Lady Boss (10 page)

One sweet, nubile female a day was not unusual. Ever aware of the perils of AIDS, Johnny Romano protected himself with two condoms and a cavalier attitude. After all, AIDS could never happen to him. He was a mega-star, for God's sake – and what's more, he was a
straight
mega-star. The condoms were merely a gesture in the right direction, a nod to the good Lord.

Yes, Johnny Romano was a responsible human being who liked to get laid a lot. And why not? He'd worked hard for the privilege of bedding any piece he wanted.

Right now he wanted Venus Maria. But the woman didn't want him. Unheard of! Ridiculous! Nobody turned down Johnny Romano.

Oh, sure, she was riding way up there, certainly the most successful young female star around. Venus Maria left Madonna, Pfeiffer, and Basinger trailing in her wake. There was no doubt she was in demand. But to turn Johnny Romano down. Ha!

Ha! Ha!

The woman had to be crazy!

* * *

And then there was Cooper Turner – the handsome, mysterious, insomniac Cooper Turner, who lived in a Wilshire high-rise penthouse and had only made a few movies over the years, but was still regarded as a major player.

Cooper's looks belied his forty-five years. He was boyishly handsome with brownish hair, penetrating ice-blue eyes, and a well-preserved body.

Cooper refused to give interviews. He kept his private life very private indeed, although there was always one special woman in residence, usually a breathtaking beauty or great talent. Cooper enjoyed discovering the woman of the moment. His sexual prowess was legendary.

In spite of his attachment to women, Cooper had never married, although there'd been a few close calls. He definitely preferred the perennial bachelor life. Cooper Turner was not the marrying kind.

Currently the tabloids were alive with news of his supposed affair with Venus Maria. He was directing and co-starring with the young superstar in
Strut
, and tongues were busy all over town. The latest rumour concerned a very public fight they'd had on the set, and the way they'd supposedly made up. According to
Truth and Fact
, one of the more scurrilous tabloids, Venus Maria had apparently quieted his anger with a somewhat public blow-job on the set in front of everyone. Enough to deflate anyone's temper tantrum.

Cooper would neither deny nor confirm the scandalous story. He liked to keep a low profile.

* * *

Also tied to Panther with a three-picture deal – the first of which he was currently shooting – was Lennie Golden, Tabitha's favourite. She nagged Mickey constantly. ‘I wanna meet him, Daddy. All my friends love him. What's he like? Can I marry him some day?'

Mickey couldn't understand the attraction. As far as he was concerned Lennie Golden was just another comedian going through a hot streak, part of the Billy Crystal/Robin Williams syndrome.

But since he
was
so hot, Mickey had signed him. It was good business – and if there was one thing Mickey excelled at, it was business.

* * *

Six superstars. And as far as he was concerned all six of them belonged to Mickey Stolli. He had them tied to Panther Studios with the best deals in town. They were his. All the way.

Panther Studios. Mickey Stolli. What a team!

His brother-in-law, Ben Harrison, hardly counted. And as soon as old Abe Panther died, Mickey Stolli planned to buy Ben out whether he wished to sell or not.

Panther Studios. Mickey Stolli. A winning combination.

And woe betide anyone who got in his way.

Panther Studios was one of the last of the great landmark Hollywood studios. Over the forty-five years since it was originally built, occasional modernization had taken place. There was a brand new six-storey gleaming steel and chrome office building that was Mickey Stolli's pride. He regarded it as an architectural statement. Naturally it housed his sumptuous suite of offices, as well as those of Ford Werne, his chief of production, and the offices of the heads of marketing, distribution, and international production. Mickey Stolli's team – his A-team as he liked to call them. Sometimes the A stood for Ace Achievers, other times for Asinine Assholes. The title depended on Mickey Stolli's mood and his ‘team's' performance.

Hidden behind Mickey's building was the old publicity structure, complete with photographic studios and rabbithole office spaces. And a long way behind that, right at the back of the lot, stood the oldest building of all – the main administrative block, nicknamed Alcatraz, because it was gloomy and depressing, and did indeed remind one of a prison. Alcatraz was sandwiched between two of the largest sound stages – massive towers that cut off all light. It was a building due for demolition. It was also the building that housed Herman Stone's office. Herman Stone was Abe's faithful man on the lot. Sheila, his secretary, had been sent off on a six-week cruise.

