‘I run the hotel, Jess. I’m on call twenty-four hours a day. I never have
time
to do anything else.’
‘Nothing?’ she joked.
‘Well . . . this and that.’
They laughed, and neither could think of anything else to say. So naturally they both spoke at once.
‘Do you think—’ Jess started.
‘I thought that later—’ Matt began.
A buzzer sounded on one of the three phones located on the bar.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘Sure.’ She sipped her drink and watched him as he took the call. They were being so polite to each other. It was as if they were vague acquaintances, not two people who had shared the tragedy of her life. She never allowed herself to think about the nightmare of losing Simon. But she would always be aware that it was Matt who got her through the first forty-eight hours. If he hadn’t been there for her she would probably have gulped down the nearest bottle of pills and ended it all.
He put the phone down with a grimace.
‘What’s up?’ she asked.
‘Vitos Felicidade has added to his entourage. He’s on his way from New York, and he’s bringing Olympia Stanis-lopoulos, her child and nanny. I’m running out of penthouse suites.’
‘Oh, shame!’
‘Still a smart ass.’
‘Yes. And look where it’s got me.’
‘I have to meet with my reservations manager.’
‘I understand.’
‘He’s on his way up.’
She set her glass down and walked to the door. ‘I was finished anyway.’
He hurried after her. ‘Tonight I want to host a dinner for Lennie and his friends.’
‘I’ll check with him.’
‘Call me soon. Let me know how many.’
She nodded and departed.
Once the door was shut behind her, Matt sighed with relief. He had been determined not to make a fool of himself, and he thought he had handled it pretty well. It was obvious from past experience that Jess was never going to regard him as anything more than a good friend, and even though he still wanted her as much as ever, he had decided to cool it. He was too old to start chasing after someone who didn’t want him. Too old and too wise.
Jess checked her reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. She thought she looked pretty good. L.A. suntan. Jose Eber short haircut. A green cotton jump suit which complimented her orange hair. High-heeled shoes which added inches and made her into a grown-up.
Hmmmm . . . He hadn’t said one thing about the way she looked.
Not that she cared.
Why the hell
should
she?
But she
had
enjoyed his having the hots for her. Oh yes, she remembered how his hands used to shake when he was near her. The way he looked at her all the time, and quite frankly, for two years, she had missed that ardent attention.
Now he was Mister Businesslike. Charming and nice, but where were the shaking hands and the lingering looks?
Maybe he had only liked her when she was little Miss Nobody.
He
did
look good. Was it possible that now he wasn’t hot for her,
she
had an itch for him.
Nonsense.
* * *
Being back in his home town as a star was very pleasing to Lennie. And the timing was perfect. Cover of
People.
Local boy makes good. Jack Golden’s kid – Lennie. Bigger than his father ever dreamed of being.
Briefly he thought of Alice. She would have loved coming back like a big shot. But she was so busy bitching about her own career (what career?) that he hadn’t even bothered to tell her about his return appearance at the Magiriano.
Two years before he had roared out of town busted out and pissed off. He would have gladly strangled Matt Traynor then. But time passes . . . things happen . . . Jess had explained it wasn’t Matt’s fault. Some bitch upstairs had ordered him axed. Lucky Santangelo – whoever she might be. ‘The lady boss,’ Jess had whispered.
Screw
her.
Apparently she had nothing more to do with the hotel – he made sure of that before agreeing to return.
Now he was back. And they were giving him all the home comforts a star grows to love and expect. Private plane. Twenty-four-hour limo and driver. A bodyguard (did he really
need
a bodyguard?) And the pencil.
Ah . . . the famed Las Vegas pencil. It was not an actual pencil, just permission to sign for anything he wanted and never having to pay. Food, drink, room service . . . whatever. Oh, the times he and Jess had dreamed of having that power. Only high rollers and big stars were given the privilege. He was more pleased about the pencil than anything else.
Jess arrived in great spirits. He had been a little worried about her returning to Vegas and the memories, but she genuinely appeared to have put it all behind her. Not a mention of Wayland or the baby.
‘Well, well, well!’ she exclaimed, looking around at the baskets of flowers, champagne cooling on ice, and a huge dish of exotic sliced fruit laid out on a buffet table. ‘I see they welcomed you properly.’
‘Hey—’ he grinned, ‘they’re lucky to have me. If I’d held a grudge they’d
never
have gotten me back.’
Jess picked at a slice of papaya. ‘Matt wants to have a dinner for you tonight, and whoever you want to invite.’
‘How
is
your boyfriend?’
‘Don’t say that,’ she snapped, a little too quickly, causing Lennie to raise an eyebrow.
‘Where’s your sense of humour, monkey face?’ he asked.
‘Don’t
call
me that!’ she yelled.
He held up his hands, making a peaceful gesture. ‘I come as a friend. Have mercy.’
She couldn’t help laughing.
‘Hey,’ he said, ‘I want to use the fucking pencil, only I’ve got everything I need.’
‘It’s tough bein’ a star,’ she commented dryly.
‘Let’s go to the drugstore. I have this insane urge to sign.’
‘Call down. Stars have things sent.’
‘You’re so full of shit. Let’s go.’
He pulled her by the hand and they left the suite.
The drug store, located on swimming-pool level, sold everything from paper panties to three-thousand-dollar mink bikinis. Lennie grabbed a wire basket and started throwing things in. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, aftershave, shampoo.
Jess trailed patiently after him. ‘Do you really need all this?’ she asked.
‘Kid – it’s free,’ he mumbled, filling one basket and starting on another.
‘Lennie,’ she suggested, ‘if we’re going for freebees let’s go for the good stuff She dragged him over to the cosmetic counter. ‘Stock me up with Estée Lauder,’ she commanded, getting into the spirit of it all. ‘And Dior. And Clinique.’
