‘Anything that comes my way, pal.’
The Polo Lounge was in action. A male movie star, suffering from one face lift too many, paused in the entrance to make sure everyone got a good look at him. Two would-be starlets in tighter than tight toreador pants and second-skin sweaters giggled their way in.
‘Did I tell you I saw Lucky?’ Jess remarked casually.
Lennie observed the starlet duo. They swayed in the breeze, while a tall dude with a moustache whisked them to his table.
Lennie took a hefty swig of his Screwdriver. ‘How is she?’ he asked, just as casual as Jess.
‘Not as icy as I used to think she was. In fact, she was great to me. And the hotel is a mind-blower. If you ever want to play a room again . . .’
Jess began describing the hotel while Lennie considered what might have been. Yeah. What might have been if Lucky had wanted him as much as he had wanted her.
Obviously she didn’t. Staying with Dimitri and building her hotel had taken top priority.
He wondered what she would do now Dimitri was dead.
Olympia had asked him to accompany her to New York for the reading of the will. He didn’t start shooting the new movie for several months, and for once he was blocked on writing, so he thought he might.
Sure.
Be casual about it.
He was going to see Lucky again after three years.
He couldn’t wait.
Becoming the widow of one of the richest men in the world was an awesome experience. As Dimitri Stanislopoulos’ wife Lucky had been treated with a certain amount of respect by his business associates. As his widow, she was fawned over.
It occurred to her that she was now in a position of power she had never even dreamed of. Olympia and Roberto would inherit the lion’s share of Dimitri’s vast wealth, but that did not exactly leave her a pauper. She owned the Santangelo free and clear. She had money in the bank from the sale of her Magiriano shares. And the East Hampton house was all hers.
She did not need any of Dimitri’s money, and she did not expect to get any. She had signed an agreement before their marriage relinquishing all rights to his vast estates and fortunes. The hotel was enough for her. She had realized her dream. But still, she had to attend the reading of the will. Roberto’s interests must be protected. Not that she anticipated any problems, Dimitri had doted on the boy.
Gino was returning to Vegas, and Costa and Ria were accompanying him for a visit. Lucky decided it might be a good idea to send Roberto and CeeCee with them. She didn’t want to leave Roberto on the island – too many sad memories. And she didn’t want to take him to New York with her. She trusted CeeCee implicitly. Besides, it would be good for him to spend some time with Gino.
Arrangements were duly made. Brigette was to go with them as well and be dropped off in Los Angeles. Lucky didn’t want her travelling alone. ‘I really should have a bodyguard go with you,’ she worried.
Brigette giggled at the very thought. ‘Nobody knows who I am.’
‘As long as we don’t put Stanislopoulos on your ticket. In public you are Brigette Standing. Remember that.’
Memories drifted back. When Lucky was a girl at school Gino had insisted that she not use the notorious Santangelo name. She had been known as Lucky Saint. What a name to be stuck with! Olympia had soon uncovered her secret and they had become friends.
Once.
Long ago . . .
* * *
Brigette got to sit next to Gino on the plane. She was glad. Costa was so dull, and his wife, Ria, talked too much. CeeCee, she had never got along with. And Roberto – or Bobby as she called him – was just a stupid little kid.
Brigette was sorry Grandpoppa Dimitri had died. But it opened up a whole new and exciting life for her. Now she couldn’t be dumped on the boring old Greek island every time she had a vacation. There was only so much swimming and sunbathing one could do. Perhaps Lucky would allow her to visit Atlantic City often. The Santangelo Hotel was a blast – oh, the times she could have there! And then maybe she could go and see Gino in Vegas – after all, they
were
sort of related, and they got along fine. Then there was Grandma Charlotte in New York. She was a pain, but an occasional weekend in New York might be fun. And there was always L.A. And mommy. And Lennie.
Mommy was a big drag.
Lennie was terrific.
And Tim Wealth lived in L.A.
She shivered with anticipation.
The stewardess walked along the aisle. She had on a tight skirt, too tight Brigette thought, it made her bottom look huge.
‘Want a drink, kid?’ Gino asked. ‘Scotch on the rocks, please,’ joked Brigette.
‘Smack on the ass,’ grinned Gino.
The stewardess smiled superciliously. She had very big white teeth. Brigette wondered if she had ever thought of doing a toothpaste commercial.
‘How about a nice glass of milk, dear?’ beamed Big Teeth.
Brigette scowled. Talking to her like a baby. She
hated
it when grown ups spoke down to her. Didn’t they realize how dumb it made them look? She was fourteen, not four.
* * *
Olympia was finally spurred to go on a crash diet – not that the loss of a few pounds made any difference to her mammoth proportions, but she pretended it did. Lately she felt paranoid and unable to sleep. Somehow her never-ending supply of cocaine was not giving her the kick she needed. She had complained to one of her dealers on the phone that he was shipping her inferior stuff.
‘Meet with me, pretty lady,’ he had crooned. ‘I gotta way to prolong that old coke high gonna see you fly!’
‘I want something that’ll make me feel good and stop me from eating. I need to lose a pound or two,’ she said, as if conversing with a respected doctor.
‘I got just what you want, pretty lady. But I have to show you how to do your thing.’
They arranged to meet in a Hollywood hotel the next day. Olympia wasn’t nervous. She had never been nervous about anything in her life.
The dealer was a sallow-faced man in his forties, with peroxide hair and missing front teeth. Olympia had found him through a dealer of Flash’s in New York. The man had an alarming facial tic and smelled of stale smoke. When Olympia entered the hotel room he switched on the television and locked the door.
‘What have you got for me?’ she asked restlessly.
The man squinted at the fat blonde heiress and saw dollar signs.
‘What
haven’t
I got for you, pretty lady,’ he said.
