Lucky (72 page)

Within a week she had moved from her apartment into his house.

‘God help you!’ cautioned Jerry.

‘Isn’t she a little young for you?’ ventured Carrie.

Steven agreed with both, of them. But Mary-Lou took the bitterness out of him. He had never been happier in his life.

*   *   *

‘We have a great offer. A firm offer,’ Anna Robb said. ‘I want you to guess who it’s from.’

Carrie shook her head. ‘I have no idea.’

‘That’s good,’ said Anna smugly. ‘Because you’d never guess.’

‘Who?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

It was unlike Anna to be so playful. Carrie was beginning to get aggravated. ‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘Kindly tell me.’

Anna took a deep breath. ‘A half a million dollars. A quarter on signing. A quarter on publication. A quarter on paperback publication. And the rest six months later.’

‘Who bought it?’ demanded Carrie.

‘Fred!’ exclaimed Anna. ‘Can you believe it? Fred Lester. The original tightwad.’

‘Fred,’ repeated Carrie.

‘Yes, my dear. And he bought it because it’s the best biography he’s read in years, and he thinks it will be a giant smash. He says, and I quote, “The honesty in this book made me want to cry.” Now for Fred Lester to say something like that—’

Anna continued talking, but Carrie stopped listening. She was on the road to revealing her story to the world. And it wasn’t just her story, it was Steven’s too, and she should have asked him.

‘. . . Fred wants to see you. Tomorrow if possible.’ Anna beamed, Carrie had never seen her so happy. ‘He has big plans.’

Big plans. Oh God. Perhaps she had made a mistake. Sharing her life’s secrets with Anna was one thing, but spreading them across the country was something else entirely.

‘I don’t know—’ she began.

‘You don’t know what?’ shouted Anna, quite out of character. ‘Smile, for goodness sake. Smile, Carrie. You are going to be the most famous black woman in America!’

‘Cocksuckers!’ screamed Santino Bonnatti. ‘Whadda they think I am? A dummy? A mark? If they think they’ll ever see two fuckin’ cents of sixteen mill, they’re pissin’ in a high fuckin’ wind. Donatella!’ He yelled for his wife.

She took her time coming into the room. And then she glared at him and his henchmen. ‘Your language. You gotta filthy language problem,’ she hissed. ‘You thinka the kids they no hear?’

Some dumb spade was hitting him for sixteen million big ones and Donatella was worried about the kids. ‘Fuck the children!’ he yelled.

‘Fucka you!’ responded Donatella. She crossed herself and gazed ceiling-ward. ‘Ah God, you shoulda forgive me. I’ma married to a pig!’

‘The pig who pays the bills,’ growled Santino.

‘Whata you want?’ demanded Donatella, placing large hands on ample hips. ‘You want I kissa your ass?’

He glared at her. ‘I’m going out,’ he said grimly. ‘If any reporters call, tell them no comment.’

‘Whatsa no comment?’

‘Just say it. You don’t have to understand it.’ With that he stamped from the house. Goddamn it! He bought her everything she wanted, she lived in a fucking palace, and the fat bitch couldn’t even speak proper English. Was it any wonder he ran to Eden for a little class – and a little ass.

He almost guffawed at his own wit. And then he scowled as he remembered the bad news. His lawyer in New York was a prick. He should have defended the case himself. This was America – you could goddamn well print what you liked – and if the stupid cooze had posed with no clothes on, then he was entitled to print the pictures. And anything else he wanted.

No shithead judge was going to tell Santino Bonnatti what to do.

*   *   *

Eden had just finished working out when Santino arrived. He stomped into the living room like little Caesar, sweating in his silk shirt and three-piece suit. With a grunt he threw himself into an armchair, spread his legs, unzipped his fly, and commanded, ‘Give me a blow job.’

Eden was outraged. Zeko was in the corner of the room playing solitaire. The maid was vacuuming out in the hall. A pool man worked outside.

‘I’ve had it with you,’ she hissed bravely. There was nothing he could do to her with all these people around.

Before she even realized it he was up from the chair and upon her, short arms flailing wildly.

Slap. Slap. Shove. Slap.

She fought back. ‘You
bastard!
’

The diamond pinky ring on his little finger ripped into the smooth skin of her cheek and drew blood.

‘I
hate
you!’ she cried in a fury, clutching her cheek. Zeko did not look up from his game. The maid continued to vacuum. The pool man shook solution into the pool.

Eden rushed into the bathroom and stared into the mirror in horror. Her face was ruined.

Santino followed her, a plaintive whine in his voice. ‘Whydja always gotta give me a hard time?’ he questioned. ‘Ya ask for trouble. I got other things on my mind.’

She soaked cotton wool in witch hazel and carefully bathed her cheek.

‘I gotta put up with shit at home. I come here t’get my rocks off an’ relax.’ She ignored him.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror beside her, and straightened his tie. It pissed him off that he was practically bald, but what was it they said? Bald head, big prick. Talking of which: ‘Get down on ya knees, honey.’

Honey? He was calling her honey. He was asking her to suck him off after what he’d done. No way.

She was through.

Somehow she had to get out.

*   *   *

Two days later Santino informed her the perfect part had finally arrived. He threw a script at her.

She had not forgiven him for messing up her face, but she read the script anyway and cringed. Pure pornography.

‘Tits n’ass,’ he argued.
‘Soft
porn. There’s a big difference. Ya don’ wanna do it, I’ll find someone else.’

She read the script again. Maybe with a few changes here and there, cut out the rape scene, work on the girl’s
character.
It
was
a starring role.

‘Who’s the director?’ she demanded.

‘Ryder wants to take a shot.’

‘He’s a producer.’

‘Reagan was a fuckin’ actor. Look at him today.’

