Double Lucky (65 page)

“Yeah, Mom, my future. Can we, like,
not
discuss it now?”

“Do you still want to move to New York?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Max answered vaguely. “I told you—I'm gonna decide.”

“And you're absolutely certain you have no interest in going to college?”

“
You
didn't do the whole college thing,” Max said, irritated that Lucky kept on bringing it up. “Why should I?”

“Those were different times,” Lucky pointed out.

“Yeah. The Dark Ages,” Max said, rolling her eyes.

Lucky shook her head. No use getting pissed off. Nothing to be gained.

“Strangely enough,” she deadpanned, “we had phones during the Dark Ages. Instead of texting, we actually talked. Can you imagine?”

“What a thrill,” Max drawled.

Brat,
Lucky thought
. Spoiled Beverly Hills brat. But she's my brat, and one of these days she'll grow up, just like I did.

“I'm off,” Lucky said, standing up. Sometimes playing the concerned mom was not for her. She loved her kids, but once they reached a certain age, it was best to let them fly. “Are you home for dinner?”

“Don't think so,” Max replied. “Gonna hang with Cookie and Harry.”

“Okay, then. We'll see each other in the morning before I leave. Oh, and if you hear from Bobby, tell him to call me.”

“Will do.”

Max waited until Lucky was out of sight, then she called Harry. “Party time at my house tomorrow night,” she announced. “Alert the troops, and grab as much booze as you can from your dad's liquor cabinet. Got it?”

Harry got it.

*   *   *

Once every few months Lucky had lunch with her old friend Alex Woods, the legendary and unpredictable film director. They shared a history, a long friendship, and one night of twisted passion a long time ago when Lennie was missing and Lucky thought he was dead. Alex had never gotten over her, and she knew it, but she wasn't prepared to give him up as a friend. He was loyal and insane and incredibly talented and forceful and sincere when he felt like it. During the time she'd owned Panther Studios they'd produced a movie together, and when she'd embarked on building The Keys, Alex had come in on the project as one of her major investors.

If Lennie weren't around, she would be with Alex, and they were both aware of it, although it was never discussed.

In the meantime, Alex dated Asian women. They came. They went. Sometimes they stayed longer than a few weeks. He didn't care. Like Lennie, he lived to make movies—women and love affairs were secondary. Except for Lucky, who, in his eyes, became even more wildly beautiful as each year passed.

He studied her as she walked into Mr. Chow. She wore white pants, a casual jacket, and plenty of gold gypsy-style jewelry. She strode in like a panther, all sleek movement, her dark eyes flashing, her trademark mass of tumbled jet curls as wild as usual. Alex stood up from the table.

“Such a gentleman,” she teased as he moved forward and kissed her on both cheeks, inhaling the exotic fragrance she always wore. “How are you, Alex?” she asked, sitting down. “Working hard?”

“What do
you
think?” he said with a wry smile. “I'm in post on the war movie I recently finished shooting in Morocco, and my editor is driving me nuts. Plus, we're way over budget, and the studio is throwing a shit fit. Fuck 'em.”

“Are you pleased with it?” she asked, scanning his face. He looked a little ragged around the edges. Alex drank too much; that and his excessive smoking were not good for him. He was still an enormously attractive man, though, and she loved him dearly—as a friend.

“Am I ever pleased with anything?” Alex said, picking up a tumbler of Jack Daniel's. “You know me, Lucky. You probably know me better than anyone.”

“Isn't it a little early for the heavy stuff?” Lucky inquired, indicating his drink.

“Jesus!” Alex said. “Since when did
you
become the AA rep? Whyn't you leave it to my girlfriends to be concerned about my drinking? They're the ones who get off on bitching.”

“How sweet.”

“Sweet is the last thing I'm looking for.”

“Well then,” Lucky said briskly, “you should stop picking actresses and try finding a girl—I mean a woman—you can have a decent relationship with. It's about time you gave up the chasing.”

“Believe me, honey, it's them who do the chasing,” he said dryly.

