‘He hasn’t arrived,’ replied Eden, stating the obvious. ‘And what’s all this about a film called
The Singer
? I thought we were talking to Mr Felicidade about
My Life as a Call Girl.’
‘Rewrite,’ said Quinn blithely.
‘Rewrite?’ screeched Eden.
Quinn nodded. ‘I take it the sonofabitch didn’t tell you?’
She shook her head while anger flooded her body.
‘Listen,’ said Quinn, whispering confidentially into her ear. ‘You think Vitos Felicidade is gonna star in a movie with call girl in the title? We changed the concept. You’ll read it. You’ll love it.’
‘Yes, but am I still in it?’ she asked bitterly.
Quinn threw up his hands. ‘That’s not for me to know. I’m only the director.’
‘Did Santino ever tell you this was supposed to be a starring vehicle for me?’ she hissed.
‘Never heard that’, said Quinn honestly, ordering a double shot of Jack Daniels.
Eden slumped into silence. The bastard! The bald hairy horny bastard! No wonder he told her never to discuss the movie with anyone but him. No wonder he told her the time was not right for her to talk to Quinn or Ryder or Paige or
anyone
about the project. He was stringing her along. He was fucking her with empty promises. She felt like primal screaming in the middle of Chasens. She felt like
killing
him.
A waiter brought a phone to the table. ‘There’s a call for Miss Antonio,’ he said.
She took the phone, held it to her ear.
‘What the frig didja leave the house early for?’ complained Santino.
‘Where are you?’ she asked, her voice constricted.
‘My boy is sick,’ he said. ‘He’s got a fever. I can’t leave him. If you hadn’t left the house before I told you, I coulda stopped you from goin’.’
‘I’m here now’, she said.
‘I friggin’
know
that. An’ I want ya outta there. Pronto. Tell ’em I can’t make it, an’ why. Lay it on thick – I don’t want ’em thinkin’ I’m backin’ off the deal. An’ then ya split, an’ get the fuck home. Ya hear me?’
‘I hear you.’
‘Make an excuse. Ya got the rag on, a headache, anythin’. But I wancha outta there in five minutes. Got it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Notheeng wrong I hope,’ said Vitos, as the waiter whisked the phone away.
‘Mr Bonnatti cannot be with us tonight.’ Eden toyed with her Martini glass. ‘His son has a temperature, and he doesn’t want to leave him. He hopes you will all understand.’
Everybody assured her they understood.
‘He’s such a loyal family man,’ she added.
‘Yeah!’ agreed Quinn, and under the table his hand did exploratory surgery on her thigh.
She removed it. ‘Mr Bonnatti requested that someone instruct his driver, Zeko, to take the rest of the evening off. Could we send that
personal
message from Mr Bonnatti out front?’
‘No problem,’ said Quinn.
‘You, beautiful lady, weel stays?’ inquired Vitos, his liquid eyes melting with hers.
‘Absolutely,’ she replied briskly. ‘Mr Bonnatti insisted that I should.’
Lucky raced back to the yacht. Dimitri and Francesca sat on an upper deck engrossed in each other and a game of backgammon, there was no one else around. Francesca wore a green sun-dress, and a matching bandana which almost hid her flaming red hair. Dimitri was still in khaki shorts and a sports shirt.
‘I thought I was late for dinner,’ Lucky said, out of breath.
Francesca ignored her. Dimitri glanced up briefly, said, ‘Dinner is at eight,’ and returned his attention to the game. No –
where have you been all day ? Why are you late?
Not even a
how are you?
Any guilt she might have felt was washed away immediately.
‘Where is everybody?’ she asked.
‘Ah ha . . . got you!’ husked Francesca, making a key move on the backgammon board.
‘You think so, woman?’ roared Dimitri, countering with his own cleverer move. Their laughs intermingled.
Lucky felt the sharp stab of rejection she had known all her life. Fuck ’em. If they wanted each other so badly they were welcome.
‘I’m going to shower,’ she said stiffly.
Dimitri waved her away – a gesture which plainly stated
don’t bother me, I’m busy.
‘Dinner is at eight,’ he repeated.
‘Can’t wait,’ Lucky murmured sarcastically.
She visited Roberto, who was playing in his yellow bathtub, content and happy, watched over by the ever-smiling CeeCee.
She hugged his wet body close to her T-shirt. ‘Hiya baby gorgeous,’ she sang. ‘How’s my boy? How’s my kid?’
‘Mama,’ he chirped happily. ‘Nice nice mama.’
‘He’s been so good today,’ beamed CeeCee. ‘This is one kid who
never
cries.’
‘Just like mommy,’ sighed Lucky softly.
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing.’
Back in Dimitri’s masculine stateroom she stripped off her clothes and stood under a hot shower, closing her eyes as the water beat a soothing rhythm on her skin. For a moment she allowed herself to think of Lennie and their incredibly erotic and satisfying encounter.
This time he had gone along with her game. No corny lines or bullshit. Just wonderfully uninhibited silent sex.
She shivered. Sex hadn’t felt that good since Marco . . .
* * *
Alice wanted to complain to Olympia. She knocked on her stateroom door late in the afternoon and caught her flinging things around the room in a fury.
‘What’s the matter, dear?’ she asked, forgetting her own problems.
‘Nothing,’ scowled Olympia. ‘What do
you
want?’
‘A nice way to talk to your mother-in-law,’ clucked Alice. ‘I thought we were friends.’
‘What?’ snapped Olympia. She was in no mood to humour Lennie’s eccentric mother.
Alice came right to the point. ‘I’m very insulted,’ she stated, picking at her nail polish.
‘Why?’
‘Am I, Alice Golden, former
star
of Las Vegas – Lennie inherited everything he knows from me – not good enough to sit at the dinner table with the likes of the hoi polloi?’
