She watched him play with the kids. They screamed with laughter as he shared his attention between them. Roberto giggled uncontrollably as Lennie tossed him in the air.
Dimitri, Lucky noticed, had little time to play with his son. Plenty of time for Madame Fern though.
She frowned. Of all the mistakes she had made in her life, marrying Dimitri was probably the biggest.
* * *
The night of the party was perfect. A clear sky filled with stars, no breeze, no humidity. The yacht, decorated with a thousand fairy lights, looked incredible. Round tables festooned with fresh flowers were set on the lower deck for a hundred guests, and on the upper deck a five piece combo played romantic ballads and soft rock.
Ceremoniously Dimitri presented Lucky with her birthday present just before the outside guests were due to arrive. A square leather box lined with plush velvet. A Van Cleef and Arpel insignia. And in the middle of the box a magnificent necklace of perfect diamonds and glittering emeralds set in white gold, with matching pendant earrings.
‘Gorgeous,’ purred the Contessa, who knew a thing or two about jewels.
‘So lovely!’ sighed Susan, thinking Gino’s gifts seemed paltry by comparison.
‘Wowee!
Heavy duty!’ from Fluff.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Lucky exclaimed, lifting the necklace from the box. ‘Thank you, darling.’ She kissed Dimitri chastely on the cheek. He smiled at the assorted gathering.
Francesca glared.
Olympia pouted.
Then there were other presents to open. A pair of heavy silver frames from the Contessa and Saud. A solid gold travelling clock from Jenkins and Fluff. An ugly silk shirt from the Ferns – several sizes too large. Nothing from Olympia. A cashmere sweater from Susan, and a small leather box from Gino. ‘Somethin’ I picked out – on my own,’ he said in an embarrassed voice. ‘If y’don’t like it, y’don’t have to wear it.’
She opened the box slowly. Gino hadn’t remembered her birthday in years. Inside was a pavé diamond panther brooch studded with cabochon rubies and emeralds. It was the most exquisite piece of jewellery she had ever seen. Totally original, and absolutely her style. ‘I
love
it,’ she said softly, thrilled that he had chosen it himself. ‘It’s just great! I
really
love it!’ She grabbed him in a hug.
‘I love
you,
kid,’ he said, very quietly. ‘Happy birthday.’
Soon the outside guests began to arrive, most of them bearing gifts which were placed in a huge pile to be opened later.
Lucky was wearing a scarlet silk jersey dress which skimmed her body to the ground, and was slit at the front. She put on her new necklace and earrings, and pinned the panther brooch to the flimsy material. She looked darkly exotic with her hair piled on top of her head and a deep suntan. She circled the party. She played the role. She was Mrs Stanislopoulos to the hilt – aware it was only a temporary position.
Lennie hung back and watched. The fantasy had become a reality, and she was under his skin with a vengeance.
He caught up with her at the bar, and eased himself between a boring conversation she was having with a soignée blonde in a million dollars’ worth of diamonds. ‘I miss you,’ he whispered.
She felt a shiver of anticipation. The blonde moved off.
‘I’m horny, lonely and screwed up,’ he continued. ‘And this you are
not
going to believe, but I think I’m in love.’
She kept her tone light. ‘Anyone I know?’
He touched her arm. ‘How do
you
feel?’
‘Married,’ she replied flatly. ‘And so are you.’
‘I’m leaving Olympia,’ he said quickly. ‘As soon as I get back. How about you and Dimitri?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly.
‘What do you mean, you don’t know? You
are
going to divorce him, aren’t you?’
She resented the question. What business was it of his? ‘I don’t think I mentioned I was planning on doing any such thing,’ she said coldly.
He touched her necklace contemptuously. ‘I guess that kind of little bauble
would
make it difficult to come up with an answer.’
She was suddenly furious. ‘Are you implying I’m staying with him for his
money?’
‘Give me a better reason.’
‘Fuck you!’ she exploded.
He wanted to defuse her anger, ‘I wish you would.’
She refused to become any further involved. ‘Get lost, asshole.’
Olympia walked into their conversation. Her cheeks were flushed, her breasts bulging from a low-cut yellow dress which made her look like an over-ripe banana. She was also stoned – but not mellow. And drunk – but not happy.
‘You two really seem to have hit it off,’ she slurred. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Nothing much,’ Lennie said.
‘She called you an asshole,’ Olympia’s small eyes glinted with jealousy. ‘It must have been
something.’
‘I told her a bad joke.’
‘All
your jokes are bad.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘You’re a lousy comedian. You ever seen him do anything, Lucky? He stinks.’ She giggled.
‘As a matter of fact,’ for some unknown reason Lucky found herself springing to his defence. ‘I’ve seen Lennie on stage and I think he’s brilliantly innovative.’
‘Where
have you seen him?’ Olympia demanded hotly.
‘I owned a hotel in Vegas once, the Magiriano. Lennie appeared in the lounge.’
‘So you two met before?’
They both replied at once.
‘Yes,’ said Lucky.
‘Not really,’ said Lennie.
‘What did you do, screw each other?’ Olympia sneered with drunken insight.
‘You’re bombed,’ Lennie said quickly, putting his arm around her shoulders.
She shrugged him away. ‘Don’t give me that solicitous husband crap just because I hit pay dirt. You probably
did
screw her. I understand if it wore pants and moved she fucked it.’
‘I thought that was you,’ said Lucky icily.
‘I never had to search it out,’ claimed Olympia. ‘I can remember when you and I were in the South of France – on the run from school. Nobody even
looked
at you. You couldn’t find a boyfriend if you stood on your head.’
‘I didn’t know you two were at school together,’ Lennie said, trying to change the subject.