“Don't call me honey.”

“Why not?”

“Save it for your one-nighters.”

“You were a one—”

“Alex!” She stopped him with a deadly look. He was venturing into forbidden territory, and she didn't like it one little bit.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he said, taking another gulp of Jack.

She ordered a bottle of Evian and leaned across the table. “Tell me about your movie.”

“Don't want to bore you.”

“Why would I be bored, Alex?”

“'Cause you know exactly what I'm going to say.”

“And that would be?”

“I'm gonna regale you with stories about what a bunch of fucking assholes my actors are.”

“Then why do you hire them?”

“Got no choice. Unfortunately, I need 'em.”

“How inconvenient for you.”

“Yeah, robots are more my style,” he said with a cynical laugh.

“Imagine that!”

Alex smiled. It didn't matter what kind of a mood he was in, Lucky could always make him feel better.

“Did you hear that Venus is in the process of divorcing Billy?” she asked.

“Should I be surprised? Working with Billy was like slogging up the Himalayas with no Sherpas. That little prick took ‘asshole' to new heights.”

Lucky laughed. “Billy's major box office. The public seems to love him.”

“We all know that the public has no fucking taste.”

“That's what I like about you, Alex.”

“I knew there was something,” he said with a wry grin.

“You tell it the way you see it.”

“That's me, Lucky. No bullshit.”

“You're unique.”

“Takes one to know one,” he said, signaling the waiter to bring him another drink. “How's Lennie?”

“Lennie's fine.”

“Shame,” he said with a resigned shrug. “I was hoping he'd slipped off a cliff.”

“Stop!” she said sternly.

“You know that'll never happen,” he countered. “And I do mean never.”

They stared at each other, a long intent stare that Lucky finally broke.

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “I want you to come to Vegas.”

“I fucking hate Vegas,” Alex said vehemently. “Especially after what happened there with Ling.”

Lucky flashed onto the memory of Alex's former live-in girlfriend, who had been sending her threatening notes and hatching a plan to shoot her. It was all so bizarre, but when Alex caught Ling with his handgun in her purse during the opening festivities of The Keys, he'd gone berserk and thrown Ling out.

“There are two reasons I need you to come to Vegas,” Lucky said as persuasively as she could.

“Go ahead,” Alex said. “Try to convince me.”

“Reason one, it's Max's eighteenth birthday next weekend, and I'm throwing her a party. You know she'd love you to be there. After all, you've known her since she was a baby.”

Alex groaned. “Blackmail,” he said flatly. “Psychological blackmail.”

“No such thing,” Lucky said crisply.

“Reason two?”

“A board meeting of all the Keys investors.”

“Jesus! I'll send my business manager. He handles that kinda shit.”

“I'm sure Max would be thrilled to see him, but I'm expecting
you
.”

“Will Lennie be there?” Alex asked, shooting her a meaningful look.

“Of course.”

“What kind of incentive is that?”

“Knock it off, Alex. You're doing this for me. Okay?”

“Whatever the Lady Boss says.”

“Fuck you, Alex.”

“Anytime, Lucky.”

“Then you'll come?”

“If only,” he said with a lascivious grin.

Lucky ignored his double entendre. “I'll book you a suite. Don't let me down.”

“Jesus Christ! You're so fucking bossy,” Alex complained. “But I guess I'll be there. For you, I'll always be there.”

“Thank you, Alex.”

*   *   *

As soon as Max was sure that Lucky had left the house, she began texting friends about the Malibu party she was planning. Never mind Vegas, she'd have her own crazy celebration, and with the house all to herself, it should be a major blast.

To invite Ace or not to invite Ace, that was the question. She wasn't sure what to do about him. Ace could be totally great or, as Cookie and Harry had pointed out, totally controlling. Besides, it wasn't as if she was in love with him.

Max had imagined she was in love only once, and that was in high school with a boy named Donny Leventon, who'd broken her heart and left her crushed and disillusioned.

