Double Lucky (55 page)

“No,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

“It happens, sugar-tits, so here's my suggestion—take your pretty little ass an' go peddle the goods elsewhere.”

He walked away, leaving Emmanuelle nonplussed.

Irma and The Grill standing nearby observed the entire scene.

Irma felt a tiny frisson of satisfaction. Anthony was going to get what he deserved from this one.

*   *   *

“I should leave,” Venus sighed, holding Billy's hand. “I need time by myself before my show. I have kind of a ritual I put myself through.”

“I understand that you want to be alone,” Billy said, “but you're not changing your mind, are you? You wouldn't do that to me, would you?”

“Now why would you think that?” she said softly. “I'm as excited as you are.”

“Just checking,” he said with a nervous laugh. “I mean, I know it's sudden and all, but we're doing the right thing—I'm sure of it.”

“So am I, baby, otherwise I wouldn't've said yes.”

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “After the show we're gonna do it, an' we're not telling anyone except Lucky and Lennie, right?”

“Lucky's promised to get it all organized. All she's asked is that we wait until after the fireworks display. Then we show up at the chapel, and
voilà
!”

“Sounds perfect.”

“What about Kev?”

“What
about
him?”

“He's your best friend. Surely he'll be hurt if he's not included.”

“Since when did you care about
Kev's
feelings?” Billy said, thinking that the last person he planned on telling was Kev—who'd immediately share the news with Ali, and Ali was the kind of girl who would most likely alert the media and maybe even sell her story about her afternoon of sex in the pool with Billy Melina, movie star.

Oh shit! Why had he ever banged her? Shit! Shit! Shit!

“I don't hate Kev,” Venus explained. “I think he always resented me for taking you away from him.”

“You're wrong, babe.”

“No I'm not. So here's what I think we should do.”

“What?”

“Make a new start and invite him.”

“No!” Billy said sharply. “He didn't invite
me
to
his
wedding.”

“Don't be so petty,” she chided. “That's not like you, Billy.”

“I do not want him there, baby. Okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

“Hey, I kinda like it when you're subservient.”

“And I like you,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. “I like you so much I'm even marrying you.”

“That's right, we're getting married, babe, so I think you can use the L word.”

*   *   *

The spa was located in a separate building near the main swimming pool at the back of the hotel. The setting was idyllic—fountains and exotic fish ponds surrounded by lush greenery and tall palms. Since the spa did not open until the following day, and with everyone's attention focused on the reception and concert, the area around the spa was quite deserted.

Max, who'd thoroughly explored the hotel earlier with Ace, raced to meet him. She felt comfortable and excited in his company. Once again she marveled at how different he was from the kids she'd grown up with in Malibu and Beverly Hills, her so-called peers—all with rich, famous, or powerful parents. Cookie and Harry were the only two she'd bonded with. They were different, and so was Ace—he didn't have that rich-kid vibe, he was genuine and nice and most of all HOT!

Just thinking about him made her shiver with the anticipation of seeing him. Was it possible to have a relationship with someone who didn't live in L.A.?

Yes! Yes! Yes!
They could drive to see each other on alternate weekends. One weekend she'd go to Big Bear, the next he'd drive to L.A. It was a workable situation.

Then it occurred to her that she was getting way ahead of herself, since Ace hadn't even kissed her. Hmm … she definitely had to do something about
that
.

And just as she was thinking he was late, a figure began walking toward her, and to her utmost horror she realized it was the Internet Freak himself.

For a moment she froze. Then she turned to run.

“Wait!” he yelled, leaping toward her. “Maria, wait! It's me. I've come back for you. Please wait!”

*   *   *

Reaching in her purse for a Kleenex, Irma discovered that she still had Oliver Stanton's card. She stared at it for a moment, studying the numbers. What if she called him? And in exchange for information about Anthony's drug dealings asked him to rescue her? It was a thought. A very welcome thought.

