Lady Boss (22 page)

They were laughing so much he had to pull his black Mercedes over to the side of the street.

They were alone in the car. No entourage, no crew, no acquaintances, no paparazzi.

He was drawn to her, even though he knew instinctively she would turn him down.

Leaning across the seat he kissed her, and for a moment she responded. Soft lips, wet lips, and a sweet pointed tongue that darted into his mouth for a second, and then withdrew as if she suddenly realized what she was doing.

‘Cooper!' she scolded, cross with him and filled with guilt because she'd almost settled back to enjoy it.

‘Can I help it?' he said, feeling an immediate hard-on in spite of her withdrawal.

‘We're friends, remember?' she reminded him.

‘Everybody
thinks
we're in bed together,' he reasoned.

‘Martin doesn't.'

Oh yeah, Martin. Why oh why had he ever introduced her to Martin Swanson?

On Wednesday Olive called and said, ‘The job is yours.'

‘Fantastic!' exclaimed Lucky. ‘He's approved your trip?'

‘He certainly has,' Olive replied, sounding delighted. ‘Come over to our office after lunch and I'll introduce you to Mr. Stolli. After you've met him I can go over his daily routine with you. He's
very
particular.'

‘What did you tell him about me?'

‘That you're discreet, trustworthy, and a fine worker. He says he'll take my word on it, so don't let me down, Luce.'

‘I won't, Olive.'

‘Are you
sure
this is going to be all right with Mr. Stone?' Olive fussed, hoping she was doing the right thing.

‘Positive. He leaves on vacation tomorrow,' Lucky assured her.

‘Very well. You'll watch me all day tomorrow and take over on Friday. Does that suit you?'

‘Yes, it suits me fine.'

And indeed it did. In the heart of Mickey's office she would be able to find out everything there was to know.

‘Herman, you're out of here,' she said as soon as she put the phone down. ‘I just got promoted!'

Herman was impressed. He was also relieved. Now he could play golf without any interruptions and forget about Panther Studios for a while.

‘I'll call you when it's time for you to come back,' she told him. ‘In the meantime, why don't you put in an order to have this office painted? It's an absolute dump.'

‘You do it,' he said. ‘You're my secretary.'

A show of balls – albeit tired and old – but refreshing.

‘I will,' she said. ‘And I'll order a new air-conditioning unit. You're living in the Middle Ages over here. Have you seen Mickey Stolli's office?'

Herman shook his head. ‘No.'

‘You'd have a shit fit. It's a palace.'

It bothered Herman that he was getting used to her language.

Olive greeted Lucky excitedly. ‘You'll use my desk. I'll explain the phone system to you. And then we'll have to go over Mr. Stolli's personal requirements.'

Personal requirements? A blow-job every hour, or two blondes for breakfast?
Lucky couldn't help smiling.

Olive took this to be enthusiasm for the job. ‘Don't be
too
good at taking care of Mr. Stolli,' she admonished, wagging a warning finger. ‘It's only for a few days and then I'll be back.'

Meeting Mickey Stolli for the first time was interesting. He sat behind his desk, king of his kingdom, bald, tanned, and rude.

Proudly Olive led Lucky into his domain. ‘This is Luce, the assistant I told you about,' she said in a reverent voice.

Mickey was going over some papers. He didn't bother looking up, merely waved a hand in the air. ‘Yeah, yeah,' he said.

Lucky noticed that an unruly clump of black hair was growing wild on the back of his hand. If only it could be transplanted to the top of his head it might be the start of something big.

‘She'll be taking over on Friday,' Olive said.

His private line rang and he picked it up. ‘Willya get
outta
here,' he said, covering the mouthpiece of the phone.

‘Thank you, Mr. Stolli.' Olive almost curtsied.

Get outta here
and she gave him a
thank you
and a bob? Something was wrong somewhere. Olive needed a refresher course in self-respect.

‘Sometimes Mr. Stolli has too much work to cope with,' Olive explained. ‘You'll get used to his moods. He doesn't mean any harm.'

* * *

That night Lucky dined with Gino. She went to his hotel in full disguise and broke him up. ‘You're unbelievable, kid,' he said, starting to laugh. ‘You shoulda been an actress.'