‘Is that a question?’
‘It’s a statement, my dear. A statement.’ She paused dramatically. ‘I have shared meals with Kings, danced for Princes. What do you think I am – a
shlub
with no feelings?’
‘Please, Alice. I have a hangover and a headache. What do you want?’
‘To eat dinner with my own son.’
‘You’re here to be with Brigette,’ Olympia pointed out.
‘Does that mean I can’t sit with Lennie? Brigette goes to bed at eight. Am I supposed to stay below decks with the help?’
Olympia frowned. Where
was
Lennie when she needed him? ‘I don’t know,’ she said irritably. ‘Do what you like.’
A gleam of triumph filled Alice’s watery eyes. ‘Thank you, dear,’ she said, already thinking up stories she could entrance the dinner guests with.
* * *
Gino did not like France. He did not understand the language. He found the people rude. It was too hot. He hated being confined on a boat. And he missed Paige.
Susan, social as ever, insisted they spend the day with friends of hers who owned a summer villa in the hills. The man was a film star. He had a rugged profile, yellowing teeth, and badly dyed black hair. The woman – his wife – was a sharp-tongued European who, in the course of an afternoon, trashed everyone she knew – including all her dearest friends.
Gino hated every minute. He told Susan so on the way back to the yacht.
‘I had an amusing time,’ she said.
‘You wouldn’t be so amused if y’could hear what that bitch is sayin’ about you now,’ he replied.
‘What you are talking about?’
‘Forget it.’
He knew there was no way he was going to last two weeks on
this
trip.
* * *
‘My game,’ husked Francesca.
‘You always win,’ laughed Dimitri.
‘How true.’
‘We must get ready for dinner.’
‘Yes.’ She snaked a white hand to his cheek, her nails blood red and inches long. ‘Why did you marry her, Dimitri? Why did you humiliate me?’
‘Francesca –
you’re
married,’ he pointed out.
‘It’s nothing. Horace looks after things for me. It’s a marriage of convenience.’
‘Divorce him.’
‘I can’t. It would break his heart.’
‘Then what are we discussing?’
‘Your disloyalty.’
‘Never.’
‘Yes.’
‘I married Lucky to give my son his rightful name.’
Lightly Francesca scratched her nails where she knew it would have the most effect. ‘Now you can divorce her,’ she suggested.
* * *
Having got rid of Alice, Olympia threw another fit. Where the hell was Lennie? She needed someone to scream at. What good was a husband if he wasn’t around when you needed him?
She had a blinding, throbbing headache. Who wouldn’t when the news of a half-brother was thrust upon her? Not to mention the fact that Dimitri had married Lucky Santangelo.
Lucky and Dimitri! Unbelievable! Ridiculous! Obscene!
She marched into the bathroom, went straight to her stash, and snorted the rest of her coke supply. Then she gulped a couple of Quaaludes and tried to decide what to wear to confront her latest step-mother.
Step-mother!
What a joke!
Lucky Santangelo!
Friend.
Some
friend.
Dimitri was an excellent host. His summer cruises were legendary. No expense was spared to make sure all his guests had a marvellous time.
Finishing his game of backgammon he hurried to shower and change his clothes, and was ready to greet his guests as they arrived on the upper deck for pre-dinner drinks. Lucky accompanied him. She looked particularly stunning in a Saint Laurent white tuxedo, her hair loose and wild. Gino stood alone at the bar. Lucky went over to him immediately.
‘I gotta get outta here,’ he announced.
‘So do I,’ she agreed.
‘Hey – maybe I can come up with some family business that takes us both to New York. Y’know something kid? I really miss the city.’
‘I thought you loved Beverly Hills.’
‘It’s too slow for me. I’ve had it.’
‘Really?’
‘I need more action.’
‘What about Susan?’
‘I haven’t told her, but I’m thinkin’ of buyin’ a place in New York.’
‘And dividing your time?’
‘Why not?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
* * *
‘We spent such an interesting day,’ said Susan to the Contessa, scooping a healthy amount of Petrossian Beluga caviar onto a cracker and disposing of it in one mouthful.
‘Did you?’ replied the Contessa. ‘I was frightfully bored. I like to play baccarat. I can’t wait until we arrive in Monte Carlo. I am simply desperate for the tables.’
‘When my late husband, Tiny Martino, was alive, we used to visit Monte all the time,’ enthused Susan, trying to impress. ‘Tiny was a friend of the Rainiers, you know. He and Grace were
very
close’
The Contessa raised a pencilled eyebrow.
‘You
were married to Tiny?’ she questioned.
‘For over twenty-five years,’ Susan said proudly. And then she added coyly, ‘I was a child bride you know.’
The Contessa smiled and patted her hand. ‘Weren’t we all, darling.’
Susan waited for her to remove the pressure of her rather warm hand, each finger loaded with impressive diamonds.
She didn’t.
* * *
Olympia was angry because Lennie appeared to have vanished. She had no intention of sitting around. If he missed dinner it was his loss. Besides, she couldn’t
wait
to see Lucky.
Skinny, naive, little Lucky Santangelo. Former best friend. Former confidante. Ha! It never paid to be nice to people. They always took advantage of kindness and shafted you whenever the opportunity arose.
The very thought of Dimitri and Lucky in bed together was disgusting to her. She, Olympia, had taught Lucky everything she knew. When Lucky had arrived in Switzerland fifteen years ago she had never even been
kissed!
Olympia had educated her about men and life and how to have
fun.
Just look at the thanks she received.
She dressed in an expensive gold Ungaro outfit which would have looked sensational on a tall, flat-chested model. It did not suit Olympia at all. She applied heavy duty diamonds to her ears, fingers, and throat. Then she fluffed out her long blonde curls and set off for a face-to-face confrontation.