Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (21 page)

ABE PANTHER HAD NOT LEFT HIS CRUMBLING
old mansion for over ten years, ever since a major stroke had forced him out of the day-to-day machinations of the film business. When he’d sold his studio to Lucky, he’d been convinced it would be hers until his death, and long after that. The news of somebody else taking over Panther had infuriated him, especially if it was true that his thieving grandson-in-law, Mickey Stolli, was being reinstated as studio head.

Before Lucky arrived, he’d called up his granddaughter, Abigaile, to find out what was going on. Abigaile was a true Hollywood princess, pushy and grasping; she lived for entertaining and huge parties.

After Abe had sold his studio to Lucky, a bitter Abigaile hadn’t spoken to him for a while. It was only when Mickey was appointed the head of Orpheus that Abigaile had finally made peace with her grandfather.

Now he was on the phone, attempting to elicit information.

Abigaile was uncooperative. “There’ll be an announcement in the trades,” she said crisply, unwilling to reveal more.

“I’m sure there will,” Abe replied sternly. “However,
I
wish to know what’s taking place now.”

“It’s confidential information,” Abigaile said, still miffed with her grandfather for marrying his longtime companion, the obscure Swedish actress Inga Irving. “Mickey will kill me if I tell anybody.”

“I’m not anybody,” Abe reminded her gruffly. “I’m your grandfather.”

“I’ll speak to Mickey and call you later.”

Abe was sitting out on his terrace, puffing on a large Havana cigar, when Lucky arrived. She kissed him on both cheeks, marveling at the tenacity of the old man.

“Sit down, girlie,” he said, repeating his conversation with Abigaile.

“Typical,” Lucky said, lighting a cigarette.

“Who betrayed you?” Abe asked, leaning toward her, his less-than-white dentures clenched tightly together.

“Morton Sharkey,” she said, expelling a thin stream of smoke. “I intend to find out why.”

“It seems inconceivable this could have happened without your knowing,” Abe said, unclenching his teeth to puff on his cigar. Their smoke intermingled mid-air.

“Not really,” Lucky said. “It was all done secretly. They called a board meeting, and failed to notify me.”

“Nobody alerted you?”

“They wanted me out, Abe,” she said forcefully. “The last thing they’d do is warn me.”

“Right, right,” he muttered.

“Why did I allow Morton to talk me into selling off so much of my stock?” she fretted. “What’s
wrong
with me? I should have kept fifty-one percent to protect myself.”

“Why didn’t you?” Abe asked, squinting at her.

“Because I needed the cash flow, and I trusted Morton.”

“Never trust a lawyer.”

“Don’t make it worse,” she snapped. “I’m burning up.”

“Do you have a plan, girlie?”

She got up, pacing around the flower-bordered terrace. “I’m getting Panther back. You’ll see. I’m doing it for both of us.”

Abe cackled. “That’s the spirit,” he said, puffing on his large Havana. “If anyone can get ’em, my buck’s on you!”

Inga Irving emerged from the house, greeting Lucky curtly. Inga—once a great beauty—was a big-boned woman in her late fifties, with a broad face of discontent. Long ago, when Abe was
the
Hollywood tycoon to beat all Hollywood tycoons, he’d brought her to Hollywood from her native Sweden in the hope of making her a movie star. It hadn’t happened. Inga remained forever sour about her lack of success. Two years ago Abe had finally married her. It had not put a smile on her face.

“Lucky,” Inga said, nodding in her usual haughty manner.

“Inga,” Lucky responded, used to the Swedish woman’s moody demeanor.

“Time for your nap, Abe,” Inga announced in a no-nonsense voice.

“Can’t you see I’m visiting with Lucky?” Abe said crossly, stabbing his cigar in her direction.

“She’ll have to come back another time,” Inga said with a stern expression.

Abe continued to object, but Inga was having none of it. His ninety-year-old balls were firmly in her pocket, and that’s exactly where they were staying.

“It’s okay, Abe,” Lucky said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ve got to go anyway.”

A flicker of triumph crossed Inga’s face. She’d finally found a role she could excel at. Keeper of the once great Abe Panther.

Lucky got in her car and drove home. She had work to do.

“How stupid can you get!” Alex yelled over the phone.

“I’m sorry,” France said, apologizing for the third time.

