Lady Boss (30 page)

Boogie had hired a secretary to come to the house each night, sit in a room, and type out the transcripts of Mickey's recorded conversations. They made interesting reading.

Working nine to five was an exhausting business. Spending every day kissing Mickey Stolli's ass for hours on end was depressing, to say the least. Lucky wasn't used to being in a subservient position and it didn't suit her.

It was also depressing not knowing where Lennie was. Boogie was working on tracking him down.

In London, Bobby whined on the phone. It was unlike him. ‘Mommy, Mommy, when are you coming? I haven't seen you for ages. Where are you?' he asked.

‘Don't worry, we'll all be together soon, sweetheart,' she assured him, feeling full of guilt.

And then she remembered she hadn't called Brigette since she'd started this caper. Quickly she placed a call to the private boarding school Brigette attended.

A secretary informed her the school was closed for the summer and Brigette had returned to New York and her grandmother.

‘Freedom,' Lucky whispered to herself. ‘I need my freedom.'

Nona Webster belonged to a crazy family. Brigette had never met anybody quite like them before. Effie Webster was an extraordinary-looking woman. No more than five feet tall and bone thin, she had hair even redder than her daughter's, worn in a strange cockatoo style with a renegade clump of brilliant green at the front. Her makeup was bright and unusual, and her clothes reflected the image of a woman who'd never bowed to convention.

On the other hand, Yul Webster, her husband, was a very proper-looking man. Tall and imposing, he wore Savile Row suits, silk shirts, hand-made shoes, and his only concession to his wife's outlandish taste was his ties, which were designed by Effie and made up specially for him. Yul sported ties with hand-painted naked women, birds in flight, airplanes landing – any subject that took Effie's fancy – and he wore them with panache.

‘My parents are slightly weird,' Nona warned her friend before they arrived in New York – an understatement, to say the least.

Weird they might be, but warm and friendly they certainly were. They welcomed Brigette into their home as if she were a member of the family.

‘They take drugs,' Nona confessed rather sheepishly. ‘I've learned to ignore it. Actually, it's only a little snort of recreational coke here and there, and they're into grass. You know what it is, they're kind of bogged down in that whole sixties thing. Just pretend you don't notice, and if they offer you anything say no.'

Brigette understood. ‘I went through my drug stage when I was fourteen,' she explained.

Nona nodded. ‘Another coincidence. So did I.'

‘Karma.'

‘Definitely.' Warmly Nona took her friend's arm. ‘Y'know, I really feel comfortable with you,' she said. ‘We're so alike.'

‘Alike – but different.'

‘You
know
what I mean,' Nona said.

The Websters' New York penthouse was a splash of colour from the moment you entered. They'd settled on a startling array of modern furniture. The walls were painted black and covered in contemporary art. Their paintings made a striking statement.

Every week they threw an enormous party attended by an army of beautiful and talented people.

‘A few months ago Venus Maria was here,' Nona confided. ‘She's the best. I got to stare at her all night!'

Brigette was impressed. ‘Amazing!' she said.

‘Absolutely,' agreed Nona. ‘I love meeting interesting people, don't you?'

‘Where's your brother?' Brigette asked curiously.

‘Don't worry, he'll turn up. Whenever he needs money he's here.' Nona nodded sagely. ‘That's his thing – getting money out of anyone he can.'

‘What's his name?'

‘Paul,' Nona replied. ‘They must have been having a normal day when they named him.'

Brigette picked up a framed photo from the piano and studied it. ‘Is this him?' she asked.

‘Handsome, isn't he?' Nona said.

‘Not bad,' Brigette lied. She thought he was gorgeous. ‘What does he do?'

‘He's an artist. Unsuccessful. Paints bloody great canvases of naked people. If he asks you to pose for him, say no.'

‘Right – like I'd say yes!'

‘We're going to have a terrific summer.' Nona sighed happily. ‘I have a feeling, don't you?'

Brigette nodded.

* * *

Deena Swanson and Effie Webster were best friends. An odd coupling, but one that seemed to work. They'd actually been friends for many years, since Deena first came to America. They'd met when Effie had visited the showroom where Deena worked and picked out several pieces of furniture.

