Double Lucky (92 page)

“Then
you
dragged
me
to some after-hours dive where we stayed forever, drinking endless cups of coffee and talking about everything.”

“And you, my little Lucky, loved every minute of it.”

“I'm not denying it. But even better,” she added softly, “we fell in love that night.”

“We did?” he said, feigning surprise. “Now, that I don't recall.”

“Don't mess with me, Lennie Golden,” she said, narrowing her eyes in a threatening fashion. “You know you won't appreciate the consequences.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, grinning. “I guess we did, an' now look at us—an old married couple with kids.”

“Easy on the ‘old,' mister,” Lucky said, throwing him a playful punch.

“However, Mrs. Golden, you're still as beautiful now as you were then. Besides, I like a woman with a little seasoning on her.”

“‘Seasoning,' huh?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Fuck you, Lennie Golden!”

With one swift move he rolled on top of her, pinning her beneath him. “Sure, love of my life. I live to oblige.”

*   *   *

Most stars conduct a meet and greet after their concerts. Sometimes Gerald M. couldn't be bothered, but in Vegas he was never sure what celebrity could be lurking in the audience, so tonight he hung around to see who might appear. Besides, he was staying in town for the fights, and since he'd recently broken it off with his latest conquest—an ambitious actress (weren't they all?)—he'd decided to sample the local talent.

The last person he expected to see was his almost unrecognizable daughter. Without her trademark dreads, Cookie looked quite different.

“What's up with your hair, chicken?” he asked as she and her group were ushered into his large but crowded dressing room adjacent to the hospitality bar.

“Don't
call
me that,” she said, rolling her eyes in horror. “It's
so
uncool.”

“This girl is my little chicken,” Gerald M. crooned to the assorted gathering. “Hatched her myself. Now look at her—she's all grown up.” A lackey handed him a rum and Coke, which he downed in two big gulps. “What you doin' here, sweet thing? How'd ya like the show?”

I hated the show
, Cookie was tempted to say.
I hated seeing my father up on stage thrusting his leather-clad dick at a screaming audience of middle-aged loser women desperate to get laid.

“Your show was phenomenal,” Frankie announced, maneuvering himself in front of Cookie and shaking Gerald M.'s hand. “You are the consummate artist. You always rock their fuckin' world—'scuse my language.”

“And you are?” Gerald M. said, backing off.

“Frankie Romano, Cookie's friend. Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“‘Sir'!” Gerald M. spluttered with laughter. “How the fuck old d'you think I am?”

Oh crap
, Cookie thought.
This is so bad. They're bonding already.

Max hung back. She figured she'd fulfilled her obligation as a friend, and now it was time for her and Ace to duck out.

Cookie was not having it. “You've gotta stay with us,” she begged. “Otherwise Frankie's gonna want to hang with my dad, an' there's
no way
I can handle it!”

“But Cookie—” Max objected.

“
Puh-leeze!
I'll never ask you for anything again!”

And so it was that they stayed.

*   *   *

Bobby and Denver were sitting at a table in a candlelit poolside cabana at Mood with people swirling all around them. It was almost midnight, the music was loud, and the club was packed. Beautiful girls abounded—even the cocktail waitresses were great-looking in their skimpy uniforms. Denver was feeling out of place and inadequate. Club scenes were not her favorite venues.

“What's with the attitude?” Bobby asked, catching her mood.

“What attitude?” Denver shot back, unable to help herself from taking her frustration out on him.

“You just seem”—he shrugged—“I dunno—kinda uptight.”

“As opposed to
not
uptight, like all the girls that keep coming over and talking to you?” she retorted, wishing she didn't sound so damn jealous.

“Hey Denv, you
know
it's only work,” Bobby said, stroking her arm. “Since it's my club, what do you expect me to do—ignore them?”

“That's an idea.”

“C'
mon
. Drink your wine, loosen up.”

“I thought tonight was going to be all about us. Instead it's me trying to talk Cassie out of getting an abortion, and you working the room. Not my idea of a romantic evening.”

