Poor Little Bitch Girl (31 page)

“Leave it,” she answered vaguely. “I’ll go through it tomorrow.”

Right now she was anxious to get out of there. Being back in the house was a total downer – it was making her feel physically sick. All the bad memories of her teenage years had come flooding back with a vengeance. She needed to escape from her childhood home and do something to take her mind off the upcoming funeral.

By the time she got downstairs, Megan was standing just inside the front door. “Denver sent me,” Megan announced. “Your housekeeper let me in. I’m Megan, and I’m here to help out.”

Annabelle took a quick look around; fortunately Ralph was nowhere in sight.

“Come,” she said, quickly sizing the girl up and deciding that she seemed a likely candidate for a fun day of retail activity. “We’re going shopping.”

* * *

Frankie made sure he was seated at a prime table near the pool where he could see everyone. It occurred to him that he could’ve ordered lunch in the cabana, but an excellent table right at the front was more impressive. Besides, who needed to be hidden away? Frankie had an urge to be seen.

He’d already spied a girl so perfect for their L.A. operation were they to get it off the ground. She was tall and stacked, with a kick-ass body that reminded him of Ursula Andress stepping out of the sea in an early Bond movie – a movie he’d watched on TV countless times. He could easily recall getting off on the fact that Bond was such a bad-ass – his kind of guy. And as for Ursula . . . well, she was the fantasy woman who’d guided him through many a lonely teenage night. He’d experienced his first orgasm with the delectable Ursula.

The girl in question was with a decrepit old dude who looked about ready to croak any minute. The dude had white hair – surprisingly a full head of it – and a shaggy white beard. The girl wore a bikini so small that she might as well not have bothered. Occasionally Frankie caught her glancing in his direction. He sensed she was dying to get laid – the old fart did not look capable of managing a sneeze, let alone anything else. Frankie had his card at the ready should she come over.

Rick Greco arrived ten minutes late wearing all white. “Thought you mentioned we were meeting in the Polo Lounge,” he said, obviously put out. “I was waiting around upstairs.”

“Nope,” Frankie answered, not getting up, a power move. “It was always by the pool. I’m a New Yorker, gotta catch the rays.”

“Yeah,” Rick said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “How about our weather? This is December. Not bad, huh?”

“That’s exactly why I wouldn’t mind movin’ here,” Frankie allowed, chewing on a breadstick.

“Really?”

“I get off on the climate,” Frankie said. “Not t’mention the scenery,” he added, indicating the girl in the bikini who was now sitting by the edge of the pool, dangling her long legs in the water.

“You can do a lot better than her,” Rick said with a ribald chuckle. “You’ve already seen the pussy that hangs at my club.”

“Right on!” Frankie said.

“But let’s not forget you’ve got a girlfriend, right?” Rick reminded him.

“Yeah, Annabelle,” Frankie said, signaling for the waiter – a man he’d handsomely tipped earlier to make sure he got nonstop service. “But I’m here to tell you, Rick, my lady is
very
understanding; she’s into lettin’ me do my own thing.”

“Now
that’s
the kind of girlfriend to have,” Rick said, rubbing his palms together.

“You got that right,” Frankie agreed, ordering himself a Mimosa, while Rick settled for a vodka on the rocks.

He’s a daytime drinker
, Frankie thought.
All the easier to manipulate. I’m gonna make my mark with this one. I’m gonna take over this freaking town. Everyone’s gonna know who Frankie Romano is.

* * *

Annabelle had a satisfying time spending the day shopping with Megan. They hit all the best places – including Annabelle’s favorite, Fred Segal, and Megan’s not-to-be-missed Kitson on Robertson Boulevard. Then they covered all the large department stores – Neiman Marcus, Barneys, and Sak’s, ending up at Maxfield on Melrose Avenue, where Annabelle dropped a cool eight thousand on a couple of hot outfits.

By the time she’d said goodbye to Megan and got back to the hotel, she was loaded down with shopping bags and feeling pretty damned pleased with herself. Shopping always gave her an incredible high.

Frankie had his coke. She had her black Amex. A fair exchange.

She was about to phone Janey, to check that everything was running smoothly, when the hotel spa called the suite to remind her of her afternoon appointment.

Abandoning her call to Janey, she took off, quite prepared to be deliciously pampered.

* * *

In the middle of lunch Frankie received a call from Bobby. “’Scuse me,” he said to Rick as he turned away to take the call.

“Guess where we are,” Bobby said, sounding hyper.

“Atlantic City, gettin’ it on with my waitress,” Frankie joked. “What was her name again?”

“No man, we’re in Vegas,” Bobby said, laughing.

“You
gotta
be shittin’ me.”

“I’m here with M.J. and his girlfriend.”

“M.J. has a girlfriend?” Frankie said, surprised. “What’s she like?”

“Young, black and pretty. He’s in love.”

Frankie wasn’t interested in hearing about M.J.’s love-life, he had bigger things on his mind. “How come you’re here?” he said. “I just saw you in New York, didn’t look like you were goin’ anywhere.”

“Got a call from Lucky asking if we wanted to take over the club concession at The Keys.”

“That’s some surprise, but it’s what you always wanted, right?”

“Sure is. And I was thinkin’ that you an’ Annabelle might be up to takin’ a twenty-four-hour Vegas break. I’ll send the plane for you.”

“You’re finally using your plane?” Frankie said, shocked that Bobby was doing so. “What’s got into you?”

“I needed to get here fast.”

