Double Lucky (96 page)

“Max's friend?” Bobby said, aghast. What the hell was Frankie doing with a teenager? Corrupting her, no doubt.

“'S right. But believe me, she's one horny little tamale. On the ride here she was—”

“Gotta go,” Bobby said, itching to move on for two reasons. One, he remembered why he and Frankie had ceased hanging out. And two, what was Denver doing out on the dance floor with some random dude? He'd just noticed, and he wasn't pleased.

Screw it. Was she trying to prove something?

If so, it certainly didn't fly.

*   *   *

Eddie Falcon wasted no time in making the move over to Bobby's table and concentrating on Venus, which did not sit well with Cassie, who fell into a major sulk.
She
was supposed to be the center of attention. This was
her
night.

Venus was enjoying the attention. Lately she'd been thinking of seeking new representation, and Eddie's timing couldn't be better. She knew of Eddie's reputation, and it was stellar. He was a comer and hungry, the best kind of agent to have working for you.

“I can get you anything you want,” Eddie boasted to Venus. “Any
one
you want. Director, star—Clooney, DiCaprio, Depp—you name who you'd like to work with, and I can make it happen.”

“Can you, now?” Venus said, not actually falling for it—she'd been in the business too long to believe everything an agent on the make had to say, but she was liking his enthusiasm. Her current representatives were doing nothing for her moviewise, and she was tired of always having to embark on a world tour every time she put out a new CD. With her divorce almost behind her, she was ready to concentrate on her film career, and Eddie Falcon might be just the man to make it happen. Besides, Billy was huge in movies. It was about time she reclaimed her throne.

“What's going on?” Lucky said, inserting herself into the conversation. She'd known Eddie since he'd worked in the mailroom at Panther Studios. He'd always had big ambitions, and she was glad to see he was working it. “Is Eddie promising you the moon?” she asked with an amused grin.

“And the stars,” Venus responded with a smile. “Should I believe him?”

“Well,” Lucky said, still grinning, “the day you believe a Hollywood agent is the day you should pack your bags and scoot your fine ass out of town.”

“Thanks, Lucky,” Eddie said. “Nice to have your full support.”

The three of them laughed.

“Ah, show business.” Lucky sighed. “I do not miss it. Not one little bit.”

*   *   *

“I need your help,” Max said, cornering Cookie in the ladies' room, where a crowd of underdressed and over-made-up girls jostled for space at the mirrors. The room was smoke-filled even though smoking was not allowed, and the smell of cheap perfume and musty sweat overpowered everything.

“Can you believe the a-hole, like, hasn't even texted me to find out where I am?” Cookie griped, once again checking her phone. “He probably hasn't even noticed I'm missing. What a douche!”

“I could've told you that,” Max said, grabbing Cookie's arm, attempting to get her full attention. “But this is about
me
.”

“No,” Cookie argued, applying blush. “It's about
me
havin' to put up with a dumb-ass famous freakin' dad who gets everyone fallin' all over him. You are so right about Frankie. He's a major star-fucker.”

“Listen, I have to get outta here,” Max said, wishing Cookie would concentrate for once. “It's totally urgent.”

“Why? Where're we goin?” Cookie asked, guilelessly.

“
We
are not going anywhere, that's the whole point.
I
have to get out of here and, uh, meet someone.”

“Someone like who?” Cookie asked, her curiosity finally aroused.

“Someone I don't want Ace to know about.”

“Woo-hoo!
Now
it's gettin' interesting,” Cookie said, her brown eyes lighting up.

“The thing is,” Max continued, “there's no way I can pull it off without your help. So you've got to tell Ace that I got an important call from Lucky, and that I had to take off. Okay?”

“You're kiddin', right?” Cookie said, curling her lip. “Like what makes you think I'm gonna do this for you an' you're not givin' me the lowdown on who you're meetin'?”

“It's just a boy,” Max said, feeling desperate.

