Lucky (7 page)

In New York she discovered that Dario had also been sent for. The brother she had once been so close to was now a secretive stranger. He attended an art institute in San Francisco, and never communicated in any way
.

Gino presided over the family dinner, which dragged until he made the announcement they had both been waiting for. It seemed he was in trouble with the tax authorities and faced an upcoming subpoena and chance of jail. He had to get out of the country for a while
.

‘As a precaution,’ he said, ‘I’m signin’ over a lot of things to you two. Nothin’ to bother yourselves with – you’ll just have to put your signature on some papers occasionally. Costa will have my power of attorney, he’ll take care of everything. And Dario, I want you to move to New York. There’s a lot of things you should know about. Costa’ll start teachin’ you.
’

‘Move to New York!’ Dario cried. ‘Why?’

‘You’re a Santangelo, that’s why. And you’ve been pissin’ around at that dumb art school for long enough. It’s time you came into the business.
’

‘What about me?’ Lucky demanded.

‘What
about
you?’

‘If Dario’s going to learn the business, I want to as well.’

‘Don’t be a silly girl,’ Gino said mildly.

She felt four years of frustrated rage boiling up inside her. ‘Why not?’ she demanded.
Why not
?’

‘Because you’re a married woman who will stay by her husband’s side and behave like a proper wife. And it’s about time you had a baby. What are you waiting for anyway?’

‘What am I waiting for?’ she exploded. ‘I’m waiting to have a life first – that’s what I’m waiting for.
’

Gino threw up his hands in mock despair. ‘She wants a life. It isn’t enough she’s had the best money can buy
—’

‘Including a husband,’ Lucky yelled angrily. ‘You bought me a husband with your lousy money. You
—’

‘That’s enough.
’

‘It’s not enough. I want more,’ she screamed. ‘Why should Dario get a chance and not me?’

‘Cut it out, Lucky.’ His voice was ice.

‘Why the
fuck
should I?’

His black eyes were as deadly as hers. ‘Because I’m tellin’ you. And watch your language. Ladies don’t talk like you.
’

She put her hands on her hips and arrogantly faced him. ‘I ain’t no lady,’ she mocked. ‘I’m a Santangelo. I’m just like you – and you ain’t no gentleman.
’

He stared at his wild daughter and thought, Christ! What have I raised here? I’ve given her everything. What more does she want?

‘Why don’t you just shut up and sit down?’ he said wearily.

This made her even angrier. ‘Oh, sure! Shut her up, marry her off and who cares whether she’s happy or not? You’re a fucking male chauvinist who thinks women are only good for screwing and cooking. Keep ’em in the kitchen or the bedroom where they belong. Is that what you did with mommy before she was murdered? Did you lock
—’

He cut her words off abruptly by slapping her across the face.

Desperately she tried to control the burning tears. ‘I hate you,’ she hissed. ‘I never want to see you again.
’

She stormed from the room. Behind her she heard him say, ‘Kids! What can you do? You try your best . . . A woman in business . . . you gotta be nuts . . . Emotional . . . Jeeze, they’re all so goddamn emotional
. . .’

Lucky wasn’t emotional. She was full of a hard cold anger.

Gino left the country shortly after. He settled in Israel for an undetermined period of time. A few weeks later Lucky heard from Costa. There were papers to be signed and he would be sending them to her.

When she received the documents, she studied them carefully in spite of a note from Costa that read – ‘Don’t bother reading – just sign by the pencil mark, purely a formality.
’

If she was signing, she was reading.

She then decided why bother sending them back if she could deliver them personally?

Within hours she was on a plane to New York.

*   *   *

Susan Martino was groomed from the top of her perfectly coiffed head to the tip of her Charles Jourdan gold pumps. She wore a simple little Adolfo, and a few hundred thousand dollars worth of blazing sapphires. They matched her eyes, so delicately made up – nothing obvious.

She was the sort of woman, Lucky decided, who looked like she never went to the bathroom. The thought of Susan and Gino in bed together was laughable.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you, dear,’ she said to Lucky. ‘Your father mentions you all the time.’

Lucky manufactured a smile, and wondered what had happened to the cosy evening for two she and Gino had been enjoying. Susan Martino, Dimitri Stanislopoulos, and Matt Traynor, all joined them at their table. With difficulty, Lucky controlled her impatience.

Dimitri and Gino recalled their previous meeting. They laughed about it. So long ago and far away. And now the two delinquent daughters grown women.

‘Say hello to Lucky,’ said Gino with a grin. ‘She sure remembers you.’ Once he had established Susan was not Dimitri’s date, he had calmed down. And why not? With Susan beside him, so womanly and such a lady in the true sense of the word.

‘My pleasure, Lucky,’ said Dimitri, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips where he brushed it with a kiss.

Old-fashioned bullshit artist. She remembered him on his Greek island the summer she had vacationed there with Olympia. He had been sleeping with one woman, a soignée brunette, and making it on siesta afternoons with another house guest – a long-haired actress with horny eyes and an easy-going husband. According to Olympia, if it moved, her father felt obliged to fuck it. Not so different from Gino, Lucky had thought at the time.

Two showgirls approached the table. All teeth, tits and hair. One was Matt Traynor’s date – he had the taste of a torn cat, and the other a fix-up for Dimitri. Both girls were visibly impressed by the group they were joining.

Lucky thought about leaving. But why should she? She decided to sit it out and observe Susan Martino in action.

The blonde woman did not disappoint. She handled Gino expertly. Every move was the right one. A practised courtesan who had found someone. She wanted and had every intention of getting him.

