‘Mr Stanislopoulos,’ she said formally, treading water.
His piercing eyes met hers. She liked his eyes. They were deep, knowledgeable. He had the look of a man who had been many places and done many things.
‘Lucky,’ he said, equally formal. ‘And how are you today?’
As if he didn’t know. As if for nearly two years they had not been as close as two people could be.
Dimitri Stanislopoulos. Sixty-four years old. Old enough to be her father.
And like her father, he was a man of substance and power. A man with whom she had been able to find a comfortable companionship and kind of love. Not the white heat of Marco, but a satisfactory relationship.
* * *
When Lucky arrived in New York ready to start over and conquer the world she had not planned on being pregnant. Hell, no! She had never thought about having a baby. Not for her the maternal instinct. Babies were for women who wanted to sit home, change diapers and vegetate.
Coolly she had thought about abortion. She had gone to sleep thinking about abortion, and eight hours later she awoke knowing it wasn’t the answer.
Of course, she knew who the father was. No doubt about that. Dimitri was the only man she’d slept with in months.
Oh God! Dimitri Stanislopoulos, father of Olympia. Oh God!
She hugged the secret to her for a week. She didn’t have to tell anyone, not even Gino. She could have the baby and bring it up herself – she was more than capable and certainly financially independent. Then other thoughts crowded her head. The child, when it began to grow, would want to know who its father was. And surely the child was entitled to that knowledge?
The child.
Boy or girl?
She didn’t care. Whatever it was she wanted it.
Suddenly her life took on a whole new meaning.
She called Dimitri in Paris, choosing from the list of numbers he had given her.
It was three o’clock in the morning there. He was asleep and short-tempered about being disturbed. ‘Yes?’ he snapped.
‘This is Lucky Santangelo. You’re going to be a father,’ she announced. No point in playing games.
‘What?’
‘I’m having a baby. And you are the fortunate daddy.
’
Dimitri sat up in bed, relieved he was alone. ‘I don’t understand—’ he began.
‘It’s easy. We played the game. We scored a goal. I’m delighted now that I’ve got used to the idea. How do you feel?’
He cleared his throat and squinted at his watch. ‘Have you any idea what time it is?’ he asked sternly.
‘What’s the matter with you? I just told you you’re going to be a daddy and you’re worried about the time!’
He didn’t know what to say. So he said what he always did when in doubt. ‘Do you want money?’
‘Huh?’
He missed the ice which crept into her voice and plunged ahead. ‘Call my secretary at a decent hour. She’ll send you a cheque for an abortion and your expenses.
’
‘You aaaaasshole!’ Lucky screamed. ‘Do you honestly think I called you for money? You fucking
creep
. Drop dead.’ And she slammed the phone down in a fury.
Who did the man think he was? How dare he speak to her as if she was some little hooker looking to score. How dare he! Screw Dimitri Stanislopoulos. And his stupid millions. She hadn’t phoned wanting anything except his joy.
Several months passed, during which time Lucky moved into the East Hampton house. Now she was pregnant she didn’t feel ready to conquer New York. And yet, sitting around for months on end was not for her either. She saw a top gynaecologist who assured her the early morning nausea and constant exhaustion would only last a short while. He prescribed vitamins, a healthy diet, and rest.
She was fed up with rest. She needed action.
In the mail one morning she received an invitation to Gino’s wedding. Immediately she called Costa. They talked it over and decided to go together. Not that she wished to attend. And yet she knew that she must. She refused to give Susan Martino the satisfaction of
not
being there
.
The wedding was a circus. Layer upon layer of movie stars, studio executives, showbiz lawyers, agents, directors and producers. Gino’s Vegas friends were lost in the shuffle
.
Lucky felt like an outsider. Why did she feel she was at Gino’s funeral, not his wedding? She exchanged only a few words with him, and sat quietly at a table with Costa, observing Beverly Hills social intercourse. She wore a simple white silk suit and emeralds she had bought for herself. Her four month pregnancy did not show yet, but the constant tiredness was causing faint circles beneath her eyes and she was still exhausted
.
Gino did not comment on her appearance, but Costa was immediately concerned. He wanted to know what she was doing, and when she shrugged and said ‘nothing’, he frowned, because knowing Lucky as well as he did, he was aware something was wrong. She did not have the temperament for just sitting around. He put it down to the fact that Gino’s marriage was upsetting her more than she cared to admit
.
When Lucky met Susan’s two offspring she loathed them immediately. A couple of snobbish rich kids with inflated ideas of their own importance
.
And then she observed the entrance of English prima donna Francesca Fern, with her entourage. Five minutes later Dimitri Stanislopoulos appeared
.
‘Oh no!’ Lucky muttered
.
‘What?’ asked Costa
.
‘Nothing.’ She slouched in her seat on the tented patio, hoping he wouldn’t see her. Better still, wouldn’t remember her. Their baby was not for sharing. He’d had his chance and blown it
.
He did notice her. Later. Fortunately they were surrounded by people when he came over to the table, kissed her hand, and mouthed a few inane sentences. She noticed that his eyes flicked over her, looking for a sign, wondering if he had imagined their Paris conversation
.
She was coolly polite. Screw
him.
A week later he turned up at the door of her East Hampton house. It was fall, and the trees were golden brown, the leaves scattered on the ground in studied confusion. She wore a white track suit, tennis shoes and no make-up. Her hair was piled untidily on top of her head.
‘You look very young,’ he said, standing on the doorstep, his limousine and driver waiting in the driveway.
‘What do you want?’ she asked flatly.
His eyes dropped to the slight bulge around her waist she hadn’t bothered to conceal. ‘I want to know if it’s true. Are you having my baby?’
