Lucky (57 page)

‘My mother!’ Lennie said dourly. ‘The last of the all-time great swingers.’

‘Does she embarrass you?’

‘I’m too old to be embarrassed.’

‘How old
are
you?’

‘Thirty. And you?’

‘I’m going to join you at that illustrious milestone in two days. It’s the official beginning of being a grown-up, isn’t it? The end of the frivolous twenties.’

‘No more outdoor fucking, huh?’

‘It’s not something I make a habit of.’

He gripped her by the shoulders. ‘What are we going to do, Lucky?’

‘About my birthday?’

‘Don’t be flippant.’

She shrugged impatiently. ‘I don’t plan to screw up anything because of you. I’ve told you what I think. We say goodbye and pretend nothing happened.’

‘Just like that, huh?’

‘I can do it if you can. Easily.’

‘Oh,’ he said acidly. ‘Your solution to everything, right? Just blank it out. Is that why I had my ass run out of Vegas – so you could pretend our little scene never happened?’

‘What was I supposed to do? Keep you around to remind me of our one night of nothing?’

‘You don’t can somebody just because they won’t sleep with you.’

‘I can do without the lecture, thank you.’

‘I’m trying to teach you something.’

‘Teach
me.’
She raised her voice. ‘Teach
me.
Ha!’

‘Don’t yell.’

‘Who’s yelling?’ she yelled.

The low throb of a motor boat announced the arrival back of the nightclubbers.

‘Christ!’ Lennie exclaimed in disgust. ‘When am I going to see you again?’

‘Tomorrow. At breakfast, lunch,
and
dinner. Unless one of us takes off there’s going to be no avoiding each other.’

‘You know what I mean.’

She was already moving toward the stairway. ‘I gave you my goodbye present, Lennie. Let’s just leave it that way.’

They both had a feeling it was impossible.

Eden had every intention of ending up in the sensuous embrace of Vitos Felicidade. If she was going to stray it might as well be into the arms of the popular Spanish lover. However, sometimes the best laid plans go astray, and as the evening wore on she found herself increasingly drawn to Quinn Leech. He was a heavily bearded man in his fifties, cadaverously thin, with lecherous eyes and pawing hands. But he was a film director, and therefore he had the edge. She had seen several of his movies. Strange commercial thrillers, with more than a healthy dose of sex and violence. He liked ripping women to pieces – on screen. Feminists enjoyed ripping him to pieces – in print. His last two movies had been box office disasters. Once he had been ‘a young hot director’. Now he was just marking time until his next big hit. The studios were off him, so when his old friend Ryder Wheeler had approached him about doing a movie financed by ‘connected’ money – he had agreed immediately. What did he care where the money came from?

Ryder had warned him up front, ‘Stay away from Bonnatti’s girlfriend,’ he had said. ‘Don’t fuck with the paid help.’

But Quinn never had liked being told what to do.

They rolled out of Chasens before midnight. Vitos climbed into his limousine with his manager, and bid Eden and Quinn a polite goodnight.

‘Schmuck!’ Quinn muttered as the limo slid off along Beverly Boulevard.

‘Don’t you like him?’ Eden asked.

‘What’s to like or dislike? He’s an empty canvas.’

She tapped her long nails against the small gold purse she was carrying and waited for him to proposition her. She had already decided to say yes.

‘Where’s your car?’ he asked.

‘Don’t you remember? We sent the driver home.’

‘You
sent the driver home.’

The doorman appeared with a black Porsche.

‘Can you give me a ride?’ she asked quickly.

‘The best you ever
had,
baby!’ Quinn boasted.

He lived in the Hollywood Hills on Laurel Canyon. A black leather house in a jungle of plants.

He drank Chivas Regal from the bottle, ripped off his clothes – requested that she strip very, very slowly, and then couldn’t get it up.

He suggested an alternative, a black hi-tech vibrator kept lovingly in a black leather case. And the company of his resident girlfriend who was asleep upstairs.

