Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (18 page)

IT WAS FIVE-THIRTY IN THE MORNING WHEN
Lucky awoke. Her mouth felt like a rat had died in it. Her head was pounding relentlessly. She was aching all over and craved a cigarette.

She turned her head and sneaked a look at Alex. Naked and snoring, he was sprawled across the rumpled bed, completely relaxed.

Oh, God! What had she done?

Moving quietly, she got off the bed and set about stealthily gathering her clothes from the floor. Then she crept into the cramped bathroom and hurriedly dressed, not bothering to shower because she had only one thought in mind—a fast, silent exit.

Outside the motel room, in the middle of Nowheresville, it was murky and still dark. Bypassing Alex’s Porsche, she walked briskly to the deserted renting office where she punched a bell on the desk, waiting impatiently for someone to respond. A mangy dog sniffed her ankles and wandered off. She shivered, pulling up the collar of her jacket.

Finally a tousle-haired teenager appeared, tucking a grubby Star Trek T-shirt into his pants. “Kinda early, ma’am,” he said, with sleep in his eyes. “What kin I do for you?”

“I need a limo,” Lucky said, drumming her fingers on the counter, fervently hoping she could be on her way before Alex discovered she was missing.

“A what?” the teenager asked blankly.

“Limousine. Hired car. Anything to get me out of here.”

“I dunno…” the boy said vaguely. “The gas station won’t open ’til six, an’ I don’t reckon they got no limousines. My granddad’ll know. Only thing is, he’s sleepin’, an’ it ain’t worth my butt t’wake him.”

“Do
you
have a car?”

He rubbed his chin. “Me?”

“Yes. You.”

“I got me a sixty-eight Mustang,” he said proudly. “Souped it up good.”

“Will it get me from here to L.A.?”

“Lady—”

“
Will
it?”

Wrinkling his brow he mumbled, “’Scuse me, ma’am, but ain’t you in that foreign car parked outside cabin four?”

She sighed impatiently. “Let’s make this a short story. I have to get out of here now. How much will it cost me to borrow your Mustang?”

Five hundred dollars later she was on her way, putting as much distance as possible between herself and Alex. She didn’t regret what had happened. She’d wanted it, in fact, she’d been moving toward it ever since Alex had stepped into her office.

In retrospect, though, maybe she would have been better off sleeping with the Travolta clone from the bar. Less complicated.

Oh, God! She hoped Alex wasn’t going to turn out to be a problem.

No way. He used women, she was sure of that. It shouldn’t bother him that the situation had been reversed.

Alex Woods.

In future she’d make sure it was all business.

The teenager in the Star Trek T-shirt had told the truth, his old Mustang sped along the freeway like a revved-up sports car. She tuned the radio to a soul station, listening to Otis Redding sing the classic “Dock of the Bay” as she cruised along the freeway.

Instead of heading for L.A., she drove toward Palm Springs. She’d promised Alex he would meet Gino, but it was not to be. She wanted to be alone with her father—if Alex insisted on meeting him, he could do so on his own time.

When she arrived at Gino’s estate she found him up and dressed, busily screaming at his stockbroker on the phone, red in the face and as happy as a teenager who’d just gotten laid.

“Kiddo!” he exclaimed, covering the mouthpiece. “What in hell
you
doin’ here? Doncha know it’s earlier than shit?”

Dear old daddy. He certainly had a way with words.

She hugged him, marveling that he never seemed to age. Gino was eighty-one years old, and looked about sixty-five with his thick, slightly graying hair and youthful grin. He was fit and feisty, with all his own teeth, and from the smile on Paige’s face, an active sex life. In his Brooklyn youth he’d been nicknamed “Gino the Ram.” Oh, yes, her father certainly had a colorful past; he’d traveled a long way from his humble beginnings.

He finished with his stockbroker and banged the phone down. “The guy’s a putz,” he complained. “Always tellin’ me the wrong thing t’do. Dunno why I listen to him, the dumb bastard costs me money every goddamn day.”

“Why
do
you listen?” Lucky asked, collapsing into a chair, rummaging in her purse for a cigarette.

Gino peered at her. “What’s up, kiddo? I got a strong suspicion it ain’t a social call at this time of mornin’.”

“I got blasted,” she said ruefully. “Thought I’d share my hangover with you.”

“Still livin’ your life like a guy, huh?” Gino said, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Doncha know, ladies don’ get shit-faced.”

She found a cigarette and lit up. “I told you once, Gino, a long time ago”—she assumed a tough guy voice—“I ain’t no lady, I’m a Santangelo—just like you.”

He grinned. “Yeah, yeah, could I ever forget it. You were some problem kid.”

She fixed him with a winning smile. “The problem kid turned out good, huh?”

“I got no complaints.” He paused a moment. “How’re you
really
doin’?”

