The Santangelos (7 page)

Annabelle had led a privileged life. She was the girl who always got what she wanted, and after a wild ride in New York as a would-be madam, with Frankie Romano as her boyfriend, she’d returned to L.A. and hooked up with Eddie, who in Hollywood-speak was a real comer. Right now he was a top agent with a list of superstar clients. But Eddie was moving up—he had all the right connections, and in his future, he saw himself running a major studio. It was a given. And with Annabelle and her famous father in his corner, it shouldn’t take too much longer.

Denver had a strong suspicion that if she weren’t living with Bobby Santangelo Stanislopoulos, she would be crossed off the guest list, for Annabelle wasn’t the most loyal of friends. As for Carolyn—well, Annabelle obviously felt that having a token lesbian at her get-togethers made her look totally cool. After all, lesbians were way in fashion—Ellen, Portia, Rosie, and of course the fabulous Jane Lynch.

Denver looked around at the select group of Hollywood players, and decided that the time had come to start turning down Annabelle’s invites. After a few minutes, she spotted Carolyn sitting at the bar and made her way over. “What’s the occasion this time?” she asked, for Annabelle always had some kind of announcement to make at her dinners.

“Dunno. Annabelle informed me it was major,” Carolyn said with a casual shrug. “And from the faces she’s gathered here, I guess it must be.”

Denver scanned the room again. She spotted a couple of politicians—friends of Eddie’s. A famous late-night talk-show host with a decades-younger actress. Eddie’s client, Billy Melina. An aging actress well known for having bedded President Kennedy. Rock star Kris Phoenix. Plus a scattering of directors, producers, and studio heads, along with their wives—three of the wives being Asian.

She wished Bobby were with her, then she thought it was probably just as well that he wasn’t, because he too hated Annabelle’s gatherings.

“What do
you
think she’s coming up with tonight?” Carolyn asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t care,” Denver said, shrugging. “I’m not doing this again.”

“Why not?” Carolyn said, downing a mojito. “We’re Annabelle’s only true friends. We
should
support her.”

Really?
Denver thought, flashing onto the memory of Annabelle in high school, where she’d practically ignored both of them because they weren’t members of the affluent group she hung with. It was only years later when Annabelle had needed them that she’d renewed their friendship.

“Handsome movie stud approaching to your left,” Carolyn whispered.

Denver turned around and there stood Billy Melina, all tousled dirty-blond hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Hey. Denver, right?” he said, standing tall.

She’d met him with Bobby in Vegas at Lucky’s hotel, and she was well aware of the thing he’d had with Bobby’s teenage sister, Max. Bobby had been furious, raging that Max was just a kid. Denver had pointed out that Max was eighteen, making her legal.

“Well, you have a good memory,” Denver said, regarding Billy coolly.

“And you have an unusual name,” Billy said. “By the way, I gotta say, you look great.”

“Thanks.”

He leaned against the bar, holding on to a bottle of beer. “How’s Bobby doin’?” he asked.

“Working hard,” she replied.

Billy let loose a movie-star grin. “Aren’t we all.”

“I’m sure you are.”

After an awkward pause, Billy said, “How about Max. What’s up with her?”

“She’s living in Europe.”

“No shit?” Billy said, attempting to keep it casual. “I’m leaving tomorrow to make a movie. Where is she?”

“London.”

“Hey, if I get to London, I’ll give her a call.”

“I don’t think so,” Denver said shortly.

“Really?”

“Truth is, Billy, I hardly imagine she needs any more heartbreak.”

“Excuse me?” he said, blue eyes blazing. Who the heck did this woman think she was talking to? He was Billy Melina, a goddamn movie star, for crissake. Shouldn’t she be showing him a little respect?

“You broke her heart,” Denver continued, keeping her voice low. “End of story.”

Bobby would be so pleased with her when she gave him a blow-by-blow of their conversation.

“You don’t understand. It was complicated—” Billy started to say, only to be interrupted by Annabelle standing in the middle of the room, clinking a glass to get all her guests’ attention.

“Hi, everyone,” Annabelle trilled. “Eddie and I are so happy you could be with us on this very special night. Eddie,” she added coyly, beckoning her husband, “come join me.”