The story was – if anyone asked or even cared – that Sheila was visiting a sick relative, and that Lucky (rechristened Luce for the gig), her niece, was helping out on a temporary basis.

On Monday morning Lucky reported for work at the gates of Panther Studios at exactly ten o'clock. She wore a long shapeless dress, loose cardigan, and flat shoes. Her jet hair was hidden beneath a badly styled mousy-brown wig with heavy bangs, and very thick pebble glasses covered her eyes, causing her to squint.

She was driving Sheila's car, of which she had temporary possession – along with Sheila's apartment, a depressing two rooms in West Hollywood that she'd used to change in after she'd left Lennie early in the morning, supposedly to fly to New York and then on to Japan.

Lennie had kissed her long and hard. ‘Don't forget what you promised me, sweetheart,' he'd said.

How could she forget? She'd promised him a baby, but she hadn't said when. A couple of years down the line – maybe. Right now she had a studio to think about.

Entering Panther Studios was a Hollywood historian's dream. The huge arched gates were intricately carved in stone, with fancy art deco iron railings, and on top of the gates perched a sleek black granite panther, just about to take flight. MGM had its lion – but Panther Studios had the
real
power symbol.

Lucky gave a shiver of delight as she stopped Sheila's modest Chevrolet by the security guard's window and stated her business.

One of these days all of this was going to be hers – an exciting and stimulating thought.

The guard was rude. He questioned her brusquely, giving her vague directions about where to park her car.

‘Well, buddy, we know what's going to happen to
you
in six weeks,' she muttered under her breath when, after driving around the vast studio twice, she realized she was completely lost.

Stopping the car on what seemed to be the main street, she asked a slim woman in a floral print dress where the parking for Herman Stone's office was.

‘Isn't this Sheila's car?' the woman asked. She spoke with a strong English accent.

Test number one. ‘Yes,' Lucky replied without taking a beat. ‘Sheila had to go and care for a sick relative. I'm Luce, her niece. I'm helping out for a couple of weeks.'

‘I do hope it's nothing serious,' the woman in the floral print dress said, looking concerned.

‘I don't think so.'

‘Good.' The woman then proceeded to give her directions before entering a nearby building.

Lucky found the parking lot, left the car, and walked quite a distance. It seemed that secretaries were not allowed the privilege of parking their cars close to their bosses' offices.

Hm… better start making notes, Santangelo
.

Trekking briskly past a group of bare-chested workmen, she couldn't help noticing that none of them whistled or catcalled. There were no anguished cries of ‘Give it to me, baby. C'mon, sweet sweet stuff,
give it up!
I
waaant
your fine ass!! I
neeed
to taste pussy!'

This was a first. Her disguise was better than she'd anticipated. She really had managed to turn herself into a dowdy, nondescript drone. Even Lennie would fail to recognize her if they came face to face. Not that it was likely, for he was due to leave for the Acapulco location that very afternoon and would be away for five weeks. At least her timing was impeccable.

She quickened her step and headed for adventure.

* * *

Herman Stone was a nervous wreck. He hustled Lucky into his dark office, arms flailing, muttering to himself, practically pushing her into a chair in front of his desk. ‘You're late,' he fussed.

‘I had to walk ten miles to get here,' she complained. ‘Why can't I park outside the office?'

‘Executive parking only,' Herman explained.

‘My ass,' Lucky muttered.

‘Excuse me?'

Herman Stone was in on the scam and Lucky wondered if he'd last the six weeks. A small, wizened man, he looked older than Abe, and frightened out of his shiny blue suit.

She wanted to give him a shot of brandy and tell him to calm down. Instead she leaned back in her chair and spoke slowly and reassuringly. ‘Mr. Stone. All I need from you is information. Everything you have on everyone who works here. And then, after I familiarize myself with the players, you're to send me out into the field to play. OK?'

Herman breathed sharply. Short, jerky gasps, as if at any moment someone was going to shut off his air supply.

