Olympia is not thrilled with the extra blondes – she is used to being front and centre, and these three seasoned girls are not to her liking. Two of them are Swedish, and one is English. They are in their twenties and they are busily draping themselves all over the bald man and March.
Pippa doesn’t appreciate the action. She flashes her expressive eyes before grabbing March, and whisking him onto the dance floor away from temptation.
Olympia mutters ‘hookers’ under her breath.
Unfortunately the English girl hears and fixes her with a baleful glare. ‘What’s
your
problem, luvvie?’ she questions belligerently.
Olympia backs down for once – the pot is making her mellower than usual. ‘No problem,’ she murmurs quietly. ‘Wanna dance?’
And there we have it. Is Olympia turning les before my very eyes?
I can’t believe it as the two of them head for the dance floor arm in arm, a mass of blonde hair and big boobs, all over each other.
The bald man salivates as he imagines what might happen later.
Not!
I am hardly in the blonde with big boobs category – me with my wild mass of jet curls, dark eyes and olive skin. I have my own look, thank goodness. Jon called me beautiful, that’s all I need to feed my ego.
Thinking of Jon, I wonder where he is and what he’s doing. Working hard as a waiter, I presume. Making money to see him through the summer.
I think I like him more than I should, even though physically he’s not my type. He’s too scrappy, too short, too cute.
This gets me thinking about types. Do we all have one?
Well, I know I do. Marco. Tall, dark and handsome, what a cliché!
Where are you, Marco? What are you doing?
And then I start thinking about home and LA and my younger brother, Dario. How is he managing without me around? He must miss me like crazy. I am forced to admit that I have neglected him and suddenly I’m suffused with guilt. I need to contact him, tell him that I still love him and that I’ll always be there for him.
But how can I do that? I’m on the run, an ocean away.
Oh crap, when Gino tracks me down – and I know that day is inevitable – there will be consequences, enormous ones.
‘Let’s dance,’ Warris says, unexpectedly grabbing my arm.
Me and Warris on the dance floor together. No
thankyouverymuch
. But Warris has had it with watching the blondes put their moves on the bald man, so I am his only option.
We hit the dance floor together just in time to see Pippa tongue Mr Holtz’s ear like she was giving him an unexpected ear job.
I can’t help giggling. Is this the way she expects to raise money? Or at least raise something . . .
Warris scowls, then decides to ignore Pippa and concentrate on me. ‘Where you from, Lucky?’ he asks, and I realize it’s the first time he’s called me by my name.
‘LA,’ I mutter, having no desire to make conversation with Mister Sleazy.
‘LA. My kinda town,’ Warris says, raising his voice to be heard over the loud jazz music. ‘A place I’m very familiar with. I was a child star, y’know.’
Yes, I do know, ’cause you’ve mentioned it several times
.
‘Really?’ I try to sound as if I’m even remotely interested, which I’m not.
And because he wants me on his side, he adds – ‘I’m not sleeping with Pippa. You can tell that to Olympia. In fact you should.’
Should I now? I don’t think so, because I don’t believe him. Besides, it’s Olympia’s problem, not mine. If she wants to keep this annoying dude around, then that’s her deal.
Warris’s moves on the dance floor are ridiculous, so after a few minutes I make my escape and scope out more of the crowded club.
And who do I find busying himself behind the bar? Jon.
‘What’re
you
doing here?’ I exclaim in surprise.
‘More like what are
you
doing here?’ he counters.
And of course I can see that he’s working as a barman, mixing drinks and handing them out.
‘This is my night-time job,’ he says, throwing me one of his cheeky crooked grins. ‘Three nights a week. Major tips.’
‘You didn’t tell me,’ I say, immediately realizing how dumb I sound. After all, I’ve only known him for a day – why
would
I know?
‘Who’re you here with?’ he asks.
‘Old people,’ I reply, keeping it vague. ‘Friends of Olympia’s.’
Earlier I’d told him about my rich schoolfriend, Olympia, and that we were staying at her aunt’s villa. No mention of our ages or that we are runaways. Didn’t want to put him off, and if he knew I was only fifteen I’m sure he’d back away like an express train on a collision course with a juggernaut.
