Lady Boss (17 page)

Lucky lingered in front of his photograph. He looked great. As always. She missed him with a vengeance.

Harry Browning came out of the projection booth to greet Herman Stone personally. Ignoring Lucky, he shook Herman by the hand, and said, ‘How very nice to see you, Mr. Stone. It's been a long time.'

‘What do you have I can look at?' Herman asked gruffly, playing his part just as Lucky had instructed him to.

‘I've got the latest dailies on
Macho Man
. And a rough cut of
Motherfaker
,' Harry offered.

‘That'll do,' Herman said, making his way to the centre of the back row of seats, where there was a telephone to issue orders to the projection booth, and a small cooler containing a selection of soft drinks.

‘What would you like to see first?' Harry asked.

‘The dailies on
Macho Man
,' Lucky replied, adding quickly, ‘Mr. Stone would like to see the
Macho Man
dailies first.'

‘That's right,' agreed Herman, playing his part for once.

‘Certainly,' said Harry stiffly, avoiding eye contact with Lucky.

When Lennie's presence took over the screen, Lucky was filled with pride. Apart from being funny and intelligent – he was so goddamn horny-looking! And he was her husband!

The first scene was a brief setup between Lennie and Joey Firello. They worked well together. Their dialogue played fast and snappy. Lucky recognized Lennie's beat on the material. Why was he complaining? This was good stuff.

And then Marisa Birch dominated the screen in more ways than one, and Lucky knew exactly what Lennie was bitching about. Marisa's physical appearance was overpowering, but there was not an ounce of talent to back it up. Her acting – such as it was – seemed to be a giant put-on.

The scene where she was in bed with Lennie was a joke. Grudge Freeport had obviously got his rocks off directing it. Marisa's huge tits were the only focus he was interested in. They managed to take over every shot – great big bouncy things, large enough to do serious damage.

Lennie was not happy and it showed. Talk about no chemistry! Marisa and Lennie did not create sparks. There was no sizzle – merely fizzle.

Watching the five takes Grudge had ordered printed, Lucky began to feel acutely embarrassed. No wonder Lennie was complaining all the time – this was worse than she'd imagined.

She knew exactly what she would do when she took over. Halt production, get rid of the director
and
Marisa, save the good stuff, recast, rewrite, and reshoot. Whatever the cost, it had to be worth it.

Maybe Lennie could direct. A great idea! He'd always talked about wanting to.

This running-a-studio business was going to be a real trip. She hadn't felt this excited since she'd built her two hotels, the Magiriano and the Santangelo. Lucky loved a challenge, and this was definitely it!

‘What kind of films are they making now?' Herman complained, looking distressed. ‘I'm watching pornography.'

‘When did you last see one of Panther's movies?' Lucky asked curiously.

Herman failed to reply.

He probably hasn't seen a movie since
Gone With the Wind, she thought.
Poor old Herman. What a shock he's in for if he ever gets out into the real world.

The rough cut of
Motherfaker
hit the screen with an opening shot of a tough, leather-jacketed Johnny Romano strutting down a rain-slicked street – practising the old familiar cock-thrust swagger.

Suddenly, a man steps in his path, blocking him.

‘Whattaya want, motherfucker?' Johnny Romano asks.

‘I want what's mine, shithead,' the other actor replies.

‘Man, whyn't you take your dick an' shove it up your ass, 'cause you ain't gettin' shit from me, prick-face.'

‘What ya call me, fuckhead?'

‘Prick-face, motherfucker. You want I spell it out for you?'

‘You're fuckin' with the wrong dude, spic.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Yeah, ya dumb cocksucker.'

A tight close-up on Johnny Romano. His eyes hold the screen. Deep-set and brown, they draw you into the character. His eyes register anger and a lurking danger. His eyes are lethal weapons.

The camera pans back to show the other character reaching for a gun.

Johnny kicks the gun from the man's hand, produces a weapon of his own, and blows him away.

Loud rap music blares and the credits begin to roll.

‘This is appalling!' Herman gasped.

‘Welcome to the eighties,' Lucky said dryly.

Ivana's was a hotbed of gossip. Everyone knew something that nobody else knew. ‘I can tell you this only if you
promise
not to tell anyone else' was the battle cry.