She shrugged, edgy, tired, and confused. “I’m getting there,” she said, not sure
how
she was feeling.

He looked at her knowingly. “It takes time, kid.”

“Yes, Gino,” she nodded, wishing for a split second that she was a little girl again and could run into the protective custody of his arms. “I know that.”

“We’ve been through a lot together, kiddo,” he said, studying her with his black eyes that matched hers.

“I know that, too,” she said quietly.

“Okay, so you’re a Santangelo, don’t ever forget it.”

She smiled softly. “As if I could.”

He stood up—even at his age, always on the move. “You want some tea? Coffee?”

“Nothing, thanks,” she said, stifling a yawn. “Is it okay if I take a shower?”

“Use the guest room. I’ll tell Paige you’re here.”

“Don’t wake her.”

“Ha! The friggin’ Russian army wouldn’t wake
my
wife if she wasn’t ready!”

The guest room was decorated in English country
pastels. It wasn’t Lucky’s taste, although she had to admit that Paige had done a good job.

She wandered over to the large picture window, gazing out over a manicured green lawn, a profusion of lush, purple bougainvillea bushes and an azure, kidney-shaped pool. Swimming pools gave her a bad feeling—ever since that fateful day she’d discovered her mother’s body…

No! She was not taking that soul-destroying trip down memory lane. Not today.

Throwing off her clothes, she entered the bathroom, pausing for a moment in front of the full-length mirror, studying her reflection. Youthfulness ran in the family; her body—even after three children—was olive-skinned, lithe, and slender, with firm breasts and long legs.

Alex Woods hadn’t seen it. After that one passionate kiss in the parking lot, things had moved at a rapid pace. A roadside motel. No conversation. Such was their lust they’d fallen on top of each other with none of the sexual niceties. Dark, fast fucking. The driven kind.

It reminded her of her wild years, when she’d bedded as many men as she’d felt like with absolutely no guilt. “Don’t call me, I’ll call you”—that had been her motto.

God! It seemed like a million years ago. Long before AIDS.

And then she’d met Lennie. Her true love. Her soul mate. And for the first time, her life was complete.

Thinking of Lennie, the tears finally came. She slumped down on the bathroom floor, silently sobbing out her anger and hurt and frustration until she was totally spent.

It was a cleansing, a renewal. She’d exorcised Lennie’s unfaithfulness; now, finally, she could mourn him properly.

She jumped up off the floor, took an icy-cold shower, and quickly dressed. She had a sudden great yearning to
see her children, hold them close and love them more than anything in the world. Gino would understand if she left immediately, so she decided to drive straight back to L.A. and spend some time with them before going to the studio.

Family first.

Business second.

And she’d still make Panther the biggest success story in town.

Lennie would want her to go on.

Lennie would want her to achieve nothing but the best.

Alex surfaced slowly. Light was creeping into the room, playing tag on his eyelids. He tried throwing his arm across his face to block the rays of early-morning sun. It didn’t work.

He stretched and groaned, slowly opening his eyes. It was definitely time to get up.

For a moment he lay there, completely disoriented, until gradually it all started to come back.

Lucky Santangelo. The girl with the hollow leg.

Lucky Santangelo. A beautiful, exciting woman.

They’d made love in this godawful motel room, urgent, passionate love. Now it was morning and…where was she?

He got off the bed, tripping over his shoes on the way to the bathroom.

She wasn’t in there.

He went to the window, pulled back the shade, and peered outside. His Porsche was parked where he’d left it last night. Good sign, it meant she couldn’t have ventured far.

He hoped she’d gone to get them coffee. Boy, he could sure use a cup of strong black coffee.

Picking his clothes off the floor, he returned to the bathroom. The shower was broken, spewing a thin stream of rust-colored water. Forget that.

Glancing at his watch he was shocked to see it was almost nine. He was always up by six-thirty. Must have really needed the sleep.

Jesus, he felt good—didn’t even have a hangover.
She
was the one with the hangover.

Lucky Santangelo. Thinking of her brought a smile to his face. In a strange way she was a mirror image of him—a rebel—completely unpredictable. And so wildly beautiful…

The smart move would be to take a shower back in L.A. He threw on his clothes and left the small, depressing motel room, walking the few yards to the renting office, where he encountered a weather-beaten old man sitting outside shelling peanuts while chewing tobacco.

“’Morning,” Alex said cordially.

“’Morning to you, too,” the old man replied, barely raising his head as he continued to shell his peanuts.

“Where’s the nearest place for coffee around here?”

“There’s a cafe across the street, kitty kat to t’gas station,” the old man said. “Try some a Mabel’s blackberry pie, s’damn good.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “I’ll remember that.” He began to walk away, stopped, and came back. “Did you see the lady from cabin four go across there?” he asked.

