The captain greeted them. An Englishman with a ruddy complexion, handle-bar moustache, and a jovial attitude. His wife stood by his side. She was in charge of the kitchen. A horse-faced woman with skin like leather. They had worked for Dimitri for fifteen years, and regarded Lucky with ill-concealed suspicion. Captain and Mrs Pratt ran riot with creative financing – they did not wish the interfering presence of a wife.
‘Have any of my guests arrived?’ Dimitri boomed.
‘Not yet, Mr Stanislopoulos,’ replied Captain Pratt, welcoming them aboard. ‘But we’re all ready and prepared.’ His flat eyes stripped the clothes from Lucky as he pumped her by the hand and said how delighted and happy they all were that the boss had found himself a wife.
I’ll bet
, she thought. She knew automatically they were on the take. Years running a hotel in Las Vegas had taught her many things about human nature. She had a nose for the swindlers and cheaters of the world. Automatically she smiled. How good she was getting at displaying social graces. She hoped she could keep it up throughout the cruise. And then she would be off. Atlantic City beckoned.
Dimitri took her arm and escorted her to their living quarters. A very masculine stateroom awaited her – all dark browns and earth tones. The king-size bed featured a leather headboard and polished leather and brass bedside tables. The walls were padded with leather. On one wall hung a large portrait of a nude woman.
‘Piccasso,’ Dimitri pointed out, noticing her staring at it.
She moved through to the bathroom. Caviar marble. Cold and impersonal.
‘Well?’ he asked. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s . . . severe,’ she replied.
‘I think you mean clean cut. I commissioned it three years ago from one of the finest designers in Italy.’
‘It’s still severe. I would have preferred something more relaxing.’ She looked around again. ‘Where are the books? The magazines? Even more important – where is the music?’
‘What music?’ he asked, frowning slightly.
He had yet to discover her passion for soul music. She felt lost without an available stereo. How could anyone design a bedroom without incorporating a great sound system?
Robert and CeeCee’s quarters were certainly more cheerful. Planned originally for Brigette and her nanny, there were nursery animals climbing the walls, a mural on the ceiling depicting sky and sun, and a sunny yellow bathroom. Lucky knew she would be spending more time there than in Dimitri’s austere sanctuary.
* * *
‘God!’ screamed Francesca Fern. ‘Be careful with my luggage – you dolts.’
The French porters exchanged looks. They didn’t understand what she said, but she was English or American – no difference – and all English-speaking tourists were to be looked down upon and treated with as much insolence as they could muster on this hot and windy day. By accident on purpose one of her Vuitton suitcases (there were twelve in varying sizes) fell from the top of the cart on which they were being wheeled to a waiting car.
‘Horace!’ Francesca yelled. ‘How dare you allow this to happen!’
Horace, who was certainly not to blame for the fall, said, ‘I’m sorry, dear. It won’t happen again.’
‘I should think not,’ snorted Francesca, as she marched regally toward the car, ignoring the gawking tourists who all recognized her, and the waiting chauffeur who knew who she was and bowed respectfully.
Horace thrust some money at the two disdainful porters. ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘More careful. Yes?’
The men pocketed the money and ignored his plea, allowing the suitcases to slide from the cart onto the dusty sidewalk as soon as they reached the car. They had already been tipped, so they did not bother to help the elderly chauffeur load them into the trunk, but merely slouched away searching for their next victim.
Fortunately Francesca was in the limousine by that time, fanning herself and complaining about the heat. She always had something to complain about, and Horace was always around to take the blast. He loved his large volatile wife desperately, and knew – that as a great talent – she had to have
someone
to vent her frustrations on. Through eighteen years of marriage he had been the perfect target for her whiplash tongue. Mopping his brow he got into the back seat beside her.
‘Hmmm,’ sighed Francesca, in her famous deep mahogany voice. ‘I am utterly exhausted. I could sleep for a week.’