‘Shut up, asshole,’ Olympia said fiercely. ‘I am allowed to call you asshole, aren’t I?’ she added sarcastically. ‘Or is that a privilege reserved only for little Lucky Saint?’
He fixed her with a look which said more than words, and walked away.
‘Well?’ Olympia demanded belligerently of Lucky.
‘Did
you fuck him?’
‘Hey,’ Lucky replied coolly. ‘If I had, I wouldn’t tell you. And if I hadn’t, the same applies.’ She turned her back and vanished into the heat of the party.
‘Uptight bitch!’ Olympia screamed after her. ‘I know all about you. I know where you’re coming from. Don’t think you fool me with your airs and graces. You’re street scum, just like your gangster father!’
‘Olympia!’ A harsh voice, a heavy hand. ‘Do not disgrace yourself this way. Go to your stateroom until you are fit to be seen.’ Dimitri’s face was a thunder mask. He summoned a servant. ‘Take Miss Stanislopoulos to her room. Feed her coffee until she is sober. I will not tolerate this behaviour.’
Olympia went meekly. She needed more than a joint and a few glasses of champagne – she needed cocaine and she needed it badly.
It was hot in New York, the streets were awash with tourists, and the residents only survived because of air-conditioning. The offices of Myerson, Laker, and Brandon were on Park Avenue in a ritzy building. Steven was appointed a large corner office with all home comforts. A fridge, a television and video recorder, a stereo set, and a tape machine. ‘Why not be able to relax?’ Jerry said affably. ‘I think a good working environment makes for good workers.’ His own office was more like an apartment, with a small seductive bedroom leading off it in case he wished to spend the night.
‘You know Jerry,’ Sam Laker, one of the partners confided. ‘He wants it just in case.’
‘In case of what?’ Steven inquired.
Sam winked knowingly. ‘In case he needs to entertain a client.’
Steven reflected on how different it was to the working space he was used to as an assistant D.A. Well, things were different now. He was in business to make money, just like Jerry. To hell with being a do-gooder.
His first client was Mary-Lou Moore. She was prettier than she appeared to be on television. She had waist length black hair, widely spaced brown eyes, and a devastating smile. She travelled with an entourage that consisted of her mother, her aunt – who was also her manager – and her boyfriend, a white kid with frizzy hair and a tendency to pop bubble gum.
After an initial chat Steven got the distinct impression Mary-Lou would have nothing to say while her entourage was present.
‘I’d like to speak to Mary-Lou alone,’ he said formally.
The mother looked at the aunt. The aunt looked at the boyfriend. They all looked at Mary-Lou, who nodded her permission. When they had all departed, Steven said, ‘Tell me about it.’
She shrugged, trying to be cool. But when she began to speak about the outrage, the humiliation and the fury the publication of the nude pictures had caused her, she seemed nothing so much as a gauche teenager. ‘These scummy guys who put out these magazines shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this kind of rip-off,’ she said. ‘Okay, so it wasn’t too bright of me to pose for the pictures in the first place, but I was only fifteen – and foolin’ around with my boyfriend. Did I know he was gonna
keep
them – and
sell
them?’ She set her pretty chin at a determined angle. ‘I want to sue.’
‘It’ll take time.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘Their lawyers will defend the case. They’ll try to discredit you in any way they can.’
‘I’m ready.’
‘You’ll be involved in depositions, postponements – and finally you’ll have your day in court.’
‘That’s what I want.’
‘We’re embarking on a journey. Once we get on the train, there’s no getting off.’
‘Go for it, man!’
After she left he picked up the offending magazine – a glossy porno rag called
Comer.
Mary-Lou was featured on six pages. The pictures were clearly not the work of a professional, but whoever had captured the fifteen-year-old had done a thorough job.
He had the name of the boyfriend from her past, the publishers of the magazine, and the distributors. As far as Steven could tell, she had a good case against all of them.
* * *
Anna Robb diligently worked at her typewriter. She had already completed four chapters of
The Carrie Berkeley Book of Beauty and Style.
It was going well.
She yawned and stretched. A break was most definitely in order, she decided, as she walked into the living room of the Manhattan apartment she shared with her lover. He was asleep on the couch, glasses on the end of his nose, pages from a manuscript scattered on the floor.
She gathered them together and woke him gently.
‘I fell asleep,’ he explained superfluously.
She glanced at the Cartier watch he had bought her for Christmas, and was surprised to find it was past twelve.
‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘Shall I make us some cocoa?’
He rose from the couch. ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like better.’
‘You go to bed, I’ll bring it in.’
‘Don’t forget the chocolate biscuits.’
‘As if I would.’
He was watching the end of
The Tonight Show
when she entered the bedroom carrying a tray with two steaming cups of cocoa and a packet of English biscuits.
‘I’ve been working on the Carrie Berkeley book,’ she said.
He broke open the biscuits. ‘How’s it going?’
She perched on the end of the bed, a small birdlike woman with plain features and a warm smile. ‘Very well. I think it will be a winner.’
‘I certainly hope so.’
‘I’ll tell you something, though.’
‘What?’
‘There’s another story under all the gloss and glitter.’
He stared at the television. ‘There is?’
‘Oh, yes. Definitely.’ Anna nodded. ‘Carrie Berkeley has a
real
story to tell. You know how I can sense these things.’
He nibbled on a chocolate biscuit. ‘You’re a regular Sherlock Holmes,’ he commented.
‘No. I just have good instincts. Plus I read between the lines and fill in the gaps.’ She paused, and allowed her attention to be caught by an animal trainer showing Johnny Carson a small frisky animal. ‘I’d like to discuss an autobiography with her. What do you think?’
‘Let’s see how the beauty book does first.’