Naturally everyone promised and everyone told.

The story about Venus Maria giving Cooper Turner a blow-job on the set was still circulating, only now the tale was embellished. It wasn't just Cooper she'd attended to, it was half the crew she'd obliged at the same time.

‘Nonsense!' snapped Abigaile when the skinny black girl who shampooed her hair recounted the story.

‘Oh, it's true, Abigaile,' the girl assured her, nodding solemnly.

‘Kindly address me as Mrs. Stolli,' Abigaile said grandly. ‘And dear, please be aware that my husband is the head of Panther Studios where this event is
supposed
to have taken place. And, if you continue to spread malicious gossip, you will be sued.'

Wide-eyed, the girl wrapped a towel around Abigaile's wet hair and fled.

When Saxon, the owner of Ivana's, came over to style her hair, Abigaile complained.

Saxon did not kiss ass. Saxon was tall and muscular with shoulder-length blond curls. He had the body of a weight-lifter and the look of a heavy-metal rock star. At thirty he was the most popular hair-stylist in town, having arrived from New York and opened his salon a mere ten months ago.

‘Stop bitching, Abby, I hate it when you whine,' Saxon said in a deep, gruff voice. Nobody had managed to figure out whether he was gay or straight – and nobody dared ask.

‘I'm not whining,' Abigaile replied tartly. ‘And I don't think it's too much to ask for your transient staff to address me with some respect. I am Mrs. Stolli to them.
Mrs.
'

‘Yes, dear,' Saxon said, with a notable lack of respect.

‘Thank you.' Her eyes dropped to his crotch. Saxon wore the tightest jeans known to man.

He caught her checking him out. She quickly glanced away.

‘So, and how does
Mrs
. Stolli want to look today?' he asked, tossing back his mane of enviable blond hair.

‘Do your best,' she replied shortly.

‘I always do, dear, I always do.'

* * *

Boogie was a whiz at getting information fast. By the time Lucky returned from the screening there was a message waiting for her to call him.

Herman was slumped behind his desk. He had left the screening twenty minutes into the picture muttering to himself.

Lucky was certainly no prude, and she abhorred any kind of censorship, but
Motherfaker
managed to offend almost everyone. Every other word was
motherfucker
, the violence was relentless and mostly pointless, and women were portrayed as either whores or dumb victims.

Johnny Romano had written, executive-produced, and starred in it. Some message he was putting out there.

‘Does Abe know what kind of sexist, violent junk this studio is making?' Lucky demanded.

Herman shrugged hopelessly. ‘A Johnny Romano film makes money,' he said.

‘So does a thousand-dollar-a-night hooker, but that doesn't mean you have to fuck her, does it?'

Herman pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. ‘I'm leaving,' he said.

And don't bother coming back
, she wanted to say.
Stay at home, Herman. Grow roses and play golf. Home is where you belong.

‘Don't forget you'll be taking a vacation next week,' she reminded him.

He nodded, and walked slowly from the office. A tired old man being dragged reluctantly into the present.

For a moment Lucky almost felt sorry for him. But then she thought what the hell – he was being paid a fat salary to sit on his can and do precisely nothing. The least he could have done was view the product once in a while.

Boogie answered her call immediately. ‘What's up?' she asked. ‘Can it wait, or should I hear it now?'

‘You're right, as usual,' Boogie said admiringly. ‘You should be at the racetrack picking horses.'

‘Give me the story,' Lucky said impatiently, cradling the phone under her chin while she reached for a cigarette.

‘Kathleen Le Paul,' Boogie announced. ‘Alias Cathy Paulson, alias Candy Ganini. Thirty-four years old. She started out as a sixteen-year-old stripper, married a hood, became a call girl, then started to run dope across borders for anyone who'd pay enough. Arrested in 1980 for transporting drugs. She had three bags of cocaine stuffed up her snatch.'

‘That's pleasant!'

‘Did time, came out, married a small-time agent, had a child, then went back to her old ways. She's now the Los Angeles girlfriend of Colombian drug lord Umberto Castelli, and one of the chief suppliers of the showbiz community. They trust her. She dresses in designer clothes.'

‘I noticed,' Lucky said dryly.