Horace agreed with her. He always agreed with her. He thought she was the most striking woman he had ever set eyes on, and it never failed to astound him that she had chosen
him
to be her husband.
‘Perhaps that’s what you’ll do, dearest,’ he said, knowing full well it wasn’t what she would do at all. When she and Dimitri Stanislopoulos were in each other’s company, they were up all night, drinking, laughing, dancing. Horace did not allow his mind to wonder what else they might be doing, and he didn’t venture to ask. Once he had attempted an inquiry. ‘How
dare you
spy on me?’ Francesca had raged. ‘Dimitri is my best friend in the world, and I
will not
be questioned by you.’
After that, Horace shut up. The cruise was a yearly event, and even if Francesca did sometimes slip into bed at six in the morning, he knew it was only a temporary aberration, and soon she would be all his again.
This year, anyway, things might be different. Dimitri had taken another wife. ‘A Las Vegas slut,’ Francesca had exclaimed in disgust when she heard. Horace had visions of a busty blonde showgirl.
‘Driver.’ Francesca leaned forward and tapped sharply on the glass partition. ‘Slow down, for God’s sake. You drive like a maniac.’
The chauffeur, overexerted from his bout with her suitcases (six had had to be put in a following taxi) and driving no more than forty miles an hour, said a stoic,
‘Oui, madame,’
and wished he was home with his new young wife who kept him up far too late every night.
The journey toward Cannes progressed uneventfully for ten more minutes, until, for no apparent reason, the car started to weave back and forth crazily across the highway – missing other shrieking motorists by inches.
‘My God!’ screamed Francesca in horror. ‘Horace!
Do something!’
With a shuddering lurch the car turned inwards toward the sidewalk, smashed into a lamppost, and came to an abrupt halt. Francesca was hurled to the floor, and Horace fell on top of her. Miraculously neither of them were hurt.
‘Get off me, you fool!’ shrieked Francesca, removing a spiked-heel shoe and hitting him randomly.
Horace raised his voice to her – the first time he had ever done so. ‘Stop that,’ he barked.
‘Don’t you tell
me
to stop
anything
,’ she shouted, incensed, as she continued to hit him.
The cab driver, who had been following them, ripped open the back door, and with the help of several passers-by pulled them from the car. French curse words abounded.
‘Mon dieu!’ ‘Merde!’
and other such phrases were bandied about.
The driver was dragged from his seat. He had a small cut to his forehead, other than that he was quite dead.
‘Horace!’ screamed Francesca. ‘This is all your fault! You’ll do anything to ruin my holiday!’
A week in Vegas was hardly the right setting to embark on married life. Especially with ‘good time’ Alice along for the ride. In the great tradition of mothers and daughters-in-law – Alice loathed Olympia, and Olympia returned the compliment.
‘She’s fat,’ Alice said.
‘She’s a witch,’ Olympia said.
‘She’s rude,’ Alice said.
‘She’s embarrassing,’ Olympia said.
And so it went. Lennie received a litany of complaints from both of them. And to tell the truth he didn’t much care. Olympia
was
a little overweight – he made her promise to lose ten pounds. Alice
could
be a witch. He told her to behave herself or ship out. Olympia treated staff badly – Lennie noticed and called her on it. Alice was always an embarrassment. He couldn’t do anything about
that.
She had been that way all her life.
The big surprise was Alice and Brigette. They loved each other! The blonde child took one look at the faded stripper and a bond was formed. Brigette had never liked a grown-up in her life. Alice had always hated kids. Together they were the odd couple – chatting about television programmes, food, and clothes – as if they were equals. Neither Olympia nor Lennie could believe it. Secretly, Lennie had always suspected his mother’s mentality was in the low teenage range – but Brigette was only eleven – yet you would think she and Alice had been lifelong friends. Their relationship saved the day. Olympia accepted Alice because of it. Suddenly Brigette was behaving like a human being – a new phenomenon.
Marriage, Lennie found, had certain advantages. No more one-night stands was one of them.