They filled the second wire basket, and a third.
‘I think it’s enough,’ Jess said, when he started piling in a month’s supply of candy.
‘But I don’t have everything I need,’ he objected, grabbing three boxes of Tampax and a handful of tastefully wrapped Durex.
Jess began to break up, and when Jess laughed everybody noticed. Her laugh still sounded like a crazed hyena.
‘Oh shit!’ said Lennie, as a few stares came his way.
‘Aren’t you on the cover of
People
magazine?’ asked a bronzed woman in shorts which displayed large cellulite dimpled thighs.
‘Oh. You’re Leonard Goldman,’ announced a tall brunette, as if he didn’t know.
He grinned engagingly. A crowd began to form.
‘Who’s de jerk?’ snapped a red-faced New Yorker.
‘Nobody,’ replied his spandexed girlfriend.
Lennie turned to Jess for help. She was bent double by the magazines.
‘Can I have your autograph?’ sighed a winsome little thing. ‘I watch you every week. I’m your favourite.’
They were moving in on him. A wall of people. He was being crowded into a corner, and suddenly he felt vulnerable and under attack. Pens and slips of paper were shoved at him. He scribbled his name a few times. Shit! If this was what stardom was all about you could shove it.
A pregnant girl touched his face. ‘For luck,’ she giggled. While an older woman hissed out of the corner of her drooping lips, ‘God is watching you. You’d better be careful. God doesn’t forgive.’
He wanted out. He needed rescuing. Fortunately Jess got herself together and grabbed a security guard. Together they hustled Lennie through the throng and rushed him to the nearest elevator.
‘That crowd weren’t nothin’,’ the elderly guard sneered. ‘Once I hadda rescue Elvis. They tore his pants off. They woulda killed him with love. Took eight of us to get him in a limo.
Those
were the good old days.’
Back in the suite, Lennie said ruefully, ‘I never did get to sign.’
Jess grinned. ‘What were you going to do with eight packets of Durex anyway?’
‘Fuck a lot.’
‘So what else is new?’
Vitos had not expected Olympia to insist on bringing her child and nanny to Vegas. But insist she did. ‘Brigette will be my bridesmaid,’ she said. ‘I cannot get married without her. What kind of a mother do you think I am?’
The truth of the matter was, Olympia did not want Nanny Mabel and Brigette in New York answering the phone and telling tales. She wanted them with her, where she could keep an eye on them. Now, when Flash called, he would get the answering service, and they wouldn’t know where she was. Let the scumbag suffer. He wasn’t winning
her
back so easily.
It never occurred to Olympia that he might not want her back. She sailed through life filled with supreme confidence – easy when you could buy and sell most people.
Before leaving New York she contacted her lawyer. ‘Courier me a marriage document,’ she demanded. ‘You know what I mean – a pre-nuptial agreement.’
‘You’re not getting married again, are you?’ he groaned incredulously.
‘I might be.’
‘Please, can’t you wait until we can discuss this properly? Your financial affairs are complicated. It’ll take time to work out.’
‘I want it now. Immediately.’
She had never been to Las Vegas before, and it both fascinated and repelled her. ‘All these dreadful people,’ she complained to Vitos, as they were whisked through the lobby with their accompanying entourages.
He nodded like a puppet, blazing the perfect Felicidade smile at his fans.
‘Everyone looks so . . . so . . . cheap,’ she said in the elevator.
‘These pipples buy my records,’ he remarked sagely.
‘They would!’ she muttered under her breath.
They were placed in adjoining suites. Vitos had the more lavish one which infuriated Olympia. She decided to call Lucky Santangelo and complain. Dimitri had mentioned that Lucky owned the Magiriano. It would be interesting to see her again . . .
What did she look like? Was she married? Did she have kids?
Once settled, Olympia sent Nanny Mabel off with Brigette to explore, and then she called the front desk. ‘This is Olympia Stanislopoulos’, she announced imperiously. ‘Kindly tell Lucky Santangelo I wish to see her.’
‘Miz Santangelo’s no longer with us,’ said the operator.
‘Where is she?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t help you, ma’am.’
‘Who can?’
‘Perhaps the manager, or Mr Traynor.’
‘Have either of them call me. Immediately.’
She felt strangely disappointed. It would have been interesting to see Lucky again. Or would it? They shared so many memories of a carefree summer, once, long ago. Lucky had been her best friend. But who needed friends? They always let you down eventually.
* * *
Vitos spoke heatedly to his manager in Spanish. The gist of the conversation was his marital situation. He had married at eighteen to a local girl in his Spanish home town. When his star began to rise in America, the marriage was annulled. Now he wished to marry Olympia. How legal was the annulment? There were no children. And where were the documents?
His manager grimaced. This was a great opportunity. Big as Vitos was becoming, marriage to Olympia Stanislopoulos could only mean more fame and acceptance in America – the promised land. It was not something to be rushed into and blown.
‘We must obtain the best legal advice,’ he warned. ‘And I will order a search for the papers.’
‘Quickly,’ Vitos cautioned. He had a hunch Olympia was not the most patient of women.
* * *
Brigette eyed the busy gambling tables, the scurrying crowds, the scantily clad cocktail waitresses, the over-made-up hookers. ‘This place
stinks
!’ she informed Nanny Mabel loudly.
‘Shhh,’ Nanny admonished.
‘Stinks!’ yelled Brigette. ‘Stinks! Stinks! Stinks! I hate it.’
Privately Nanny Mabel agreed, but she wasn’t about to hear it from her precocious charge. The child became more like her mother every day.