“Jeez,” Frankie said, mind racing as usual. “Vegas sounds like a plan.”

“Doesn’t it.”

“Yeah, but the drag is we gotta be here for the funeral on Thursday.”

“No problem. We’ll all fly back to L.A. together early Thursday. Lennie’s away, so Lucky’s asked me to escort her.”

“Lucky’s goin’ to the funeral?”

“It seems Gemma did a couple of movies for Panther when Lucky ran the studio. She liked her.”

“I’ll talk to Annabelle,” Frankie said, all revved up. “But you can bet your ass
I’ll
be there, with or without her.”

“Then I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements. Check in with me later.”

“For sure,” Frankie said, snapping his phone shut.

Rick was looking at him expectantly.

“My best friend, Bobby Santangelo,” Frankie explained, keeping it casual while thinking that Bobby couldn’t have called at a better time. Rick was already impressed, so this should nudge him right over the edge. “He’s . . . uh . . . sending his plane to fly me to Vegas.”

“Is that
the
Bobby Santangelo?” Rick asked. “Lucky Santangelo’s son? The dude who owns
Mood
in New York?”

“Bobby’s my closest friend. We’re thinkin’ of partnerin’ up.”

“Nice.”

“Isn’t it,” Frankie said with a self-satisfied smirk. And then, after a long beat, “So Rick, how about you an’ me talk a little business? I wouldn’t mind openin’ up a place in L.A.”

* * *

“How was your day?” Frankie asked when he and Annabelle finally met up in the suite around five.

“Shitty,” Annabelle complained, deciding not to mention the shopping spree and her relaxing time spent at the spa.

“It must’ve been tough, sorting through your mom’s things,” Frankie said, going for the sympathy vibe. “I feel for you, babe.”

“It was,” Annabelle agreed with a put-upon sigh. “You can’t even imagine.”

“Not to worry, ’cause tonight I’ve planned a romantic dinner. An’ tomorrow I’m flyin’ you to Vegas for the day. Decided you needed a break.”

Annabelle’s eyebrows shot up. “Vegas?” she questioned. “What’s in Vegas?”

“Bobby for starters. An’ I managed to convince him to send his plane for us.”

“What’s Bobby doing in Vegas?” she asked, thinking that things were looking up.

“Takin’ over a club. An’ he’ll be at your mom’s funeral with
his
mom, so we’ll all fly back together early Thursday. How cool is that?”

“Yes,” Annabelle said, secretly delighted. “You’re so right, I do need a break.”

“Sure you do,” Frankie agreed, not certain if he was pleased or disappointed that she was coming to Vegas.

Before they left for dinner, Ralph called. Annabelle was busy putting the finishing touches to her make-up in the bathroom, so Frankie picked up the phone.

“I’m expecting you both for dinner at the house,” Ralph said brusquely.

“You are?” Frankie said, almost speechless for once. “Didn’t realize that. We were just on our way to grab a bite at
Spago
.”

“Fine,” Ralph said, a man of quick decisions. “I’ll meet you there.” He clicked off before Frankie could object.

Not that Frankie would object; he was in awe of Ralph Maestro, although he was certain that Ralph joining them at
Spago
would not fly with Annabelle. She’d be major pissed.

After thinking about it for a few minutes, he decided the smart thing was not to mention that Ralph had called. Play it dumb, and when Ralph showed up, look surprised.

Annabelle emerged from the bathroom wearing one of her new outfits.

“You look like a star, babe,” Frankie commented. “Hot an’ sexy – now
that’s
my kinda girl.”

“I stopped on my way back to the hotel and shopped,” Annabelle confessed, pirouetting in her Dolce & Gabbana sleek bronze leather dress. “You like?”

“I’m into the dress,” Frankie said, reaching out and grabbing her around the waist. “But what I’m
really
into is the body that’s in it.”

Annabelle gave a slow smile. Sometimes Frankie knew exactly what to say.

T
he first thing on my mind was trying to reach Carolyn. I had no idea what I was going to say to her, I only knew that we had to speak before I told anyone else of my discovery.

Carolyn did not pick up, so I sent her a text.
Call me immediately. Urgent!
I figured that would get her attention.

Then I started thinking about her parents, Mr and Mrs George Henderson. I didn’t know them well, but I did know that Carolyn had always talked about the two of them with love and affection, and whenever I’d gone over to her house when we were younger and Carolyn was living at home, George and his wife, Clare, had seemed perfectly in tune with each other.

George Henderson was a well-respected plastic surgeon – is that how he’d met Gemma?

And Clare Henderson – once George’s assistant – worked in real estate. I remembered Clare as a pleasant woman – pretty, but no great beauty.

George, on the other hand, was a very attractive man, tall and lanky with an easygoing charm.

I hadn’t seen either of them in at least two years, but Carolyn often mentioned that they were both doing well, George especially. He kept an extremely low profile, never courted publicity, but according to Carolyn had worked on some of the most famous faces in Hollywood. He also did pro-bono work at a children’s hospital, and twice a year visited poorer countries around the world to use his skills to help people with horrible disfigurements. I knew that Carolyn was very proud of him.

George Henderson was hardly a likely candidate to be conducting an affair with one of the most beautiful women in the world. But there he was, photographed with Gemma, and any fool could see just by looking at the photos that these two people were totally into each other.

Why was I the only one to have recognized him?

Because his famous clients were hardly likely to step forward, since, according to almost every actress in Hollywood, their beauty was God-given, untouched by a plastic surgeon’s scalpel.