When Deena began dating Martin Swanson, Effie had immediately suggested she should think seriously about marrying him. ‘Darling, the man is going places,' Effie had assured her. ‘And methinks you should go right along with him.'

Deena didn't need much persuading. She found Martin attractive and killer sharp. Definitely a man on his way to the top.

Martin and Yul did not get along quite so well. Yul found Martin boring. ‘The man has an ego the size of the Empire State Building,' he'd told Effie.

‘As long as it's only his ego, darling!' she'd replied, laughing gaily.

When Martin started to sleep around, the first person Deena confided in was Effie. ‘What shall I do?' she'd wailed.

‘Ignore it,' Effie had advised. ‘Most men play – it's their damn libido! If you take no notice they soon get bored and come home to Momma. After all, a lay is a lay – but a wife is a lifetime commitment. The very thought of the alimony involved drives them straight back into your arms.'

‘How about Yul?' Deena wanted to know.

‘I couldn't care less,' Effie had replied briskly. ‘As long as he comes home.'

‘But you
would
care if it interfered with your marriage.'

Quite firmly Effie had said, ‘
Nothing
will ever interfere with my marriage.'

Effie Webster obviously adored her only daughter. She took both Brigette and Nona to Saks, and then on to Trump Tower, where they shopped until they couldn't carry any more bags.

Anything Nona asked for, her mother bought her. ‘I told you,' she whispered to Brigette. ‘They spend everything they make. My parents are crazy!'

After shopping, Effie took them to lunch at the Russian Tea Room, where they spotted Rudolph Nureyev and Paul Newman lunching at different tables.

‘What do you get up to when you're in town with your grandmother?' Nona asked, wolfing delicious blinis.

Brigette grimaced. ‘Charlotte's really boring. She never takes me anywhere.'

‘What was your mother like when she was alive?'

‘Well,' Brigette replied slowly, thinking about it, ‘she was kind of fun. At least we
did
things. We were always flying off to stay with my grandfather on his Greek island. Or to the fashion shows in Paris. We used to travel all over the world, it was exciting.'

‘You must miss her,' Nona said sympathetically, touching her friend's arm.

Brigette nodded sadly. ‘Yes, I do,' she replied, realizing for the first time that she did miss Olympia very much indeed.

* * *

Nona's brother, Paul, turned up on Sunday wearing dirty jeans, scuffed cowboy boots, a black T-shirt, and a distressed leather motorcycle jacket. He was thin and intense-looking, and he did not have the family red hair. His hair was long and dark and worn in a tight ponytail. His eyes were covered by dark shades.

Nona greeted him brightly.

‘I'm here for money,' he announced.

‘The story of your life.' Nona sighed. ‘Don't I at least get a greeting? A kiss? A hug? Anything?'

‘You got bucks, you get a greeting.'

‘Thanks a lot! It's
so
nice to find all this brotherly love flowing in my direction.'

Paul threw himself into a chair, removed his dark shades, and stared straight at Brigette. ‘Who's this?' he asked.

‘The one girl you can't resist,' Nona replied.

‘Too young,' said Paul.

‘Uh-uh.' Nona shook her head. ‘Wait until you hear what she's got that you want.'

‘Too young,' Paul repeated.

Brigette was not sure she was enjoying this conversation. Who did this idiot think he was?

‘This is my new best friend, Brigette,' Nona said, introducing her at last.

‘Hi ya, Brigette,' Paul said casually.

‘Stanislopoulos,' Nona added.

Paul raised an eyebrow. ‘As in
the?
' he questioned, brightening considerably.

Nona grinned triumphantly. ‘You've got it.'

Paul's stare intensified. ‘I'd like to ask for your hand in marriage,' he said, staring at Brigette.

She went along with the game. ‘Too late. You're much too old for me.'

Nona laughed delightedly.

‘How about a second chance?' Paul begged.

‘I told you, didn't I?' Nona said. ‘Money – that's all this stinker cares about. He doesn't have a heart, he has a cash register!'

