Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (5 page)

“I don’t get it,” Alex muttered, deciding that the next time he saw Lucky Santangelo he’d definitely set her straight. She had to learn a thing or two—and who better to teach her than the master himself.

VENUS MARIA WAS IN SPECTACULAR SHAPE. SHE
worked at it diligently, rising at six every morning to run up and down the Hollywood Hills with Sven, her personal trainer, before returning to her house for a punishing hour of aerobics and light weights.

Jesus! Staying in spectacular shape took some doing. Her routine was a major pain in the ass, but she never slacked off, because slacking off meant she would no longer have the best body in Hollywood. And fuck ’em—one thing they couldn’t bitch about was her glorious bod.

Virginia Venus Maria Sierra had first come to Hollywood in her early twenties with her best friend, Ron Machio—a gay would-be choreographer. They’d hitchhiked their way from New York and had survived in L.A. by taking any gig they could get. Venus had worked in a supermarket bagging groceries, as a nude model for an art class, as a movie extra, and various one-nighters singing and dancing.

Ron had attempted waiting tables, running errands for a messenger service, and chauffeuring limousines. Together they’d managed to survive, until one night Venus was discovered by a small-time record producer
who’d hung out at the same all-night clubs she and Ron frequented. With some heavy persuasion she’d gotten him to cut a record using her, then she and Ron had put together a sexy on-the-edge video to go with it. Venus had planned the look and the style, while Ron had come up with all the right moves.

Overnight they’d scored, for within six weeks their record was number one and Venus Maria was launched.

Now, five years later, at the age of twenty-seven, she was a major superstar with an enormous cult following. And Ron was a hot director with two hit movies behind him. It helped that Ron’s current boyfriend was Harris Von Stepp, an extraordinarily rich show business mogul who’d financed Ron’s first film. As Venus often pointed out, if Ron hadn’t possessed the talent, it would never have happened for him. She didn’t like Harris, he was twenty-five years older than Ron and icily controlling.

As an actress Venus was creamed by the critics, even though every one of her movies did mega box office. Her latest,
Finder
, had already made over eight million its first weekend out. She was one of the few female stars able to open a movie.

It obviously pissed off the mostly male critics that a woman could be as daring and outspoken as Venus, and
still
manage to have a fantastic career. Journalists were always writing about her in derogatory terms—saying she was finished, tapped out, gone with the wind.

Finished! Ha! Her last greatest hits CD had leaped into the charts at number one and stayed there for seven weeks.

Finished, indeed! Who were they kidding? She had legions of loyal fans, and if the critics didn’t like her, too bad; she was around for the long haul and they’d better get used to it or bail out.

Two years ago she’d gotten married to Cooper Turner—a classically handsome movie star with a major
stud reputation. Even though he was hitting forty-seven—twenty years older than she—she’d recently found out that her dear husband was unable to keep his dick in his pants. He adored women, and although she was sure he loved her, there was nothing she could do about his wandering cock. Cooper was a player who couldn’t help it. Too bad, because they made a dynamite couple.

When they’d first met, she’d been involved in an affair with one of his best friends, the New York property tycoon Martin Swanson. At the time Martin was very hot for her and
very
married. Their affair had culminated in the suicide of Martin’s wife in front of them.

Cooper had been there for her all the way. Tragedy had brought them together and they’d fallen in love and gotten married.

At one time Cooper had mentioned wanting to start a family. She’d told him she wasn’t ready because she knew exactly what would happen
—she
would have the babies while
he
cruised the club scene;
she
would lose her figure while he stocked up on Armani suits;
she
would sit home with them while
he
would be out showing off the famous Cooper cock.

No. Starting a family with Cooper was not for her.

Marriage, she realized, had probably been a mistake, and lately she’d been considering getting a fast divorce.

That
would send the tabloids into a frenzy. She was their darling, their favorite. Ever since her dear brother Emilio the slob had sold them the story of her life, there’d been no getting rid of them. Every week they ran a sensational new story about her. According to the tabloids, she’d slept with everyone from John F. Kennedy, Jr. to Madonna!