‘Count me out,’ said an offended Eden, and called a cab.

When she left he was snoring on the couch. She couldn’t understand why she had chosen him over Vitos.

Zeko was waiting for her when she arrived home. ‘The boss is gonna bust ya ass,’ he crowed, rubbing his bald head.

‘Only if you tell him,’ she said shortly. ‘And
if you
tell him, I shall be forced to mention how you crouch out in the bushes watching me, and jerking off when I bathe and dress.’

Her threat worked. Zeko never said a word.

When Santino appeared at the house the next day Eden told him she had stayed for dinner at Chasens.

‘Why’d’ya do that?’ he demanded, a muscle in his cheek twitching uncontrollably. ‘When I told ya not to.’

‘For you,’ she replied calmly – thinking to herself that if the sonofabitch didn’t come through with the movie soon, she was leaving. ‘It would have looked bad if I’d left. As if we didn’t care.’

Santino’s eyes bulged angrily. ‘When I tell ya to do some-thin’ – ya
do
it, get me? Whaddya think ya are, a partner?’

‘Quinn Leech told me there’s been a rewrite, and that the film is now called
The Singer,’
she said tightly.

‘He told ya that, did he?’

‘Yes he did.’

‘Friggin’ asshole. He’s got a big mouth.’

‘Why didn’t
you
tell me?’ She glared at him accusingly.

‘I gotta keep tellin’ ya every little thing?’

‘Rewriting the film and giving it a new title are hardly little things.’

Santino paced the room. ‘Dumb cooze,’ he spat. ‘I need naggin’ – I can get it at home. I come over here t’relax.’

Eden was not sure how far she could push it. But she had caught him off guard, so why not go all the way? ‘I want to see the new script,’ she said insistently. ‘I want to see what’s happened to my part. You promised me this was
my
film,
my
vehicle. Quinn Leech doesn’t even know I’m supposed to be the star.’

His first blow struck her on the cheek.

‘You bas—’ she began.

His second blow knocked her to the ground. ‘Doncha go givin’
me
orders,’ he growled. ‘I told ya to shift your ass outta there last night. But no, y’couldn’t do
that.
Y’had t’stay around askin’ questions – makin’ me look like some stupid shithead with a ball breakin’ girlfriend. Y’do that again an’ ya out.’

She began to cry, more out of frustration and anger than anything else. ‘Maybe that’s what I want,’ she sobbed. ‘To get away from you.’

He glared at her with small mean eyes. ‘When I’m ready,’ he said slowly. ‘Only when
I’m
ready.’

Dimitri was planning a party. A big one. Lucky didn’t know if it was out of a sense of guilt or what, but there was no deterring him from celebrating her birthday in style. She decided there was nothing to do except go along with it, and then she would leave. Gino had already arranged for a cable to summon him to New York for a business meeting.

‘You’ll come with me,’ he told Lucky. ‘You can say we have to meet with lawyers on Vegas stuff.’

She wanted to get away. It was bad enough before, but now, with the added complication of Lennie, it was impossible. Why weren’t things simple anymore? Why did she look at Lennie and want to fly? Why did she look at him five minutes later and never want to set eyes on him again? She didn’t understand what was going on. Lennie Golden was
not
her type. It was just sex. And yet . . .

She thought about Marco, they had spent one glorious unforgettable night together. Then he was gunned down. She
never
wanted to experience that kind of heartbreak and loss again.

Lennie belonged to Olympia anyway. Plump, petulant Olympia, who treated her as if she was one of Dimitri’s temporary girlfriends instead of his wife. She had tried to talk to her in private. Olympia brushed her aside with a caustic, ‘How would you feel if I went to bed with
your
father?’

Lucky had to admit the idea was repellent.

It did not escape her attention that Olympia flirted outrageously with Gino at every given opportunity. He appeared not to notice.