‘Would you have recognized me?' she challenged.

‘I'm your father.'

‘That wasn't the question.' She flopped into a chair, pulling her wig off and throwing it across the room.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘I guess I'd have to say no.'

She laughed. ‘There's something very potent about changing one's identity. I'd probably have made an excellent spy.'

‘You'd have made an excellent whatever you wanted to.'

‘Thanks,' she said, pleased.

They ordered room service. Thick juicy steaks, old-fashioned mashed potatoes, and buttery corn on the cob.

While they ate they talked. Gino told her all about his run-in with Paige's husband.

‘I went over to the house an' met him. Funny thing – turns out he knows all about me and Paige.'

Lucky leaned forward anxiously. ‘Yes? Does that mean I'm going to be a bridesmaid?'

‘It don't mean nothin', kid. He tells me Paige can do what she wants. If she fancies a divorce – he'll give it to her. Only there's one problem.'

‘What's that?'

‘She's never asked.'

‘Oh. Not so good.'

‘Then Paige comes home, sees me in her house, an' nearly passes out. By this time Ryder an' me – we're gettin' along like old pals. The lady ain't thrilled.'

‘What happened then?'

‘Ryder asks me to stay for dinner. I say no. Paige looks uncomfortable an' I split. Since then I haven't heard a whisper from either of 'em.' He chewed on a husk of corn. ‘I'm on my way back to New York tomorrow. I'm gonna start datin' again.'

‘Dating! C'mon, Gino, I know you're a miracle – but you're also seventy-nine years old!'

‘Do I look it?' he demanded.

‘No.'

‘Do I act it?'

‘Well… no,' she admitted.

‘So what the hell, kid. I wanna find me a wife.'

They grinned at each other, Lucky and her old man. They were a matched pair.

* * *

Leslie Kane was too pretty and too fresh-looking to be an ex-hooker – but that's exactly what she was.

Leslie had long, wavy red hair which hung below her creamy white shoulders, widely spaced eyes, a pert nose, and full luscious lips. She was tall and willowy with rounded breasts, a tiny waist, and extra-long legs.

She and Eddie had been married for one year. Before that she'd been a call girl for eleven months.

Leslie was crazy about Eddie, and Eddie was crazy about Leslie. They'd met at the car wash on Santa Monica Boulevard, and by the time they'd both followed the progress of their cars through the system they'd decided it was love.

Leslie had told Eddie she was a secretary, which was true in a way because she'd started out as a secretary, and some of the men she serviced liked her to dress up as one, although black leather and schoolgirl outfits were much more popular.

Eddie had told her he was Head of Distribution at Panther Studios, and Leslie, who had no ambition to be an actress, thought, ‘Hmmm, this is the guy for me.'

And so true love blossomed.

Eddie gave up seeing a well-known television actress, who was not pleased.

Leslie gave up her apartment and her profession.

They were married in Marina Del Rey on a friend's boat.

Married life was good. They both enjoyed being in a formal relationship. It made a change. Eddie had always been a chaser. He liked women; they liked him. And being in the film business he'd found there was never a shortage of new talent. After meeting Leslie he had no desire to chase any more. Not only was she gorgeous, she kept him more than busy in the bedroom. ‘Where'd you learn all this stuff?' he'd asked her with a quizzical grin.

‘
Cosmopolitan
,' she'd replied straight-faced. And he'd believed her.

Leslie had never been a street hooker. She'd arrived in L.A. at eighteen, found a job on Rodeo Drive in one of the fancy dress-stores, and there she'd been discovered by a certain Madame Loretta, who'd set her up in an apartment.

Madame Loretta was a short, squat woman who'd come to America from her native Czechoslovakia many years earlier. She specialized in discovering beautiful, fresh young girls, and in supplying top-of-the-line beauties to the Hollywood stars, executives, and moguls who came her way. She made her girls feel special and at all times beautiful, and they, in turn, made her clients very satisfied indeed. Leslie was no exception.

