So – he did not exactly know his way around. However, he did know that getting out of Vegas immediately was an absolute necessity after the silver-haired-smarm had told him he was out.
He, Lennie Golden, was out.
OUT.
Dropped.
Bounced.
Fired.
Shit!!
He pulled over to the side of the street and groped in the pocket of his faded workshirt for the infamous Golden black book. It was his lifeline and he carried it everywhere. There were two pages crammed with L.A. numbers. Friends. Contacts. Friends of friends. Agents. Clubs. Connections. And dear old mom. Feisty Alice Golden – the Jewish mother who would
not
cook him chicken soup or ask about his love life. More likely she would offer him a joint and tell him about hers!
Alice. Maybe he would crash at her place for a couple of days while he considered his next move. But then he thought about her new boyfriend – the one she had brought to New York last year. A total jerk with false teeth and an uneasy laugh. Lennie was not in the mood for
his
company. He moved down the list.
There was Jennifer. A perfectly delectable sugar-lipped blonde who had abandoned acting class in New York to try her luck in L.A.
There was Suna and Shirlee. The twins. Would-be singers and actresses now doing commercial voice-overs.
There was his friend, Joey Firello. A fellow comedian who had arrived in L.A. several months earlier, and was already a regular on a weekly TV show.
And then of course there was Eden. They had not parted friends. She had stormed out of his life bad-mouthing him at full volume.
Ah . . . Eden, the queen of all bitches. A beautiful, mean, fucked-up, difficult
cunt.
He wanted to see her.
He needed to see her.
Maybe she’d dumped her actor friend and was ready for a reunion.
Without hesitation he searched for a dime and a phone booth.
A male voice answered on the third ring. An unfriendly, ‘Yeah?’ Was this the actor? Or a new guy? Or maybe just an answering service.
‘Eden Antonio,’ he said briskly.
‘Who wants her?’ growled the voice.
‘Uh, tell her Lennie.’
Why did he feel like a twelve year old toying to make out? And why was he calling her anyway? What was he going to say? I’m here. Just like that. No job. No place to stay. I’m here. Eden would tell him to shove it.
‘She ain’t around,’ said the voice, and cut the connection.
* * *
Eden Antonio was not a star, nor even close, but she worked occasionally on a daytime soap, and she knew that eventually it would lead to more important roles.
She sat in the middle of her queen-size bed painting her toenails, and said to her current boyfriend – a short bald man wearing an expensive custom-made dark suit – most un-Californian, ‘Who was that, sweetie?’
Santino Bonnatti shrugged dismissively as he dumped the phone down. ‘Some jerk.’ His beady nugget eyes darted around the room. This Eden broad was something, but her apartment was not. ‘I bin thinkin’,’ he said. ‘How about if I move ya out of this place an’ set y’up in a decent joint. Would y’like that?’
Eden concentrated on her toenails. She had known Santino Bonnatti for six weeks, and she had been sleeping with him for five. He was hardly Paul Newman, but according to her girlfriend, Ulla, who had introduced them, he was loaded, and might not be averse to investing in a movie if the right deal came along.
‘What business is he in?’ she had asked Ulla.
Her friend looked vague. ‘I’m not really sure. Commodities, I think. Import. Export. Important stuff.’
That had been enough to pique Eden’s interest. For once in her life she wanted a rich boyfriend, not just a good-looking bum with nothing but big dreams and a hard-on.
The fact that Santino had a wife and four kids stashed in a Beverly Hills mansion did not bother her at all. She didn’t want to marry him, just use him until he got her where she wanted to be.
‘Exactly what did you have in mind?’ she asked coolly.
He straightened his tie and peered at his reflection in a mirrored closet. ‘I dunno,’ he said vaguely. ‘I could set ya up in a house. It’d make it easier for me.’
‘Do you mean buy me a house?’ inquired Eden, never one to let the grass grow.
‘Yeah,’ he replied expansively. ‘Why not?’
Why not indeed, she thought excitedly. I’m screwing your hairy little body, it’s about time compensation was forthcoming. A house would be very nice indeed.
She stretched out a long pale leg, and admired her blood-red toenails. The black peignoir she wore fell back and exposed a glorious mound of pale blonde pubic hair. She had it dyed regularly.
‘I think I would like that a lot,’ she said slowly.
His beady eyes fixed on her pubis. What a horny broad this one was. A few weeks into the relationship and he was already springing for a house. He felt like slamming another fuck into her, but business called, and she would be available later. ‘I’ll contact a real estate friend who owes me a favour,’ he said. ‘We’ll find ya somethin’ nice.’
She smiled. She had thin lips and small perfect teeth. ‘I’m sure you will, sweetie.’
‘Gotta go,’ he said.
‘A hard day at the office?’ she asked sympathetically.
‘Naw. I don’t like sittin’ behind a desk. I got some foreign shipments comin’ in.’
She had no idea
what
he did. Every time she asked he told her something different. One day he was importing olive oil from Italy, the next Colombian coffee. Whatever it was he was rolling in money.
She held out her arms invitingly. ‘Do I get a goodbye kiss?’
He obliged.
She waited until the front door slammed behind him, then she rolled onto her stomach, reached under the bed, and pressed the playback on a hidden tape machine connected to the phone. If Santino thought he could censor her calls he had another think coming. Besides, taping
his
conversations was fascinating – especially when he spoke to his crabby wife with the whining Italian accent.
He had made two calls the previous evening. One, a complicated business conversation dealing with shipments and vast sums of money. And the other to tell wifey he was in San Francisco and would not be home.
Lying little shit. Well, they were all liars. And all shits. Eden knew about such things.
‘Some jerk’ turned out to be Lennie Golden. For a moment Eden felt a rush of excitement – what was
he
doing in town? If indeed he was. Maybe he was calling from New York. She played back the tape.
