Just watching Foxie was an education in itself. And watching the resident strippers was another fascinating pastime. There were three of them. A glorious-looking Mexican girl with blue-black hair down to her ass. A Swedish blonde with gravity-defying boobs. And an Oriental who performed with such delicate grace that stripper was hardly the word to describe her activities.
‘My Rainbow trained every one of ‘em,’ Foxie boasted proudly. ‘Knowin’ how to take it off’s a dyin’ business. We’re not sellin’ pussy an’ tits here, we’re sellin’ a
show.
You want pussy – go down the street to one of ’em porno places an’ jerk off with the rest of the jerks. We’re sellin’
art.
’
Lennie would hardly call it art. But he had to admit that whatever the girls did – they did it with style.
Now that he was settled, he telephoned Jess a couple of times, always connecting with the monosyllabic Wayland. On the third try he left his number and instructions for her to return his call. ‘You’ll remember to give her the message, won’t you?’
‘Sure, man,’ replied Wayland. By the time he replaced the receiver he had forgotten.
He also called Eden again. Three times. On his first shot the same male voice picked up, so he didn’t bother saying anything, just hung up. The second time the phone rang and rang. The third time an impersonal answering service asked him for his name and number. He passed. He had to talk to her direct.
Joey told him she had a new boyfriend.
So what? He didn’t care. They were unfinished business, and she knew it as well as he did. It was only a matter of time before they would be together again.
* * *
There was always the routine to go through. Jess knew it by heart. Drive to the hospital, find a parking place, report to reception, take the elevator to the fourth floor. She could do it with her eyes closed. And sometimes, when she walked through the women’s ward for the terminally ill, she wished her eyes
were
closed. Week after week the occupants of various beds changed. One down, another million to go. And the visiting relatives all with that same pained ‘why am I here’ expression – an expression Jess knew only too well. She summoned a smile as she approached her mother. She always took a little something – often only a new picture of the baby, but whatever it was her mother seemed grateful.
She sat beside the austere hospital bed for forty-five minutes every day. The doctors had told her it was only a matter of time. Sometimes time passed so slowly.
When she left she was usually soaked with sweat and shaking. Sometimes she had to sit in the parking lot and smoke a joint before she could even think straight.
On Saturday, at two o’clock precisely, she arrived for her visit. Reception tried to detain her, but she went to the fourth floor anyway.
Her mother’s bed was empty, the sheets stripped off.
A black nurse put a kindly arm around her shoulder and said, ‘We called you late yesterday afternoon, honey. Didn’t you get the message?’
She knew she shouldn’t be shocked and sad. She knew it was something she had been preparing to happen for months.
‘No, I didn’t get any message,’ she mumbled, and her eyes filled with tears.
‘Come outside,’ said the nurse sympathetically. ‘We keep some medicinal spirits for occasions like these.’
‘No thank you,’ she replied politely, fighting to control her tears. ‘How can I make . . . arrangements?’
The nurse told her what to do, and she returned to reception, filled out various forms, made out a hefty cheque, and left.
She sat in her car and gazed blankly ahead. Was it possible that the hospital had phoned to report the death of her mother and Wayland had been so stoned he’d forgotten to tell her? She knew he was in bad shape, but this was unforgivable. If it wasn’t for Simon she wouldn’t even bother going home. Now her mother was dead, she would have to try and put her life in some kind of order. Carrying on in the same old way was impossible, she was not the kind of woman who could allow a man to continue using her so blatantly.
She sighed. If only Lennie were around. She should have told him. If she had done so he would have stayed, not gone running off with some bug up his ass. Damn Matt Traynor. It was all his fault.
* * *
To celebrate his first week at Foxie’s, Lennie took a group out to dinner. He rounded up the Barbie twins, and Joey, and Isaac, and Isaac’s pretty black wife, and the Swedish stripper with the great boobs. They partied all over town, and round about four in the morning he ended up in one of the twin’s beds. Only he wasn’t sure whether it was Suna or Shirlee, and these days it didn’t really matter.
