He wished the old broad would quit with the low-cut dresses. Every time he saw her ample breasts his imagination ran riot. It wasn’t easy beating down the early memories.
She did have a great act. Hadn’t changed a thing in all the years. Same smile, hair, hooker shoes, and feather boas. Same sleight of hand that allowed you to see nothing while you thought you were seeing everything. Old-fashioned illusion. The girls took it all off, but Rainbow – thank God – stuck to her old routine. A peek here. A peek there. Nothing dirty. She was a relic from another age, and the audience went wild.
‘She does it once a week,’ the Oriental stripper confided to Lennie. ‘And they love her.’
‘I can tell.’
‘Sometimes, when Rainbow is on, they line up around the block to get in.’
He could believe it. Alice would be spitting blood if she knew Rainbow was still pulling them in. He phoned her on the off-chance that she might be wondering what was going on in his life.
She didn’t ask what he was doing, where he was living, or anything of a personal nature. She merely said, ‘Lennie, I have a twenty-five-year-old boy mad for my body. Should I let him?’
He took a deep breath, chose not to answer her question, and said, ‘I’m working at Foxie’s. Did you know your friend Rainbow is still taking it off?’
That stopped her in her tracks. ‘What?’ she said at last. ‘At her age?’
‘What age is she?’
‘Better you shouldn’t ask. Old enough to know she should have stopped doing that years ago.’
‘They love her.’
‘Who loves her?’
‘The audience.’
‘They used to love me,’ Alice sighed wistfully. ‘And certain people still do. Lennie, darling, tell me, is twenty-five cradle pinching?’
‘Snatching.’
‘Watch your language.’
‘Foxie remembers you.’
A coquettish tone entered her voice. ‘That old
bubkes.
He was crazy for me. He had a
schnickel like
a ten cent piece. Used to flash it at all the girls. But I never let him . . . do anything. You get what I’m saying, darling?
Never.
’
Which meant of course that she had screwed his brains out.
‘I thought you might like to see the show one night,’ he suggested. ‘I could drive out to get you, and take you home later.’
‘I hate freeways.’
‘We don’t have to go on the freeway.’
‘I hate driving.’
‘
I’ll
drive.’
‘You know what I mean. Besides, who wants to see Rainbow and Foxie? I never liked either of ’em.’
‘Come
on
, she was your best friend. Besides, I was inviting you to see
me.’
‘You!’ She laughed rudely. ‘You, with your filthy language and dirty talk. Once was enough, thank you. If your father was alive he’d disown you.’
Disown him for what?
‘Forget it,’ he said shortly, hanging up.
Why did he bother? Alice Golden did not give a damn about anyone except herself.
* * *
Hardly anyone came to the funeral. A couple of her mother’s canasta-playing friends; an elderly cousin who lived in Tahoe; and three neighbours. Not a majestic turn out, but Jess did the best she could, and invited them all back to the house for Kentucky Fried Chicken, potato chips, and cheap red wine.
Wayland made a marvellous host. He greeted them with a casual wave, handed Jess the baby, then sat under a tree cleaning his fingernails and staring blankly at the sky.
Jess curbed her anger, entertained her guests, fed Simon, cleaned up, put Simon to sleep for the night, and headed for work. She had not requested time off. Who needed extra hours with Wayland for company?
Matt hit on her almost immediately. He sidled up to her empty blackjack table, sat himself down, and said, ‘When is the most gorgeous chick in Vegas going to give me a second chance?’
‘Go away,’ she said hollowly.
‘Are you still mad about the other night?’
‘Get lost.’
‘You should be
flattered
that I came onto you. What did you think we were going to do in my apartment – play tag?’
‘I thought,’ she said slowly, ‘that we would have dinner and discuss why you fired Lennie Golden.’
‘Firing your friend was not my idea. If you want to meet me later I’ll tell you exactly what happened.’
‘Sure, just like the last time.’
He smoothed back a lock of silver hair escaping from an invisible cage of hair spray, and tried to figure out what was so different about this one. Why did he want her so much? A lowly blackjack dealer – and short too.
‘Jess,’ he said sincerely. ‘Trust me. I’ll take you
out to
dinner. How’s that?’
Even dinner with Matt was better than going home to Wayland.
Two would-be gamblers climbed on to stools and thrust money at her. Big spenders. One proffered a twenty, the other slid across three ten dollar bills. Automatically she stacked the chips and spun the neat piles in the right direction.
Matt stood up. ‘Same time. The parking lot,’ he said.
She nodded. She needed to talk. Like it or not, Matt Traynor would just have to listen.
* * *
‘It’s lovely,’ Eden said.
‘I told ya I’d get ya the right place,’ Santino crowed, strutting around the marble terrace of the small empty house perched high on Blue Jay Way in the Hollywood Hills.
‘I’ll have to hire an interior designer,’ she mused.
‘Sure.’ He puffed on a very large Cuban cigar. ‘I gotta decorator broad owes me a favour.’
‘It seems you have a lot of people who owe you favours.’
‘It’s the only way t’go.’ He scattered ash on the ground.
Eden walked toward the gleaming blue pool, with the fountain at one end, and the two stone cupids at the other. ‘I adore it!’ she exclaimed.
Santino was pleased. The sooner he moved her in, the better. He wanted her under his control.
He took off his jacket and settled himself on a patio chair. This whole set-up was going to work out fine.
‘Why doncha take a swim,’ he suggested. ‘Christen the joint.’
She looked at him. He was sweating. He was always sweating. Well anybody would sweat if they togged themselves out in a three piece suit every day.
