Poor Little Bitch Girl (5 page)

So . . . what was a young college guy supposed to do to make his own mark in the world?

Fortunately, Bobby had big ideas of his own, and without asking anyone’s permission or opinion, he’d dropped out of college, headed for New York with his best friend, M.J., the African-American son of a renowned neurosurgeon, and the two of them had put together a group of investors, enabling them to open
Mood
, a private club, which after a few months had taken off and become
the
late-night place of choice.

Bobby was a hybrid of both parents. He’d inherited Dimitri’s dominant personality, along with his acute business savvy, and he possessed Lucky’s addictive charm, stubborn ways and strength of character. Not a bad combination.

Everyone wanted to be Bobby’s friend, but Lucky had taught him at an early age that when it came to friends and acquaintances he had to be extremely discerning. “People will want things from you because of who you are,” she’d warned him. “Money always manages to attract the wrong people. Look at Brigette and the series of losers who’ve latched onto her along the way. She’s fortunate to have survived.”

Brigette Stanislopoulos was Bobby’s niece, even though she was almost a decade older than him. Brigette was the daughter of Olympia – Bobby’s deceased half-sister – and the granddaughter of the long-dead Dimitri.

It seemed there were a lot of deaths on the Stanislopoulos side of the family. Bobby always kept the belief that he was more of a Santangelo.

He was extremely fond of Brigette, but from the stories he’d heard it seemed that she’d always fallen for the wrong men, and as a result she’d paid the price over and over again.

Because of Brigette’s example Bobby trod a wary path, especially with women.

He’d had many girlfriends, not one of them serious, all of them incredibly beautiful. Society girls, models, actresses. They came, they went. He enjoyed himself. Why wouldn’t he?

But none of them had meant anything, apart from Serenity – a woman he’d been hung up on eighteen months ago until she’d dumped him, had a one-nighter with his friend, Frankie Romano, then mysteriously vanished with her Russian husband to God knew where.

And then along came Zeena, a singing star known by one name. Zeena was the wrong side of forty with a body like Madonna, a bad girl attitude, and a cult-like following.

The woman was something else. An exotic beauty – half-Brazilian, half-American-Indian – she sashayed into
Mood
with her adoring entourage at least twice a week, always with a different young guy in tow, and yet somehow or other – much to Bobby’s extreme irritation – she usually managed to either flirt with or totally ignore him.

Zeena’s switches in temperament were driving him a little bit nuts. It was a miracle that he was keeping his infatuation to himself and not confiding in M.J. or Frankie – especially Frankie – who deejayed at the club, and was Annabelle Maestro’s boyfriend.

There were times Bobby couldn’t help wondering why he and Frankie were such close friends; they were so different it was ridiculous.

Frankie was into doing coke and getting high.

Bobby wasn’t.

Frankie was into cheating on Annabelle.

Bobby believed in monogamous relationships.

Frankie had an aversion to real work.

Bobby got off on making deals. Together with M.J. he was currently planning a franchise to open branches of
Mood
in Miami, London, and maybe Moscow.

In spite of their differences, Bobby liked to think that Frankie would always have his support and vice versa. Besides, they had a history together, and that would be Serenity, the beautiful Slovakian model who’d slept with both of them and then taken off.

Bobby still felt the sting of Serenity’s rejection.

Wisely, he chose not to trust either M.J. or Frankie with his latest obsession. If he told them about his thing for Zeena, they’d plague him to death with smart-ass remarks and sarcastic jibes; better he stay silent.

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t help having an urge to talk to someone about her – get an unbiased take on the situation.

Was she into him? Or did she get off on torturing him? Because she sure as hell knew how to do that.

He often wondered why the women he was most attracted to were the ones who rejected him. Lucky’s best friend, Venus – who’d treated him like a kid. Serenity – who’d treated him like an annoying lapdog. And now Zeena – what did
she
have in store for him? And why did he want her so much?

A shrink could go to town on
that
one.

To get his mind off Miz Superstar, he decided to take the weekend off and go on a trip to Atlantic City with Frankie and M.J. Frankie had been bugging him about it for weeks, so why not indulge in a little R&R?

Perhaps Zeena would miss not having him around, although being the woman she was, she probably wouldn’t even notice he was gone.

* * *

The drive to Atlantic City went by quickly. Frankie had been desperate to take his new red Ferrari, but as M.J. had rightfully pointed out, there was hardly room for two, let alone three inside it, so they’d ended up taking Bobby’s black BMW sedan instead. Bobby could’ve easily bought himself the latest Lamborghini or Porsche, but keeping a low profile was more his style, especially as on his twenty-fifth birthday he’d inherited the lion’s share of his late father’s estate – making him even richer.

Frankie and he never discussed money. It was one of those taboo subjects that neither of them ventured near, ever since Frankie had requested a loan early on in their friendship, and Bobby had turned him down flat. There was no way he was financing Frankie’s coke habit. Besides, Lucky had taught him that it was a big mistake to lend money. “You’ll lose a friend who’ll end up resenting you,” she’d explained. “So either give them the money and expect nothing back, or simply say no.” It was excellent advice.

Apart from deejaying, Frankie had recently gotten what he claimed was an investment business going on the side – something that he and Annabelle had gone into together.

Bobby and M.J. knew exactly what Frankie was up to – girls talked. But they’d decided to wait until he told them himself. Business must be booming, because Frankie’s latest acquisition – the red Ferrari – spelled out that whatever he was into was making him plenty of big bucks.

Before they left, Bobby got on the phone to Lucky. She divided her time between Vegas, L.A., and wherever her husband Lennie happened to be on location shooting one of his movies.