The next night he walked slowly into Foxie’s, trying to take control of a monumental hangover. He felt like a ten-ton truck had bulldozed his brain.
Foxie greeted him at the door with a slap on the back and a wicked grin. ‘You’d better be hot tonight,’ he snapped. ‘Rainbow is back. An’ if my Rainbow don’t like you – you can be Bill Cosby and Carson rolled into one – but if she don’t like you –
you’re out
!’
Dimitri flew out of Las Vegas in his Lear jet, and Lucky was relieved. She had no need of an involvement with a man old enough to be her father. A quick interlude was enough.
He sent her more baskets of sterling silver roses, an invitation to join him on his yacht, and a list of his phone numbers across the world. She didn’t miss him. But she did miss Gino who had said he would be back in two days, and now a week had passed.
Boogie arrived with his report on Susan. It was interesting, but contained nothing earthshaking. So she was hot stuff before she married Tiny. So what? It would probably arouse Gino’s interest further instead of dampening his ardour. The Widow Perfect
never
screwed around while she was married to Tiny. Gino would love
that
. Just spent money, hosted parties, gave great charity, bought jewellery, and spent more money.
She had two offspring. Nathan, age nineteen, and Gemma, age twenty. There was no report on
their
activities. Lucky decided she needed one, and sent Boogie back for further investigation.
The only news she could use was the fact that dear old Susan was broke, and if something didn’t happen soon, her Beverly Hills mansion would be snatched from right under her Beverly Hills ass. It
was
possible Gino was already paying the bills.
That’s something she would have to find out, and soon.
* * *
The Martino children impressed Gino. They were so . . . upright. He had expected a few kinks here and there, it was only natural with teenagers. But these kids were perfect, just like their mother.
Nathan, at nineteen, was the youngest. He was of average height, with brownish hair, matching eyes, and a polite manner. He attended USC, and was studying law and philosophy. He was also on the football team, an excellent surfer, popular with the girls, and a straight A student.
Gemma, at twenty, had dropped out of college to pursue a career in interior design. She was an attractive girl with short honey-coloured hair and a definite leaning towards anorexia. She was engaged to a boy she had been at school with.
Both children still lived at home.
‘They like you,’ Susan announced after the first family dinner.
‘And I like them,’ Gino replied, thinking – why couldn’t Lucky and Dario have been like these two? Jeez! The troubles he’d had with his wild daughter and difficult son.
‘It’s not going to be easy for them to accept my getting married again,’ Susan explained. ‘So, if you don’t mind, I think we should wait a few days before telling them. They’ll get used to you in the meantime, and then it won’t be quite such a blow.’
‘Hey—’ he objected. ‘We
came
here to tell ’em.’
‘And we will,’ Susan soothed. ‘But there’s no rush, is there? Since the press don’t appear to know about us, I would sooner wait. Just a few days.’
Waiting was no hardship. Susan treated him like a king, nothing was too much trouble. He luxuriated in all the home comforts she provided. Living in a hotel with room service twenty-four hours a day was one thing. But living with a woman who catered to his every need was another. He basked in her constant attention. And although he knew Lucky was waiting for his decision on Atlantic City, he did nothing about it. Hey – surely he had his priorities straight if he put business second – for once?
* * *
‘Honestly, mother!’ complained Nathan. ‘The man is a low-life.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Gemma hotly. ‘How could you bring him here? How
could you
?’
Susan gestured around her impeccable living room filled with objets d’art and expensive furniture. ‘This is the way we live. And I intend to maintain our style of living . . . do you object to that?’
‘But he’s so crass and loud,’ said Gemma.
‘Well,’ Susan replied calmly, ‘your father was hardly quiet’
‘Daddy was a
star
!’ steamed Gemma. ‘I hope you’re not comparing him to . . . to . . . Gino Santwhateverhisnameis.’