“That woman took off over three hours ago,” the old man said, his lined and weathered face impassive. “Borrowed my grandson’s car. Gave him five hundred bucks.” The old man chuckled. “He reckoned you people was drug dealers with that kinda money t’throw around.”

“She gave your grandson five hundred bucks to borrow his car and then
left
?” Alex said incredulously.

The old man spat a wad of tobacco onto the ground. “That’s what I said.”

“I can’t believe she did that.”

“Wimmin,” the old man said, wearily shaking his head. “Once they got you, it’s damn trouble all the way. Tol’ my grandson that. He don’t take no heed a me, the boy’s out chasin’ skirt like a trackin’ dawg after a bitch in heat.”

“How’s he getting his car back?”

“Said she’s sending a driver with it. Gave him her fancy card an’ everything. When he read she was with a big Hollywood studio, he said okay. If he don’t get his car back, it’s his own sorry fault.”

Alex was in shock. How could she take off and leave him? Something about Lucky should have warned him she was not to be trusted.

On the other hand, maybe she’d observed how soundly he was sleeping and hadn’t wanted to disturb him.

Whatever. The least she could have done was to leave a note.

Coffee would have to wait. He had to get back to L.A. immediately.

MORNINGS WERE ALWAYS A BUSY TIME AT
Venus’s house. Anthony, her handsome blond assistant, arrived early, Sven was there to take her jogging and work her out, several maids cleaned the house, and the phone never stopped ringing.

She began studying the
Gangsters
script as soon as she awoke. Lola was such a complex character—sexy and yet sad. Venus was sure she could get inside her and capture the despair and heartbreak of the woman.

She couldn’t decide what to wear for her meeting with Alex Woods. Should she dress as herself? Or should she take a chance and go as Lola?

In a quandary, she called Freddie. “What do
you
think?” she asked. “I could be me, provocative, sensual, all of that.” She paused. “Although he’s probably seen
that
me in my videos…. I mean, he
does
know who I am, doesn’t he?”

“Why do you think I had such a hard time getting you in?” Freddie said, making a point.

Sometimes Freddie pissed her off. “Oh, that’s nice. You sure know how to make a person feel secure.”

“It wasn’t easy, Venus. I had to break the image barrier, shatter his preformed opinion of you.”

“Keep going, Freddie, you’re really pumping my ego!”

“Go as Lola. If I know Alex, it will impress him.”

Next decision.
What
was she going to wear?

She scoured her wardrobe, rejecting everything in sight, mad at herself for not thinking of it yesterday. She should have gone to one of those vintage shops on Melrose and gotten something really sensational.

What would a good-time girl in the fifties wear? Hmm…think Marilyn, or even Jayne Mansfield.

Digging deep in her closet she finally found the perfect dress, a silk number, cut on the bias, ending just above her knees. It revealed plenty of cleavage, and was form-fitting, with cute little cap sleeves that hugged the top of her perfectly shaped arms. With it she wore very high heels, gold hoop earrings, and arranged her hair on top of her head in a kind of bird’s nest.

As soon as she was dressed, she ran around her house eliciting opinions. “You like this look?” she asked Sven, who was still in the gym arranging for new torture equipment to be delivered.

“Very nice,” he replied, hardly noticing.

She showed her English assistant, twirling in front of him. “What do
you
think, Anthony?”

Anthony had shoulder-length white-blond hair, a muscled body, and a beauteous smile. “Divine!” he exclaimed.

Why were all the best-looking men gay? It was such a waste. Mental note—introduce him to Ron. Perhaps Anthony with his precise English accent and extra-long eyelashes could lure Ron away from Major Mogul and they could all live happily ever after.

“This was on the doorstep this morning,” Anthony said, handing her an envelope marked “Personal.”

She tore open the letter; it was short and to the point.

“Oh, Jesus!” she said, throwing the letter down in disgust. “Another obsessed sex maniac. How do these morons get my home address?”

Anthony shrugged. “It was here when I arrived this morning.”

“What did he do, climb over the gates? Where was my guard?”

Anthony shrugged again. “I have no idea.”

“I hate this!” she said, feeling vulnerable. “It makes me nervous. The last time this happened some freak got into my
bedroom—
fortunately, I was in New York at the time.”

“What did he
do
?” Anthony asked, eyes bugging.

“I dunno, ’cause I didn’t press charges. Couldn’t face going to court.”

“Maybe it’s
him
,” Anthony said dramatically. “Is he
dangerous
?”

“Quit making a big deal out of this,” she said sternly, not liking his tone. “Call my security people—have them check out the letter. And
always
be careful who you let in.”

“Yes, Venus,” he said obediently.

Rodriguez appeared at the door just as she was leaving for her meeting. He carried a bunch of white roses and had dressed for the occasion in a dark brown silk shirt, impeccably cut beige pants, a thin alligator belt that showed off his slender waistline, and snappy two-tone leather shoes.

