The Santangelos (42 page)

Paige had announced that she would be coming with guests. She’d spoken directly to Danny, and imperiously demanded that he send a plane for her convenience. Danny had checked with Lucky, who’d said, “Do it.”

Accommodations were at the Keys. Luxury rooms for everyone. Danny had attempted to book some of the guests into the Magiriano, but the hotel’s penthouse suites were all booked. Apparently some Middle Eastern king and his enormous entourage had taken over the two top floors. Danny didn’t bother Lucky with the details; instead, he put the overflow of guests from the Keys into a neighboring hotel—the Cavendish, a hotel owned by two lesbians who were friends of Lucky’s.

Chris Warwick conferred with Danny about security; with so many high-profile guests due to attend, it was imperative that everything run smoothly. Danny had imported the guards from the Malibu house to Vegas, while Chris had hired his own team of crack ex–Israeli army security. In Chris’s opinion, there was no such thing as being too careful.

It occurred to Lucky that she’d better do something for all the early arrivals, so she put together a special dinner in one of the banquet rooms at the Keys for everyone who was already there. There were a lot of people catching up, reminiscing about Gino, telling stories about his nefarious past.

Wearing a simple black dress and flashing emerald drop earrings—a gift from Gino—Lucky flitted from table to table, not lingering, experiencing waves of nostalgia as she encountered so many faces from Gino’s past. The old cronies table was the best—former tough guys now rocking thick glasses and heavy canes. Some of them were attached to oxygen drips, although all of them had a smile on their wizened faces as they talked about Gino the Ram, and what a formidable character he’d been.

Yes,
Lucky thought with pride.
My father the character, a street-smart kid who came to America at thirteen and rose to conquer all. A man of the people
.

I will miss him forever
.

She’d made up her mind to get through the next twenty-four hours with strength and dignity. It was what Gino would’ve expected of her.

*   *   *

“Where’s the helicopter?” Max asked when their plane landed at LAX.

“Change of plans,” Dante answered smoothly as a VIP escort met them at customs. “We are now driving to Vegas.”

“What?” Max said, surprised and frustrated. “There’s no time to drive. The funeral’s at noon tomorrow.”

“That gives us plenty of time,” Dante responded, creepy smile and yellow teeth going full force. “My friend from college, Alejandro Diego, has offered to drive us. He owns a VIP club in L.A. and is happy I am here. We stop by his club, later we drive to Vegas with Alejandro and his girlfriend.”

“Oh my
God
!” Max exclaimed. “This is a freaking
nightmare
. I’m not driving to Vegas with someone I don’t know. I’m taking a plane.”

“No,” Dante said. “You’re not. Alejandro is interested in investing in our company, he is most anxious to meet you, and Alfredo
insisted
you see him. This will be advantageous for you too.”

Max shook her head. Her family was already in Vegas, or she would’ve gone straight to the Malibu house. She’d come this far with the despicable Dante by her side; what was she supposed to do?

Get to Vegas, that’s what.

Tired and confused, she realized that the only option seemed to be to stick with Dante. At least she wouldn’t be alone with him, and that was something.

Suck it up,
she told herself.
Suck it up and once you get there, have Lucky deal with this douche
.

*   *   *

Gino Junior and Leo were sitting with Max’s high school friends Cookie and Harry. Lucky strolled over and joined them. She’d known Cookie and Harry since they were little kids, and she’d always liked them. Both of them had been loyal friends to Max.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said.

“I just got a text from Max,” Cookie volunteered. “She’s landed in L.A. She’ll be here soon.”

“Great,” Lucky said. “I spoke to her boss yesterday. He’s arranged for a helicopter to get them here.”

“The whole Dolcezza gig sounds awesome,” Cookie said, her pretty face glowing. “Our girl’s gonna be famous.”

“Fame isn’t everything,” Lucky mused. “I hope she realizes that.”

“’Course she does,” Cookie said confidently. “Y’know our Max. She’s gonna love it, an’ she’s not gonna take it too seriously.”

“Well…” Lucky said. “She’s following her dreams—that’s what everyone should do.”

“Yeah,” Cookie said enthusiastically. “I’m thinkin’ of becoming a rapper like Iggy Azalea.”