‘Anything else?' Boogie asked.

‘What colour panties does she wear?'

‘Blue. Pink on Tuesdays.'

‘Fun-nee.'

‘Incidentally, your father is here.'

Lucky was surprised. ‘Gino's in L.A.?'

‘At the Wilshire. He wants you to have dinner with him tonight.'

‘I can't do that, Boog. Tonight is Abe Panther time, I'm going up to his house. Call Gino and tell him I'll be in touch tomorrow. Oh, and run a fast check on Eddie Kane, he's Senior Vice President of Distribution at Panther. I want to know it all.'

‘You got it.'

She thought about Bobby and missed him like crazy. ‘Did you call London?' she asked anxiously.

‘Bobby's fine,' he assured her.

‘And my office?'

‘Running smoothly.'

She sighed. ‘I guess I'm not missed.'

‘You're always missed.'

‘Thanks, Boog.'

She hung up the phone and contemplated this latest information. So Eddie Kane was a coke-head, and who else had the same little habit?

A cocaine high was expensive to support. Just what other scams was Eddie Kane into?

* * *

In the executive dining room Susie Rush laid her delicate white hand over Mickey Stolli's not so delicate hairy fist, and said, ‘Next time we lunch, we should do it at my place.'

She fluttered her eyelids at him, a flirtatious gesture he did not appreciate. The broad had been coming on to him for weeks and he couldn't quite figure out how to handle it. She was a major Panther star, and a major pain in the ass. He had no desire to fuck her. But the problem was – how to get out of it gracefully? Because as each day passed, Ms. Rush was making her intentions undeniably clearer.

‘Susie, my pet,' he said, clearing his throat. ‘If I ever had lunch at your place it would be all over.'

‘What do you mean, Mickey?' she asked, girlishly innocent, knowing perfectly well what he meant.

‘I mean I couldn't stop myself from jumpin' your gorgeous bones, an' that wouldn't be right, would it?'

Susie giggled. ‘Why not?' she asked, tilting her head coquettishly.

He couldn't help noticing the fine network of lines around her watery blue eyes, and the two deeper furrows between her brows. This broad was no longer in the first flush – it was miraculous what a great lighting cameraman could do.

‘We're both married, Susie. Gotta remember that,' Mickey said, trying to sound sincere.

She rubbed her fingers lightly across his clenched fist. ‘You're tense, Mickey. Relax, it's only little me.'

This had gone far enough – better snap this back onto a business level. ‘I'm very married, Susie,' he reminded her. And then, just to keep her in a good mood, ‘If I wasn't, who knows…'

Susie patted his fist and withdrew her hand. ‘Do you know something, Mickey?'

‘What?'

‘In spite of your
fierce
reputation, you really are a very sweet and loyal man.' She honoured him with a sugary smile.

Mickey Stolli had been called a lot of things in his life, but ‘sweet and loyal' was a definite first. He sincerely hoped nobody was eavesdropping. ‘Sweet and loyal' could blow his entire reputation.

‘Let's talk about the script,' he said, firmly changing the subject.

‘Which script?' Susie replied, delicately picking the leaves off an artichoke and dipping them in a buttery sauce.

‘
Sunshine.'

‘I don't want to do
Sunshine
,' Susie replied, getting quite snappish. ‘If you ever listened to me, you'd be aware I have no intention of doing
Sunshine.
' She paused for dramatic effect. ‘I wish to play the lead in
Bombshell.
'

Mickey laughed. A mistake.

Susie glared. ‘What's so funny?'

He recovered quickly. ‘Nothin's funny. Venus Maria is set for
Bombshell.'

‘She hasn't signed.'

‘She will.'

Susie's eyes hardened. ‘I want a shot at that role, Mickey. And I will not be happy if I don't get it.'

He put on his best jerk-off voice. ‘C'mon, pet. What are we talkin' here?
Bombshell
is all wrong for you, it's not your image. The public wouldn't want to see you in it. You're Susie Rush, America's sweetheart. Stick to type. Right now you're queen of the box-office.'

Not strictly true. Her last film had been a disappointment, making a mere sixty million as opposed to breaking the one hundred million mark – a goal her movies usually achieved.