She was a killer. She had an exotic beauty that he just couldn’t get enough of.
As if on cue, her pale pink Thunderbird slid into the slot beside him. She lowered her window and smiled. Her eyes were obscured by Jacqueline Onassis sunglasses, and her hair hidden beneath a silk scarf. ‘Hello, Lennie,’ she drawled in her best Lauren Bacall husky voice. ‘I bet you thought I wasn’t coming.’
* * *
Matt Traynor did not behave like a perfect gentleman. He met Jess in the parking lot as arranged. He took her to a Polynesian restaurant for dinner. He plied her with Scorpions and Navy grogs until she could hardly walk. And then he took her back to his apartment and tried to screw her.
She did not object.
She did not know.
As soon as they arrived she passed out on his couch. He lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties, and was just about to force himself aboard when his conscience got the better of him. What the hell was he
doing?
Frantically, he went into action, pulling her panties back up and re-arranging her skirt. He felt like the world’s worst heel. Groaning to himself, he poured a straight bourbon, and hoped to God she never realized he had almost committed a dirty act. Then he threw a leopard skin rug over her and nervously paced the apartment.
She stayed unconscious until five-thirty in the morning, when she woke, swore loudly, demanded his car keys, and rushed off into the early morning light with a parting, ‘I’ll leave your keys under the front seat.’
He was destroyed. He had expected, even quite looked forward to the Doris Day/Rock Hudson scene.
Doris (distraught): ‘Oh dear! What happened? Tell me
now.
Did we . . . do anything?’
Rock (with a manly knowing smile): ‘Did we do what?’
Doris: ‘Don’t torment me. You know what I mean.’
Rock (reassuringly): ‘Of course not. What kind of a man do you take me for?’
Doris (relieved and grateful): ‘You’re
my
kind of man.’
Fade out.
Now she was gone. And she hadn’t even asked. Didn’t she care?
He entered his stainless-steel kitchen and fixed instant coffee. His back hurt. All that bending over. His eyes ached. All that tension.
He wondered if she would ever talk to him again.
* * *
‘I knew you’d come,’ Lennie said, although he hadn’t known at all. He got out of his car and climbed into the passenger seat of the Thunderbird. Eden was wearing a skimpy sundress, and high-heeled sandals. He reached over and took off her sunglasses. She wasn’t wearing make-up but she still looked great.
‘Hey,’ he reached over and touched her hair beneath the scarf, ‘Good t’see you.’
She stared at him long and hard. ‘Hello, Lennie. You’re a surprise, but a nice one.’
She knew how to push his buttons, she always had.
‘I thought we might drive to the beach,’ she suggested, ‘and you can tell me what you’re doing out here.’
Well Eden, I came to the coast so that I could make love to you again. The hell with my career.
‘Good idea. Shall I drive?’ He hoped he sounded casual.
She nodded.
He got out of the car while Eden slid over.
The Mexican hooker was returning from the shadows with a triumphant leer. ‘Change your mind, cutie?’ she yelled. ‘I can take us both to Paradise for twenny bucks.’
He ignored her and got behind the wheel.
Eden moved close to him. ‘I missed you, Big Man,’ she murmured softly, placing her hand on his thigh.
He developed an erection that wouldn’t quit.
They roared down Sunset, made Brentwood in eight minutes, the Palisades in twelve, and within twenty, they were cruising along the Pacific Coast Highway, searching for a suitable place to park.
She had been doing all the talking, telling him about her acting roles. ‘I never stop working,’ she confided. ‘I guess I’m a better actress than you thought.’
He didn’t want to get into
that.
They parked on a bluff, and made their way to the beach. It was a beautiful night. The moon was bright and the ocean at peace. They walked along the seashore, holding hands like new lovers, and splashing in the surf. Then, they fell on the sand like old lovers, and found every secret place with ferocious familiarity.
She wrapped her long legs around his neck and rocked with his rhythm as though she never wanted it to end.
He gave her what she wanted, what
he
wanted. Slowly. Fast. Very fast. Then slowly again, keeping his control by reciting the goddamn alphabet in his head, because he didn’t want to come, didn’t want it to end, wanted their lovemaking to go on forever.
‘You . . . always . . . were . . . the . . . best,’ she said huskily. ‘Jesus . . . Lennie . . . My . . . big . . . man . . .’
He felt her spasms and let rip while she moaned with untamed pleasure. When they were finished he stroked her silky hair, and said, very quietly, ‘We belong together. You do know that, don’t you?’
She didn’t answer. The only sound was the sea lapping gently on the shore.
* * *
Jess raced Matt’s ridiculous car to the hotel. She dumped it in the parking lot and leaped into her Camaro. Then she drove home in record time.
She could hear Simon crying as she parked. Her head throbbed. Too many fancy drinks, but getting plastered had taken her mind off the funeral, and that was something. The house looked disgusting. Wayland had obviously entertained again. Dirty cans and bottles, the lingering heavy stench of marijuana, empty McDonald’s wrappers. And an unfamiliar male body asleep on the floor.
‘Goddamnit!’ she yelled, kicking at the sleeping form, who groaned and rolled over.
In the bedroom Wayland sprawled on the bed fully dressed. Simon cried in his crib. There was the smell of urine and worse. She scooped him up and changed his filthy diaper. Wayland did not stir. Wearily, she took Simon into the kitchen and fixed him a bottle. The crying was driving her nuts. The mess was driving her nuts. She shoved the bottle into Simon’s mouth and enjoyed peace.
This week she would tell Wayland to get out.
‘I don’t give a fuck what you want to do!’ screamed Gino.
‘And I don’t give a fuck what you think!’ screamed Lucky.
