Lucky (43 page)

She nodded. It was ridiculous really. She had been in his company only once before, but he seemed honest, and she liked him.

‘I don’t think I need an agent,’ she decided.

‘Let’s barter,’ he replied, a spark of amusement in his kindly brown eyes.

*   *   *

‘You’re doing
what?’
Steven snapped.

‘Writing a book’, Carrie replied calmly.

He gave her a withering look.
‘You’re
writing a book.’

‘Why shouldn’t I? It’s not as difficult as it seems. You sent me to the publisher in the first place. They’re supplying me with a ghost writer, and paying me excellent money.’ She paused, hoping his reaction would be a little more positive. It wasn’t. ‘I
do
know a lot about fashion and beauty and entertaining,’ she continued. ‘It will be a book on style.’

Steven snorted his disapproval and moved right along. ‘I came to tell you we’re flying to California next week,’ he said flatly.

She was almost afraid to ask. ‘Why?’ she managed.

‘Because I’ve hit a dead end on Freddy Lesters. Maybe that wasn’t even his name.’

‘It was.’

‘He could have lied to you.’

She gestured hopelessly. How could she convince him it didn’t matter? ‘I just don’t know any more.’

‘I guess it doesn’t affect you at all, does it?’ he observed coldly. ‘Why should it? You made a new life for yourself. You lived the charade pretty good.’

‘I wanted to protect you,’ she said in a low voice.

‘Then why did you ever tell me the truth?’ he blazed.

‘You know why’, she whispered. ‘You were working on the Bonnatti case . . . Enzio Bonnatti was once my boss . . . I sold drugs for him . . . supplied girls . . . ran his brothel . . .’ She choked back sobs. ‘Steven, I was warned by an old friend,
Enzio knew who you were.
He followed my life after I escaped and
he knew who you were.
Can you imagine what he would have done to you if you’d ever got him in court? He would have exposed both of us.’

‘But I never brought him into court, did I?’ Steven said harshly. ‘Lucky Santangelo got to him first. I’d been on his case for over a year, and she just walked in and blew his balls off.’

Nervously Carrie reached for a cigarette. ‘He deserved it,’ she said in a shaky voice. ‘Enzio Bonnatti was a monster.’ She had never told Steven about that day in 1977. The real truth. Early in the morning she had rented a car, taken a gun from Elliott’s collection, and driven to Bonnatti’s Long Island mansion. Once there, she had sat outside his gates all day, waiting . . . trying to summon her courage. But then she had seen reason, driven back to the city, and rushed to Steven’s office. He was just leaving, and had no time to talk. She did not know he was on his way to arrest Bonnatti. She did not know that by the time he reached his house, Bonnatti would have been shot to death by Lucky Santangelo.

When Steven returned home in the evening, she revealed everything about her past and his low beginnings. If she had known Bonnatti was dead, she might not have done so. But it was too late to think that way . . . She had told Steven, and it seemed to have destroyed him.

Now, three years later, how could she give him back his pride?

‘Why are we going back to California?’ she asked quietly, although she knew only too well.

‘We’re going to pay a visit to Gino Santangelo,’ Steven said evenly. ‘We’re going to find out if we have to continue the search for the real Freddy Lester.’

They fell into bed together for all the wrong reasons, Olympia Stanislopoulos and Lennie Golden.

Ensconced in his penthouse suite they demolished two more bottles of champagne, smoked a little grass and threw off their clothes with stoned abandon. Then they got down to some serious fucking.

Olympia closed her eyes and thought of Flash.

Lennie closed his eyes and thought of Eden.

The result was a fantastic orgasm for both of them.

They took a shower together, did a large amount of coke Olympia just happened to have in her possession, and discussed what a great time they were having.

Lennie was not into drugs, but tonight he felt like it. The hell with everything.

What would Alice the Swizzle say if she could see him now? Here he was, Lennie Golden, back in his hometown. Only now he was King of the whole fucking heap.

He was a star.

He was in bed with one of the richest women in the world.

And he was loving every minute.

‘We should do something wild,’ Olympia decided. Her blue eyes shone brighter than diamonds. ‘Something
really
wild.’

‘I thought we just did!’ he joked.

Olympia jumped from the bed. She looked very Rubenesque with her ripe curves and huge breasts. ‘Let’s get married,’ she said. It came out easily, she was becoming used to saying it.

‘Let’s get
what?’
He was stoned, but not
that
stoned.

‘That’d give ’em
all
something to think about,’ she giggled. ‘Can you imagine? We’d make every front page.’

‘Hey . . . slow down. I am not even remotely interested in getting married.’

She was genuinely surprised. ‘Why not?’

‘Because . . . uh . . . well it’s just not something I’ve ever thought about.’

‘I’ve done it three times,’ she observed solemnly. ‘With three losers.’ She moved back to the bed and sat beside him, stroking his chest. Her eyes were wide and serious and cobalt blue. ‘What have you got to lose? It would be an adventure, and who knows, you might even like it.’

He began to laugh. It was such a crazy idea. ‘C’mon . . .’ he started to say.

She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled her luscious breasts against his naked chest. ‘I’m not little Miss Nobody, Lennie. You know who I am. You know the kind of life we could have. And if it doesn’t work out . . . no strings, no alimony, none of the usual crap. Who else could offer you a sweet deal like that?’

He thought about it.

Seriously.

Well, as seriously as he could after overdosing on champagne, grass and coke. Not to mention half a bottle of vodka earlier in the evening.

If Lennie Golden married Olympia Stanislopoulos, Eden would freak. The ultimate revenge! Christ! He could do it if he wanted to. She was right, what
did
he have to lose?