Eddie bounced his way over to his wife and stood proudly beside her. He was short and stocky with a clever comb-over and an engaging grin. “I know you all wanna hear about what a hit movie
Cartel
is gonna be,” he said. “Box-office gold, folks. You heard it here first. But tonight is not about our movie, tonight is all about my gorgeous, sexy wife.”

He turned to Annabelle and they linked arms. Then, as if they’d both rehearsed it, they yelled out the good news in unison.

“We’re pregnant!”

CHAPTER TEN

The partying never stopped for Alejandro Diego. Much as Rafael begged him to keep a low profile, Alejandro couldn’t care less. Club Luna was his playpen and women were his toys. His womanizing was out of control; his drinking and drugging too.

Everyone knew that Alejandro was a coke whore, sampling the product and sharing it with his dubious group of hangers-on. Rafael realized that any one of them could be working undercover, all the better to trap Alejandro. It was bad enough that Frankie Romano had gotten himself arrested, although that didn’t stop Alejandro from doing whatever he felt like.

Rafael was disgusted with Alejandro’s carelessness, so much so that he was tempted to call Pablo and beg permission to knock Alejandro out, stash him on a plane, and fly him home. As far as Rafael was concerned, it was the only sane way to deal with the situation.

Unfortunately, he knew that Pablo would never agree to such drastic action, because Pablo had no idea how serious the situation was. If Pablo
was
aware of how inept his son was, he’d surely send for him immediately. And if that happened, somehow or other Pablo would manage to blame Rafael. It was a given.

Once again, Rafael found himself in a no-win position.

Damn Alejandro. His stupidity knew no bounds.

Tonight Alejandro was planning on entertaining, and when Alejandro entertained at home it was always a fuck-fest of girls, drugs, music, and booze.

“You have to be careful,” Rafael warned. “You’re being watched.”

“Not by you,” Alejandro cackled. “Tonight I am free of your disapproval.”

They were standing in the men’s department at Neiman Marcus, where Alejandro was busy purchasing two Brioni suits and a brown leather studded Versace jacket.

“Gangster, huh?” he boasted, parading up and down, before stopping to admire himself in a full-length mirror.

“Not so much,” Rafael muttered, willing Alejandro to dial it down a notch. People were staring at him, which is exactly the way Alejandro liked it. In his mind, they were thinking how handsome he was, how rich and privileged.

He winked at a pretty girl in a skimpy orange dress, her bare arms tanned by the sun.

She caught sight of his wink and scurried away.

Alejandro didn’t appreciate her response. He supposed she was a lesbian, the only reason a girl would turn away from him. Besides, he was not a big fan of natural. He preferred huge fake breasts and an allover fake tan.

“Time for a cocktail,” Alejandro said, gesturing toward the upstairs bar.

“Not for me,” Rafael said, tired of being the watchdog to his idiot half brother. Yes, Pablo could deny it all he wanted, but Rafael had no doubt that they
were
brothers.

“How come you’re such a tight-ass?” Alejandro mocked. “You act as if you’re an old man.”

“Not old, merely smart,” Rafael replied.

“Smarter than me?” Alejandro sneered. “There is
nobody
smarter than me.”

Then, throwing his charge card at the startled salesman, he strutted toward the circular bar.

Rafael followed. As usual, he had no choice.

*   *   *

The music was deafening, the girls plentiful. A few celebrities were scattered here and there, mostly young actors looking to get their rocks off. Alejandro got off on collecting celebrities; they were so easy to please as long as the drugs were plentiful. Naturally, Alejandro made sure that they were. Coke, pills, heroin—if anyone was so inclined. He played on their vices, and had one of his many so-called girlfriends take surreptitious pictures, always useful to lock away for future use.

Tonight he was cozying up to Willow Price, a young actress who covered the waterfront with her sexual activities. This suited Alejandro, for threesomes were his thing.

Willow had never been what one would describe as a girl’s girl. She’d always operated in a world filled with men, most of whom wanted to sleep with her or have her suck them off. Willow exuded a girlish sensuality—she was the extremely pretty girl next door who was ready to do anything that was required to forward her career. She was also famous for her record amount of stays in rehab, several DUIs, and her outrageous public behavior. She was into Alejandro because he paid her bills and bailed her out of jail when she needed him to. In return, she indulged his threesome fantasies, and occasionally invited him to accompany her to a premiere or a fancy Hollywood party.