“
Sorry?
How could the wrong fucking note and the wrong fucking flowers go to the wrong person?” he screamed. “I went to the trouble of writing that note myself, France. What are you—a moron?”

“I’m sorry, Alex,” she repeated yet again, holding the phone away from her ear.

He wondered if she’d done it purposely—even though their romance was long past, Alex knew that both she and Lili were still very possessive of him. They’d obviously assumed he’d spent the night with Lucky, and now they’d plotted to make sure she received the wrong message. Loyalty and jealousy did not mix.

“What can I do?” France wailed.

“Nothing,” Alex said sourly. “Cancel Tin Lee. Tell her I had to stay in Vegas overnight. I’ll call Lucky myself. Get me her home number.”

Lili picked up the extension a few seconds later. “We don’t have it on file, Alex.”

He was sure they were making it difficult on purpose. “Call Freddie’s secretary,” he snapped.

“Certainly, Alex. Will you be reachable on your mobile?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving the hotel now.”

“I’ll get right back to you.”

“Wait a minute,” he said, totally irritated by both his assistants. “I haven’t finished.”

“What is it, Alex?” said Lili, ever patient.

“Have Freddie call me.”

“Is there any message if we can’t reach him?”

“Yes. Set it up for Venus Maria to test with Johnny Romano tomorrow afternoon.”

“It’s done, Alex.”

He banged the phone down and walked through the hotel to meet Russell and the rest of his crew out front. As he strode purposefully through the crowded lobby, the lure of the tables was a powerful thing. Once, he’d been a degenerate gambler. Reluctantly—with the help of his therapist—he’d given it up after he’d dropped a million dollars over a one-year period. Right now, his only addiction was work.

His team was gathered outside the hotel, watching huge water fountains erupt with fire. On the location scout were his cinematographer, line producer, first AD, set designer, and a couple of assistants.

Russell introduced him to the area location man, Clyde Lomas, a florid-faced Las Vegas native with a small snub nose that seemed out of place in his long, mournful face.

They shook hands. Clyde had sweaty palms, which put Alex in a bad mood because all he could think about was getting to a bathroom to wash Clyde’s sweat off his hands.

“We got some fancy places for you to look at,” Clyde announced in a loud, booming voice. “Set ’em up myself. Five houses and three hotels.”

Alex glanced at his watch. “Are we going to have time to cover all this?” he said, turning to Russell.

“I hope so,” Russell said. “We’re booked on an eight o’clock plane back to L.A. If you feel like staying the night, I can arrange that, too.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Alex said, thinking that if he could reach her, he wanted to spend the evening with Lucky.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Russell replied. “I can go either way.”

They climbed into a large air-conditioned van and set off.

Lucky thought about canceling dinner with Venus at Morton’s, then she reconsidered. Why should she? That’s exactly what everybody would expect her to do—crawl off somewhere and vanish.

Hollywood. A town with no conscience. Just one big happy boys’ club. And wouldn’t they be thrilled to hear that Lucky Santangelo had been ousted.

She refused to give them that pleasure. She’d be out there, head held high for all to see. This was merely a temporary setback.

Cee Cee and the kids were home when she got back. She played with Maria awhile, then fed baby Gino his bottle. After that she handed them over to the ever cheerful Cee Cee to put to bed.

Shortly after six, a messenger delivered a large manila envelope from her lawyer. She took it into the den, ripped it open, and began studying the contents.

Donna Landsman. Businesswoman. Queen of the hostile takeover. A corporate raider with a thirst for buying small companies, stripping the assets, and then reselling them at a profit.

Lucky couldn’t figure it out. If Donna Landsman was such a high-powered business tycoon, what did she want with Panther? The studio had massive debts; it would be a long while before it was in a profit-making position. There were no assets to strip, unless of course she abandoned the whole studio deal and sold off the valuable land.

Yes! That’s what she planned to do. That had to be it.

As far as the other investors were concerned, on paper it showed they’d been paid twice the amount they’d purchased their original shares for. She assumed
that since Morton had brought them in, it was on his advice they’d gotten out.

Hmm…Take the money and run. Why not? It was good business.

It seemed Donna Landsman had acquired thirty-nine percent of the stock. The remaining shareholders were Conquest Investments, a company based in the Bahamas—they’d retained ten percent. And Mrs. I. Smorg, whose address was care of a lawyer in Pasadena, she owned six percent. Then there was Morton Sharkey with
his
five percent. It was a sure thing he’d pushed the remaining shareholders to vote in Donna Landsman’s favor.

