He was warbling on about lost love and passion and starlit summer nights. Frankly, Olympia decided that the comedian, Lennie something, had far more going for him than Vitos ever would. Now
he
was sexy in the same way Flash was. Street-wise – a phrase Flash had taught her which she loved.
Street-wise. It conjured up visions of someone who knew what life was all about. Vitos appeared to exist in a vacuum of perfection. He was also lousy in bed. A limp wrist was not his only problem.
She fidgeted uncomfortably. All dressed up, and another half hour of Vitos’ dreary melodies. She wasn’t at all sure she could sit through it.
* * *
Lennie played the room. The dressing room. Easier than being on stage, but a game all the same. He was getting pretty adept at fielding questions – there were two local reporters present as well as the
Rolling Stone
regular. They all wanted to know the same things. How did he start? Where was he born? When did he decide to take up comedy?
Why the hell didn’t they read the neatly typed bios Jess handed out?
Dumb questions. Boring questions. Another couple of months and he would give up interviews altogether. This, of course, would make him even hotter.
Jess came back into the room. He made his way over to her, dogged by Mouth, who must have taken at least ten thousand pictures of him by this time.
‘Well?’
‘Bad news.’
‘What?’
‘She’s with a couple of Vegas hoods and a compadre of theirs from LA.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Straight from the Captain’s mouth. We’re old friends – he knows everything and everybody. Believe me, Lennie, these guys are headlines, not a tiny item on the back page – so stay away. Am I reaching you?’
He nodded.
But they both knew she wasn’t.
* * *
Eden admired Vitos Felicidade’s style. He was smooth, assured, probably a thoughtful and sensuous lover.
Making love with Santino was like being in bed with a slobbering baboon. He had no idea how to please a woman.
More than likely he wasn’t aware that women
could
climax. All he was interested in was getting his rocks off, and a little cruelty and violence if the urge came over him.
‘Whattaya think of the Spanish pimp?’ he asked, as if reading her thoughts.
‘Why?’ she asked guardedly.
‘Quinn an’ Ryder thought he might be okay for the movie.’
Eden tried not to react. She knew Santino well enough to realize that if she showed one flicker of enthusiasm, Vitos Felicidade would no longer be a contender. ‘What makes you think he can act?’ she asked offhandedly.
‘The same reasons y’think you can.’ He guffawed, and was promptly sshhed by a woman at the next table.
Eden burned. ‘I went to acting classes in New York,’ she hissed. ‘And I’ve appeared in a number of TV shows. Don’t compare
me
with your singing Spanish pimp.’
Excellent. Now he would think she hated Vitos. And maybe they would hire him. And if they did she would have an affair with him. A discreet affair. Not so discreet if the movie was a hit. If it was, she would leave Santino immediately.
* * *
Vitos was nearing the end of his act. Resplendent in black tie and tails he blew a kiss to Olympia and introduced her to the audience. Then he dedicated his latest single, ‘The One Love of My Life’ to her, and proceeded to sing it on one knee gazing into her eyes.
She thoroughly enjoyed the charade. Once people realized who she was, they stared at her more than they did Vitos. She was newsworthy. Rich heiress with a string of husbands and a wild headline-grabbing affair with the legendary Flash.
She pulled her shoulders back and smiled prettily.
* * *
Matt had a new date for the gala party taking place in the private ballroom. A party to honour Lennie Golden and Vitos Felicidade. She was a retired showgirl; forty; still beautiful, and six feet tall.
Jess took one look and backed away. Tall, haughty,
tall
, elegant,
tall
, sophisticated,
tall.
Goddamn
Matt Traynor. Back to his showgirls. He was a jerk anyway.
* * *
Both stars had their entourages. Vitos’s larger than Lennie’s. Managers, agents, photographers, gofers, reporters, hangers-on. And Vitos and Olympia. But Lennie had the current cover of
People.
So they attracted equal attention as they arrived within five minutes of each other at the party.
Santino and his group were already ensconced at one of the best tables. Santino’s father, Enzio Bonnatti, had taught him at an early age –
‘You go to a friggin’ fancy party, get there early – take the best friggin’ table, and don’t move ass for nobody.’
Santino missed the wit and wisdom of Enzio. What a man he had been. A real capo. He knew how to do business, pull people’s strings, and break their fucking balls if they didn’t do things his way. Sitting in the ballroom of the Magiriano Hotel brought back memories. In 1975 Enzio had taken over the Magiriano. Looked after the whole Santangelo Vegas operation as a favour for Gino Santangelo – out of the country on some tax scam – and Lucky Santangelo – who ran from town when her boyfriend, Marco, got himself killed.
Fuck the Santangelos. They had paid Enzio back with threats not gratitude. And one hot September day in 1977, Lucky Santangelo – Enzio’s
goddaughter
for crissakes – had arrived at his Long Island mansion and shot him.
Shot him in the stomach, the neck, and the balls. Three fucking times.
Self-defence she had claimed. He was attacking me, trying to rape me. And the authorities believed the cunt! The case never even came to court. She was free as a fucking 747. The final straw being forbidden retribution. The ‘family’ said no. Carlos had no balls but Santino still brooded about it.
Fuck Carlos.
Fuck the ‘family’.
The Santangelos had not heard the last of Santino Bonnatti. No way.
For a moment Gino said nothing. He stared at Lucky and the baby, then he turned to Costa for an explanation.
Costa cleared his throat and was silent.
‘This is Roberto,’ Lucky said, with pride in her voice. ‘Your grandson.’
Another long moment of silence.
