Lady Boss (40 page)

They drove back to her house. She couldn't help thinking how simple it would be if it was Cooper she was in love with. But no, it had to be Martin. It had to be Mister New York himself.

‘Am I coming in?' Cooper asked when they pulled up outside.

‘It depends on what you expect.'

He gave her a wry smile. ‘I expect a cup of coffee.'

‘Then you'd better come in.'

Inside the house she activated her answering machine. There were several messages. Two were business-related, and the third was from Martin. ‘Did you get my payoff?' his voice said. ‘I always settle my debts.'

The fourth message was from Emilio. ‘Hey, little sis, nice of you to call me, I 'preciate it. I bin workin' pretty hard. Scored myself some cash. Is it OK if I come by in the morning and put it in your safe? Thanks. I don't like to leave it lying around the apartment. See you tomorrow.'

‘Who was that?' Cooper asked.

‘My brother,' she replied. ‘God knows what he's done to get himself a stash of cash. And why does he have to bring it here? Why can't he rent a safe-deposit box?' She sighed. ‘I tell you, family.'

Cooper nodded sympathetically. ‘I know what you mean.' He watched her as she flitted around the room. She was making him uncomfortably hot.

‘How about a brandy?' she asked. ‘I can't be bothered making coffee.'

Abruptly he stood up. ‘I've changed my mind. I'm going home. Early call in the morning.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Listen, if I stay I'm likely to attack you. So I may as well get out of here while we're still on good terms. Agreed?'

She laughed. ‘The man is honest.'

‘The man is horny!'

‘I'm sorry I can't do anything about it.'

He looked at her ruefully. ‘No you're not.'

‘You're right.'

She walked him to the door, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Cooper. You've been a real friend tonight.'

When she was alone she thought about Martin. The trouble with sleeping with a married man was that you couldn't pick up the phone and call him when you felt like it.

Restlessly she opened the freezer, helped herself to a carton of chocolate chip ice-cream, and curled up in front of the television.

Soon she fell asleep.

The hottest young superstar in America slept alone.

Abe Panther had dressed up for the meeting. He looked quite dapper for an eighty-eight-year-old man in white pants and shirt, a blue blazer, and a jaunty red scarf tossed casually around his scrawny neck.

Lucky arrived with Morton Sharkey. She'd rushed back to her rented house from the studio, showered, washed her hair, put on makeup, and piled the wig, glasses, and clothes in a bundle on the bathroom floor ready for the burning ceremony she planned to perform before leaving for New York.

Abe greeted her with a hug and a rascally wink. ‘This is it, girlie! This is it!' he said exuberantly.

She grinned back at him. ‘It sure is, Abe. You look wonderful.'

‘I'm lookin' forward to Monday mornin',' he said. ‘It's gonna be a real killer!'

Inga appeared. There was actually a pleasant expression on her face. ‘Good evening, Lucky,' she said.

Good evening, Lucky!
Inga acknowledged her existence! Abe must have promised her a bundle!

‘Well, girlie, you ready to take over?' Abe asked. ‘You got all your plans in place?'

‘I can tell you this, Abe. I'm going to be changing the way Panther does things. No more exploitation films. No more using women. Panther Studios is about to become the equal opportunity studio.'

He cackled. ‘An' you really think you'll make money that way?'

She took a beat. ‘Sometimes,' she replied slowly, ‘standing up for principles is more important than making money.'

Abe cocked his head to one side. ‘You know somethin', girlie? I wouldn't mind meetin' that father of yours. He taught you good.'

She nodded. ‘He certainly did. We'll all have dinner next time he's out here.'

‘If I'm around.'

‘Don't give me that. You're going to be around forever.'

The lawyers were lined up and waiting. Morton had two assistants with him, while Abe's lawyers consisted of two businesslike men in three-piece suits.

Abe made quite a ceremony over signing the final papers. He'd had Inga put out the best glassware, all the better to serve vintage champagne.

Just before signing he handed Lucky a Cartier box. ‘Got you this, girlie,' he said proudly. ‘Wanted you to have a souvenir of today.'