She remembered the first time they went to bed. Under the suit he wore patterned boxer shorts, socks with suspenders, and a shoulder holster with an ominous-looking gun nestled within. For one moment she had imagined he was a cop. A cop couldn’t get her into the movies. She had almost dressed and left.
Her Swedish friend, Ulla, had told her that Santino Bonnatti had more money than brains. All her life Eden had been looking for a man with just such qualities. He would finance a movie for her to appear in. She would become a star. And then she would move on. In the meantime he was fortunate to have her.
‘Go on, swim,’ he urged.
She knew what he wanted and she didn’t mind one bit. His desire gave her power, and she liked the feeling.
With studied sensuality she peeled off her dress. There was nothing underneath except pure perfection. Some men considered her on the slender side. Santino liked her that way. His wife, she had found out, was a heavy woman.
She kept her shoes on, strappy white sandals which emphasized her blood-red toenails.
Santino stood up. ‘Come here,’ he said thickly. ‘I just thought of another way to christen the joint.’
* * *
‘There’s someone from the
Merv Griffin Show
out front,’ one of the strippers confided just before Lennie went on.
He didn’t drop dead with excitement. There was always
someone
in the audience. An agent, a talent scout, a producer. Once it was rumoured Burt Reynolds was sipping champagne at table number two. The Swedish stripper had been so unnerved by the rumour she ripped off her clothes five minutes before her grand finale.
Burt Reynolds turned out to be a look-alike fresh from a television contest. Miss Sweden was so furious she refused to talk to anyone for a week.
Lennie had been around long enough to know it didn’t matter
who
was watching. When you went on you did your best. If your best wasn’t good enough – fuck ’em.
He had some new material he wanted to try out. Some mother/son schtick, with Alice as the role model. Wouldn’t
that
be a laugh if the
Griffin Show
saw him, liked him, and insisted he use the new stuff on their show. Alice would
love
that. She probably wouldn’t even recognize herself, although he was painting a ruthlessly cruel but truthful picture.
He was restless after the show. Nobody came running backstage to tell him how great he was. Nobody from the
Griffin Show
materialized.
He had a drink at the bar and went home to the emptiness of his hotel room. It was after two in the morning, but fuck it, he needed her. Expecting the same male voice to pick up or the answering service, he dialled Eden’s number.
She answered the phone herself. That strange, throaty voice, which sounded like she was recovering from terminal bronchitis. ‘Hello.’ A sleepy pause, then stronger, ‘Hello.’
He waited for the curse words. As if on cue, she let forth a volley of obscenities.
He timed her perfectly. You didn’t live with a woman for three years without knowing every move she made.
Just before she was about to slam the phone down, he spoke. Softly. Slowly.
‘Eden. This is Lennie. Prepare yourself. I’m back in your life.’
Olympia knew the moment her father walked into his New York apartment that she had made a mistake staying there. Why should she, Olympia Stanislopoulos, one of the richest young women in the world, feel like a lodger? She immediately called a friend of her mother’s who dabbled in real estate and requested she find her an apartment tout suite.
‘Yes,’ the woman told her, ‘I know the perfect place.’
‘Show it to me at once,’ Olympia said. She had decided New York was very much to her liking and she
should
have her own home there. Hotels were so boring, and staying at her father’s again was definitely out. It was acceptable to share his plane, his yacht, even his private island when the need arose, but in New York it was surely time to buy her own place.
Dimitri immediately spotted the cigar burn on one of his precious antique tables. He roared with fury and summoned his butler. Olympia allowed the stupid man to take the blame. It constantly amazed her that her father was so into his possessions. He was aware of everything. If one book was out of place in any of his homes, he knew it.
Brigette greeted gran-pop, as she called him, with a vigorous hug and a kiss on the lips.
He picked the child up in his arms. ‘How’s my baby?’ he sang.
‘Very bad,’ said Olympia ominously. ‘She’s been a
very bad
girl. She ruined mama’s wedding.’
He ignored that piece of information and presented Brigette with several huge gift-wrapped boxes.
Olympia remembered when she was a child. Many presents. But gestures of affection were always reserved for his latest mistress. Perhaps he was mellowing. Or perhaps he liked Brigette better than he did his own daughter. She summoned Nanny Mabel and dispatched Brigette and the presents from the room.
‘How was Las Vegas?’ she asked dutifully. ‘I hear it’s a dreadful place full of terrible little people.’
Dimitri regarded her critically. She was looking plump. Why didn’t the girl take care of herself?
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘But I was merely honouring Francesca Fern, hardly sightseeing.’
‘How
is
Francesca?’ Olympia asked. She was always intrigued by his continuing infatuation with the horse-faced actress. Francesca was certainly lasting longer than any of the others.
‘Very fine,’ snapped Dimitri. He had no intention of discussing his personal life with his gossipy daughter. If Olympia knew it was over, she would make sure it hit every society column in the world. ‘I saw an old friend of yours,’ he added quickly, to get her off the scent.
‘Who?’
‘Lucky Santangelo.’
Lucky Santangelo. Ex best friend. Oh, the adventures they had shared! Once. A long time ago. Fifteen years to be exact. They probably wouldn’t even recognize each other now. And they certainly would have nothing in common.
‘Where did you see
her
?’ Olympia sniffed.
‘She owns the Magiriano Hotel.’
‘Oh. Did her gangster father give it to her?’
‘She built it herself while he was out of the country. She’s a very clever business woman.’
Olympia was silent.
She built it herself.
Oh, really? With her own two hands. Was he trying to make
her
feel guilty because she had never done anything except inherit money and marry a series of cretinous fortune hunters?