‘Sorry I can’t spend time with you,’ Jon says, juggling a couple of martini glasses, which are whisked out of his hands by a waitress type in a skimpy leather dress. ‘Thanks, Marlene,’ he says.
Marlene scowls at me. I scowl back.
‘Take no notice of her,’ Jon says as Marlene vanishes into the depths of the club with the drinks. ‘She hates everyone, especially Americans.’
‘Nice,’ I mutter.
A man pushes past me and demands three beers and a vodka on the rocks.
I can see Jon is busy, so I decide to play it cool and return to my cosy group of misfits.
‘OK,’ I say, kind of reluctantly. ‘Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘You got it,’ Jon says.
And that is that.
Chapter Twenty-One
G
ino Santangelo was burning up with a deep-seated dark fury. His daughter, Lucky, had been on the missing list for several days and he had no idea where she could be. Costa had received the bad news from the school, whereupon Gino had immediately gotten on a plane, and with Costa in tow, gone straight to the school in Connecticut and interrogated the headmistress. The woman was as furious as they were – losing a student was not the right image to project for an exclusive private school’s reputation. The headmistress suggested they call the police. Gino responded with a flat no, he wanted no outside interference. Instead he insisted on questioning the girls in Lucky’s class and found out absolutely nothing. Then, after getting nowhere, he remembered the friend she’d spent the previous summer with, Olympia Stanislopolous, and he contacted her mother in London, who assured him that Olympia was at the family residence in Paris taking a Russian language course.
‘Double-check on her,’ Gino insisted.
‘I don’t have to,’ Mrs Stanislopolous responded in a frosty voice. ‘My daughter is a good girl.’
Screw good girls, Gino thought. Where the hell is
my
good girl –
not
– because he was well aware that Lucky was a wild one, she always had been. He’d never been able to totally control her – she was always giving him lip, answering back, informing him that she wanted to work in the family business next to him.
Doing
what
, for Chrissake? Didn’t she get it? She was a girl, and girls got married, stayed home and raised a family.
Oh yeah, right, so she didn’t have a mother. But he’d always made sure to have a female presence in the house – tutors, housekeepers, and then there was Costa’s wife, Jen. Lucky loved Jen, she was like a second mother to her.
Son-of-a-bitch! Where
was
his errant daughter?
His imagination began running riot. Had she been kidnapped? Raped? Tortured? Held captive by one of his many enemies?
So many business rivals. So much shit to deal with.
He pictured Lucky tied up and alone. He had visions of her hitching a ride to California, clad in her tight faded jeans and clinging T-shirt. He imagined some asshole of a truck driver stopping to pick her up. Then he imagined the struggle, the rape, and finally his precious daughter’s body being tossed from the truck.
His anger knew no bounds. He holed up in his New York apartment with Jen and Costa for company. ‘Lucky’s a smart girl, she can look after herself,’ Jen kept on assuring him. ‘She’s just like you, Gino, she’ll turn up, safe and sound.’
Fine for her to say. What did she know?
He called Dario at his boarding school and informed him what was going on.
Dario sounded shocked. ‘Sorry, Dad . . . uh, Gino . . . haven’t heard from her.’
‘You’re sure?’ Gino insisted. He knew the two of them were tight and that Dario would do anything to protect his sister.
‘Not a word,’ Dario replied.
‘Listen to me, kid, if you
do
hear anything—’
‘I’ll call you,’ Dario gulped. His father always made him nervous.
Gino put down the phone and began pacing across his living room. Dario was a well-behaved kid, unlike his much wilder sister, Lucky, who seemed to think she could get away with anything. The trouble with Lucky was that she did things her way, and it wasn’t right. She was only fifteen.
Fifteen
, for Chrissake. A baby.
Gino shuddered at the thought of the things that could happen to her. She was unworldly. An innocent out and about in the real world. She was not street smart or experienced. How could he protect her when he didn’t even know where she was?
He contacted the Stanislopoulos girl’s mother again.
‘Didya check on your kid?’ he demanded.
‘I’m travelling, Mr Santangelo,’ she answered coldly. ‘I’ll have my assistant get back to you.’
Uptight bitch! She was about as much help as a nun at a whores’ convention.