Lucky was quite touched. She opened the box. Inside was an exquisite gold panther pin. On the inside was inscribed
To Lucky, from Abe Panther. Kill 'em, girlie!

She leaned over and kissed him. ‘This is beautiful, Abe. I'll wear it proudly. And I'll look after your studio.' Her black eyes gleamed. ‘Bet on it!'

Abe signed the papers with a flourish, and the champagne flowed. ‘Here's to the end of an era,' he said, toasting her. ‘The start of somethin' new.'

‘It'll be something new all right,' Lucky said. ‘I made you a promise and I'll keep it. Panther Studios will be great again.'

They locked eyes. Lucky Santangelo and Abe Panther. Nearly sixty years separated them, but they were perfectly in tune.

An hour later Boogie drove her to the airport. She was elated beyond her wildest expectations. Lucky Santangelo. Owner and President of Panther Studios. God damn it! Who would ever have believed it? She couldn't wait to see Lennie's face.
And
the rest of him.

Triumphantly she boarded the chartered plane.

Boogie made sure the luggage was aboard, and joined her.

It was a clear L.A. night. Lucky gazed out of the window as the smooth jet zoomed down the runway and took off into the star-studded night sky.

She ordered champagne from the steward and toasted the sea of lights spread out like a shimmering blanket beneath her.

‘Here's to you, L.A.,' she said. ‘And here's to Panther.'

A new adventure was just beginning.

The white treble-stretch limo snaked its way through the crowds to the front of Grauman's Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard. A red carpet led from the sidewalk into the theatre. Lining the sides of the carpet were various members of the press and camera crews from many different countries. The huge crowds spilled over into the road. When they saw the white limo approaching a chant went up from the crowd. ‘JOHNNY! JOHNNY! JOHNNY!' screamed the masses. ‘WE WANT JOHNNY! WE WANT JOHNNY ROMANO!'

Safely ensconced in his limo, Johnny Romano could hear the tribal yell. He grinned at his date, a pretty young actress with large breasts and a twinkling smile. He'd called her at the last moment. The woman he'd really wanted on his arm was Venus Maria, but since Venus wouldn't honour him with her presence he'd settled for this one.

Also in the car were his two faithful bodyguards and his manager.

When the limo pulled to a halt, they all stayed put for a couple of minutes, allowing the excitement to build outside on the sidewalk.

‘What's going on?' the actress asked. ‘Why are we waiting?'

‘Foreplay,' Johnny replied with a suggestive wink.

The manager got out of the car first, followed by the bodyguards, followed by Johnny's date, and finally the great Johnny Romano himself.

A hysterical scream went up from the crowd.

Johnny acknowledged his fans with a kingly wave, pausing by the limo for a few seconds before strutting down the red carpet, his bodyguards flanking him on either side, his date trailing behind, his manager bringing up the rear. Reporters and camera crews pleaded for a moment of his time.

He ignored them all until he reached
Entertainment Tonight. ET
was his favourite TV programme. He watched it every night.

Jeannie Wolf was there with a microphone and a welcoming smile. ‘Johnny, are you pleased about the movie?' she asked.

‘Hey, Jeannie. Good to see you. Howya doin'?' he said, playing Mister Humble Movie Star to the hilt. ‘Yeah, I guess I'm kinda pleased.
Motherfaker
's gonna surprise a lot of people. I put mucho heavy work into it. My fans are gonna like it. My mother's gonna like it. My father's gonna be ecstatic!'

The crowd roared its approval. They wanted Johnny to be a hit. They rooted for him.

Jeannie laughed politely.

Johnny threw a long, lingering look straight to camera. ‘All you folks out there, go buy your tickets for
Motherfaker.
You'll have a good time. Johnny – he promises you that.'

‘Thank you, Johnny,' said Jeannie.

‘Thank
you
, Jeannie,' said Johnny, waving to his fans as he strode manfully into the theatre.

* * *

Crawling along Hollywood Boulevard, caught in a horrendous traffic jam, trapped in a small sedan, were Abigaile and Mickey Stolli. They'd bickered all the way from their house. First of all the car had arrived late, and when it finally did get there Abigaile had freaked out when she'd realized she was expected to ride to the première in a small sedan. She'd thrown an absolute fit, screaming at the driver, an out-of-work actor who almost walked off the job.