‘Who’s my co-star?’

‘A kid by the name of Tim Wealth.’

She tried to keep her face impassive. Tim Wealth. The young actor she had run away to L.A. with when she dumped Lennie in New York five years ago.

‘Ya ever heard of him?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she lied.

‘Nor have I,’ spat Santino. ‘But they say he’s good. Ya wanna do it or what?’

She sighed.

And said yes.

Tits ‘n’ ass was better than nothing.

The funeral of Dimitri Stanislopoulos, held on his private island, was a sombre affair. The day was overcast and foggy in a week filled with sunshine. His friends and business associates came from all across the world to pay their respects. Lucky, dressed in black, held the hand of Roberto – who really didn’t understand what was going on. Brigette, denied a trip to visit her mother, stood nearby as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Gino had insisted on accompanying Lucky to the island to lend his support. And so had Costa and his wife. Olympia had failed to show up, a sign of disrespect that would have horrified Dimitri.

‘I understand that Mrs Golden is sick,’ the family lawyer informed Lucky.

‘What’s the matter with her?’

The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘I don’t believe she has fully recovered from her accident.’

‘That was three years ago,’ Lucky pointed out.

‘I know,’ the lawyer replied sagely. ‘But I understand that she plans to be well enough to attend the reading of Mr Stanislopoulos’ will.’

Sarcasm scorched her voice. ‘Naturally.’

Burying Dimitri was a strange sensation for Lucky. She did not feel like a bereaved widow. She felt as if she had lost a friend – for once she had accepted Dimitri’s terms concerning Roberto, they had gotten along pretty well. Since Francesca’s death he had been neither husband nor lover. But he had been a wise advisor and an excellent father to his son. She would miss him.

What now? She had her freedom
and
Roberto. She could take him wherever she wanted. The world was wide open.

Only now she had it, she didn’t know what to do with it.

*   *   *

Olympia would have attended her father’s funeral, she wanted to. But how could she when she looked like a baby elephant?

When she received the news, she did not believe Dimitri had died. He couldn’t do such a thing to her. They were having a cold war. Eventually Dimitri would apologize for his blatant neglect, she would forgive him, and things would return to normal.

But that couldn’t happen now he had died on her.

First she was frustrated, then angry, and finally she broke down and sobbed bitter tears. All her life Dimitri had been the rock in the background waiting to save her from her escapades. When she was a child he had rescued her from a cold mother and allowed her to live with him. When she was a teenager he had dealt with furious teachers who wished to expel her from every school she attended. And when she was a woman he had paid off her husbands and seen to it that her life ran smoothly. With Dimitri Stanislopoulos as a father she had never had to worry about anything.

Now he was gone.

And it was all Lucky’s fault.

‘That bitch killed him,’ she informed Lennie. ‘The hotel isn’t enough for her. That bitch wants all his money.’

‘What are you talking about?’ She was driving him nuts. Three years of penal servitude was enough – he could not take any more.

‘It all started when he married her,’ Olympia ranted.
‘She’s
the one who prevented him from coming to see me in the hospital. She was always jealous of me.’

‘He
came
to the hospital.’

‘Once!’ Olympia spat. ‘And then somehow she got him to stay on the island.’ She nodded her head. ‘I don’t know how she did it, but she killed him.’

‘You’re talking crap.’

‘Am I?’ Olympia fixed him with baleful blue eyes. ‘What is it with you and that bitch? Why do you always defend her?’ It was not the first time they had discussed Lucky, and Olympia had roared with fury and hate. ‘I should know her better than you do,’ she continued. ‘When we were in school together I
thought
she was a friend. But believe me, she’s evil, and she killed Dimitri. I know she did.’

There was no arguing with Olympia once she had made up her mind.

*   *   *

As soon as Jess arrived back in L.A. she called Lennie.

‘Can I see you at once?’ she asked.

‘Meet me in the Polo Lounge,’ he said. ‘I feel like getting out of the house.’

They met at lunchtime, and Jess couldn’t wait to flash her sapphire and diamond engagement ring at him.

He kissed and congratulated her, then said, ‘I suppose this is where we go our own ways.’

She waved at an agent lunching with two blond clients. ‘Are you kidding?’ she exclaimed loudly. ‘I’m not giving up ten percent of you. Absolutely not.’ She ordered a Bloody Mary and a Neil McCarthy salad – while Lennie opted for a Screwdriver and scrambled eggs. ‘Matt and I have discussed it,’ she continued earnestly. ‘And I’m going to commute.’

‘Between here and Atlantic City?’

‘No. I thought Leningrad and Paris might be more fun!’

‘Ha ha. Another comedian.’

‘It’ll work out fine. I have the office here, and the accountant and the secretaries. Instead of putting in an every day appearance, I’ll do three days a week. The rest of the time I’m only a phone call away. Does that suit you?’

He shrugged. ‘Whatever you want. I thought you were going to give it all up and iron shirts.’

She giggled. ‘Fuck you!

He leaned closer. ‘Promises, promises!’

She took a healthy gulp of her Bloody Mary. ‘Listen, star. Thank God we never did.’

A statuesque brunette in a sweeping red outfit stopped by the table. She was no juvenile, but she was remarkably striking. ‘Hi, Lennie,’ she rasped.

He had no idea who she was. ‘Hey – how’re you doin’?’

‘My agent tells me you’re casting. Any roles for a ballsy old broad?’

Bingo! She was a movie star from the sixties who hadn’t worked in ten years. Once, in his teens, he had lusted after her body. ‘Why don’t I write one in?’ he deadpanned.

‘Why don’t you?’ She licked her lips and slipped him her card. ‘Call any time,’ she murmured as she undulated out.

‘Pulling older ladies?’ teased Jess.