“My princess!” he exclaimed.

She wasn’t pleased that he felt free to show up unannounced.

“What do you want?” she asked none too politely.

He handed her the roses. “I am here because my heart would not stop beating, and as each beat took place I thought of you.”

“Rodriguez, you really have to get some new dialogue,” she said, frowning.

“What do you mean, my sweet?”

She tossed the roses at Anthony. “I don’t appreciate you turning up here without calling first. I’m on my way to an important meeting.”

“I thought we could have lunch.”

“Not today. I’m very busy.”

“Did you call your casting person? I so look forward to being in your video.”

Hmm…so
that
was the reason for his enthusiasm. Everybody wanted to be a star.

“I’ll have Anthony do it,” she said abruptly. “Go home and wait for the phone call.”

His face drooped with disappointment.

Too bad. If he thought he was going to move in on her, he could think again.

Brigette was alive with energy. It was so great waking up in the morning with something to look forward to. She couldn’t wait to phone Lucky in L.A., although right
now it was too early. Instead she raced into the kitchen where Anna was sitting at the table, writing.

“Guess what?” she said excitedly.

“What?” Anna asked, putting down her pen.

“Everything’s starting to happen for me. I told you it would! I’m
so
buzzed!”

“I gather last night was a success?”

“Brilliant! Michel Guy asked me to come to his office today, and the photo session with Luke is set for next week. Isn’t that
fantastic
!”

“You deserve it,” Anna said.

“I do, don’t I?” Brigette replied, laughing because she couldn’t quite believe it.

Later she met with Nona, who’d devised a plan of action. First they were going to see Michel Guy, then visit Aurora to tell her about Rock ‘n’ Roll Jeans, and ask her if she wanted to be the first to put Brigette on
MONDO
’s cover.

“Sounds good to me,” Brigette said.

“Listen,” Nona said. “Zan and I are going to move in together, his father has a shitload of money so rent’s no problem, and I can’t wait to get out of my parents’ house. We wondered if you’d be interested in sharing an apartment with us?”

Brigette giggled. “
That’ll
be a laugh riot,” she said. “Zan, you—and then
me
tagging along. I don’t think so.”

“It’s a terrific idea,” Nona said persuasively. “After all, we’ll be working together, and what better than to be living in the same place?”

“Well…” It
was
kind of an interesting thought. “Maybe I’ll mention it to Charlotte.”

“You’re nineteen, Brigette, you don’t need anybody’s permission.”

“Okay, so I’ll
tell
Charlotte.”

“Good. ’Cause I see wild times ahead!”

“I’m all for that,” Brigette said, thinking that it was
about time she started enjoying herself again. “When am I moving?”

Alex drove back to town in a state of confusion. He couldn’t believe Lucky had walked out on him. Women
never
left him, it was always the reverse. How many times had he instructed his answering service to call at a certain hour to inform him of an emergency. “Sorry, gotta go,” he’d say regretfully. And his female companion would obediently get up and drive herself home. Damn! This just didn’t happen to him.

There had to be an excuse, a good excuse.

He tried calling the studio from his car. Kyoko informed him that Ms. Santangelo was not in yet. He felt like a fool because he didn’t have her home phone number, and he wasn’t about to ask her assistant. Of course, he could probably get it from Freddie.
Oh, hey—Freddie, it’s me, Alex. I fucked Lucky Santangelo last night, only I never got her private number, and now she’s walked out on me. Can you give it to me?

No way.

He got through to his office.

“Where are you, Alex?” asked Lili with her usual disapproving sniff. “Everyone is worried. Your mother called three times.”

“My mother’s worried about
me
?” he asked, not believing it for a moment.

“Apparently Tin Lee panicked when you didn’t show up for your date last night. She waited at your apartment three hours, then called Dominique. Now they’ve bonded. They imagined you’d been kidnapped, murdered—something like that.”

“I got sidetracked.”

“By a bottle of Scotch?”

“Not your business, Lili.”

There was a twist of venom in her voice. “Well, Alex, if you expect me to run your production company
and
make excuses for you, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me in on your secrets.”

He hated it when Lili got pissy. “I had to go to Palm Springs to see Gino Santangelo about the script,” he explained.

“You could have told me.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a wife, Lili, and I don’t even get to fuck you!”

She was unamused. “May I remind you, Alex, that you’ve missed two meetings this morning? And Venus Maria will be here at noon. Also, you’re due to go on a location scout to Vegas this afternoon. Your plane leaves at three.”

“What’s Venus coming in for?”

“She’s reading for Lola. You promised Freddie you’d see her.”

“Does she have to?” He groaned, not looking forward to it.

“You made an appointment. It’s unprofessional to cancel at this late hour.”

“Fine, Lili, stop worrying, I’ll be there.”

“What shall I tell your mother?”

“Exactly nothing.”