Harry almost choked on his drink. “Since when did you ever rap?” he demanded.

“Since I decided to follow
my
dream, asshole,” Cookie responded, throwing him a snarky look.

Spotting Venus across the room, Lucky got up. “See you later, guys,” she said, heading in Venus’s direction.

Wearing a sleek burgundy pantsuit with nothing underneath the jacket, major cleavage on show, her platinum hair swept up into a tight topknot, Venus was back to her beautiful and very sexual self, which could be because there was no Venezuelan director clinging protectively on to her arm.

“Hey,” Lucky said, embracing her friend. “No Hugo?”

Venus gave a thin smile. “Hugo who?”

“It’s over?”

“Done. The movie too. We wrapped two days ago and it occurred to me that as a director he’s a genius, as a man—not so much. I’m seeking fresh young blood.”

“And she’s back,” Lucky said, grinning.

“Oh, you can bet she is,” Venus agreed.

“Hmm…” Lucky mused. “She’s on the loose, so—warning—stay away from Bobby.”

“Where
is
your delicious son?” Venus inquired, downing a lychee martini.

“He’s on his way. But I’m not kidding. Stay away.”

“Oh my God, you’re so bossy,” Venus said, laughing softly. “Bobby and I would make a divine couple.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Lucky warned. “Bobby is off-limits.”

“So was my ex, Billy,” Venus said caustically. “However, that sure didn’t stop little Max from having fun with him, did it?”

“I knew nothing about what was going on,” Lucky said quickly. “You know if I had I would’ve never allowed it to happen. Billy took advantage of Max. She’s only a kid, and he moved right in on her. You’ve got to admit that for a teenager, Billy is a hard act to resist.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll back off,” Venus said, her eyes lingering on a hovering waiter who resembled a young Channing Tatum. “I’m sure there’s plenty of talent around here to keep me happy.”

“How about going manless for a day or two?” Lucky suggested. “Ever thought of doing
that
?”

“Excuse me,” Venus drawled. “It’s
me
you’re talking to.”

*   *   *

Alejandro zeroed in on Max as if she were the dish of the day. Max could not believe that now she was stuck with a pair of double douches—for she loathed Alejandro on sight. He had that
I-am-so-smooth-and-rich-and-irresistible
attitude with his stupid mustache and greased-back hair. It was no wonder that he and Dante were friends. Two of a kind. And his sleazy club was more like a drug den than a cool hangout. Club Luna was filled with all the dregs who didn’t have a chance of getting into Mood. Sinister-looking guys with ragged ponytails and ludicrous outfits. Girls with ultratight skirts that barely covered their asses, and an abundance of fake tits. Bottle service was five thousand dollars a table. What a freaking rip-off.

Max was tempted to boast about her big brother and his awesome chain of clubs, but she decided against it.

Where was Alejandro’s girlfriend? She was in need of female company, and there was no girlfriend in sight. After a couple of glasses of champagne, all she wanted to do was sleep. The flight from Europe had left her feeling exhausted.

“What time are we leaving?” she muttered to Dante, who’d been trying to give Alejandro the impression that they were a couple. How gross was
that
?

“Soon,” Dante said. “Alejandro’s driver says with no traffic it’ll take us less than three hours.”

Three hours of sleep, that’s what she craved. Three hours of sleep and then she’d finally be with her family.

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

After spending time with Venus, Lucky continued to circulate from table to table. There were so many people present who’d loved Gino, so many faces from both their past lives. It was crazy trying to talk to everyone when all she really wanted was to be with close family only.

She was happy to see talk-show host Jack Python, and after chatting with him for a few minutes she turned away to find Craven Richmond looming in front of her. Craven, the son of Senator Peter Richmond, the idiot Gino had married her off to when she was sixteen. Ah yes, fond memories—a baby married off to an awkward jerk. What a pair of losers!

Poor Craven; he hadn’t changed. He stood before her older and no wiser, with a sad-sack expression and a plump wife by his side.

“Y-You look … uh … beautiful,” he stuttered.

Totally inappropriate,
Lucky thought.
Still an idiot. How about saying, “I’m sorry for your loss”? Or maybe introducing me to your wife
?