She had plenty of information about Anthony's drug activities. He'd taken her to Colombia on more than one occasion, and she knew some of the names of the people he dealt with. She'd also witnessed many of his late-night business transactions in Acapulco.

Yes, she knew more than enough. But how to get to a phone, that was the problem.

“I need to use the bathroom,” she informed The Grill.

“You wait,” the big man said, glowering.

“I can't wait,” she said sharply. “I need to go now.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Reluctantly The Grill escorted her to the ladies' room, where he stationed himself outside.

The moment she got inside the restroom, she quickly looked around to see who else was in there.

A redheaded woman was standing at the sink washing her hands.

“Excuse me,” Irma said, approaching her. “Would you happen to have a cell phone I can use? I left mine at home and it's kind of urgent.”

“I don't, dear,” the woman said, drying her hands. “Damn thing wouldn't fit in my purse. My friend might have one, though.”

“Where's your friend?”

“Making a tinkle.”

Irma stared at the closed stall door, willing the woman's friend to emerge.

“Are you all right?” the redheaded woman asked. “You look awfully pale.”

No, I am not all right. Earlier today I watched my husband cut off my lover's balls in front of me. And now my insane husband is threatening to kill me and my parents.

“I'm fine, thank you,” she managed. “But I do need to make this call, it's very urgent.”

“We should go outside,” the woman suggested. “I'm sure my husband has his phone.”

Before she could think of an excuse, the other woman, a petite brunette, emerged from one of the stalls.

“Ah, Doreen,” the redhead said. “Do you have your phone on you?”

“Yes, why?” Doreen asked.

“I promised this lady she could use it. She has to make a quick call.”

“The battery might be low,” Doreen said, reaching into her purse. “I'm always forgetting to charge it.” She handed Irma a pink sequined phone.

Irma pulled out Oliver's card and squinted at the numbers again. Office. Home. Cell.

She chose cell and quickly punched out the number, moving away from the two women who were now chatting about the reception and how much they were enjoying it.

Her hands were trembling, any moment now Anthony might return and come busting in.

She misdialed, tried again, and finally the number rang.

Please God, let Oliver pick up.

Please God, let him answer.

“Hello?”

“Oliver,” she gasped. “It's Irma. I need your help.”

 

CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

The reception was winding down. A series of assistant P.R.'s were attempting to usher the most famous guests to the red carpet pathway where they would be photographed and interviewed by the many photographers and TV crews as they made their way to the lingerie show.

Lucky was swamped, what with everyone attempting to speak to her, members of her staff giving her a series of updates, Gino trying to attract her attention, and now a wedding to get together in a matter of hours.

She elicited the help of Mooney, who knew everyone in Vegas, to arrange the wedding chapel and keep everything quiet. If the news of Venus and Billy's impending nuptials got out to the press, it would be chaos.

Next she spoke to her catering and entertainment directors about organizing a small, extremely exclusive private reception in her penthouse later that night.

“A very close friend of mine is getting married,” she informed them, revealing no names. “It has to be special.”

They assured her it would be. Everyone who worked with Lucky loved her—she had a way of inspiring great loyalty and enthusiasm.

“Have you seen Max?” she asked Lennie when he appeared to accompany her down the red carpet.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “And I was looking forward to meeting the new boyfriend.”

“Don't say ‘boyfriend' around her, she'll kill you.”

“Something wrong with ‘boyfriend'?”

“She wouldn't like it.”

“Then I won't say it.”

“That's wise.”

“Gino's waving at you.”

“I know. Let's try to get over to him. I can't seem to make a move without a dozen people attempting to stop me.”

“In that case, grab hold of my arm and hang on. Smile a lot, I'll get you there.”

“You're so macho.”

“And handsome, right?” he quipped. “Isn't that why you married me?”

“Oh yes!” she said, laughing as he propelled her through the crowd until they reached Gino.

“What's up?” she asked her father.