Lucky was not fooled by the act.

Gino was.

Why am I concerned? Lucky thought. It’s his life.

Like, hell it is.

It’s our life. And has been for the last year.

*   *   *

New York was exciting. So was being away from the Richmond family. Learning about Gino’s business interests was the most exciting of all
.

Lucky found a ready teacher in Costa, who fell for her wide-eyed interest, although he knew Gino would not approve. Day after day she appeared at the office and he began to explain the workings of the various companies. ‘Of course, you’re only a figurehead,’ he said. ‘You’ll never be called upon to get involved
.’

Oh no? That’s what he thought. Like a sponge she absorbed every bit of information. When Craven called angrily from Washington demanding her return, she told him their marriage was over. It was easy to make the move without Gino looking over her shoulder
.

And when Dario arrived reluctantly from San Francisco, and found his sister doing what he should be doing, he was relieved. Business had never interested him, now he could concentrate on his social life, and do all the things Gino would never have allowed. Dario’s main interest was boys not girls
.

Within a year Lucky knew everything there was to know about the various Santangelo operations. Like Gino before her she was a quick study
.

Gino had set up a syndicate of investors to finance the building of the Magiriano. Construction on the hotel had just begun, and the weekly payroll was vast. Since Gino’s exile from America, some of the investors were stalling on paying out
.

‘Don’t we have agreements with these people?’ Lucky demanded
.

Costa shook his head. ‘No. It was all done on a handshake basis
.’

‘They gave Gino their word, didn’t they? What would he do if they didn’t’ come up with the money?’

Costa cleared his throat nervously. ‘He had his own . . . methods
.’

‘You’re supposed to be running things for him. Why don’t you use his methods?
’

‘Certain things are best left alone until the moment is right. We must wait for Gino
.’

She stared at him hard. ‘We can’t wait. We don’t know how long he’ll be away. Even you say it could be years. If they gave their word, they have to be made to keep it. I want a list. I think I can work something out
.’

He laughed in disbelief. ‘Don’t be a silly girl, these are hard men
—’

Her eyes were ice-cold. ‘Don’t ever call me a silly girl again, Costa. You understand?
’

He remembered Gino at the same age. And he knew there was no way he was going to stop her from taking over while her father was away
.

*   *   *

‘There’s a new comedian opening in the Bahia Room tonight,’ Matt said to Lucky. ‘Why don’t we have our coffee in there and catch the second show?’

‘Is he funny? I need a laugh.’

‘Would I hire a comedian who isn’t funny?’

She glanced at his date, an overmade-up nineteen-year-old Barbie doll. ‘There’s a lot of things you do that make me wonder, Matt.’

She was fed up with the entire evening. It pained her to see Gino making such a fuss of the groomed-to-the-eyeballs Susan Martino. Dimitri Stanislopoulos was loud and overbearing. And the two showgirls an embarrassment.

‘Shall I suggest it?’ Matt indicated Gino, lost in the azure blue of Susan’s eyes.

‘Do what you like,’ snapped Lucky. For a year nobody had come between her and Gino. Nobody got closer to him than an hour or two in his bed. And what did that mean? A quick physical act with some undemanding bimbo. For a man of his age he sure liked to indulge. But indulging was one thing – becoming involved another.

What did he need it for? She frowned. It would be different if Susan was a warm and wonderful person, but she wasn’t. She came across as an icy, controlled bitch, with a thin veneer of saccharine charm. And Lucky wanted the best for her father, not some ball-breaking Beverly Hills widow who probably saw him as an ongoing meal-ticket. It was obvious she liked money. Judging from her jewellery the more the merrier. Why didn’t she turn on to Dimitri who probably crapped gold bars?

Contemplatively Lucky lit a cigarette and blew perfect smoke rings while Matt got the party together for the move into the Bahia Room. She hadn’t slept with a man for months. The urge just wasn’t there.

Lucky Santangelo, celibate. The thought amused her.

There had been a time when she might have bedded one or two different men a week. If they were attractive, appealed to her, didn’t want any entanglements, and were prepared for her brisk, ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’ Sexually she had always lived her life like a man, and why not? As long as she wasn’t hurting anyone. Sexual hypocrisy outraged her. Who thought up the double standard anyway? Why did society call a man who slept around a stud, and a woman a nymphomaniac? To hell with that rhetoric. She just liked getting laid when she felt like it without the hassle of a relationship.

Of course, there was always the exception. In Lucky’s life there had only been one exception. Marco.

*   *   *

Marco entered Lucky’s life when she was a mere fourteen and he was around thirty. Dark and brooding, he was, she thought, the most attractive man she had ever seen. Unfortunately the feeling was not mutual. He regarded her as nothing more than a dumb kid, and treated her as such. He worked for Gino, and sometimes did duty as a bodyguard/chauffeur when either Dario or Lucky went shopping or to the movies. Which wasn’t often. Gino did not encourage outings. After Maria’s death, he liked his children safely behind the gated security of the Bel Air mansion.

When she went away to school it was Marco who accompanied her to the airport. When she returned on vacations he was always there. When Gino took her to Las Vegas for her sixteenth birthday and announced he was marrying her off, she had thought for one wild and wonderful moment he meant to Marco. But that was not to be, and it was Craven Richmond, Washington, and Marco out of her life – perhaps forever.

Occasionally, along the path of an annihilatingly boring marriage, she met a man or two who reminded her of Marco. Maybe it was the dark eyes, or the way his hair curled over the back of his collar, or perhaps just a gesture. Whatever. It was enough to send her into their beds. But Marco clones were never the real thing.