, went over to where Jess sat with Matt, said a few words and left.

First Eden, then this one. Was the famous Golden charm evaporating?

Christ, funerals were depressing. Poor little Jess seemed like a forlorn kid. He wished Matt Traynor would leave her alone, the old guy was a horny swinger, panting after her as if she were the only female in town. Hadn’t he ever learned timing?

Lennie wondered what he could do to ease her pain, she looked so lost. He went over and squeezed her hand. ‘How’re you feeling, monkey face?’ He hoped to spur some sort of reaction.

She shook her head blankly.

There was nothing to say at a time like this. Maybe just being there was enough.

*   *   *

Santino returned at seven in the morning. Eden was asleep, but he had his own key to her apartment (when he had started to pay the rent and all the bills he had insisted) so he let himself in, entered her bedroom, and sat watching her for a while. She slept naked on chocolate-brown sheets which contrasted nicely with the paleness of her skin and the blondeness of her hair. Who did she think she was playing games with? One mistake was all he’d allow her. If she cheated on him again she wouldn’t get away with a smack on the face.