An hour later she left, a spring in her step and a mellow satisfied expression on her face. She had a purse-full of goodies. Snorting heroin beat coke any day.
Lennie was working in his study when she arrived home.
‘Where’d you go?’ he asked, delighted that she’d ventured out.
She smiled dreamily. ‘Shopping,’ she said. ‘The pounds are dropping from me. I have to buy new clothes for New York.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘Oh, and Lennie,’ she added imperviously, ‘hire a plane. I’m not going to New York on an ordinary airline.’ She swept from his study.
Only
he
would end up married to a woman who said ‘hire a plane’ as if she was ordering dog food.
He tried to work for another hour but it wasn’t happening for him, so he went upstairs. Olympia was in her bedroom, clothes spread around everywhere.
‘Brigette’s arriving this evening,’ he reminded her. ‘And we’re leaving on Monday. Shouldn’t we have someone in the house with her other than the servants?’
‘Who did you have in mind?’ she asked, inspecting a selection of silk caftans.
He paced around the room. ‘Maybe Jess.’
‘Isn’t she rushing back to Atlantic City and that hood she’s engaged to?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He had forgotten Jess was now commuting.
Olympia held blue silk in front of her. The colour complimented her eyes. If she was only a few pounds thinner – well more than a few, she had to admit – she would be the prettiest girl in the world. And pretty girls got laid. She was tired of Lennie and his feeble excuses.
‘I’ve made a decision,’ she stated dramatically.
‘Yeah?’ Olympia’s decisions usually lasted ten minutes.
‘I’m going to take a sleep cure and really lose weight.’
When they returned from New York she would cease to be his problem. He had given enough. One divorce coming up. ‘That’s great,’ he said, hoping she meant it for her own sake.
‘That’s great,’ she mimicked. ‘I wonder if you’ll think it’s so great when I start taking charge of my own life again.’
‘Hey –
that’s exactly what I want you to do.’
She glared. ‘What?’
He smelled the beginning of a fight, and who needed it? Brigette was arriving soon. They hadn’t seen her in over a year, and it would be nice if everyone was talking and not at each other’s throats.
‘Listen, how about Alice?’ he suggested, changing the subject with a quick idea, which, if he had thought it through was madness. He was desperately trying to keep Alice
out
of the house, not bring her in.
Olympia decided she didn’t feel like a fight either. ‘Hmmm, they get along, Brigette likes her, and she drives. She can take her to Disneyland and Magic Mountain and all those kiddy places. Shall we have one of the secretaries phone her?’
‘Yeah, good idea.’ He stretched. ‘I’m going over to Ryder’s for a meeting.’
She frowned. ‘Why do you always go to him? Why doesn’t he ever come to you?’
‘Because
you
never want anyone in the house.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘And it suits you fine, doesn’t it? That way your freedom is assured. Yes?’ She threw the blue caftan on the floor. ‘Well, make the most of it husband, dear. Because things are going to be very different in the future. You’ve kept me shut up here long enough.’
‘I’ve
kept you shut up,’ he snorted angrily. ‘Me? Getting you out to see your plastic surgeon is a major fucking coup.’
She was too mellow to fight. ‘Goodbye,’ she said crisply.
‘Forever,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
He strode from the house, threw himself behind the wheel of his Porsche and zoomed off.
* * *
Ryder Wheeler was on the tennis court pinging balls which bounced out at him from a machine.
Lennie settled himself in a chair next to the outside bar and watched.
Ryder managed a couple of great shots, spotted Lennie, and walked over.
‘Do you always play with yourself?’ Lennie asked sarcastically.
Ryder grabbed a towel from the back of the chair and swung it around his neck. ‘Only when Paige is out of town.’
As if on cue, Paige emerged from the house. She wore a short scarlet dress, her legs were bare with very high heels. She looked like a Marseilles hooker. ‘Hiya, sexy’, greeted Lennie.
‘I didn’t know you two had a meeting planned,’ she said, bestowing a kiss on his forehead.
‘We didn’t,’ Lennie replied. ‘But I sure as hell needed a shot of fresh air.’
Like everyone else, Paige had often wondered about his marriage. They had all heard of Olympia Stanislopoulos, but nobody ever saw her. She never appeared in public and he offered no explanations to anyone – including the press – who speculated constantly. According to Jess the marriage endured. That was all Paige could find out.
‘You’ll get plenty of fresh air here. I’m off to the work dungeon.’ She pecked Ryder on the cheek. ‘Bye, bye, sweetheart.’ For a moment she paused, looked from one man to the other and added mischievously, ‘Tell Lennie about your new project. Talk dirty. Who knows, maybe you can get him to put in a guest appearance!’
‘What new project?’ Lennie asked, watching Paige out of sight.
Ryder plucked a prune danish from a plate on the table, picked up the intercom and ordered hot coffee, then leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m doing a porno,’ he said.
‘What?’ Lennie was not sure he’d heard correctly. Since making his last two pictures, Ryder Wheeler was one of the most successful producers in town.
‘Soft porn, of course,’ Ryder added quickly. ‘Beautifully done. I’m directing.’
Lennie started to laugh. ‘I don’t believe what I’m hearing!’
Ryder shrugged. ‘I’ve got everything I want. All the money I’ll ever need. So I decided to indulge myself and do something I’ve always hankered after.’
‘You
are
kidding me?’
‘No. I’m serious.’
‘You’re
not a director. You’re a great producer – but a director – come on!’
Ryder picked his teeth with a matchstick. ‘There is no great mystique to directing a film,’ he said. ‘If you surround yourself with the right crew and a clever cinematographer – then you’re ninety percent of the way.
And
if you can talk to actors, and pick a perfect cast – you’re all the way. Besides, if anyone’s going to be in the front line for pussy, it better be me.’