One-night stands. A mother who never cared. Star-fuck groupies. An apartment in L.A. with a senile maid. Lonely nights thinking of Eden.

‘Look,’ he said, trying to get his thoughts straight. ‘We don’t know each other. We’re a couple of strangers who just had a good time in bed.’

‘That makes it particularly exciting doesn’t it?’ she sighed dreamily. ‘A real magical mystery trip. What more could one ask?’

*   *   *

‘I’m not going to do it, you bastard,’ Eden hissed. ‘You can’t make me.’

Santino picked at his teeth with a fingernail, and regarded her stonily. They faced each other in the bedroom of their hotel room. Outside in the living room sat his two greasy Vegas friends.

‘Y’would think I was askin’ ya to run naked down the frig-gin’ Strip,’ complained Santino, his left eye twitching. A signal Eden knew meant trouble. ‘All I wancha t’do is take off your clothes an’ parade through the other room in ya high heels. Is that such a big friggin’ deal?’

‘You want me to put on a show for your lousy cheap friends,’ she said tightly. ‘And I
will not
do it.’

‘Like hell ya won’t,’ snapped Santino. ‘If ya wanna be in the friggin’ movie, ya better.’ In one swift movement his pudgy hand reached into the bodice of her new gown and tore downward. The silver material ripped.

‘You bastard!’ Her voice was low.

He slapped her lightly across the face. ‘For openers,’ he said calmly. ‘You want more – then just keep up the dumb cunt act.’ He walked to the door, and turned to stare at her. His eyes were the smallest meanest eyes she had ever seen. ‘I wancha to parade through the other room, ass naked, like ya’ don’t know nothin’s goin’ on. Fix yerself a drink, an’ walk back in here. Ya got it?’

‘Then
what do you want me to do. Sleep with them?’ she blazed.

‘Honey. You fuck anyone else an’ I’ll kill you.’ He left the room.

She bit down on her lower lip trying to control a surge of anger. Who did he think he was?

She swept into the bathroom and stepped out of her ruined dress. The mirror showed her Santino’s hand had left only a slight imprint on her pale skin. She added more powder, covering the redness. Then she applied blusher and lip gloss, and smoothed down her fine blonde hair.

Santino Bonnatti wanted a show.

She would
give
the bastard a show.

With great care she rouged the nipples of her small breasts so that they stood out bright red and erect. Then she removed her panty hose and fluffed out the golden triangle between her legs. Next she took an atomizer-of baby oil and sprayed herself all over until her body gleamed. Several spritzes of ‘Shalimar’ completed the effect. All she had to add were stiletto silver sandals, and a thin silver chain around her waist.

When she considered herself ready she stood back and surveyed the result.
You’re playing a role
, she told herself.
Go for it. Make it work. Don’t let the sonofabitch get to you.
With haughty dignity she threw open the door to the living room and sauntered in.

Santino and his two cronies were talking. They all stopped and stared.

She ignored them and strolled to the bar.

Santino started speaking again, as if nothing was going on, but he had completely lost his companions’ attention.

Coolly Eden fixed herself a glass of white wine with ice. Then just as coolly she walked back to the bedroom door, where she paused for a moment. ‘Goodnight, guys,’ she murmured huskily.

What an exit! In a funny way the whole thing was a turn on. She had
enjoyed
giving them a free show . . . God, talk about drooling!

She wished she was with Lennie now. She was hot and ready and . . .

Santino flung open the door. He was in a hurry, dropping his pants as he came toward her. He didn’t say a word as he forced her to her knees in front of him.

*   *   *

His manager informed Vitos that Olympia Stanislopoulos had retired to her suite. Vitos was hardly sorry, it had been a long day and he was not up to Olympia’s aggressive demands in bed. He left the party smiling all the way. Several women tried to leave with him – one of the hazards of being an international sex symbol. But he managed to extract himself with charm and good grace and lousy English which seemed only to enhance his appeal.

Alone at last he let the smile drop. Thankfully. Without it he was a dour-looking man in his thirties with melancholy eyes and a weak mouth. Alone at last he was able to unglue the small hair-piece which covered the tiny but alarming bald spot on the back of his scalp.

Alone at last he removed the bridge which held three of his gleaming white teeth in place.

Alone at last he undressed, and happily he did not have to hold his stomach in and shoulders erect.

Alone at last he was not obliged to create a hard-on and prove his manhood.

For once the sex symbol could relax. And he did.

And he did.

*   *   *

‘Breakfast?’ Matt suggested.

‘Why not?’ Jess shrugged. Vitos’ guitar player had turned out to be a crazy gambler, and after trailing him around the tables for a while she had given up and returned to the party to find it breaking up. Matt caught her at the door. There was no sign of his girlfriend.

‘Nice evening,’ Jess said.

‘Not bad,’ Matt agreed.

They both wanted to say more, but the moment wasn’t right.

*   *   *

‘I do’, said Olympia. She was still stoned, but knew exactly what she was doing.

‘I do’, said Lennie, slipping a cheap plastic ring on the third finger of her left hand. He had bought it at the door of T
HE
W
EE
W
EDDING
C
HAPEL OF
L
OVE AND
H
ONOUR
. W
E
W
ILL
S
ERVE
Y
OUR
N
EEDS
24 H
OURS
. He was still
very
stoned, and feeling no pain.

‘I pronounce you man and wife,’ said the female preacher – a vision in hair curlers and a thick velour robe. ‘You may kiss the bride.’

Lennie grabbed Olympia, bent her backward in an exaggerated tango stance, and laid one on her.

Both collapsed in gales of laughter. The female preacher was unamused. It was five o’clock in the morning and she wanted to get back to bed.