‘When are we going back to LA?’ I enquire, not so anxious to stay in Vegas any more.
‘We’re not,’ Gino states with a note of puzzlement in his voice. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you? The weddin’s takin’ place here in Vegas.’
No, Daddy, nobody told me
.
Why would they? It’s only my wedding
.
‘I need to get back to LA. All my stuff’s there,’ I insist.
‘Call Miss Drew. She’ll bring anythin’ you want. She’ll be here in a coupla days.’
This sucks. What I
want
are my clothes and my personal items. The teddy bear Mommy gave me when I was three. My journals, books, photos, clothes. My whole life is in LA. I don’t care for the thought of Miss Drew rooting through my personal possessions.
Why is this happening to me? Why am I being isolated in Vegas unable to do anything except go along with a planned wedding? Is now the time to rebel, inform Gino I’m not doing it?
No
, my inner voice warns me.
The alternative is another school, more authority
.
This way you’ll be free
.
We l l
, I think,
kind of
. I’ll be married to Craven, but I’ve already figured out that he’s no threat. I can control him once I get him out of Betty Richmond’s clutches.
‘I don’t see why I can’t fly back to LA for a day,’ I complain with one of my famous scowls. ‘It’s not as if it’s a big deal. It’s only an hour on a plane.’
‘Settle down,’ Gino says, trying to calm me.
‘Why should I?’ I retort.
Before Gino can reply, Marco appears.
Ah, my betrayer, handsome as ever, but my love for him has turned sour.
‘Mornin’, Lucky,’ he says, handing Gino a large thick envelope.
I ignore him and concentrate on buttering a slice of toast.
One of these days, Marco, you will be sorry you treated me like a dumb little kid. Ah yes, eventually I will have revenge
.
Gino weighs the sturdy envelope in his hands. He grins at Marco. ‘Business must be boomin’,’ he says.
‘It was a good night,’ Marco responds. ‘The Asians were out in force.’
‘As always,’ Gino agrees.
‘Yeah, they love losin’ their money,’ Marco says, rubbing his hands together.
‘Fortunate for us,’ Gino says with a sly grin.
I wonder what’s in the envelope.
Cash, of course.
I wonder how much cash.
A lot.
‘Join us,’ Gino says to Marco. ‘Sit down, grab yourself a coffee.’
Marco shoots me a look. I refuse to meet his eyes. ‘Got a meeting,’ he says.
Am I making him uncomfortable? Good. I sincerely hope so
.
‘Well, kiddo,’ Gino turns to me as Marco leaves. ‘Your future mother-in-law has got the weddin’ planner flyin’ in today. She’s arranged for the two of you to spend the day with her tomorrow.’
‘Why?’ I look at him blankly.
‘To make decisions,’ Gino replies a tad impatiently.
‘What decisions?’ I ask, purposefully being obtuse.
‘How would I know?’ he snaps. ‘Food, flowers, crap like that.’
Ah, my father is so damn eloquent
.
‘I’m not interested in the details,’ I say grandly. ‘I’m sure Mrs Richmond can handle everything. She doesn’t need my help.’
‘Suit yourself,’ Gino says with an ‘I’m not getting involved’ shrug.
Oh I will, Daddy, I will
.
* * *
Later Gino goes to his safe to stash the envelope of cash Marco handed him.
I have discovered that his safe is located behind the Picasso in his bedroom. I discovered this by spying on him when he left the breakfast table. I’d make an excellent spy. Quiet and stealthy.
‘You seein’ Craven today?’ he asks, before he leaves the penthouse.
Craven has already called and invited me to lunch – I declined, pleading a headache.
‘Probably,’ I reply, although I have no intention of doing so.
‘Yeah,’ Gino says with an affirming nod. ‘I knew you two kids would get along. I gotta hunch ‘bout these things. You’ll make a great couple.’
Bull
shit
, Daddy. I have to find out what’s in it for you other than getting me off your hands.
As soon as he leaves I check for any hovering housekeepers. All clear. I take a deep breath and make it into Gino’s bedroom.
The Picasso stares at me, a wild configuration of bright colours and odd shapes.
I stare back.
Hello, painting. What deep dark secrets are you guarding?