She noted that he was losing his hair and immediately felt sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault he’d been born into such a messed-up family. Peter Richmond, the philanderer, and his frozen-faced hard-ass wife, Betty, who had about as much compassion as an ant. No parenting skills between those two.

Remembering her time in Washington, Lucky shuddered. Nonstop games of golf and tennis, endless fund-raising parties, dinners, and plenty of mindless bullshit. A life in limbo while she waited desperately for an opportunity to escape. And when that opportunity had come around, she’d taken it and never looked back.

“Nice to see you, Craven,” she said, trying to sound as if she meant it. “And this must be your lovely wife.”

The plump woman smiled, a gummy, ingratiating smile. “We’re pregnant,” the woman said with a proud smirk.

“Congratulations,” Lucky said, swiftly moving on to the movie-star table, where Nick Angel was busy holding court.

*   *   *

“Where the fuck are you?” Alejandro yelled to Willow on his cell. “My friends are already here and we’re waiting to leave. You’re embarrassing me. Get your ass to the club.”

“I’m on my way, had a slight setback,” Willow said, staring crossly at her mom, who’d turned up on her doorstep bitching and moaning that Willow had not sent her the check she’d promised, and that perhaps she should speak to the nice men with cameras gathered outside Willow’s house and tell them what a cheap little monkey her darling daughter was.

Oh shit
, Willow thought.
This is exactly what I don’t need
.

Furiously, she realized that it was her own fault because what with all the excitement of trying to put a movie together, she’d forgotten about sending her mom a check. Now Pammy—verging on drunk—was in her living room, while
she
was supposed to be going to Vegas with Alejandro. He’d assured her they would be picking up the start-up cash they needed, so finally their movie could get on track. What was a girl to do?

A disgruntled Pammy placed both hands on her hips and glared at her daughter. “I saw you in the magazines with that man who’s old enough to be your grandfather,” she said accusingly. “What were you thinking?”

“Ralph Maestro is not a man,” Willow answered grandly. “Ralph Maestro is a big movie star.”

“He’s a murderer too,” Pammy muttered ominously. “Everyone knows he killed that lovely wife of his. Shot her in the head. The
Enquirer
is
still
investigating, an’ you can bet that’s a paper who knows a thing or two, you’ll read nothing except the truth there.”

“I’m writing you a check,” Willow said, running out of time and patience. “If I give it to you, will you leave and please not talk to the photographers outside?”

“Leave?” Pammy exclaimed as if it was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “It’s eleven at night an’ I might’ve had a drink or two. Can’t get home until tomorrow. No, little lady, I’m staying with you.”

“That’s impossible,” Willow blurted.

“Why’s that impossible?” Pammy wished to know, her faded blue eyes darting around the living room, taking in her daughter’s chaos, seeing if she could spot a bottle of vodka or scotch.

“’Cause I told you—I have to go,” Willow said, swooping up her purse. “I’ve got an important date. I’m already late.”

“With the old man?” Pammy said knowingly.

“No,” Willow snapped back. “It’s none of your business who it’s with.”

“None of my business indeed,” Pammy sniffed belligerently. “After all I’ve done for you, it’s none of my business. When’re you gonna realize that if it wasn’t for me, you’d be nothing. I paid for everything so you could have a career. Singing, dancing, acting lessons. And—”

“Okay, Mom,” Willow interrupted, rolling her eyes. “I know, I know, you’re a saint. Saint Pammy.”

Once again Pammy glared at her daughter. Willow glared back.

“I have to go,” Willow repeated, adding a reluctant, “You can sleep on the couch. Don’t touch anything and don’t answer the door or talk to the paps—sometimes they sit out there all night.”

“While
you’re
out whoring your body.”

Willow bit down hard on her lower lip to stop herself from getting involved in a battle of words. Pammy was an expert at never letting anything go, and she could out-argue anyone.

Opening her purse, Willow took out her checkbook and was about to scribble a check when Pammy cleared her throat and said a crafty, “Make it double what I asked for.”

“Excuse me?” Willow said, shocked.

“You heard,” Pammy said, spotting a bottle of vodka and heading unsteadily toward it. “Double, or I give an interview to those nice men outside.”

“First of all, they are not nice men,” Willow said, exasperated. “And secondly, I don’t think there’s enough in my checking account to cover that amount of money.”