“Sorry you feel like that. But surely y'know I've only got eyes for you?”

He gave her the look—a look she couldn't resist.

The trouble with Bobby was that he was so damn good-looking, and on top of that, genuinely nice. Then of course there was the rich factor—so naturally women were going to be chasing him. If he was indeed her future, she realized that she'd just have to get used to it.

“Well,” she said, softening her tone, “if you put it like that…”

“You know where I want to put it,” he whispered in her ear.

“Bobby!”

“Half an hour, then we're taking off. That's a promise.”

“You mean it?”

“Course I do,” he said, leaning in and kissing her.

She kissed him back. “I know I'm behaving like a jealous girlfriend and I don't understand why,” she murmured. “It's so not me, you know that.”

“I get it,” Bobby reassured her.

“You do?”

“I sure do.”

“Well then—perhaps you can enlighten me.”

He grinned at her again. What a smile. Dazzling.

“'Cause you love me,” he singsonged.

She sat up straight, her heart pounding. Had he just mentioned the L word? And why was he putting it on her? Wasn't it up to him to say it first?

“Excuse me?” she said, slightly breathless.

“L-O-V-E,” Bobby said, spelling it out. “And since you're not about to be the first to say it, I'm saying it for you, 'cause I love you too, Miz Jones, and I'm through with holding back. So deal with it. Okay?”

*   *   *

Somehow or other Kev managed to lure Billy to a strip club, where the manager—a big fan with caterpillar eyebrows and a smarmy leer—spotted him and immediately sequestered him in a deluxe VIP suite with champagne on the house and two of the club's most popular girls.

Kev was in heaven. If he were by himself he would've been sitting next to the stage staring up at an array of tempting pussy with all the other nobodies. Hanging with Billy was the best. First-class service all the way.

A baby-faced blonde was busily trying to tempt Billy with her wares—shiny new tits, flat stomach, long legs, and shaved pussy. But Billy wasn't buying. “Got a girlfriend,” he informed her. Which was news to Kev, because wasn't Billy in the middle of a divorce?

“Sorry about that,” Baby-face cooed, adding a cheeky “But just because your dick is occupied, doesn't mean you can't let it out for a run!”

Billy laughed, fleetingly thought about going for it, then hurriedly excused himself, walked outside the club, and tried Max again.

Once again there was no answer, so this time he decided to text her.

“Hey, it's me—Billy. Where r u? Been trying to reach u. I'm in Vegas. Want to c u. Call me.”

It was done. He'd contacted her; now all she had to do was respond.

*   *   *

Everyone ended up piling into the restaurant area of Mood. Gerald M. and entourage consisted of his two backup singers and his assistant/procurer of female talent.

Then there were Cookie and Frankie (so up Gerald M.'s ass there was no room for anyone else), Max, and a reluctant Ace.

“What happened to ducking out on our own?” Ace said in a low voice to Max as they settled in at the table. He was becoming resigned to the fact that it seemed like he was never getting her to himself.

“This is Vegas, things happen,” she answered restlessly. “Besides, we can't be here and
not
see Bobby. He's sitting in a cabana by the pool. Let's go visit.”

Before Ace could object, she grabbed him by the hand and began pulling him across the restaurant to the outside club area.

Bobby spotted them approaching. “How to ruin a special moment,” he muttered to Denver. “Trust Max to have the worst timing in town.”

“She doesn't know,” Denver said, feeling light-headed. “Besides, I really would like to get to know her.”

“You're sure about that?” Bobby said, standing up as Max descended.

“Hey, big bro,” Max said, flinging her arms around him in her usual proprietary fashion. “Remember Ace?”

“Absolutely,” Bobby said, giving Ace an amiable nod. “And you all know Denver.”

Max threw her a perfunctory nod, while Ace said a polite “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Denver replied, thinking that if this was Max's boyfriend, she'd done well for herself.

“Ace drove all the way from Big Bear just to be with me,” Max said, hovering by the table.