“What boy?” Cookie demanded. “Who is he? Is he hot? Hotter than Ace?”

“Please do this for me, Cookie,” Max said, her voice rising. “Tomorrow I'll tell you everything.”

“I dunno—” Cookie started to say.

“Screw you!” Max yelled, suddenly losing it. “I've been doing what you want all evening—so get it together and do this one thing for me. Tell Ace I'll see him back at the hotel later, and don't make it seem shady.”

And with that she stormed off, leaving an openmouthed Cookie in her wake.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

As they reached Armand's villa, Annabelle was more or less sure that tonight she would be able to cement herself firmly into his life. This time she was not letting him slip away; he was too valuable a prospect.

She'd allowed him to finger-fuck her on the walk to his villa, and now it was time for her to exhibit her considerable bedroom skills. When she was living with Frankie Romano, he'd often told her that her blow jobs were superlative—the best he'd ever had. Now she had the opportunity to show off her technique (learned from a gay friend when she was fifteen) to Armand. Men loved nothing better than a woman going down on them. Annabelle knew that they considered it the ultimate power trip—a beautiful woman on her knees servicing them, his hand pressed firmly on her head. It was the best.

She recalled that when she and Frankie were running their call girl business in New York, the girls were always full of outrageous stories about their clients and the things they were into. Blow jobs were the number one topic. It seemed that once a man got married, the blow jobs ground to a sudden halt. Too bad, because there were always plenty of working girls ready and able to pick up the slack.

These were the thoughts running through Annabelle's head as they entered the villa, but they came to an abrupt halt when she saw the two half-dressed women lounging on stools by the bar.

“Good evening, ladies,” Armand said, not at all surprised that he had company.

“Ladies”! Was he kidding? These two were straight off Forty-second Street on a bad night.

“Hello there,” Luscious said, greeting the client in what she considered a suitable manner. “Nice t' meet you.”

Seducta, who'd imbibed a little too much free vodka, burped discreetly.

Armand gave Annabelle a sly look. The expression on her face was all that he needed to fuel his sexual desire. He walked behind the bar and opened a bottle of champagne. Had to celebrate, for this was about to be an evening to remember. It was his personal celebration of what he knew was destined to happen to Lucky Santangelo.

Eventually.

It was a done deal.

All he had to do was arrange it.

*   *   *

The phone rang in Peggy's suite. She immediately thought it was the messenger service she'd ordered to transport her samples to the DNA testing lab, which, for a price, had agreed to work on a weekend, enabling her to get fast results. Only in Vegas.

However, it was not the messenger service, it was Paige Santangelo.

“I wanted to make sure you got back to your room safely,” Paige said, her voice husky and intimate.

“I did,” Peggy replied. “And thank you so much for a delightful dinner.”

“I'm glad you were able to join us,” Paige said. “It's always nice to have new company. Spending time with Gino can sometimes be … difficult.”

“Difficult how?”

“Gino is old, he's set in his ways. When he was younger he was quite a dynamo.”

Oh yes, I know!
Peggy thought.

“Anyway,” Paige continued with a deep sigh, “Gino's not the man he used to be—if you understand where I'm going.”

Where are you going?
Peggy wondered.

“Can I be frank?” Paige said after a long pause.

“Certainly,” Peggy replied, wondering if the messenger was on his way.

“The sad fact of life is that sexually, Gino no longer satisfies me.”

And here it comes,
Peggy thought.
She's been heading in this direction all night, and I was too preoccupied to get it.

“I see,” Peggy said calmly.

“Do you?” Paige asked, sounding anxious.

“Do I what?”

“Do you understand that I have needs that are not being fulfilled? I'm getting the feeling that you might be in the same position.”

Peggy realized that she was being propositioned, and although it was not by a man, it was flattering all the same. Her sex life had been dead on arrival since Sidney's passing, so what would be wrong with indulging in a little Sapphic lovemaking? It wasn't as if she hadn't experienced another woman before, albeit a long time ago—during her fantasy life in the king's palace. Paige might be older, but so was she. And they were both attractive, well-preserved women.