‘I never ordered a car like this,' she'd yelled. ‘I've never been in a car like this in my life. Where's my stretch limo?'

‘It's down on the sheet, ma'am,' the driver had replied politely. ‘This is the car you requested.'

Abigaile had narrowed her eyes, naturally blaming Mickey. ‘I'll murder that secretary of yours. She's an idiot. And it's
your
fault.'

‘Don't worry about it,' Mickey had replied calmly. ‘I'm firing her first thing Monday.'

‘Monday isn't soon enough,' Abigaile said ominously, before turning her attention back to the driver. ‘Why are you so late?'

‘Six-forty-five, ma'am. That's the time I was told to be here.'

‘I expected the car to be here at six-thirty,' Abigaile had said through clenched teeth. ‘This is simply not good enough.'

Mickey had shrugged. There were enough things on his mind. He didn't need Abigaile screaming too.

She'd wanted him to send the car back and get a limousine, but he'd pointed out there wasn't time. ‘I'll have the driver arrange everything while we're in the theatre,' he'd assured her. ‘There'll be a limousine to meet us when we leave.'

She'd finally agreed and got in the car reluctantly. Image was all-important to Abigaile and this just wouldn't do.

Even earlier than that, when Mickey had arrived home from the studio, they'd discussed Abe Panther calling a Monday-morning meeting without consulting either of them.

‘I don't understand what's going on,' Abigaile fretted. ‘Why would he contact Primrose and Ben without first telling me? I saw him this week. It would have been easy for him to mention something.'

‘Why is he coming to the studio at all?' Mickey had growled. ‘There's something out of line going on.'

Abigaile had muttered her agreement, wondering if now was the right moment to tell him about Warner.

Eventually she'd decided against it. Mickey would accuse her of being insane if she admitted she'd called a number and gone to see a woman who claimed to be having an affair with him.

Mickey had not returned Warner's urgent phone calls. Why should he? He'd finally decided it was time to ease out of the relationship, and the fact that she'd called his office twice really annoyed him.

They were the last to arrive at the theatre. The television camera crews were packing up. Only the stragglers remained. Mickey hustled Abigaile inside.

‘Sorry,' said an officious usher. ‘The doors are closed.'

‘Do you know who I am?' demanded Mickey in a rage.

‘I'm sorry, the doors are closed,' the usher repeated firmly.

‘I'm Mickey Stolli, President of Panther Studios. You'd better let us in right now if you plan to keep your job.'

The usher snapped to attention. ‘Certainly, sir,' he said, changing his tune in a hurry.

To get to their seats they had to squeeze past Johnny Romano, who was not pleased. ‘You're late,' he hissed at Mickey. As if they didn't already know.

Finally they were settled. Abigaile gazed at the screen, her mind elsewhere.

Mickey settled back and tried to concentrate on the film.

‘You motherfuckers,' sneered Johnny Romano in full close-up, his handsome face filling the screen.

‘Who you callin' motherfucker?' answered the actor playing opposite him.

‘Don't fuck with me, man,' said Johnny menacingly. ‘Don't do it.'

‘Listen, motherfucker, I fuck with anyone I want,' replied the other actor.

Oh, nice
, Abigaile thought to herself.
Another one of Mickey's classy productions
. She leaned over to her husband and whispered sarcastically in his ear, ‘Are there going to be any normal words in this picture?'

Mickey grunted. ‘It's a money-maker,' he replied gruffly.

At the party afterwards everybody told Johnny Romano he was wonderful, the movie was a sure-fire hit, and how creative and clever he was to have starred, written, and directed.

Johnny Romano accepted their praise modestly, with a shrug here, a smile there.

Privately the buzz was –
How come this asshole gets away with making a piece of shit like this? And how come it's going to score a fucking fortune?

Johnny strutted around the party giving interviews, greeting friends, playing superstar to the hilt.

Some of the early reviews on the movie had been less than positive, in fact there'd been some killers. Johnny didn't care. He knew he could do whatever he wanted to and the public would accept it. He was Johnny Romano and they loved him, and they'd take anything he cared to dish out.