“Somethin's not right,” Gino replied, rubbing the scar on his cheek.

“Not enough ice in your drink?” she said flippantly. “Music too loud?
What?
”

Gino's face was serious. “Enzio Bonnatti's widow is here with a supposed grandson,” he said. “I don't like it, Lucky, they're up to somethin', an' you'd better find out what it is. She had a crazy hostile look in her eyes. Kept on muttering about the hotel being cursed. They're here for some kind of revenge—you can bet on it.”

*   *   *

When Anthony came back with an angry Francesca lagging behind him, he was perplexed to find Irma missing.

“Where the fuck is she?” he demanded of The Grill.

“In the ladies' room,” the big man muttered.

“What the fuck you let her go there for?”

“She told me she had to go.”

“Jesus Christ!” Anthony steamed, walking over to the door of the ladies' room. “Irma!” he yelled. “Get your ass out here.”

Irma came out immediately.

He glared at her. “I told you not to go anywhere. When I tell you somethin', you'd better fuckin' listen.”

She refused to look at him.

“Where's Emmanuelle?” he demanded, turning back to The Grill.

“Over there, boss,” The Grill said.

Anthony observed Emmanuelle talking to a man. He'd told both women to stay next to The Grill, not to go running around all over the place. Amazing wasn't it, that he had to control everything?

Taking hold of Irma, he pulled her over to Emmanuelle, who was in midsentence. Anthony grabbed Emmanuelle's arm, yanking her away from the man.

“That was so rude,” Emmanuelle objected, her cheeks flushed. “That man is a
very
important producer. He told me I should be in movies.”

“I don't give a shit who he is,” Anthony snapped. “When I tell you to stay somewhere, you stay there. Got it?”

Irma met the girl's eyes.

Emmanuelle stared back at her defiantly before turning to Anthony and saying, “You shouldn't speak to me like that. I'm not your wife.”

Anthony controlled an overwhelming impulse to slap her across the face. Emmanuelle was getting too lippy for her own good. It was time to do something to put her in her place.

*   *   *

“Are you sure your heart can take this?” Lucky teased Gino as she escorted him to the front row of the lingerie show.

“Think I'll survive, kiddo.”

“Oh yes, I almost forgot,” she said, smiling. “Your nickname used to be Gino the Ram, right?”

Gino's mind was elsewhere. “What didja do 'bout the Bonnattis?” he said, frowning. “Didja get 'em outta here?”

“Not yet. There's press everywhere, it wouldn't be smart to cause an incident.”

“Whaddya think they're doing here?” he mused.

“They're probably just checking the place out.”

“You don't know Francesca like I know that witch,” Gino said, still worrying. “She had balls when she was married to Enzio, big brass balls. I'll never forget her sittin' in the courtroom when you were on trial for Santino's murder. She sat there every day, glaring at you, vowing revenge. You don't remember?”

“That whole trial is a blur.”

“
I
remember it, kiddo. They're here for a goddamn reason. I can smell it.”

“You're wrong, Gino. All that stuff happened so long ago.”

“Listen to me, Lucky: she's Sicilian. It don't matter how long ago shit happened, Sicilians never forget an' they never forgive. Have your security people watch 'em, okay?”

“I'll do that. Where are they anyway?”

“Last time I saw 'em they were at the reception.”

“I'm leaving you here, but I'll be back. The show's starting in five minutes. I only hope you survive it!”

“Oh, he'll survive it all right,” Paige said, leaning forward. “He'll love every minute of it. He might be ninety-five, but believe me, he's still breathing.”

*   *   *

Alex did not care how adept Ling was in the bedroom—it was over, her constant jealous bitching about Lucky had finally taken its toll. When they got back to L.A. he was definitely telling her to move out. He'd sooner be by himself than stuck with a woman who really didn't understand him at all. Ling should be with somebody who enjoyed getting the shit nagged out of him.