Voice like ice. ‘No.’
He was very tall. A big man. Powerful looking with his shock of white hair and piercing eyes. ‘I think you’re lying.
’
‘I don’t give a damn what you think.
’
‘If that’s the case why did you phone me?’
‘That was months ago,’ she said coldly. ‘I was testing you. You failed.
’
His eyes scorched hers. World-weary eyes filled with Greek fire. ‘I’ll be back,’ he said.
And he was. There was no getting rid of him. As if to make up for his initial reaction he pursued her relentlessly. Silver purple roses every day. Crates of champagne. Jars of caviar. Baskets of exotic fruits.
She finally allowed him to take her to dinner. He sent his helicopter to collect her, and they dined aboard a private yacht which circled Manhattan as they feasted on p âté and lobster.
Later they made love. His large hands traced her stomach gently. ‘I want a boy,’ he said.
‘Don’t be such a chauvinist,’ she replied.
On July the second, 1979, in a private nursing home in Connecticut, Lucky gave birth to a son. Dimitri was present at the birth.
They named the child Roberto Stavros Gino Santangelo Stanislopoulos. He was their secret. And had remained so.
* * *
Lucky floated on her back and held her arms invitingly toward Dimitri. ‘Come on in,’ she called. ‘It’s wonderful.’
He did not need asking twice. He pulled off his white La Coste tennis shirt. Unbuckled his black snakeskin belt. Kicked off his shoes and removed his white linen pants. Dimitri Stanislopoulos did not believe in underwear. He had a firm strong body. An excellent physique for a man of his age. He was a big man in every way, and took great pride in his physical strength and robust health. With a roar he jumped into the water, trying to grab Lucky, who wriggled from his grasp and kicked off down the pool.
He followed her with a powerful crawl until he cornered her in the deep end. A shadow lay over this end of the pool, and a rock-hewn waterfall took up one corner. Lucky swam to the waterfall and tried to shelter behind it out of his reach.
Dimitri pressed through the falling water and crushed her against the rough side. With one hand he tore the bottom of her bikini off and thrust himself upon her.
‘You sneaky sonofabitch,’ she objected, half jokingly, as they began to sink beneath the cool green water.
He didn’t relinquish his hold, merely gripped her firmly, his thighs like steel as they rocked together beneath the water. When they surfaced she was gasping for air, but her legs were wrapped tightly around his waist and her face flushed with pleasure. Silently they finished the act, exploding with satisfaction at the same moment.
Dimitri let go of her. ‘I think it’s time for lunch,’ he said.
‘Jesus!’ Lucky exclaimed. ‘Sex. Food. You certainly believe in catering to your appetites!’
‘Why not? Life is for living good. I worked hard for what I’ve got today. Now I enjoy myself. Surely you agree?’ He hauled himself from the pool and wrapped himself in a terry cloth robe.
She swam to the side. ‘I hope our son doesn’t take after you.’
Dimitri reached down to help her out. ‘I hope he does.’
‘Yeh. He’ll be a fat stud. Great! Can’t wait.’ Dimitri roared with laughter. ‘Am I fat, Lucky? Am I a stud?’
‘Given half a chance,’ she teased.
He smiled and passed her a robe. Then he scanned the horizon and said, ‘Let’s hope there are no paparazzi hiding anywhere today. I don’t enjoy giving exhibitions.’
Lucky followed his gaze. The pool overlooked the sea. There were no craft in sight. Sometimes small vessels disguised as fishing boats bobbed about in the distance with hidden cameramen using long-lens cameras aboard. Dimitri’s island was considered fair game. Today all was clear.
‘Lunch,’ Dimitri said firmly.
‘You go on up. I’ll follow in five minutes.’
‘As you wish.’
She was glad she had relented and allowed Dimitri to share their son. He was a great father when she let him be. But keeping their secret was becoming more complicated each day. She was sure the servants in the Greek villa knew. And CeeCee, the pretty black girl who looked after Roberto. And the elderly couple who took care of the East Hampton house. And Dimitri’s lawyer.
A secret is no longer a secret when shared by more than two people. Lucky sighed. Dimitri kept on mentioning marriage, but she shied away from the idea. She had tried it once and hated every moment.
Dimitri was becoming more insistent every day. He wanted to tell the world about his son. He wanted to be sure everyone knew Roberto was his rightful heir. ‘If anything happens to me,’ he warned Lucky constantly, ‘there will be nothing but problems.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘You told me you’ve changed your will.’
‘It’s not enough,’ he worried. ‘Olympia will want everything. She’ll fight my instructions. I know her.’
Lucky had not renewed her friendship with Olympia. Dimitri thought it best they did not meet. She also had not mentioned to Gino that he was a grandfather. He had married Susan and settled in Beverly Hills like a senile old fart. She heard he had people running the Vegas hotels and had liquidated a lot of his other business concerns. She had received more than her fair share of the Magiriano, banked it, and forgotten it. Her career was on hold while she enjoyed her son. Why should she share him with Gino? He hardly ever called her. She hadn’t seen him since his wedding.
Sometimes she awoke in the middle of the night and missed him. He was old. He had already suffered one heart attack. Why didn’t she go to him, show him his grandson, mend broken bridges?
Because he didn’t care about her
.
Because he had chosen Susan Martino over her
.
Lunch was served on a magnificent terrace overlooking the sea. Lucky could remember visiting Dimitri’s private island as a teenager with Olympia. She had never imagined she would be back as the mother of his child. Some of the servants remained the same. She wondered what they thought. Did they remember her? Would they tell Olympia?