If they only knew the truth. She’d been the faithful wife, while Cooper put it about like a drunken hooker on a Friday night. Well, damn him, the time had come for a showdown.

After working out, Venus took a shower, then sauntered downstairs to greet her masseur, Rodriguez, a sizzling Latino of twenty-two with the experienced hands of a man twice his age. Rodriguez was all sinewy muscle, with dark wavy hair and smoldering eyes—just the way Venus liked ’em. She had a weakness for extremely handsome men—especially men with tight, curved butts, and arms and legs to cream over.

Lately she’d been considering having an affair with him, but wouldn’t that be baby snatching?

No way, she decided. Twenty-two was hardly a baby, and Rodriguez seemed
very
worldly. He was from Argentina, and delighted in regaling her with tales of his love trysts with older married women whose rich husbands failed to satisfy them.

That was one problem she
didn’t
have. Cooper was an extraordinarily accomplished lover. He had a slow hand—the best kind. He truly loved women, and got off by making sure he gave them the ultimate pleasure trip.

Too bad the trip was soon coming to an end.

Venus was late for lunch. This didn’t bother Lucky, who’d taken advantage of the time by using her cellular to return a few calls.

When Venus entered the commissary, all conversation stopped as the platinum blond casually sashayed across the crowded room to the private executive dining area in the back. There was something about Venus that screamed “SEX!” There were actresses in Hollywood taller, thinner, younger, more beautiful—but Venus had it over all of them; she managed to look vulnerable, smart, and incredibly slutty all at the same time. It was an irresistible combination. Women admired her strength and men couldn’t wait to fuck her.

Sliding into her seat, she immediately ordered a white wine spritzer.

“Fifteen minutes; I’d like an excuse,” Lucky said, tapping her watch.

“I was considering screwing my masseur,” Venus murmured provocatively.

Lucky nodded; nothing Venus said surprised her. “Seems like a good excuse to me.”

“
I
thought so.”

“And what
did
you decide?”

Venus rolled her eyes and licked her lips. “Mmmm…I’m sure he’s
very
talented.”

“And you’re
very
married.”

“So is Cooper,” Venus said sharply, her mood quickly changing. “I don’t see it stopping
him
.”

Lucky had been waiting for this moment. Everyone knew about Cooper and his out-of-control libido. Venus had chosen never to discuss it, and even though they were close friends, Lucky hadn’t wanted to rock the friendship. She’d simply assumed Venus chose to ignore her famous husband’s indiscretions.

“I’ve about had it,” Venus said with a defiant shake of her platinum curls. “At first I thought flirting was his thing—which was okay with me ’cause I’m not exactly a slouch in that department myself. Now I realize he’s jumping everything that breathes.” She paused, shaking her head again. “I don’t get it,” she continued with a perverse twist of a smile. “He’s got
me—
every man’s wet-dream fantasy. What more can he possibly want?”

“Have you confronted him?” Lucky asked, knowing Venus was hardly the kind of woman to lie back.

“Fuck, no!” Venus steamed. “According to my hairdresser—who knows everything—my dear, philandering husband is now in bed with Leslie Kane.” A defiant pause. “As far as I’m concerned, he can stay there. I’m not mad at him, I merely want a divorce.”

“Well…” Lucky paused for a moment. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“Yeah,” Venus said fiercely. “Don’t believe a word you’re gonna read, ’cause the rags’ll come down on me big time.” She frowned, before adding indignantly, “
He’s
the one fucking his way through this town, and
I’m
the one who’ll get the whore/slut headlines.”

Lucky agreed. It was a well-known fact that men were always the protected ones, while women got the blame for everything. If Meryl Streep starred in a movie that flopped, she was instantly denigrated. If Jack Nicholson made three duds in a row, they lined up to pay him millions of bucks for the next one. Not at Panther. Lucky made sure women were treated equally in every way—including star salaries.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten to Lennie before
you
picked him off?” Venus complained. “Lennie’s so great. You won’t find
him
screwing his costar.”