“Your silence is making me uneasy,” Paige said. “So why don't we forget I said anything. I will—”

“No,” Peggy interrupted, a sudden recklessness flooding her senses. “I … I understand exactly what you're saying.” She paused. “If you care to drop by for a nightcap, I would be delighted to see you.”

*   *   *

“I didn't know you were expecting company,” Annabelle said, pointedly waving a stream of smoke away from her face as Seducta blew a series of smoke rings into the air.

“These women are not company,” Armand replied, drinking champagne. “They are paid-for whores, here to entertain us. They will do whatever we want. Does that excite you, Annabelle?”

She thought for a moment, realizing that she was heading onto dangerous ground. This was not what she'd expected, not at all. However, if she planned on nailing Armand, it seemed as if she would have to join the party or make a fast exit.

“'Scuse me,” Luscious said, hopping off her bar stool with an indignant expression. “We're paid for, but that don't mean you gotta ignore us. We're people too…”

“Take your clothes off and keep your mouths shut,” Armand ordered. “Do it now.”

And without waiting for a reply, he turned to Annabelle and once again stuck his hand roughly up her skirt.

She automatically pushed his hand away. This was all happening too fast.

“More champagne, please,” she said, trying to appear cool in the face of such disturbing circumstances.

“I'll offer you better than that,” he said, marching into the bedroom and returning with several small glassine bags of cocaine.

“Shall we?” he said, walking toward the glass-topped coffee table.

Damn!
Annabelle thought.
Another Frankie Romano scene. I sure can pick 'em.

Meanwhile, the two hookers were disrobing in a desultory fashion across the room, flinging their clothes in a corner until they were bare-assed naked except for their shoes. Then they hovered, waiting for instructions.

By this time Armand was alternating swigging champagne and snorting lines, feeling no pain, feeling as if he could take control of the entire world. And he would. When he'd disposed of Lucky Santangelo, there would be no one to stop him.

On his alcohol- and cocaine-fueled high, Armand was becoming more and more determined that Lucky had to be … what was the word that lingered in his mind? Ah yes—
assassinated.

The word thrilled him; it revolved in his brain like a mantra. The whore bitch deserved to die. And he would be the one to make it happen.

If they were in Akramshar he could arrange to have her stoned to death. Buried in the ground up to her neck while big jagged rocks were thrown at her until she died a painful and slow death. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible in America. What a shame, because Lucky Santangelo was the slut whore of all women. She deserved many punishments.

Lucky was his dear mother pushing her breasts up against him when he was a child, before beating him with a leather strap while her friends looked on.

Lucky was all the whores he'd ever had sex with, the dirty, filthy, disgusting, money-hungry whores.

Lucky was his dumb wife, who'd given birth to children he'd never wanted.

Oh yes, Lucky Santangelo was the woman who deserved to be punished for all of them.

It was only fitting.

And when she was gone, The Keys would be all his, and life would finally be perfect.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The moment Lucky spotted Alex entering the club with an attractive Asian girl on his arm was the moment she decided it was time for her and Lennie to split. By this late hour she knew that Alex would've had quite a few drinks, and when Alex had been drinking, anything could happen, so she figured it was wise to get out while the going was good.

But Lennie had other ideas. He wanted to stay.

Lucky knew better than to try to change his mind. Like herself, Lennie did what he wanted, and he wouldn't budge until he was ready to leave.

He and Alex had an edgy relationship filled with macho posturing, for not only did they both have a thing for Lucky, but they were both director/producer/writers. Not that they were in competition with each other. Lennie made low-budget independent movies, while Alex went the studio route and put together big, high-profile movies—usually controversial and generally critically savaged or acclaimed, depending on the critic. The fact that they both did the same thing always made it interesting. They argued all the time, about other people's movies, politics, books, sports—anything they could think of.