They had been yelling at each other for an hour. One long hour of insults, recriminations and accusations. The harmony of their past year together had vanished, and it was back to the antagonism and ill-will of former times.
‘You don’t run my life,’ Lucky stormed. ‘I’m not your sweet little girl who has to do what daddy says. And I don’t
work
for you either.’ She paused to catch her breath and glare at him. He wanted it all his own way. He wanted to marry Susan
and
keep daughter dear at his fingertips, some kind of surrogate boss who would take care of business while he pissed off to Beverly Hills.
Well, daughter dear was not standing for it. No way. No fucking way. Daughter dear was getting out.
‘We’re partners,’ she said coldly. ‘Half the Magiriano is mine – and I’m cashing in and going on to do other things. So we either sell, or you buy me out. Which is it to be?’
He had to admit the kid had balls. Mad as he was, he could still admire her. She was a pain in the butt, but street smart and savvy and tough. One of life’s natural winners.
‘Hey,’ he threw his arms wide. ‘You want out, you got it. What’re we fightin’ over? I’m not gonna hold you back if you wanna do other things. I’ll buy out your share. But you gotta remember, everythin’ I own is gonna be yours one day anyway.’
Who was he kidding? If he married Susan Martino, everything he had would be Susan’s.
‘That’s settled then,’ she said evenly, weary from the argument.
‘Yeh. An’ if you’re so sure it’s what you want, I’ll put it in motion right away,’ he said, gruffly.
It’s not what I want, it’s what you want.
‘There’s one other thing,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘The house in East Hampton,’ she blurted. ‘I’d like to own it.’
‘Huh?’ He stared at her, hard black eyes head-on with hard black eyes. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want you taking another woman there. It was mommy’s house when we were all a family. It’s the only real home I’ve ever known, and I want to have it.’
He was angry again. First she wanted to sell the hotel, then she wanted him to give her the East Hampton house. What kind of shit
was
this?
‘Okay, okay, it’s yours,’ he said grudgingly.
She was very businesslike, aware of the fact that to protect herself, once he married Susan, she had to be. ‘I’ll have a real estate agent put a price on it and I’ll buy it from you. The money can come out of my share of the hotel.’
He shook his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening. ‘Lucky,’ he asked softly, ‘why are we acting like a couple who’s just gettin’ a divorce! Before you know it we’ll only be communicatin’ through lawyers.’
‘Talking of lawyers,’ she said crisply, ‘I’m sure you’ve thought of asking Susan to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.’
‘What kind of smart ass remark is that?’ he shouted. ‘Jeez! You’re somethin’, you really are. You hardly even know Susan, an’ now you got her walkin’ off with all my money.’
‘I’m just behaving the way you taught me. This is California, and there are such things as community property laws.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ he spat in disgust.
Quietly she left the room. She had pushed about as far as she could go.
* * *
Susan Martino, Gino discovered via the accountant he sent to L.A., was several hundred thousand in the hole.
He spoke to her on the phone. ‘How didja ever get in such a mess?’ he demanded.
‘Don’t you mean how did
Tiny
get me into such a mess?’ she replied logically.
‘I’ll take care of it.’ He was not exactly delighted, but it had to be done.
‘I told you before, you don’t have to,’ she reminded him.
‘Call it a weddin’ present,’ he offered magnanimously.
‘Thank you.’ Her tone was appreciative, but not overly so.
He admired the lady-like quality she brought to everything. She really was a class act. ‘You missing me yet?’
‘Yes. But I have the wedding to plan, and it’s keeping me extraordinarily busy.’
‘What’s to plan? You’ll hop on a plane an’ we’ll do it here. No big deal.’ He paused to light a cigar, in spite of the fact that after the heart attack his doctor had insisted he quit.
‘Hey – why don’t we do it this weekend? Get it over an’ done with.’
She laughed pleasantly. ‘You
are
joking, aren’t you? My God, Gino, get it over and done with – you make it sound so trivial.’
‘You got other plans?’
‘I most certainly do. A wedding is a sacred occasion. Surely you want to do it properly?’
‘We can do it properly in Vegas.’
‘Not at all,’ she chided. ‘We must be married in Beverly Hills. I have so many friends here. It will be a joyous day – one to remember.’
‘
My
friends are
here
,’ he pointed out. ‘An’ we’ll be livin’ here. I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, but Lucky’s leaving.’
‘She is?’
‘Yeh. Gave me a whole speech about gettin’ out an’ movin’ to New York. I gotta tell you, Susie, I’m sick about it.’
He might be sick, but
she
was ecstatic. She had never thought it would be so easy to get rid of the pushy daughter.
‘I’m sure it will be for the best, Gino, dear,’ she said comfortingly.
‘You think so?’
‘Oh, yes.’
Susan did not tell him her plans for the weekend were to stay in L.A. She hung up with promises of love, and then she phoned her lawyers to find out when all the debts would be cleared. Obviously, Gino Santangelo had been an excellent choice. Old, rich and pliable. Over-sexed for a man of his age, but she could put up with that for a while longer.
Putting up with men. The story of her life. From the age of fifteen, when she was deflowered by a swashbuckling movie star of the fifties while her hairdresser mother sat downstairs swigging vodka, to now, and Gino.
Putting up with men. A series of rich, important men. While mother reaped the benefits of a pretty teenage daughter. No money ever actually changed hands, but something was always going on. A new white Cadillac for mother to drive. Three televisions. Plenty of clothes. Hampers of food. Crates of champagne.
Susan felt revulsion whenever a man touched her.
Go upstairs with Mr Whoever, Susan, he wants to show you something
.
One wealthy man after another, until it became a way of life, and she played the game automatically, because somebody had to supply mother with life’s little luxuries and perpetual booze.