I slide the painting out of the way and confront a large safe. It will not be pleasant if I’m caught doing this, but I’ve put the security lock on the main door to the penthouse, so nobody can get in without pressing the buzzer for attention.
Hmm . . . how am I supposed to open the formidable-looking safe? I am adept at many things – however, safe-cracking is not one of them.
I remember the safe Gino has in his study at the Bel Air house. I remember him opening it once when I was in the room. I remember noting the numbers he used, even though I was only eleven at the time. 7 7 7 8 8 8. So simple.
Of course he must’ve changed the code since then. But what the hell, I decide to give it a try anyway. And bingo! To my total surprise the large safe clicks open.
I am both startled and exhilarated.
C’
mon
, Gino! This is a bonus. What will I discover, that is the question.
Chapter Forty-One
M
oney. Cash. Stacks of it. Hundreds and thousands of dollars. A box full of delicate jewellery – maybe it was Mommy’s? Why is he holding onto it? Why isn’t he giving it to me?
There are two handguns and several boxes of ammunition. A clutch of expensive watches. A dozen gold coins.
Another box – this time full of photos, photos that make we want to cry. Gino and Maria on their wedding day. Such a beautiful couple, Maria – my mom – so young, only a few years older than me. And Gino, handsome and charismatic. My parents. Memories of my mother murdered in the family swimming pool come rushing back. I push them away and continue to search the safe.
Next I find a separate eight-by-ten manila envelope which reveals nude photos of Marabelle Blue, and not the artistic kind one sees in men’s magazines.
I stare at them, feeling like a total voyeur. I wish I hadn’t investigated this particular envelope.
Finally I discover another envelope tucked right at the back of the safe, marked ‘The Richmond File’.
My pulse races. Am I about to hit pay dirt? Is this what I’ve been looking for?
I have a strong hunch it is.
My hand shakes as I open the envelope. I am filled with guilt as I snoop through Gino’s private things. But I’m entitled, aren’t I? Surely I should know why I’m being delivered to the Richmond family on a silver platter.
Yes. I have rights.
I open the envelope, and for some strange reason I am not surprised by what I see.
Gino’s ammunition.
Gino’s hold over the Richmonds.
A series of graphic bedroom photos of the senator and the movie star.
Oh my God! And I
do
mean graphic.
I take a gulp of air and quickly stuff the photos back in the envelope. So this is what Gino has. Blackmail material against Peter Richmond.
I immediately wonder if Betty has seen the photos? She must have, because why else would she have so readily agreed to the marriage between me and her precious son?
Oh yes, I get it. Gino courts power, legitimate power, so he sets up his movie star girlfriend with the senator and nabs the pix. That way, when he wants a favour, Peter will oblige big-time – otherwise Gino will release the photos to the press, and ruin Peter’s chance of ever running for president. I know the way my father thinks. After all, I’m a Santangelo too.
So . . . I’m out of control in Gino’s eyes, he doesn’t have a clue what to do with me. And then it all clicks. Marry me off to the senator’s boring son and we’ll all be one big dysfunctional happy family!
Everyone wins
.
Except me
.
Although I have already decided that I can work this to my advantage. I’m not a kid any more, and once I’m married nobody will regard me as one.
Hastily I put everything back the way I found it, close the safe, and adjust the Picasso to its rightful place.
To say I am filled with a feeling of triumph would be an understatement.
And as I finish, Betty Richmond phones and informs me that her stylist has arrived from Washington with several wedding dresses for me to choose from. Would I please meet with them in the Richmonds’ suite.
Oh, why not? Let’s get this show going
.
* * *
Standing half naked in front of Betty and her gay black English stylist (who’d have thought?!) I strut my stuff, kind of getting off on Betty’s obvious embarrassment that I don’t wear underwear – well, a tiny thong and that’s it.
Raoul, the stylist, gets off on it too. I can tell he’s relishing Betty’s embarrassment as much as I am.
‘This girl is a young beauty,’ Raoul announces. ‘Restless and untamed like the sea. Such a body!’
I step into dress number one. A frilled white concoction, full length and hideous.
‘No!’ Raoul shrieks. ‘I have brought all the wrong choices. You did not tell me, naughty Betty, that we are dressing a wild gypsy with fire in her eyes and a figure to die for!’
I think I love Raoul. He is flamboyant and fabulous with an outrageous proper English accent. How do he and Betty fit? And he calls her Naughty Betty – it’s hilarious.