‘Don't worry,' Lucky went on reassuringly. ‘This entire exercise is going to be easy. And since your job is totally secure, let's just relax. OK?'

Herman gasped another breath. ‘Whatever Mr. Panther requires,' he said sourly, glaring balefully at her.

Lucky nodded. ‘Yeah.' And for the first time she realized that maybe it wasn't going to be as easy as she'd imagined.

The morning passed slowly while Herman repeated everything she'd already learned about the key executives. Mickey Stolli was Number One, followed by Ford Werne, his Head of Production; Teddy T. Lauden, Chief of Business Affairs; Zev Lorenzo, Head of the Television Division; and three Senior Vice Presidents – Buck Graham, Marketing, Eddie Kane, Distribution, and Grant Wendell, Worldwide Production.

These were the most important players, but other influential figures on the lot included several producers with multi-picture deals, the two most important being Frankie Lombardo and Arnie Blackwood.

And then, of course, there were Mickey Stolli's six resident stars.

‘C'mon, I'm after the
real
dirt,' Lucky pressed. ‘I can get all this stuff you're telling me from their studio bios.'

‘What real dirt?' Herman asked blankly, fiddling with his heavy horn-rimmed spectacles. ‘I've told you everything I know.'

Some spy Abe had stashed on the lot. Herman was either too old or too out of touch. Probably a combination of both. Lucky realized she was going to have to figure out who was doing what to whom all by herself.

‘What do you usually
do
all day?' she asked. She'd been sitting in his office for two and a half hours and the phone hadn't rung once.

‘I look over papers.'

‘What kind of papers?'

‘Deal memos.'

‘And whose deal memos would these be?'

‘Various.'

‘I don't see any today.'

‘They're usually sent over at the end of the week.'

‘Can I look at last week's?'

‘If you wish.'

Herman Stone was a tired old man. It was quite obvious that he considered his nice ordered life was being threatened. She could understand his discomfort, but she couldn't accept it. He had to know where at least
one
body was buried.

The deal memos turned out to be a stack of duplicates dealing with mundane everyday affairs at the studio. None of them meant anything.

Lucky decided it was time to get started. ‘Call Mickey Stolli and tell him you want to see copies of the budgets for
Motherfaker, Strut
, and
Macho Man
,' she said briskly.

‘Why would I do that?' Herman asked, blinking nervously.

‘Because you're supposed to be looking after Abe Panther's interests at the studio, and you're entitled to see anything you want. Tell him you're sending your secretary over for the papers. OK?'

Herman Stone visibly blanched. Reluctantly he did as she requested.

Marching across the studio lot was no fun, especially at midday. By the time Lucky reached the outer limits of Mickey Stolli's quarters she was exhausted. The dowdy clothes clung to her body, and the heavy wig didn't help. Sweat moistened every inch of her, and she could hardly stop the thick pebble glasses from sliding off her nose. Playing dressing-up was not exactly dinner with Al Pacino.

‘Oh,' said Olive, the woman with the English accent and floral print dress who'd given her directions earlier. ‘It's you again.'

Lucky attempted a pleasant expression. ‘'Fraid so. Mr. Stone sent me over to collect some papers.'

‘Yes.' Olive appeared flustered. ‘Mr. Stolli will get them to Mr. Stone later in the week.'

Why?
Lucky wanted to ask.
What's wrong with now?
Instead she mock-groaned. ‘Don't tell me I've come all the way over here for nothing?'

Olive put on a suitably sympathetic face. ‘It is hot, isn't it?'

Noticing a water-cooler in the corner, Lucky asked if she might have a drink.

‘Certainly,' Olive said crisply, although her eyes darted towards the door to the inner sanctum, as if she needed Mickey Stolli's approval.

Lucky approached the water-cooler and took a long refreshing drink, using the time to check out her surroundings. The outer office was painted a cool light beige, with matching wall-to-wall carpet, and a large modern window overlooked fancy landscaping. Quite a difference from Herman Stone's dreary space. On the walls were perma-plaqued pictures of Mickey Stolli with various celebrities and politicians.