She'd never told anyone he'd broken her heart. She'd laughed off the fact that she'd caught him in Houston's, of all places, with another girl.

She was sixteen at the time. Donny was seventeen, and they'd never slept together, although they'd done plenty of other things. Experimenting with sex was fun. Going all the way was not an option, not until she found The One.

Discovering that Donny was seeing another girl was a shattering experience. It had driven her to the Internet, where she was determined to hook up and lose her virginity to a suitable candidate—whether he was The One or not. She'd set up a meeting with a twenty-two-year-old boy who'd posted a majorly hunky photo. After arranging to meet him in Big Bear, she'd turned up, only to find that the major hunk was a disgusting, ugly perv, who'd then kidnapped her and locked her up in some deserted cabin in the woods.

She shuddered at the memories. Thank goodness for Ace, who'd come along at exactly the right time and rescued her.

She wasn't in love with Ace. She liked him in small doses, and that was okay because he didn't live in L.A. They hadn't slept together, but as with Donny, she'd done plenty of other things with him.

Yes, she was still a virgin, and it was becoming an embarrassment, especially as Cookie had slept with an army of guys and boasted about them constantly.

But she wasn't Cookie, and she didn't want to be.

She was waiting—for what?

She didn't know, but when it happened she'd be all over it.

 

CHAPTER NINE

With Bobby in Vegas, Denver decided to have a night at home by herself. She was happy when he was in town. But she was also happy when he wasn't.

I'm confused
, she thought.
I love him but I don't want to love him. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to make myself vulnerable.

BUT I LOVE HIM!

She thought about calling Carolyn, then remembered that her friend was out on a gay date. How random was
that?
Carolyn had never indicated a yen for the same sex, but everyone had their secrets … and if taking the lesbian route was what she wanted, then so be it.

She put on the TV and checked out the news. The standoff with the Mexican man and his baby—the two of them barricaded in a house—was all over the news. Denver hoped that Leon was all right. She'd grown quite fond of him, and everyone knew that a crazy man with a gun was always a dangerous situation. She'd worked with Leon on a couple of cases—both drug-related—and won both of them. They made a good team. He caught the bad guys, she prosecuted them. Currently Leon was tracking a drug trail that he was hoping would lead him to the big guys, and then she would really have an important case to work on.

Throwing open the freezer door, she inspected the contents. Ice cream, frozen pizza, a half-open packet of waffles, and some spaghetti sauce in a plastic container with ice forming a suspicious film on the top.

Damn! Nothing she wanted for dinner, so maybe a quick walk to the burger place on Santa Monica.

Amy Winehouse was giving her a look as much as to say,
Are we taking a walk or what? I need some activity.

“Yes,” Denver said out loud, returning Amy's baleful stare. “We're taking a walk.”

Amy's tail began to wag. The dog understood English perfectly.

After quickly changing into jeans, a tartan shirt with rolled-up sleeves, and sneakers, Denver grabbed Amy's leash and set off.

Amy was in fine form, dragging her down the street at a fast pace. By the time they reached the burger place, Denver was out of breath. She stopped for a moment, thinking she needed to spend more time at the gym.

Ah … if she only had more time. Work took up most of it, and Bobby the rest. Not that she was complaining; spending nights and weekends with Bobby was always the best. But a weekend in Vegas with his family was not something she was looking forward to.

“Denver?”

Somebody spoke her name and she spun around.

“Sam?” she countered.

They both grinned and hugged.

“What are
you
doing here?” she questioned, flashing on the last time she'd seen Sam, her New York screenwriter friend with the lean body, crooked teeth, and disarming sense of humor. He'd been standing outside her front door in L.A. when she and Bobby had returned from rescuing Carolyn in D.C. Just standing there with an overnight bag and an expectant expression, which totally threw her, because it wasn't as if he was her boyfriend. They'd shared one very pleasant night of passion in his New York apartment and a delicious breakfast the next morning. That was it.

After Bobby had taken off, she'd asked Sam in for a drink and told him she was kind of involved. They hadn't spoken since.