“How nice,” Denver said. “I bet you were thrilled to see him.”

As usual Max ignored her. “Guess who's here?” she said to Bobby.

“You know I'm not good at guessing games.”

“Your old BFF Frankie Romano.”

“Where?” Bobby said. He hadn't seen Frankie in quite a while, not since they'd parted ways after a falling-out about Frankie's addictions.

“We're sitting with him at Cookie's dad's table in the restaurant. You should come over. I know he'd love to see you.”

“Maybe later,” Bobby said. Once, he and Frankie, along with M.J., had been best friends, but those days were over. “You know,” he added sternly, “you're not supposed to be in this area of the club.”

“How come?” Max shot back.

“'Cause you're not twenty-one. And that means we could lose our license.”

“As if!” Max scoffed. “Besides, we've all got fake ID's.”

“Great,” Bobby said sarcastically. “That makes me feel so much better.”

Then, to his relief, he spotted Lucky and Lennie walking in. Great timing, because it meant that Max was no longer his problem. Let Lucky deal.

“Here come your mom and dad,” he warned. “Better skip back to your table, little girl, or Mommy might give you a smack on your bottom.”

“You are
so
mean,” Max said, making a face. “I hate you!”

“Not mean, just protective.”

“Anyway, what are
they
doing here?” Max said, twisting her head to take a look as Lucky and Lennie approached. “I thought they wanted alone time. So gross!”

“Nice way to talk about your parents,” Bobby said.

“They're yours too,” Max pointed out.

“Half mine,” Bobby said, correcting her.

“Whatever.”

Moments later Lucky and Lennie were upon them, and Lennie was giving Max a hug while Lucky was checking out Denver and Bobby was thinking,
Half an hour later and we could've been safely out of here.

In the club business, the night was only just beginning.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Annabelle Maestro was a talker. She didn't shut up for a minute. Armand had no idea what or who she was talking about. He didn't know and he didn't care. Names came and went as they sat in one of the open lounges drinking tequila on the rocks with
limoncello
chasers—a lethal combination thought up by Annabelle. He liked the buzz the liquor was giving him. He liked the fact that there was no Fouad around keeping a watchful eye on him.

“If you're not here for the fights, what
are
you doing in Vegas?” she asked, rubbing her index finger around the rim of her glass and staring at him expectantly.

“I am buying The Keys hotel and casino,” Armand announced.
Yes, that's what I'm doing. Damn you, Lucky Santangelo. You'll soon learn that when Armand Jordan wants something, he gets it. I am unstoppable. And if I say something is going to happen, it will, whether you think you can stop it or not. But how can you stop it if you're dead? Impossible.

“You're kidding!” Annabelle exclaimed, her eyes widening. This guy wasn't just rich; he was mega rich. Ever since their one date a few months ago, she'd had her eye on him. Although they'd experienced one long wild night of sex, he'd never called. Annabelle did not appreciate rejection, especially as she considered herself semifamous, and he should've been thrilled to date her.

Armand had quite a reputation in New York as being aloof and difficult to pin down. But Annabelle was well aware that he was a major catch, and she craved a steady boyfriend; there'd been nobody permanent since she'd broken up with that sad sack druggie Frankie Romano.

Earlier in the evening she'd had a big fight with her latest boyfriend, Eddie Falcon, the superagent. They'd only been seeing each other a few weeks, but tonight she'd discovered, by scrolling through his texts, that Eddie was cheating on her with not one but three other girls. Apparently he was the Tiger Woods of superagents. What an asshole! She'd been planning on dumping him and flying back to New York, but then, walking through the casino to cool off, she'd run into Armand.

When opportunity beckoned, Annabelle was not about to turn it down.

“I never thought Lucky would sell,” Annabelle said. “When's this happening?”

“Soon,” Armand replied, feeling the need to get to his villa and indulge in a few more lines of coke before the hookers got there. He'd informed the concierge to alert him when they arrived, and to have them wait in his villa. For a thousand-dollar tip, Armand figured the concierge would fuck them himself.