Ha ha. Some joke.
‘Don’t tell my husband,’ she had said quickly. ‘It’s a great place to hide Christmas presents.’
Never again would she be without drugs. Never. Never. Never.
Being in the plane crash was bad enough, she had ongoing nightmares about
that.
But when they deprived her of cocaine and grass and pills – all the things that kept life worth living – she was outraged.
Now she had a hoard of everything. The hidden room looked like a hospital store-room.
After she’d called her dealer and put in an order, she examined her face in the mirror and fingered her soft new skin. She was pretty again, perhaps even prettier than before the accident.
She sucked in her cheeks and imagined herself thin. Ah . . . when she was thin she would conquer the world. She would emerge from hiding and surprise everyone with her beauty.
She would surprise Flash.
That bum.
She would have him again. For sure.
‘You have too much make-up on,’ scolded Lucky. ‘But you look great anyway – so don’t sweat it.’
‘Too much make-up!’ squealed Brigette. ‘Like I usually wear twice this amount!’
‘Where? In class?’
‘No. Out of class. My favourite place!’
Lucky hugged her. The young girl reminded her so much of Olympia at the same age. She was very fond of the child, although Brigette was hardly a child any more, she was almost as tall as Lucky, and looked eighteen.
‘I’m glad you’re here,’ Lucky said warmly. ‘And the dress we picked is just right.’
‘Nice and virginal,’ winked Brigette.
Lucky smiled. ‘If you say so.’ She put an arm around the girl’s shoulder. ‘Come along, I want you to sit with Gino and Costa.’
Brigette gazed around the crowded ballroom. She was excited to be at the opening of the Santangelo. But it wasn’t cool to be excited, and above all, tonight of all nights, she wanted to radiate cool.
As they walked toward their table she thought she spotted John Travolta, and wasn’t that Cheryl Tiegs? And . . . holy shit . . . it couldn’t be, but it was, actor Tim Wealth. He was twenty-six and
fantastic
! Like she could
die
for him, and here she was right in the same room!
Gino greeted her with a kiss on the hand. ‘Quite a young lady, now,’ he said. ‘And a very pretty one too.’
She liked Lucky’s father. He was old, but he was more fun than Dimitri, who sat in a rocking chair all day gazing out to sea with a mournful expression on his craggy face. Brigette knew she was fortunate to be at the opening. She had been begging Lucky for months – via letter and phone from Switzerland – to allow her to come.
‘Just for a couple of days,’ Lucky had finally said. ‘Then you have to go straight to California to see your mother. She’s expecting you.’
Brigette wished she didn’t have to leave at all. Spending the summer with Olympia was a depressing thought. Her mother was so weird and fat and uncool. Brigette would have been perfectly happy spending the whole vacation with Lucky. Now
she was
cool. It was a marvellous evening, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Lucky had put together an experienced and innovative management team, headed by Matt Traynor, whom Gino had allowed her to steal.
Matt, looking dapper in a new tuxedo, his grey hair cropped close to his head, seemed to have acquired a new girlfriend. She was short with curly hair and a great body. Lucky knew she had seen her somewhere before, but she couldn’t quite remember where, until Matt introduced them. Then it all fell into place. Jess. The croupier from Las Vegas whose baby had drowned. Lennie’s friend. Lennie’s manager.
Lucky smiled at her. ‘It’s good to see you, and congratulations on all your success with Lennie Golden.’
How is he? Does he ever talk about me? Is he happy?
‘Your hotel’s incredible,’ Jess exclaimed. ‘It must have been some project to put together.’
‘It was,’ Lucky replied. Did Jess know about her and Lennie?
No. Nobody knew. It was their secret.
‘Anyway . . .’ Jess gestured around the magnificent ballroom, filled with a glittering array of first night guests. ‘It’s really something.’
‘Thank you.’
Does Lennie miss me? I miss him.
‘Hi, Brigette.’ Jess leaned across the table. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages. I hardly recognized you. You look so adult!’
‘Oh. Hi.’
‘I hear you’re coming out to visit.’
‘Yes.’ Brigette fidgeted uncomfortably. She was fed up with being polite to everyone. Sweet little Brigette in the virginal white dress. My? Hasn’t she grown up! They should only know! Across the room she watched Tim Wealth get up from his table and wander off. He was probably as bored as she was. Quickly she stood up. ‘I’ve got to go to the bathroom,’ she whispered to Lucky.
Without hesitation Brigette set off in the same direction as the young actor.
* * *
There were stars at the opening from every field. Lucky moved from table to table, smiling, greeting, welcoming. It wasn’t her job, but she knew how to do it better than anyone.
It was a high profile party. Vitos Felicidade entertained, the champagne flowed, there were silver bowls of caviar on every table, and the food was gourmet.
Lucky had invited Dimitri, and for one moment she had thought he would accept. But no, he decided against leaving his island. In three years she had watched him grow into an old man. It seemed that when Francesca went, his will to live went with her. All he wanted to do was stay on his island and vegetate, handing his business affairs over to minions, and taking no interest in anything or anyone except Roberto and Brigette. His son and his grandchild kept him alive.
Lucky came and went as she pleased, and while she was building the Santangelo it suited her fine. Now that the hotel was finished, and Roberto was reaching school age, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue this arrangement. Roberto was four and a half, a sturdy, quiet little boy. Was he to grow up in isolation with Dimitri looming over him? As it was now, the only friends he had were the children of servants on the island.
Brigette was another matter. She arrived for vacations. Swam, sunbathed and water-skiied. Then she returned to the real world – if you could call an expensive private girl’s school in Switzerland the real world.