Screw Morton Sharkey, because
that
’s what he was doing to her.

She sat back, her mind racing.

There had to be a reason he was doing this to her. There was always a reason.

Tomorrow, when Boogie returned from his vacation, she’d put him on Morton’s case. Boogie had worked as her security for years, and if there was anything to find out, he’d discover it. No problem.

Until then, all she could do was wait.

ROBERTSON HAD MALEVOLENT VIOLET CAT’S
eyes. They followed Brigette wherever she went at Michel Guy’s dinner. They radiated
Get out of my face and don’t come back
.

“She hates me,” Brigette whispered to Nona.

“Of course she hates you,” Nona agreed. “Why wouldn’t she?
You’re
going to be the star now.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Brigette said. “She’s, like,
sooo
famous, why would
she
care?”

“Modeling careers are short,” Nona said wisely. “She’s aware of that.
You’re
the one on the rise.”

“Really?”

“Don’t play coy with me.
You
know it.
Everyone
knows it.”

They’d had an interesting few days. True to his word, Michel Guy had pulled off an extremely lucrative deal with Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans. As soon as the company signed her to an exclusive big-bucks contract, she was rushed into the studio for a major photo shoot with Luke Kasway. The ad agency had wanted her with Zandino, but Nona had vetoed his appearance because she didn’t like the idea of her future husband modeling—in some ways, Nona was a
bit of a snob. Instead they used Isaac—a young black model with ratted hair and a rap attitude. Brigette thought he was cool. They’d exchanged phone numbers, but so far he hadn’t called. She was contemplating phoning him.

It had taken all day to shoot the photographs; the ad agency had everyone on an accelerated schedule and the pace was frantic.

When she’d seen the finished results, Brigette was in shock. Luke Kasway was a genius who’d made her look utterly amazing.

Nona had said, “Don’t get carried away, it’s all lighting. Let us not forget how you look in the mornings!”

But both of them had known—along with Michel and Luke—that she was a star about to happen.

Nona had lucked into a spacious duplex apartment overlooking Central Park. It belonged to a friend of her mother’s who’d taken off to live in Europe for a year. The three of them moved in immediately.

In a way, Brigette was sorry to say good-bye to Anna—she’d gotten used to the security of always having somebody around. However, she realized the time had come to be out on her own, and to stop brooding about the past.

Brigette Stanislopoulos was dead.

Brigette Brown was into a whole new deal.

She’d phoned Lucky to tell her of the move.

“As long as you’re not living by yourself,” Lucky had said. “And watch it—it’s easier to get into trouble than out of it.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Michel asked, sneaking up behind her.

“Oh, yes,” she said, flattered that he was taking so much notice of her. “It’s an awesome party.”

“You’re an awesome young lady,” he murmured. “
Formidable
.”

“Really, Michel?” she said, gazing up at him with crush written all over her glowingly pretty face.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear, his breath heavy with garlic. “Aurora has said yes to your cover. She wants it immediately. You’re to go see Antonio—the photographer—tomorrow, and he’ll shoot the next day. I’ll give Nona the details.”

“You’re so clever!” she exclaimed.

A smile played across his face. “No need to flatter me,
ma chérie
.”

She loved it when he spoke his native language, it was so sexy. “Do you and Robertson really live together?” she asked boldly.

His faded blue eyes studied her carefully. “Why do you ask?”

She hoped he didn’t think she was being too inquisitive. “I just…wondered,” she said vaguely.

“Sometimes we do…sometimes we don’t,” he replied ambiguously. “We have an…understanding.”

She caught Robertson still watching her. Maybe
her
idea of an understanding and Michel’s differed.

“So, my dear girl, are you happy with the way things are going?” he asked, touching her arm.

“Very happy.”

“Are you glad I came into your life when I did?”

“Impeccable timing,” she said, smiling.

“You know, Brigette,” he said reflectively. “You’re not like one of these pretty little American girls from the Midwest. You seem almost European.”

“I
am
European. My mother was Greek—she died several years ago. My father was Italian.”

“Ah…an interesting combination! That explains why you’re so…sensual for one so young.”

“Do you think I’m sensual, Michel?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes,
ma petite
. America will fall in love with you.”