He reached her in Vegas, where she was keeping a sharp eye on The Keys, her latest creation – a magnificent hotel/apartment complex. Only open a couple of years, The Keys was already a major success.

No surprise there – everything Lucky did always turned to gold. Being her son, Bobby had a lot to live up to – and didn’t he know it. It was one of the reasons he’d taken off for New York and done his own thing. No competition.

Thank God it had all worked out. He had a successful club, with more on the way. A great apartment on the West Side. Friends. A crazy social life. And a mom, stepfather, two half-siblings, and various other family members he loved. Especially as they mostly lived in California and he was firmly settled in New York.

As far as his inheritance was concerned, it was a huge responsibility – and instead of dipping into it, he’d decided not to touch it until he was older and wiser. Right now he was almost twenty-six and making it on his own. That was enough for him to feel damn good about himself. His inheritance could just sit there earning interest. It was far more rewarding and a hell of a lot better for his ego to live off the money he made himself.

“Hey!” Lucky said over the phone, sounding delighted to hear from him. “What’s going on with my number one son?”

“Number one son is on his way to Atlantic City for twenty-four hours of debauchery and sex,” he answered lightly.

“Just like your grandfather!” Lucky responded. And he could imagine her smiling when she said it.

“Seriously,” he added. “I’m taking off with M.J. and Frankie. Turning my phone to dead.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Lucky said. “I hate it when I can’t reach you.”

“Twenty-four hours, Mom.”

“Fine,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I won’t worry.”

“Yeah, like
you
worry. Not!”

Lucky laughed. “The only one I worry about is Brigette. Have you seen her lately?”

“Called her a couple of days ago. She seems okay.”

“You’re her uncle,” Lucky scolded. “I wish you’d stay in touch.”

“Yeah, an uncle who happens to be ten years younger than her,” Bobby pointed out. “It’s not like we have a lot in common.”

“Doesn’t matter. You know she’s a magnet for losers. Someone has to watch out for her, and I’m not there.”

“Got it,” Bobby said, scrawling Brigette’s name on a pad by the phone so he wouldn’t forget. “I’ll call her again when I get back.”

“Thank you,” Lucky said briskly. “Oh, and give my love to M.J. When are you two coming to spend a weekend at the hotel? I’m very fond of M.J.”

“Yeah, M.J.’s cool,” Bobby agreed, thinking how far back they went. High school. College. Opening
Mood
together. They shared many a fine memory. And since they both came from money, they’d never wanted anything from each other – only friendship.

“Speaking of the hotel, how’s everything going?” Bobby asked, glancing at his watch, thinking it was time to hit the road.

“Thriving. We’re completely booked out. Even Gino gets off on visiting, so I’ve allotted him his own special suite. You should see him, Bobby. That man is king of the pool – everyone loves him. Men, women –
especially
women – he’s such a dog.”

Grandfather Gino Santangelo. Once a notorious figure in Las Vegas back in the Meyer Lansky, Bugsy Siegal days when Vegas was just beginning. Gino who’d built major hotels, fought off vicious rivals, bedded hundreds of women, and created an empire. Now he was ninety-seven years old and still active, with a much younger wife (his fourth) and a true zest for living.

“Tell him hi from me,” Bobby said. He was quite in awe of his amazing grandfather. Gino Santangelo was a force of nature.

“Tell him yourself,” Lucky responded. “The old man’s planning a trip to New York.”

“No kidding? Jeez – I’d better start lining up a shitload of action. Strippers . . . hookers . . .”

“Paige will be thrilled to hear how excited you are,” Lucky said dryly, mentioning Gino’s current wife.

They both laughed.

“By the way,” Lucky added, “Max is desperate to talk to you.”

“Where is Little Sis?”

“Max is not so little any more, Bobby.”

“Yeah, I can believe that.”

“And right now she’s probably out with yet another horny boyfriend.”

“How many horny boyfriends does she have?” he asked, amused.

“As many as she can get,” Lucky replied with a resigned sigh.

“Okay, so I’ll give her a call later.”

“Do that. I have a feeling she’s ready to take off on her own, and there’s no way I can stop her. She’s saying a flat-out no to college and anything else we suggest.”

“Face it, Mom, she’s a wild one, exactly like you.”

“I had to fight for
my
survival,” Lucky said, frowning at the memory.

“Heard it all before. I’ll definitely call Max. You stay out of trouble.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Stay cool, Mom.”

“Yes, Bobby,” Lucky drawled sarcastically. “Whatever you say.”

Bobby grinned. His mom was something else. Still insanely beautiful and ready to take on anybody and anything. Lucky walked through life her way, and woe betide anyone who tried to stop her.

Max, his about-to-be eighteen-year-old half-sister, was the mirror-image of Lucky. A straight-talking beauty, unafraid of anything, she was bold, sassy, and kind of street smart. Even though Lucky and Lennie had tried to protect her, she’d never allowed herself to be fenced in, not even after a life-changing kidnapping a couple of years ago when she was only sixteen. Like Lucky, Max took no prisoners.

Bobby knew that she was desperate to come to New York and move in with him – she’d dropped enough hints. But he wasn’t looking for a room-mate. And he certainly had no intention of being responsible for her. Little Sis was too much like hard work.

She’d visited him a year earlier, a few weeks after graduating high school. She’d arrived all set to party – a total wild thing. He shuddered at the memories. Every guy in the club had started checking her out – especially Frankie. Bobby had soon found himself desperate to ship her back to L.A. before she got herself into real trouble.

Yeah – a repeat performance was not on his agenda. Babysitting a teenager was hardly his thing.

Still . . . Max was an extraordinary girl, very special. And he had to admit that he did miss her. On occasion . . .