Lucky held her breath. She wanted Gino to be thrilled, delighted, ecstatic!
‘Hey,’ he said at last, sitting down. ‘Some surprise.’
‘Better than a portrait, huh?’ she grinned.
‘What didja do, adopt a kid?’ he asked.
‘No. This is Roberto,’ she said indignantly.
‘My
baby.
Our
flesh and blood.
Your
grandson. He’s sixteen months old and he’s been looking forward to meeting you.’
Once again Gino looked to Costa, but Costa felt that this was a matter he shouldn’t be involved in. ‘I’m going to bed,’ he said. ‘I’ll phone you in the morning, Gino. Goodnight.’ He let himself out.
‘Well?’ Lucky laughed nervously. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think’, Gino replied slowly, ‘that if the kid’s bin’ waitin’ to meet me you could have arranged somethin’ before this.’ He held out his arms for the baby. ‘Maybe I should hold him.’ She placed Roberto carefully on his lap. ‘Haven’t held a kid for quite a while,’ he said, shifting awkwardly.
‘Roberto’s tough. He won’t break.’ God! She sounded like one of those dumb new mothers. But she felt terrific. She had finally brought the two most important people in her life together.
‘So’, Gino bounced the baby a little, ‘you wanna tell me about it?’
‘He looks like a Santangelo, doesn’t he?’ she asked excitedly.
‘He looks like you when you were his age.’
She was thrilled. ‘Really? Honestly?’
‘Spittin’ image.’
‘I wish I had some baby pictures
of you.’
‘Hey – I was fortunate if I got a meal a day. There was no money for pictures.’
‘You know something?’ She bent to kiss him. ‘I love you, I really do.’ The last time she had uttered those words he had been close to death, after a violent heart attack. Now she was saying them again, and their estrangement of the last two years felt like it had never happened.
‘I feel the same way about you, kid. I may not always have shown it – but y’know, after your mother was murdered I—’
The phone rang, cutting into his softly spoken words. He clammed up immediately.
Lucky was furious. Just when he was about to open up for the first time. He had never discussed Maria’s murder with her, or even mentioned the fateful day when she was five years old and had come upon her mother’s body floating in the swimming pool. Now that he was about to, the goddamn phone had to interrupt. She could have screamed with frustration as she snatched up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
‘Lucky, dear,’ Susan’s well modulated tones. ‘Is Gino still there?’
She handed him the phone. ‘It’s your keeper,’ she said, hoping he would get rid of her quickly.
He threw her a look. She lifted Roberto from his knee and took him back to his cot. When she returned Gino had hung up.
Well?
she wanted to ask.
When the Widow Perfect calls do you still run?
Instead she said, ‘I guess you’ve got to go.’
‘There’s a problem with Gemma and her friends,’ he sighed.
‘Only you can solve it, huh?’
‘Yeh. Well I’m the only one they’ll listen to when I throw ’em out.’
‘I’ll drive you.’
‘Don’t worry, kid – I called the front desk, they’ve got a car for me.’
She opened the door, trying to hide the letdown she felt.
‘Breakfast tomorrow?’ he suggested. ‘We can talk then.’
She nodded. But she knew it wouldn’t be the same in the morning.
‘Goodnight, kiddo.’
‘Goodnight, Gino.’
He hugged her, but he was already on his way home.
She sat in the darkness and brooded for a while. Then she picked up the phone and dialled his number.
Susan answered.
When he came on the line he sounded harrassed. ‘What’s up?’
‘Just a postscript. I
am
married you know.’
‘I didn’t know that. I kinda thought you kept the baby quiet because you weren’t.’
‘How archaic!’ she scoffed. ‘It’s 1980 for goodness sake.’
‘So . . . where’s your husband?’
‘Travelling. He’s a businessman.’ She paused, then added. ‘You might remember him.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘You sure do. Dimitri. Dimitri Stanislopoulos. Olympia’s father.’
There were fire-eaters at the party. And jugglers dressed as white-faced clowns. And a handsome black singer. And an excellent band. There was also a sumptuous buffet, scads of gorgeous showgirls, and many more celebrities than the two stars for whom the party was being held.
Press abounded. Pretty girls in neat dresses with notepads and pencils. Sweaty photographers with bulky flash cameras. A few network people with TV cameras balanced on their shoulders.
Vitos and Lennie formed separate camps with their various entourages.
Lennie found himself surrounded by women, and since he had spotted Eden sitting at a table with a group who looked straight out of
The Valachi Papers
he didn’t mind at all.
Vitos also had women fawning all over him. He responded with charm. Olympia responded with a ferocious scowl as she found herself shoved to one side.
Jess scouted the room on the lookout for someone she might have fun with. She was fed up with always being on her own – good old Jess – Girl Friday – fixer of everything. Maybe she would have a go at fixing her love life.
Matt divided himself between the two camps. His girl-friend-for-the-night fell deeply in lust with Vitos, and settled herself at his table, refusing to budge.
No great loss, Matt decided. He observed Jess chatting to a member of Vitos’ band, and wondered what she had to talk to
him
about. When the conversation had gone on for more than ten minutes he went over.
‘Time for a business discussion,’ he said briskly, taking her arm.
‘What business?’ she asked, as he steered her toward the bar.
‘Lennie was such a hit tonight I thought we should start negotiations for next year.’
‘Now?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because this is a party.’
‘It doesn’t suit you.’
‘Huh?’
‘Partying.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘Are you and Lennie sleeping together?’
‘That’s none of your business.’ She stalked away. It was difficult stalking when you are only five feet tall, but Jess managed it.