Lennie Golden. A luxury she had allowed herself. A loser. But sexy and smart and funny, with a great body. Oh yes . . . she missed their lovemaking. In a way she missed their fights. And they had had some humdingers!
Then she remembered. Lennie Golden. A one-way street to nowhere. He would always be a nothing . . . And she, Eden Antonio, was going all the way to the top – with a little help from a friend.
* * *
In the underground garage waited Santino’s car and driver. His bodyguard, Blackie, had already joined him at the elevator. Santino never travelled anywhere without protection. In his business he needed it. There was no reason to take unnecessary risks, and that’s what Eden’s crummy apartment was.
‘Remind me,’ he said to Blackie, ‘I gotta get this broad set up in a house.’
‘Yes, boss,’ nodded Blackie.
Santino took a breath spray from his pocket and squirted it in his mouth. Eden intrigued him. She was beautiful and cold and a user. It would be interesting breaking her in. She thought he was a mark, ready to be fleeced. But she didn’t know him, did she?
She would. When he was ready. And only then.
* * *
Wayland did not bother asking where Lennie was, so Jess felt no need to explain his abrupt exit.
She returned home after meeting with Matt, stripped off her clothes, and flopped out on the overgrown grass beside the dirty pool.
Wayland was in a daze – as usual, so stoned he didn’t care what happened to anyone. The baby was asleep in a wicker carrybasket under a tree. Jess bit on a hang-nail and thought about her life. It wasn’t perfect. Whose was? But it could certainly be a lot better.
Why had she married Wayland?
Was being seven months’ pregnant a good enough reason?
Maybe. Maybe not. Plenty of people had kids without getting married. Yeah, but maybe they didn’t have a mother dying of cancer in the hospital. A mother whose fervent wish was to see her only daughter married.
Funny really, for all of her thirty years she and her mother had fought over everything. Came the crunch, and she found she would do anything for the woman who had brought her into the world. So she married Wayland, who at least before they did the deed seemed like a fairly normal human being – not the stoned zombie she had ended up with.
He had
really
fallen into a soft patch. A wife who worked her ass off, cleaned the house, looked after the baby,
and
kept him in drugs. What more could a man ask for? Man. That was a laugh. He hadn’t been near her in months. He preferred to get high rather than laid. The two did not always go together. Not that she cared. She would rather he
didn’t
touch her. He never showered, his hair was always dirty, and his teeth were beginning to rot because of the nasty little habit he had of ingesting pure sugar – just spooning it straight from the package. Disgusting!
She gave a long drawn-out sigh. She was depressed by Lennie leaving. They had spent hardly any time together, and she had harboured the hope that once they talked –
really
talked – he would help and advise her. In fact she had been counting on him to get her out of the mess she was in. She hadn’t told him about her mother, had not wanted to upset him on his first day in town. Now it was too late. He had thought she was screwing around. Ha! Who had the time, energy, or inclination? Her hours were spent between home, hospital, and the casino.
She stared at Wayland and hated him. When they first met he had seemed like a gentle, easy-going, kind person. A touch eccentric, but he was an artist. He had shown her a portfolio of brilliant drawings. Since they were married he had not put pen to paper – let alone brush to easel.
For gentle read weak; easy-going meant lazy; and kind equalled dumb. She snorted in disgust, and the baby started to cry. Wayland did not budge – naturally. Jess jumped up and scooped Simon from his basket. At least she had a gorgeous baby – the relationship had produced
something
of value.
She walked slowly into the house and thought about dinner with Matt Traynor. Not an event she relished, but maybe if she found out the truth she could persuade him to rehire Lennie.
Oh, if only she could! She needed a friend, and she needed him now.
* * *
So much for Eden. In a way Lennie was relieved because he really wasn’t prepared to talk to her. Best to get settled first, and
then
give her a call.
While he was near a phone he decided he would check out his mother, maybe the boyfriend had moved on, one never knew with Alice. She had gotten herself an answering machine, and there she was in high spirits and gravelly voice saying –
Hi-de-ho! This is Alice. I am out. Disappointed? Don’t be. Leave your name, your number, and (giggle, giggle) vital statistics. If your luck is in, I will call you back
.
Why did she make him cringe with embarrassment? Shouldn’t he have learned to accept her by now? He tried Joey Firello. Also out. Then he called the twins.
Shirlee answered, screamed a greeting, and insisted he come by for breakfast immediately. It seemed like a good idea. Besides, he had nowhere else to go.
In the morning Lucky felt great. She was back, the sun was shining, and she couldn’t imagine why she had been so uptight about Gino and the widow Martino the night before. It was nothing. It was a lay. Someone different. A constant parade of showgirls was enough to get anyone down.
She grinned. Good old Gino. He still had it. She should be proud of him, not mad. And today they would get everything settled, it would be business as usual.
In high spirits she leapt out of bed, did a few isometrics, then threw herself under an icy shower. For a split second she saw Marco’s smiling face – so handsome and dark . . .
She forced the image away, and thought instead about the casual pick-up the night before. Fortunately he had not been hot to trot, because she would have regretted it in the morning. How dumb of her to have picked an employee – she hoped Matt had done as she asked and fired him.
She stepped from the shower, shook drops of water from her glistening black hair, and slipped into a white towelling track suit. In Atlantic City she had run for the first time, and liked it. There was a jogging track on the grounds of the Magiriano, and she planned to use it.
Downstairs early morning gamblers filled the Casino. The ping of the slot machines was a twenty-four-hour-sound. It reassured Lucky that all was in order. She stopped for an orange juice in the coffee shop, chatted with a couple of security guards, then made her way down to the gym where she found