When Leslie told Madame Loretta she wished to get married, nobody could have been happier. The old madam invited her to tea in her hillside house and regaled her with a few facts of life. ‘There are three ways to keep a man,' she informed Leslie, wagging a chubby finger in her face. ‘Three golden rules you must always remember. Rule one: Find something about your man that you think is the most wonderful thing in the world and tell him about it constantly. Maybe it's his eyes, his hair, his ass. Whatever it is – make sure he knows you love it. Rule two: When you're in bed together, tell him he's the most sensational lover you've ever had. And rule three: Whatever he says, be amazed at his knowledge. Look at him with adoration and assure him it's the cleverest thing you've ever heard anybody say.' Madame Loretta nodded knowingly. ‘With these three rules,' she said, ‘you'll never go wrong.'

Leslie listened and learned good. She knew how to please in more ways than one, and Eddie was very receptive to her charms.

Leslie was happy, but the one fear she did have was that some day they would come across one of her previous clients and she would be exposed. She knew Eddie would never accept her past if he found out the truth, and it frightened her. At parties her wide eyes scanned the room, ever watchful. In restaurants she was always on the lookout. How many clients had she serviced in eleven months? It was impossible to remember.

Leslie knew her husband had a cocaine habit. She chose to ignore it. If a little snort of white powder made him feel good, who was she to argue?

She'd tried it once and hadn't liked it. Too comfortable. Too dangerous. She had a past to watch out for; it wouldn't do to put it at risk.

Lately, Eddie had been jumpy and nervous. He snapped at her for no reason. He got up at four o'clock in the morning and wandered around the house. He took a double shot of vodka with his morning orange juice.

Leslie couldn't help worrying. Maybe he'd found out, and was getting ready to tell her it was all over.

What would she do? What
could
she do? She had no desire to return to hooking. She couldn't go home to Florida, because she'd skipped with a thousand bucks of her stepfather's money. If Eddie wanted out of their marriage her life was finished.

‘Honey, is something bothering you?' she asked him one day, touching the back of his neck, ruffling his longish hair just the way she knew he liked it.

‘Nothin', baby,' he said, jumping up and pacing around the room. ‘Nothin' that a million bucks an' a little cooperation from Mickey Stolli can't fix.'

* * *

Lucky started her position as Mickey Stolli's temporary assistant at seven-thirty on Friday morning. She knew he arrived in his office punctually at seven-forty-five, and she wanted to be there waiting for him.

The faint smell of Olive lingered in the air. A crisp English toilet water, peppermint lozenges, and a small azalea plant.

Sitting behind Olive's desk Lucky took a deep breath. She was prepared for action. Any action. She was not prepared for the first phone call to be from Lennie! She recognized his voice immediately.

‘Olive,' he said snappishly, ‘put me through to Mr. Stolli. This is an emergency.'

Lennie! An emergency! She panicked – something she rarely did – and hung up. Whereupon Mickey Stolli made his entrance. Clad in tennis clothes. Sweating.

‘Be in my office in ten minutes,' Mickey said, and slammed the door to his private domain.

She acted fast, buzzed Mickey, and said, ‘Lennie Golden is on the line. He says it's an emergency.'

God was on her side. Just as Mickey grumbled a sharp ‘Put him through,' the phone rang again and she quickly connected the call, hoping it was Lennie ringing back.

Lennie was a problem she had not considered. She could disguise herself physically, but she hadn't thought about her voice. Fortunately he had not called on Mickey's private line, so she was able to press a button and listen in on the conversation.

‘I've had enough of this shit, Mickey. Either Grudge goes, or I do,' Lennie said angrily. ‘The man is an amateur.'

Mickey stated a fact: ‘The man has been in the business longer than either of us.'

‘Perhaps that's his problem. He thinks he knows it all. And maybe he did twenty-five years ago. Things change. Let's move with the times.'

Mickey's soothing voice: ‘Don't worry. I'll deal with it.'

‘Your promises are crowding my ass. If nothing happens, I'm gonna walk.'

‘You wouldn't be threatening me, would you?'

‘You can bet your wife's jewellery on it.'

‘I hate to remind you about something called a contract.'

‘Tell you what,' said Lennie, sounding quite reasonable, ‘take your contract, put it through a shredder, mix it with a bagful of cement, an' shove it up your ass. There'll still be room for a decent human being.'