It had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to flirt; it was quite a heady feeling. The fact that Michel was older attracted her. Maybe a mature man was what she needed; she certainly hadn’t had any luck with the young ones.

Michel took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Stay after the guests have left,” he said persuasively. “We have much to discuss.”

“What about Robertson?”

“She has her own apartment. Tonight she will go home.”

Brigette couldn’t wait to find Nona. “I’m staying after the party,” she announced. “Michel wants to talk to me.”

“Oh,
I
get it,” Nona said, not impressed. “He’s finally coming on to you, right?”

“No way,” she said indignantly. “It’s just…business.”

“I’m telling you,” Nona warned. “He’s a womanizer with a fancy accent. You’re just fresh meat, that’s all.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“And what about Robertson? Is she going to sit back and watch while you two discuss…business?”

“They have an arrangement.”

“Ha! You’re falling for the oldest line since ‘Let me just put it there.’ The next thing he’ll say is, ‘Sorry, it was fantastic, but now I gotta go back to my girlfriend ’cause she’s pissed off.’”

“You don’t give me much credit, do you?” Brigette said crossly.

“I
care
about you,” Nona said. “Your experience with men is limited. Tim Wealth—Mr. Rat Pack Movie Star. My brother—the hippie maniac. And that rich coke freak you were engaged to. That’s about it, or am I missing someone?”

“I haven’t led a normal life,” Brigette admitted. “That doesn’t mean I can’t in the future.”

“Michel Guy is
not
normal,” Nona said, frowning.
“Jump into bed with him and you’re on a fast track to nowhere.”

Brigette had no intention of being lectured to by Nona. “I’ll see you later,” she said, cutting her off. “Don’t wait up.”

“Freddie Leon called,” Anthony said, surreptitiously eyeing Ron and liking what he saw.

“What did he want?” Venus asked.

“To set up a test tomorrow afternoon with you and Johnny Romano.”

“A
test
,” Venus said, pulling a face. “I don’t test.”

“You don’t read either,” Ron said crisply. “But for Alex Woods you did.”

“Why doesn’t he run film on me?”

“I presume you’ve read what the critics had to say about your previous performances?” Ron inquired tartly. “You’re
fortunate
he wants to test you.”

Venus glared at him. “Don’t forget that one of those movies was
yours
.”

“Mr. Machio,” Anthony interrupted, trying to stave off a fight. “I’m such a fan. Your choreography and direction in
Summer Startime
was quite wonderful.”

“Why, thank you,” Ron said, noticing Anthony for the first time.

“
I’m
sorry, Ron,” Venus said, enjoying the moment. “I haven’t introduced you to my very proper English assistant—Anthony Redigio.”

“Isn’t Redigio an Italian name?” Ron asked with a neat little smile.

“My father’s Italian,” Anthony replied.

“Mine, too,” Ron said. “Our Venus likes Italians.”

“So do I,” Anthony said boldly.

Their eyes met. Venus hid a triumphant smile. Was this a Venus match made in heaven or what?

“Did you check out that letter, Anthony?” she asked.

“I sent it over to security,” he replied, busily stacking papers on the desk.

“Good. Get me Freddie on the phone, and after that, fix Ron coffee. I’ll be in the other room.”

Ron shook his head and half smiled. “You’re such an obvious little brat,” he whispered.

“Takes one to know one,” she replied gleefully.

Freddie was his usual bland self. “Definitely test,” he said.

“What if it gets out?” she fretted. “Doesn’t that make me look
desperate
?”

“Not at all. Personally, I think you’ll get the part. Alex liked you.”

“He did?” she said, perking up. “What did he say?”

“He thought he could bring things out in you that nobody’s seen before.”

“Did he think I was unbelievably sexy?” she asked jokingly.

“What difference does it make whether he thought you were sexy or not? You’re not going to fuck him, you’re going to work for him.”

“Oh, Freddie!” she gasped, mock-shocked. “You used the ‘f’ word! I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“It’s your bad influence, Venus.”

She couldn’t believe Freddie actually sounded human—he was usually such a cool proposition. “Okay, I’ll do it,” she decided. “
Only
because
you
say so.”

In the office, Ron and Anthony were getting along fine. “I love
all
your work,” Anthony was saying with the proper amount of deference. “I’ve seen everything you’ve done.”