Alejandro got a big kick out of seeing his photo in the magazines alongside Willow, especially when they described him as an affluent businessman. It upped his profile, made him more appealing to women.

Tonight Willow was in a ready-to-party mood. She’d recently split with her latest agent and gotten her third DUI, and since her last movie, in which she’d starred alongside Billy Melina, nothing worthwhile had come her way. It infuriated her that younger actresses were now getting the roles that should be hers. Jennifer Lawrence, Rooney Mara, Kristin Stewart. Fuck ’em. She was more talented than the three of them put together.

Willow had a plan; she always had a plan. She’d discussed it with her friend and sometime lover Frankie Romano before he’d gotten his dumb ass arrested. Frankie had considered it a fine idea. Her plan was to get Alejandro to put up the money for a movie she could star in. After all, he was always boasting about how much money he had, so how about sliding some of it her way?

Falling out of a slinky dress, sans underwear, she decided to get to work on Alejandro, and with that in mind, she’d hired a porno player to help her out. The porno girl was tanned and big-breasted—the best that silicone had to offer. Her professional name was Bee Bee, and Willow knew from past experience that Bee Bee took direction well.

Alejandro had no clue that Bee Bee was getting paid to do anything he so desired. In his mind she was a female, he was a male, and his masculine lure was impossible to resist.

Willow had decided that Bee Bee should do all the heavy lifting. Willow didn’t mind sucking Alejandro’s cock once in a while, but lately he was into butt-fucking, and that was not her idea of a fun time. He was also into sitting astride her, straddling her tits, and stuffing his member into her mouth while almost suffocating her with his weight.

There were plenty of girls at the party—skanky would-be model/actresses ready to entertain Alejandro in any way he saw fit. Willow’s advantage was that none of them had a name like she did. She was a famous, out-of-control bad girl, and Alejandro was a fame whore.

Guns, coke, and endless women—Alejandro was into it all. He kept a Glock in a drawer next to his bed, and an Uzi in his walk-in closet. Oh yes, he was prepared for anything. One night he’d revealed to Willow that his idol was Al Pacino. He’d raved over the way the actor had portrayed drug dealer Tony Montana in
Scarfac
e. Alejandro considered himself a Pacino/Montana clone, minus the death scene at the end of the movie.

After a while, Willow maneuvered Alejandro, herself, and Bee Bee into the master bedroom—a room dominated by an enormous bed and white leather furniture with heavy gold accents. Loud rap music emanated from several speakers.

Alejandro was coked out of his mind, simultaneously roaring with laughter and screaming that he was the man.

“You sure are, baby,” Willow assured him, exposing her breasts and shaking them in his face.

He grabbed her, squeezing her breasts while bending his head to suck greedily on her nipples.

She knew she had great tits, and they were all real too. “We should make a movie,” she whispered in his ear, planting the seed.

“Where’s the camera?” he demanded. “I wanna see a close-up of your pussy.”

“No,” she said, breaking away from him. “I’m talking about a legitimate movie, starring me.”

“An’ me,” said Bee Bee, joining in when she wasn’t supposed to.

“Get undressed,” Willow hissed at her. “And while you’re at it, shut your mouth. I’m paying you to fuck, not talk.”

“A movie, huh?” mumbled Alejandro, warming to the idea.

“Independent,” Willow said, “so we don’t have to answer to any studio assholes.”

Alejandro chuckled.

“We’ll do it my way,” Willow continued.

“Doncha mean
our
way?” Alejandro said, watching Bee Bee strip.

Hmm,
Willow decided.
He’s not as out of it as I thought
.

“Yeah, baby,
our
way,” she agreed. “You can be the exec producer. You’ll have your name up there on the big screen for everyone to see. How about
that
?”

“I like it,” Alejandro said, beckoning Bee Bee to move closer, then tipping a vial of coke onto her big tits and snorting the white powder off her naked skin.

“So,” Willow said, cradling his balls the way she knew he liked. “Do we have something? Should I get a deal memo drawn up?” She squeezed his balls hard. “Are we in business?”

He groaned and let out an anguished, “Yeah, let’s do it.”