And if I did, I’d probably kill him
, Lucky thought calmly. She had a vengeful streak that was not to be messed with.

“Leslie Kane!” Venus snorted. “Is Cooper the only guy in town who doesn’t know she used to be one of Madame Loretta’s hookers?”

“Have you told him it’s over?”

“Leslie’s having a dinner at her house tonight. I’m considering announcing it over dessert, that way everyone gets to share in the good news. May as well dump him with a bang.”

Lucky shook her head. “You’re really bad—you know that?”

Venus raised an eyebrow. “
I’m
bad? Try blaming the motherfucker who’s screwing around on me.”

The rest of the lunch they discussed business, including the grosses on
Finder
, a couple of scripts Venus was interested in developing, and the future plans of her
personal production company. Then Venus wanted advice on whether she should switch agents. Freddie Leon had been pursuing her and she felt like a change.

“Freddie’s the best,” Lucky said, sipping Perrier. “In fact, I had a meeting with him and Alex Woods this morning.” A casual pause. “Do you know Alex?”

Venus didn’t miss a beat. “Big talent. Big dick. Only fucks Orientals. Doesn’t give head, but
loves
getting it.”

“How come you know everything?”

“Spent a stoned evening at a party with one of his ex’s—a spicy Chinese piece. She gave great detail.”

“We’re doing his next project. A movie called
Gangsters
.”

Venus couldn’t conceal her amazement. “
You’re
making an Alex Woods movie?
You?
Surely you know he’s supposed to be a total chauvinist prick?”

“With a dynamite script.”

“Boy—lots of luck on this one.”

Lucky smiled. “Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need it.”

The second production meeting of the day went smoothly; possible casting on
Gangsters
was discussed, and although some good names came up, Lucky knew Alex Woods would have his own ideas. She was aware that he didn’t usually work with stars, but Freddie had called her after lunch to tell her he was pushing the Latino movie idol, Johnny Romano, for one of the leads. Lucky liked the idea—Johnny, with his huge following, could guarantee a big-bucks opening weekend.

“You’ve got
my
vote,” she said.

“Good. I’ll tell Johnny.”

After the production meeting was over, the last thing she felt like doing was an interview for a magazine. However, she was well aware of the power of good PR, and bringing Panther back to where it belonged was
important. With
Finder
and
River Storm
doing so well, it was time to put out a positive PR spin—even though she was extremely wary of the press and usually did everything possible to stay out of print.

Mickey Stolli, the former head of Panther—now running Orpheus—was constantly making negative statements to the press, saying Panther was finished, that none of its movies made money. Even though everything he said was a blatant lie, it wasn’t good PR. The time had come to retaliate.

Lucky settled in with an earnest black man in his thirties and spoke eloquently about her plans for the future of the studio. “Panther’s making the type of movies
I
like to see,” she said firmly, pushing a hand through her unruly black curls. “In my kind of movies, women are smart. They are not relegated to the kitchen, bedroom, or whorehouse. They’re strong, well-rounded women with careers and lives of their own who do not live their life through a man.
That’s
what intelligent women want to see. I’m putting into development and production the movies Hollywood
should
be making.”

Alex Woods called in the middle of the interview. “Can I take you up on that visit to your father?” he asked, speaking in a low, fast voice. “How about this weekend?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “I’ll have to arrange it with Gino.”

Alex sounded like a man on a mission. “You’ll come with me. It’s important.”

She had not planned on accompanying him. “I’m away this weekend,” she said, wondering why she felt the need to explain.

“Where?” he demanded like he had a right to know.

None of your fucking business
. “Uh…I’m spending a couple of days with my husband.”

“Didn’t know you were married.”

Oh, really? Where have you been?
“To Lennie Golden.”

“The actor?”

“Very good.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “When
can
we go?” he asked impatiently.

“If you’re that anxious, I’ll set it up for next week.”

Very insistently, “And you
will
come?”

“If I can.”

Alex Woods was the kind of man she could get into trouble with. Before Lennie…before her life had become so structured with kids and a studio to run and all the other things she was involved with.