‘How’s everything?’ he asked.
She smiled brightly. ‘Fine.’
‘Nothing you need?’
‘Can’t think of anything.’
‘Is Lennie happy?’
‘He seems to be.’
‘What time did the party end?’
It slipped out before she could help it. ‘I thought
you
were the one having a party.’
He laughed easily, and referred to his date of the night before. ‘Tina’s an old friend.’
Again she couldn’t help herself.
‘Old
being the operative word.’
He laughed again. ‘How about a snack?’ He took her arm, assuming she would say yes.
‘I’m too busy.’
‘You’ve got to eat.’
‘I’ll have something sent up. I have calls coming in from LA.’
‘Diligent lady.’
‘I enjoy my work.’
‘You’ve certainly done all right for Lennie.’
‘He would have done it without me. He’s brilliant. You should have spotted that when you first had him here.’
Matt frowned. Sure Lennie Golden was good. But why did Jess gleam when she talked about him? Why did her whole face light up?
She was sleeping with him. He knew it for sure. And that meant he, Matt Traynor, didn’t stand a chance.
He had known it all along. When she had left Vegas with Lennie he knew it. That’s why he’d never pursued her.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you need?’
‘Nothing.’
He’s not interested in me any more, she thought. He couldn’t give a damn.
Why should she care?
She only knew she did.
* * *
‘Tell me about your mother,’ the
Rolling Stone
reporter asked.
Lennie had a mouthful of hamburger. He chewed slowly. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Well . . . your father was a comedian – you told me that. You don’t have any brothers or sisters. You arrived in New York at seventeen and we’ve got the story from there. But you never mention your mother. Is she still alive?’
How tempting to do away with Alice. Kill her off in print and never have to deal with her again. Alice would hardly stand for that. Now he was famous she found it perfectly acceptable to have a thirty-two-year-old son.
‘Yeah, she’s alive,’ he said.
‘How does she feel about your material? Your mother/son comedy routines hit a nerve in all of us. Does she love it? Get upset? What?’
Lennie hunched his shoulders. He had had enough of being interviewed. Who gave a shit
what
Alice thought. She had never offered an opinion. He had never asked. The only comment she had ever made about his act was that he should clean it up.
He grinned, stretched. ‘Hey – you wanna know stuff like that you’ll have to ask her.’ Quick glance at his watch. ‘I have to move it. See you later. You’ll be at the show, right?’
The reporter nodded, and clicked off a small tape recorder.
Lennie rose, winked at a hovering waitress who had asked for his autograph earlier, and strode out of the restaurant.
* * *
At three o’clock Olympia left the pool so she could begin readying herself for the evening ahead. Vitos was in his suite, stretched out on a slant board practising scales. ‘Oleeempeea!’ he exclaimed. ‘So lovleeee.’
‘Vitos,’ she said sharply. ‘I did not come to this tacky gambling palace in the sky to sit around. What’s happening?’
‘Tomorrow I weel know,’ Vitos said, sitting up with a big smile. He had told Olympia he needed certain papers from Spain. It was true. He had to get his annulment papers and nobody seemed able to locate them.
She picked a grape from a table laden with fruit, and pouted. ‘How long do we have to stay here?’ she asked.
‘One week.’
‘Thank God that’s all! This place sucks.’
* * *
Lennie wore a black leather jacket, tight black pants, a white shirt open at the neck with a narrow black leather tie, and white tennis shoes. His dirty blond hair was artfully tousled.
Jess stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. ‘You look gorgeous!’ she whispered. And then he was on. Deep breath.
Get the adrenalin pumping. Go for it!
Sitting in the audience Eden wondered if he would spot her. He could hardly help but do so. She was at the best table, centre front. She was with Paige and Ryder Wheeler. Quinn Leech, the director of the soon-to-be-movie, and his contemptuous plain girlfriend. Santino. Of course. And two of his Las Vegas acquaintances. ‘They could be investors,’ he had told her earlier. ‘Be nice to ’em.’
Both men were repellent. One short and squat with a wild abundance of hair sprouting from his ears, nose, neck, hands.
Eden got the creeps just looking at him. The other, big and paunchy, with small mean eyes and slicked back greasy hair. Neither had dates, whch meant that after cursory glances at Paige Wheeler (at forty plus, too old for their jaded tastes) and Quinn Leech’s girlfriend (too plain for their
Playboy
mentalities) they concentrated all their attentions on Eden.
She responded with frosty looks and flat conversation. Living with a man like Santino Bonnatti was bad enough. Why should she be nice to a couple of gorillas who only
might
invest in the movie? Santino didn’t need investors anyway, he had enough money to do it himself.
She stared at Lennie, centre stage. He looked great. Well, he always was a handsome son-of-a-bitch. Fortunately she knew she looked great too. A silver dress cut low and slinky. And she was wearing her ruby necklace and earrings – Santino’s gift. Her hair was parted in the middle, and brushed her shoulders – a pale curtain to frame her chiselled features.
When Santino had said they were going to Las Vegas for a few days she had been delighted. It was so boring sitting in the house on Blue Jay Way – a virtual prisoner. She couldn’t wait for the movie to start so she could get out and resume some kind of a normal life. When filming began Santino would just have to leave her alone. There would be costume fittings, script conferences, rehearsals – she hoped. Some directors liked to work with their actors for weeks before production began.
Naturally Santino had not given her any notice. ‘We’re goin’ to Vegas,’ he announced, and an hour later they were on their way, by car, with Zeko driving. It would have been nice if she’d had time to go to the hairdressers, get her nails done, maybe do some shopping.
But no. Santino did things his way. Eden had learned to go along with it.