‘Get me the father!’ he yelled at Costa, who jumped to it. ‘Maybe he’ll be more help.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
B
y the time we arrive back in Cannes, Olympia is in a party mood and proceeds to invite everyone up to the villa.
Really
,
Olympia? Why?
In my mind I am already plotting my escape, because if Warris and his friends are moving in I have no desire to stay around.
I decide to give it another couple of days before I phone Aunt Jen and tell her that I’ve made a huge mistake and can she please help me get home. She’ll do it, she’ll do anything for me. Then of course I’ll have to face Gino’s wrath.
Hmm . . . I have a choice – Gino’s wrath or endless time spent with a stoned Olympia and her sleazy boyfriend. Some choice.
Yes, I’m definitely moving on, unless something more than a quick crush develops with Jon. He looked quite hot behind the bar tonight. Maybe I should take it a step further than Almost.
Then again, maybe not. The thought of getting pregnant is a major deterrent. I am not
that
foolish.
Back at the villa everyone is busy getting stoned except me. I sneak off to bed and lock my door. Once again, this is not the adventure I’d hoped for.
* * *
Morning dawns and the sun is shining. It is a beautiful balmy day and I am the only one up. Apparently Pippa has stayed over, for her jacket is draped next to her purse on a chair in the living room. I wonder about March – is he here too?
Apparently not, for the Rolls has gone, and Warris must have reclaimed the Mercedes, for it sits in the driveway.
I feel so alone; it’s not a great feeling. I’m missing LA and Dario and the house we live in. And yes – full disclosure – I miss Marco like crazy, even if he is inclined to ignore me.
Going home does not mean I’m returning to school. No way. School is definitely over for me, and Gino better realize that he can’t force me, ’cause if he does, I’ll just take off again. I am ready for battle. No more school for me.
Olympia, Warris and Pippa emerge as a happy threesome around noon. This is getting to be a routine – the noon-time wake-up call. What exactly does Olympia think I do all morning? The truth of the matter is that she doesn’t care. Now that she has Warris I am totally disposable.
I am kind of disgusted by this latest turn of events. A threesome.
Really?
Pippa looks a sight, with smeared make-up and tangled hair. She is wearing one of Warris’s T-shirts, and nothing much else. Whatever happened to March? Surely he’s the one they should be sleeping with since he’s the one with the money to invest in their big-time movie?
‘Morning, little Lucky Saint,’ Olympia trills, heading for the kitchen.
Oh great, now she’s talking down to me. Using my fake surname like I’m some sort of dumb kid.
Pippa throws me an interested look. ‘Lucky Saint?’ she questions. ‘That’s a strange name.’
Oh, like Pippa isn’t?
‘Actually it’s Lucky Santangelo,’ I answer boldly.
‘Oh my God!’ Pippa exclaims, her pencilled eyebrows shooting up. ‘Are you Gino’s kid?’
What? She knows Gino
?
This is impossible
.
Did Olympia tell her?
Warris is suddenly all ears. ‘
The
Gino Santangelo?’ he questions. ‘The dude who practically owns Vegas ?’
There follows a long silence while I consider what I am supposed to say. Do I admit who I am? Or do I try to fake it?
Can’t fake it. Not with Olympia and her big mouth.
‘Yes,’ I say vaguely. ‘Breakfast, anyone?’
* * *
It is now two o’clock and I’m waiting for Jon to show, praying that he’ll turn up soon, because since Warris and Pippa have discovered my identity they have been fawning all over me. It’s major creepy.
I am sitting by the pool with Pippa.
‘Do you know that I was engaged to one of Gino’s dearest friends?’ she reveals after a while, creeping me out even more.
How is this possible? Who is she?
‘You were?’ I mumble. ‘And who would that be?’
‘Jake,’ Pippa answers proudly. ‘It was a long time ago – Jake the Boy as he was known then. I was very young, but I remember the day you were born. We sent over a present – a solid gold brush and comb set with your name inscribed.’
Oh crap! I know what she’s talking about. There is a tarnished gold brush and comb set sitting in a box of junk Gino keeps in the basement, and it has my name engraved on the back of the brush! This box is filled with stuff nobody wants – Gino keeps it because he says some things have sentimental value.