‘Hood,’ said Nathan. ‘That’s what we’ll call him.’
Susan flushed. ‘You will not.’
‘Hood.’ Gemma tried the word slowly. ‘Hmmm, not bad, brother.’
‘Mr Santangelo is an American businessman,’ Susan said sternly. ‘He moves with the power makers. He dines with Presidents’.’
Gemma looked at Nathan. Nathan returned her stare. ‘Hood,’ they said in unison.
‘Face it, mother,’ Nathan added. ‘Because it’s the truth.’
* * *
When Gino had been away for ten days Lucky called. She had made up her mind she was not going to contact him, but the lawyers in New York were putting on the pressure. They insisted it was impossible to stall the involved parties any longer.
Furious, she placed a person-to-person call to Gino in L.A. ‘I think we’ve blown it,’ she said flatly. ‘The deal is off.’
He hardly missed a beat. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ he replied. ‘At my age I don’t know if it would’ve been the right move.’
Oh, Jesus! Suddenly Gino was
old –
and admitting it. What was the bitch doing to him – putting bromide in his coffee?
‘I don’t believe what you’re saying. We always wanted this, it was our . . . our . . . dream,’ she stammered.
‘Yeh, kid, but dreams change. We’ll talk about it when I get back.’
‘When will that be?’ she asked, holding her breath, trying not to explode with fury.
When, daddy, when?
‘Another day or two. Hang in there. We’ll come up with another scheme – somethin’ a little easier for an old man.’
She flung the receiver down with such force it smashed into two neat pieces. Old man indeed! This wasn’t the Gino
she
knew.
What was she going to do? She was trapped in Las Vegas, trapped in a business partnership with her father who obviously had a case of galloping senility. She couldn’t make a fucking move without him. She had been better off when he was in exile and
she
called all the shots. If he was going to go through with this marriage she wanted out.
That was a thought. And one that appealed.
Lucky Santangelo. On her own. With no one to answer to except herself.
She wondered how Gino would take the news. Especially when she told him he would have to buy her out.
Christ! He would never do that. It would mean selling the Magiriano, and splitting the money down the middle. And there was a syndicate of investors to take care of, and no more freshly laundered cash coming in every week.
But . . . he would still have the Mirage, and all his holdings, companies, and other investments. It would hardly make any difference to him.
There was no way he would sell the Magiriano. And did she
really
want out?
Yes, she really did. There was no point in hanging around with Susan Martino in residence.
Besides, she was entitled to a life too. And a change of scene was exactly what she had in mind.
Rainbow did not look old, fat
or
ugly, even though her eyes were crinkled around the edges, deep laugh lines etched their way down each side of her mouth, and her use of make-up was excessive. A ruined beauty, true. But a spectacular ruin, with a statuesque body, magnificent breasts, and a spread of pale red hair.
Lennie figured she had to be in her late fifties at least. She made him feel like a teenager as she looked him up and down with a practised eye and drawled, ‘Foxie tells me you’re a pretty hot tamale. Gonna prove it to me tonite?’
Oh, the times he could have proved it to her!
‘I’ll try,’ he said, giving her the lopsided grin.
‘If you’re anything like your old man you’ll never stop trying!’
So it was true! Jack Golden
had
indulged in the pleasures of Rainbow’s fantasy-provoking flesh.
Fortunately she liked him. ‘Lennie,’ she told him magnanimously, ‘you’re about as funny as your daddy. In a different way, of course. Jack Golden had ’em splittin’ their pants. But I guess it’s a whole new world today, and you seem to capture what’s goin’ on well enough.’ She swigged on a glass of brandy and milk – her favourite drink – then continued. ‘Listen to Foxie – he
knows
what he’s talkin’ about. And in this business, knowledge is everythin’.’ She tossed her mane of hair, still thick and lustrous. ‘Me, I’m just an old broad who follows her gut instinct.’