‘
Is
there anything else?' Paul asked, checking Brigette out.

Effie entered the room dressed from head to toe in flaming orange.

‘You look like a minah bird who just got a nasty shock,' Paul remarked. ‘What is that outfit.'

Effie smiled. Obviously the Websters were used to Paul and took no notice of his rudeness. ‘That's no way to ask for money,' she admonished, shaking a finger at him. ‘Naughty, naughty.'

‘How come everybody is under the impression I only come here for money?' Paul complained.

‘Because it's true,' Nona said.

Watching this family scene, Brigette decided that even though he was exceptionally rude, Paul Webster was perhaps the best-looking man she'd ever seen.

But Brigette knew what handsome meant. It meant danger, excitement, and then even more danger.

She was wise enough to steer clear.

* * *

There were times in life to get away and this was one of them. Lennie rented a loft in the Village and holed up. As long as he had instant coffee, a bottle of scotch, and plenty of yellow legal pads, he was happy.

Walking out on the movie was the best move he'd ever made. Compromise and Lennie Golden did not mix. He needed to be creative, and sometimes the pressures of stardom stifled the creative spirit.

Not to mention Lucky pissing off to Japan.

He'd had the ‘movie star in a bad film' trip and now it was time to get back to work.

It occurred to him that if he wanted a successful movie he'd better sit down and write it himself. Being alone was exactly what he needed.

He was well aware that his agent and manager were probably frantically searching for him. But he also knew he was not in the mood to be bothered, so he covered his tracks, making a large cash withdrawal at his bank and not writing any further cheques.

The only person he phoned was Jess.

‘Listen,' he told her, ‘I've got to be by myself for a while. If Lucky calls, tell her you've heard from me and I'm fine – nothing else.'

Jess had said they were both playing games and should grow up.

‘This isn't a revenge move,' he'd explained patiently. ‘Lucky's in Japan. When she gets back, I'll see her. Right now she doesn't want me to contact her. So I won't. That's not playing games.'

‘Oh, c'mon,' Jess had said disgustedly. ‘You're worse than a couple of kids.'

‘Whatever,' he'd replied, getting off the phone. ‘I'll call you in a week.'

He enjoyed solitary confinement. It gave him the freedom he required. From early in the morning until late at night he sat at a large table by the window and wrote. Writing made him feel good. It released the pressure.

When he wasn't writing he thought about Lucky and tried to figure out what was really going on between them. She worked in New York. He worked in L.A. And in between they saw each other for brief spells.

Oh, yes. The sex was great. Sure. Why not? But great sex wasn't enough. He wanted more.

The thoughts he'd had about taking a year off were getting stronger. If they didn't do it, he had a bad feeling their marriage was going to fall apart. It wasn't what he wanted.

He kept on writing and found his script turning into the story of their life together.

Right now he didn't know the ending. He only hoped it was a happy one.

When Martin Swanson arrived back in New York from the coast, Deena greeted him like a dutiful wife even though she feared the worst. Every time he went away she feared the worst. Was Martin getting ready to tell her their marriage was over?

‘How was L.A.?' she asked as soon as he walked into their bedroom.

‘Hot,' he replied, loosening his tie,

‘And business? Did we get a studio?'

Using the word
we
was an important part of the strategy she'd decided to employ. Martin wasn't getting any help from her. If he wanted a divorce he was going to have to tell her himself.

‘Still negotiating,' he said. ‘But it looks like we're going to take over Orpheus.'

‘Weren't you interested in Panther?'

Martin sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘I met with Mickey Stolli. He doesn't seem to have any say in the matter. The studio still belongs to Abe Panther, and apparently he doesn't want to sell. But Mickey promised he'd have his wife talk to the old man – she's Abe's granddaughter.'

‘What's Mickey Stolli like?' Deena asked, moving on to the interested wife role.

‘A Hollywood type,' Martin replied, yawning. ‘Full of ideas. He's made Panther into a money-making machine. They produce a lot of movies nobody's ever heard of.'