I step out of dress number one and into the next dress.
‘No!’ Raoul shrieks again, throwing up his hands. ‘It is not at all right. I will call my people in Washington, they will send more choices. I
know
what this young beauty needs.’
Thank goodness there’s somebody crazier than me in the room.
Betty looks pained as usual. ‘When will the new dresses arrive?’ she questions. ‘The wedding is almost upon us.’
‘Tomorrow, darling,’ Raoul assures her. ‘Tomorrow you will see perfection!’
I step out of dress number two. Bad timing, for it is at this exact moment Peter Richmond enters the room, and here I am with my tits on show.
Big reaction all round.
Betty – ‘For God’s sake, Lucky, cover up!’
Raoul – ‘Ooops!’
Peter – ‘Excuse
me
.’ This said while backing out of the room, but not before getting an eyeful.
Betty throws me a withering look. ‘Put your clothes on,’ she hisses.
Yes, ma’am
. Or not. What if I feel like strolling around naked?
I grab my T-shirt and slither into my jeans.
‘We need some decent clothes for this girl,’ Betty snaps, fed up with playing nice. ‘Do you
see
what she looks like? Put together a full wardrobe for her, Raoul. Take her shopping. Here’s my Neiman’s card.’
Raoul winks at me. ‘We do it, darling. Are you free now?’
‘I am.’
Raoul is obviously not a man who cares to waste time.
‘Then let’s go, my wild little gypsy. We have shopping to do.’
Chapter Forty-Two
N
eiman’s is not on Raoul’s hit list for me. ‘Neiman’s is Mrs Richmond’s territory,’ he informs me with a flick of his wrist. ‘Chanel, Valentino, designer chic. While
you
, my wild little bird, deserve feathers of another colour.’
I have found a friend! A very unlikely friend. Mrs Richmond’s personal stylist. A gorgeous gay English black man, with a magnificent ponytail, ebony skin and skilfully khol-outlined eyes. What the heck is he doing with
her
?
I ask.
Of course
I ask.
Raoul smiles mysteriously. ‘I am the most sought-after stylist in Washington,’ he informs me, ‘so naturally every lady of quality desires my services.’
‘But—’
He holds up an imperious hand before I can utter another word. ‘I dress everyone from the first lady to Fantasia Montobella – and in case you are wondering who Fantasia Montobella is,
he
is the premier drag queen in Washington.’ Raoul flashes a row of extremely white teeth. ‘I am – as they say – in demand.’
I nod. I get it.
‘And you, my wild gypsy, what is your story?’
I give a casual shrug. ‘I guess I’m getting married.’
‘You’re very young.’
‘On the outside,’ I allow.
Raoul does not question me any further. Instead he takes me on a dizzying round of shopping to a series of magical boutiques full of clothes I totally fall in love with.
‘How do you know all these places?’ I gasp, trying on an amazing filmy chiffon dress.
‘It is my job,’ Raoul replies, standing back, hand on slim hip as he looks me over. ‘Yes,’ he decides. ‘This dress is perfect on you.’
I am in awe. Fashion has never been my thing, but then I’ve never been exposed to the likes of Raoul before, and he has an eye for what suits me. The truth is, he gets me, and I am extraordinarily grateful that somebody does.
After a while we stop for coffee and a chat.
‘I do not wish to pry, child,’ Raoul says. ‘How ever, you and Craven . . . why?’
I would love to tell him the truth, but I realize it would be foolish to do so. He works with Mrs Richmond – who knows if he can keep a secret?
‘Well,’ I say, choosing my words carefully, ‘I, uh, think that Craven needs someone like me. I might be younger but I’m way wiser.’
Raoul rolls his expressive eyes. ‘True love it’s not.’
I manage an enigmatic smile. ‘We’ll see,’ I murmur.
‘Indeed we will,’ Raoul sighs.
* * *
Later there is dinner with Gino, the Richmonds, me and Craven.
Yippee! Fun times!
I wear one of my new outfits picked out by Raoul. Not as traditional as Betty would’ve preferred, only
I
love it. Loose black pants and a shoestring top. Bold gold hoop earrings and a jangle of bracelets complete the outfit. Even Gino comments – ‘Lookin’ good, kiddo.’