The yacht sailed for Cannes, where the party was to take place. Lucky lay out by the pool watching CeeCee teach Roberto to swim. Brigette kept jumping in and splashing him in the face. CeeCee told her off, and the child yelled insults. ‘Dirty black pig,’ she chanted. ‘Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’

Lucky jumped up and whacked the little girl on the bottom.

Brigette looked at her for one horrified moment, and then burst into loud, phony tears.

‘Cut it out, kid,’ said Lucky. ‘You don’t have an audience.’

Brigette stopped crying abruptly. ‘I hate dirty black people,’ she said spitefully.

‘Why?’ asked Lucky calmly.

‘Because, because, because . . .’ She screwed up her pretty little face. ‘. . . because mama does!’ she ended triumphantly.

‘Not a good enough reason.’

The child stuck a thumb into her mouth.

‘You’re too old for that!’ Lucky exclaimed.

‘I’m not! I can do what I want.’

‘Dirty baby pig!’ Lucky chanted jokingly. ‘Dirty! Dirty! Dirty!’

Brigette scowled. ‘I hate you,’ she said.

‘No you don’t’, replied Lucky briskly. ‘You simply do not understand me.’

Brigette retreated to the other end of the pool, where Nanny Mabel sat knitting.

‘Spoilt brat!’ muttered CeeCee.

‘Neglected brat, more like,’ observed Lucky. ‘I have not seen her mother pay one bit of attention to her. She just pats her occasionally like a puppy. The kid is screaming out for attention.’

‘I’ll give her attention,’ grumbled the usually smiling CeeCee. ‘I’ll whip her butt!’

‘I already did. It won’t make any difference. She needs love.’

For a moment Lucky recalled her own childhood. She knew what it was like to be alone and unloved.

She had survived. No analysts for Lucky Santangelo – but she could see if Brigette didn’t get help, the kid was in trouble.

Lennie appeared at lunchtime. They scorched each other with searing looks, but Olympia was right behind him. It was as if she sensed the electricity in the air and was not about to let it spark. She threw Lucky a vague hello, blew a kiss in Brigette’s direction, and headed for the upper deck. ‘Come on,’ she called to Lennie.

‘I’m taking a swim before lunch,’ he said.

‘Take it afterwards,’ she ordered impatiently.

‘I’m taking it now.’

‘Oh, very well. Hurry up.’ She vanished from sight.

He looked at Lucky. ‘How are you today?’

She returned his gaze and was almost lost in his lazy green eyes. ‘I’m okay.’

He quickly checked out the pool activity. Two nannies and two kids.

‘I think I miss you,’ he said, very quietly.

Brigette clambered from the pool and ran over to him. She flung her wet body possessively against his. ‘Do you like
black
people?’ she asked loudly.

CeeCee glared at her.

Lennie assessed the situation at a glance. ‘I like green people, orange people, fat people, thin people. Sure I like black people. How about you?’

‘I dunno.’ Her mouth drooped. She had hoped he would take her side. ‘Can you swim underwater? Can you teach me?’ she begged.

He glanced at Lucky. She was playing with Roberto in the shallow end. ‘Come on, pretty girl’, he said, swinging Brigette in the air. ‘I’ll teach you to be a fish. How’s that?’

She squealed with excitement, wriggled free and jumped into the pool with a splash. ‘Hurry up!’ she commanded. ‘Hurryup! Hurryup!’

He made a racing dive from the side, churned the length underwater, and surfaced next to Brigette. She climbed aboard his shoulders giggling, and he transported her around the pool.

‘Me!’ yelled Roberto. ‘Me! Me!’

Lennie dropped Brigette off and placed Roberto on his back.

‘Careful!’ Lucky admonished.

‘Hey, lady,’ he winked. ‘I’m an expert with kids.’

She met his eyes and warmth flowed between them.

For once Lucky felt unsure about what was happening. Her thing with Lennie was sex – pure sex. And yet why did she thrill to see him? Why was she shivering – ever so slightly?

He wasn’t even her type. He wasn’t Marco. His hair was dirty blond, his looks more Redford than Pacino. His eyes were green – killer green.