Once they arrived, Santino settled her in a suite at the Sands Hotel, with Zeko in attendance, then he left, returning an hour later. ‘Get dressed,’ he said, ‘We’re goin’ to an openin’.’
‘What opening?’ she asked.
‘That Spanish singing pimp – Vitos somethin’. Here.’ He thrust a wad of bills in her hand. ‘Go an’ buy somethin’ that’ll give me a stiff prick. Take Zeko.’
She had no idea Lennie Golden was sharing the bill with Vitos Felicidade. It wasn’t until they were driving up to the Magiriano that she saw the huge billboards.
Paige leaned across the table and whispered something.
Eden didn’t hear her. ‘What?’
‘Hot, isn’t he?’ repeated Paige. ‘Reminds me of a horny Redford with a touch of Newman’s heat.’
It occurred to Eden that nobody knew about her three-year affair with Lennie Golden. For some obscure reason she found that aggravating. He hadn’t even mentioned her in the
People
article – just vaguely stated that he’d dated a lot of models in New York.
Wasn’t she part of his past? A big part.
It infuriated her to think he had made it first.
She
should be the one getting all the attention.
She
should be on the cover of
People.
Paige was obviously waiting for an answer to her comment. ‘Not bad,’ she managed.
‘Not bad!’ exclaimed Paige. ‘He is
hot
, honey. When
I
say someone’s hot you’d better believe it.’
Eden quite liked Paige Wheeler, although she hadn’t spent much time with her. A couple of dinners, two or three lunches with Santino’s permission. Paige was fun. She enjoyed life, and it came across. Oh! Wouldn’t it be interesting to see her face if she confided just how hot Lennie Golden really was!
And she missed him.
For a moment.
Only for a moment.
And only in bed.
* * *
The audience loved him. They were the real power who could make or break a star.
He knew he had them the minute he walked on stage. He could feel the vibes – feel that they wanted to share this evening’s success with him.
His humour was deadpan, ironic, cutting.
They went for it immediately, picking up on every little nuance.
He told truths. It broke them up.
He trashed television. They loved it.
He started on family relationships. People were crying with mirth.
He hit his stride. Confident, in charge, his timing impeccable.
And then he saw her.
‘Where the hell do you think it’s getting you?’ Jerry Myerson shouted. Steven and he stood at opposite ends of the living room in Jerry’s New York townhouse. They were both angry. Steven, because he wished Jerry would butt out. And Jerry, because when he was a very young man he had once harboured a secret crush on Carrie, and he hated to see what this was doing to her.
Steven gestured impatiently. ‘I’ll let you know when I get results.’
‘And when will
that
be?’ Jerry asked sarcastically.
‘Don’t you think I wish I knew?’ Steven turned his back and stared out of the window at the snarled traffic on 54th Street. A cab driver was making obscene signals at the driver of a large delivery truck blocking traffic. Soon a fist fight would erupt.
‘The best thing you can do is get back to work,’ Jerry stated bluntly. ‘I’ve told you there’s a job for you with my firm any time you like.’
Steven turned around. ‘That’s what I
want
to do. And as soon as this thing is settled that’s what I
will
do.’
‘Good. Then you can pay me back the money I’ve loaned you.’
Steven’s eyes blazed. ‘Are you worried about your money, Jerry?’
‘No. Asshole. I’m worried about
you
and your state of mind.’
They argued some more, but both of them knew it wouldn’t make any difference. Steven had something to do. Nothing was going to stop him.
The next day Jerry took Carrie to lunch at Le Cirque. She looked tired, but she was pleased to see him and hugged him tightly. He was the only other person to know the truth about her past, and he seemed to understand a lot better than Steven.
‘He’s taking me to see the retired doctor tomorrow,’ she said wearily. ‘Who knows? Maybe the face will fit the name.’
‘I hope so,’ Jerry said. ‘For both your sakes.’
She toyed with her martini glass, and lowered her eyes. ‘Jerry,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I just don’t know what to do any more. When I’m with Steven I feel he hates me. It’s as if he’s put a steel cage around himself, and there’s no penetrating it. I only did what any mother would have done – I protected him from the truth.’
‘I know,’ said Jerry sympathetically. ‘You can’t blame yourself. He’s caught up in an identity crisis. There’s only one way he can work it out, and that’s by himself. It’s not just you – neither of us can help him.’
‘I’m glad you understand.’
‘That’s what friends are for.’
‘Thank you, Jerry.’ She put her hand over his and squeezed. ‘And how’s everything with you?’
He grinned. ‘I am managing to stay single in spite of overwhelming odds. It’s not easy being rich, straight and successful in New York. The ladies go right for the good old wedding ring.’
Carrie smiled and felt relaxed for the first time in weeks.
* * *
Fredd Lesster, M.D. lived halfway between New York and Philadelphia. He turned out to be eighty-five years old and half Lebanese. One glance was enough to rule him out.
Steven, once again borrowing Jerry’s Porsche, drove Carrie back to the city in silence. She was staying in a friend’s apartment. Her friend had gone to Europe for six months, and it seemed more sensible to be there than at her house on Fire Island.
‘Why don’t you come up? I’ll fix you some eggs or something,’ she offered.
He shook his head.
She wanted to reach out and touch him, he looked so miserable. Why couldn’t he just accept things the way they were?
‘I’m sorry about today,’ he said, staring straight ahead. ‘It was a wasted trip.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘Yes it does. It won’t happen again.’
She wondered if that meant he was giving up on Freddy Lester. Maybe he didn’t need him after all. Maybe Gino Santangelo was his father. Steven knew where Gino was. Why didn’t he just fly to California and persuade him to take a blood test?