He certainly did not kid himself that he and Olympia were madly in love, but they had plenty of time. They’d done it, and he, for one, was prepared to give it his best shot.
He pushed Eden to the back of his mind.
Olympia, too, found that marriage (for the fourth time) was advantageous. Especially to someone like Lennie. He was not like her other three husbands, she knew that immediately. He was smarter and sexier and not obsessed with her money as the others had been. In fact, he didn’t seem to even care about money. When she thrust the pre-nuptial agreement at him three days into their marriage he had signed the backdated document with hardly a glance. ‘I didn’t marry that part of you,’ he said dismissively.
He had electric eyes, persistent lips, gentle hands, and an awe-inspiring cock.
He wasn’t Flash. But he was something.
She put Flash on hold. He could wait.
* * *
Jess was well aware she was hardly witnessing love’s young dream, but it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be after her initial encounter with the Greek Princess – as she had christened Olympia – even though she looked more Californian than Greek.
‘Lennie,’ she commented. ‘I don’t know what you said to her, but whatever it was – keep repeating it – she’s
almost
bearable.’
He laughed. ‘You’ve got to understand Olympia,’ he stated patiently. ‘Sure she’s spoilt, wouldn’t you be if your old man owned half the world and you grew up expecting to own the other half?’
Jess tried to put herself in that position, couldn’t quite make it.
‘Olympia is
very
insecure,’ Lennie the analyst continued. ‘That’s why she treats people the way she does.’
Oh yeah? Insecure about what?
Now the picture was coming clear. Lennie Golden. Champion of the underdog. He had married the richest girl in the world to save her from herself. Hah!
‘When you get to know her’, he added, ‘you’ll really like her.’
An acquired taste, like eels on toast. ‘If you say so’, Jess agreed amiably. She didn’t feel like arguing. He would learn in his own sweet time.
Meanwhile, Matt was driving her nuts. Now that she had decided she really liked him – a lot – he had become ‘Mister Best Friend who will never lay a hand on you’. She wanted more than his hand, and she hinted this to him.
‘You were always right about us, Jess,’ he said, not getting the hint at all. ‘I must have seemed like a real jerk to you when I wouldn’t leave you alone.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ she replied hopefully.
‘Yes. I was a jerk,’ he repeated. And he had no intention of making a fool of himself again.
* * *
Olympia had discussed Dimitri’s upcoming cruise with Lennie. He consulted Jess, and found he would be able to make it for a week, after that he had a firm commitment to do
The Tonight Show
, his first shot and he was looking forward to it. Although he was also nervous. Appearing with Carson was like receiving an audience with the Pope.
‘They’ve promised you a seven minute spot,’ Jess said eagerly. ‘Freddie de Cordova said he couldn’t understand why you haven’t been on before. I didn’t want to tell him we’ve been bombarding them for two years!’
Lennie decided he and Olympia would leave immediately after the last show on Saturday night, take a car to L.A., the polar flight to London where they would stay overnight, and then another plane the next day to the south of France. He was enthusiastic about the trip, having never been abroad, although fortunately he had acquired a passport years before when he and Eden once planned a trip to Venice – which never came off because she ran away to L.A. with her actor boyfriend. Whatever happened to
him?
Olympia enjoyed his enthusiasm. What fun it would be to show him around. She only wished they had more time.
Nanny Mabel and Brigette were due to leave two days before they did, and then Olympia came up with a brilliant idea. Why not send Alice with them? At least the child would behave herself with Alice along.
She told Lennie her plan, and he quickly said, ‘Forget it.’
But somewhere along the way word leaked out, Alice got to hear, and she confronted Lennie immediately with bright red cheeks and shaking hands. ‘You
can’t
deny me this chance,’ she stated dramatically. ‘You’ve kept me off the
Griffin Show
– I know that. I’m not some
schlump
you can push in the background, I’m your mother, Lennie, your mother!’