Ron was busy soaking up every word of praise. “Where are you from, Anthony?” he asked, sipping his coffee in a mug emblazoned with Venus’s picture.

“Born in Naples,” Anthony said. “My parents moved
to London when I was two. I came to L.A. a year ago. Venus is my second job.” He glanced over at her. “She’s divine to work for.”

“You
would
say that, wouldn’t you,” she said, grinning.

“Of course, I’m no fool!” Anthony replied archly, a touch of campiness surfacing.

“Where do you live?” Ron asked.

Venus imagined what Ron was thinking.
Where do you live, Anthony, so I can come up one afternoon and crawl all over your fine, muscular body
. He was such a randy sod.

“West Hollywood,” Anthony said. “In an apartment.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I shared with a friend for a while, but he…got sick and went home.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Ron said, immediately sympathetic. “Are you—”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Anthony interrupted quickly. “I get myself tested twice a year.”

Ron nodded. “It’s not like it used to be.” He sighed nostalgically. “Ah…the wild times.”

“Ron was
king
of the wild times, weren’t you, cutie?” Venus said.

“Yes, my sweet. If my memory serves me correctly,
I
was the king and
you
were the queen.”

“We shared an apartment at one time,” Venus said, grinning at the memories. “It was so funny. The desk clerk would take one look at any handsome stud who walked in and automatically say, ‘Venus or Ron?’”

“I’m sorry to admit I was too young to experience the wild times,” Anthony said with a wistful sigh.

“How old
are
you?” Ron asked.

“Twenty-one.”

“A mere puppy.”

“An experienced puppy.”

“Glad to hear it,” Ron said, perching on the edge of
Anthony’s desk. “And is the…puppy currently involved?”

“No,” Anthony said, batting his eyelashes in a slightly girlish way. “Are you?”

“I am,” Ron admitted a tad reluctantly.

Anthony threw him a bold look. “Shame.”

“Let’s go, Ron,” Venus said, deciding they’d had enough of each other for now. Best to let the sexual tension build. “I’m taking you to see my gym. It’s so incredible, you’ll crap!”

“Such a lady!” Ron sighed.

“Isn’t that why we became friends in the first place?” she said, grabbing his hand and dragging him off.

Clyde Lomas was driving Alex slowly crazy. The man and his loud voice were an irritating pain in the ass. Every time they entered a house, Clyde went into some kind of insane realtor riff.

“This here’s the wet bar. Over there’s the entertaining area. I can assure you—this house has a wonderful flow for parties. Two barbecues, an outdoor
and
indoor Jacuzzi, a black-bottomed pool, and seven bedrooms with bathrooms en suite. The kitchen has four ovens and two dishwashers.”

“I’m not
buying
the fucking house,” Alex said, completely exasperated. “All I want is to walk through and take a look.”

Clyde’s long, mournful face became even more so. “Sorry, Alex,” he said, crestfallen. “I thought I was being helpful.”

“You’re very helpful,” Russell said, troubleshooting as usual. “It’s just that Alex has his own way of doing things.”

Alex strolled through the third house on their agenda, the close-knit members of his crew hovering behind him.
As soon as he walked into a location, he knew if it was right or not, he didn’t need any instructions. He certainly didn’t need Clyde Lomas.

The third house—a large mansion situated on the edge of a golf course—was perfect. He conferred with his cinematographer and set designer, who both agreed with him.

He turned to Russell. “Go ahead and cut a deal.”

“How many days?” Russell asked.

“What’s on the schedule?”

“Four. I’ll be safe, and book it for five.”

Alex walked outside to the pool area and called Lili on his mobile. “You were supposed to get back to me with Lucky’s home number,” he said irritably.

“I can’t find it,” Lili confessed.

“Excuse me?” Alex said, not used to being told no.

“Freddie’s assistant has an embargo on her number. He’s not allowed to give it out to anybody.”

“Fuck Freddie’s assistant. Tell
Freddie I
want it.”

“Sorry, Alex, I tried. He said not without her permission.”

Alex knew he couldn’t push it further without coming across like an overanxious, lovesick schmuck. “What’s the latest on Panther?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

“I found out a businesswoman bought Panther. The story is, she went into Lucky’s office and ordered her off the lot.”

“Does this affect
Gangsters
?”

“According to Freddie, everything will proceed as before.”