Lucky had enjoyed watching her change from an impossible whining brat, into a pretty, young teenager. And it was especially pleasing that she treated Roberto as if he was her younger brother.
Brigette
never
wanted to visit Olympia, who appeared not to care at all. In a way Lucky felt like the child’s surrogate mother. She didn’t mind the responsibility, which had been hers ever since Nanny Mabel was dismissed at Brigette’s insistence when she was twelve. Lucky took over willingly. She had tried to teach Brigette certain values and a sense of independence. She had also given her advice on everything from drugs to boys.
Brigette was not looking forward to spending the summer with Olympia, but Lucky persuaded Dimitri to make sure it happened. ‘Maybe now that Brigette is growing up, the two of them will get along,’ she urged. ‘If they don’t do it now, they never will.’
As a consolation prize Lucky had allowed Brigette to attend the opening of the Santangelo, and the young girl certainly seemed to be loving every minute.
* * *
‘I thought we might get married,’ Matt said formally. ‘It seems ridiculous for you to come all this way without us doing
something
to commemorate the occasion.’
Jess could not believe her ears. Several years of silence, then this.
‘What do you think?’ he continued matter-of-factly.
‘Uh,’ she stared at him dumbly. ‘I . . . uh . . .
married?’
‘Yes. Unless you think it’s the worst idea you’ve ever heard in your life.’
She shook her head. ‘Why?’ she asked blankly.
‘Why not?’
She recovered her composure. ‘Shall I give you a list?’
He backed away. ‘Forget I suggested it.’
‘Why?’
‘Will you stop saying why.’
‘Matt.’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t think it’s such a weird idea.’
* * *
Brigette was outside the men’s room when Tim Wealth emerged. ‘Hi,’ she said brightly, as if they were old friends.
He looked around to see if she was addressing someone else.
‘I’m speaking to you,’ she said boldly. ‘We met. Remember?’
Tim Wealth was tall and gangly with a thin face, intense eyes, and longish brown hair. He wore a rented tuxedo, black shirt, and a small gold stud in one ear. He had made one movie two years before, and been hailed as the hottest newcomer of the year. Since that – nothing. Not one single script came his way.
Who can explain the vagaries of the film industry? Certainly not Tim Wealth.
After holding out for eighteen months he was finally reduced to guesting on bad TV shows. After that it was all downhill. Now he was in Atlantic City with a gay producer who promised him more than a crack at his skinny ass.
‘Where did we meet?’ he asked, looking her over. ‘I think I’ve got Alzheimer’s, and I’m too young to die.’
Brigette blinked. ‘What?’
‘Forget it.’
She couldn’t believe she was actually talking to him. ‘I saw your movie six times,’ she said excitedly. ‘Why haven’t you made any more?’
‘Good question,’ he said dourly.
‘My stepfather’s an actor.’
‘That’s exciting.’
‘His name’s Lennie Golden. Do you know him?’
‘Do bears shit in the woods?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Forget it.’
Brigette soldiered on. ‘My sort of aunt owns this hotel.’
‘And who is your sort of aunt?’
‘Lucky Santangelo. Have you seen her?’
‘Could I miss her?’
‘Are you with a girl?’
‘Are you offering your services for the night?’
Brigette felt a tingle of excitement. Tim Wealth was even better in the flesh than on the screen. ‘Yes,’ she said quickly.
He stared at her quizzically. ‘How old are you?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Eighteen,’ she lied. ‘And you?’
‘I’m twenty-six pushing fifty. And if this evening goes on much longer I’ll be pushing sixty.’
She giggled. ‘You’re bored.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re smart.’
‘Where do you live?’ she asked enthusiastically.
‘L.A.,’ he replied.
‘I’m going there tomorrow,’ she announced proudly.
‘What d’you want, a medal?’
She giggled again and thrust her bosom to the limit in the virginal white dress Lucky had chosen.
He could not help but notice. And although Tim Wealth swung both ways, a magnificent pair of boobs always intrigued him. And his producer friend wouldn’t come up to the suite for hours. ‘Want to see my feet?’ he questioned.
‘Your feet?’
‘My toes are famous.’
‘Honestly?’
‘Are you for real?’
‘What?’
‘Follow me, little girl.’
* * *
‘Where’s Brigette?’ Lucky asked.
‘Never mind about Brigette. When am I gonna see my grandson again?’ Gino responded.
‘Soon,’ Lucky promised.
‘Why don’t you bring him back to America where he belongs?’ Gino asked testily.
Yes. Why didn’t she? The time had come.
But how? Dimitri would never agree.
‘I’m going to,’ she said firmly.
‘Good, good.’ He leaned back and looked around. The place was jumping. He couldn’t have done it better himself. A lot of the party guests had already drifted out to the tables, and the satisfying whirl of roulette wheels filled the air.
‘Where is Brigette?’ Lucky asked again, but her attention was taken by Vitos Felicidade, who came by the table, trailed by his entourage, to tell her what a magnificent party it was.
She smiled. ‘Thank you, Vitos.’ He was costing her a fortune, but the way the audience loved the Spanish singer made him worth every cent.
He had hang-dog melancholy brown eyes. ‘Would you care for a drink?’ he asked, his English much improved.
‘I have a drink,’ she replied.
His brown eyes signalled an invitation. ‘Weeth me.’
Vitos Felicidade was a heart-throb. Millions of women worldwide bought his records and desired his body. For Lucky he did nothing.
‘I’m just too busy tonight,’ she replied with charm. ‘Maybe some other time.’
He rather liked being turned down, it was a refreshing change. ‘Mebee,’ he winked roguishly. ‘Mebee not.’
What
was
she going to do later when the party was finished? She was on a high, the adrenalin pumping. There was no way she would want to be alone.