Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (20 page)

“
YOU’RE LATE,” MICHEL GUY SAID STERNLY. “BY
about eight weeks.”

“Excuse me?” Brigette replied; this was not the greeting she’d expected.

“You were supposed to be here two months ago, remember? When I met you at Effie’s party, I told you to come and see me the next day.” He leaned back in his chair, regarding her quizzically. “Y’know, an invitation from me is considered a big deal in this town.”

“The reason I didn’t take you up on your offer,” Brigette said, “was that my stepfather died. I went to L.A. for the funeral.”

“I’m sorry,” Michel said. “I didn’t know.”

“Anyway, I’m back now.”

“Yes,” Nona said, joining in. “She’s back, and
I’m
her manager.”

“You?” Michel said, barely concealing his surprise.

“Yes, me,” Nona answered defiantly. “We could have gone to any of the top agencies, but Brigette wants you to represent her. I guess she gets off on your accent.”

Michel Guy’s faded blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “This is a new way of persuading an agent to sign you,” he said. “I thought
Brigette
was the one looking for
representation, and
I
was the one supposed to be doing her the big favor.”

“Things have changed,” Nona said. “Brigette has a fantastic deal pending.”

“And what might that be?”

“
Will
you represent me?” Brigette asked, fixing him with her blue eyes.

“I was considering it,” Michel replied slowly. “Although first, I must see how you are in front of the camera. And, Brigette,” he added, “models don’t need managers, not until they’re superstars.”

“I plan on being much more than just a model,” she replied confidently.

“It takes time to build a name for yourself,” Michel pointed out.

“We know that,” Nona interrupted. “The thing is, we’re coming to you with a fantastic shot at an immediate score.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans want Brigette to be their new spokesmodel.”

Michel nodded, thinking fast. So
that’s
why Rock ’n’ Roll Jeans had not signed the deal with Robertson and Nature—both girls his clients.

“When did this happen?” he asked, doodling on a yellow desk pad.

“Luke Kasway photographed her before she went to L.A. The ad agency saw the photos and they’re crazy for her.”

Michel knew Robertson would be furious if he signed Brigette to the agency. So what? With Michel, money always came first. He addressed his next words to Brigette. “If this is true, I will make you the best deal in the business.”

“That’s what I want,” Brigette said determinedly.

“We’re on our way to see Aurora at
MONDO
,” Nona offered. “I figured if we told her about the jeans thing, she may want to put Brigette on the cover.”

“No, no, no!” Michel said, almost shouting. “
You
don’t do that.
I
do that. And this is
how
I do it. I throw a dinner party at my apartment. We invite Aurora, her husband, and several other interesting guests. During the course of the evening, I let it drop to Aurora that both
Allure
and
Glamour
are vying with each other to get Brigette on their cover because of the new deal that will make her bigger than any of the Guess girls. I can assure you—the next day Aurora will come to
us begging
for Brigette to appear on her cover first.”

“Sounds good to me,” Brigette said, smiling broadly.

“Ah!” Michel tapped his head. “The brain must always be working.” His crinkly blue eyes met hers. “Am I not right,
ma cherié
?”

“Oh, yes,” she said enthusiastically, quite impressed with him. “Absolutely.”

“What’s your background?” Alex asked. “Where are you from?”

Venus realized that Alex Woods obviously didn’t know too much about her. What the hell—she’d go along with the game, humor the big filmmaker. “I’m originally a Brooklyn girl,” she said amiably. “Gotta hunch half of Hollywood started off there.”

“Not me,” Alex replied. “I’m a local boy.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Venus said, flirting ever so slightly. “You can’t possibly be from Los Angeles.
Nobody’s
a native.”

“I am.”

“I’m surprised,” she said. “Your work has such a New York edge.”

“I spent a lot of time in New York,” he said. “But let’s not get off track here,
I’m
supposed to be interviewing
you
.”

“It’s not exactly an
interview
, Alex. I came in to see
you because you’ve written a sensational script, and I want to play Lola. I know I can do an incredible job.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve accomplished a lot.” She threw in some flattery to soften him up. “Kind of like you.”

He looked amused. “You don’t have to sell yourself. I know who you are.”

“
That’s
a relief!” she said mockingly, convinced he had no idea who she was.

He stood up. “Well, now we’ve got that straight, will you excuse me for a moment, I gotta use the john.”

Oh, God
, she thought.
He’s a coke snorter. Can’t even hold out for five minutes
.

“Sure,” she said offhandedly. “Why should I mind? I’ve already spent the last hour hanging out here.”

“Be understanding,” he said, flashing the grin. “Nature’s screaming.” He went in the bathroom, closed the door, and immediately buzzed France.

“Yes, Alex?” she said.

“Flowers,” he said. “Lucky Santangelo. Make certain the florist puts together something very special. Roses, in fact, lots of them.”

“How much do you want to spend?”

“Be sure it’s a big deal. In fact—make it six dozen red roses. Have them delivered to her house this afternoon so they’re waiting for her when she gets home.”

“What should the note say?” asked France. “The usual?”

“No, not the usual, France,” he said, irritated. “I’ll write my own card.”

“How about Tin Lee?”

“What?”

“Flowers because you stood her up?”

“I suppose so.”

He returned to his office, where Venus was lolling on
the couch in a typical Lola pose. “Hi’ya, baby,” she said, winking suggestively. “Wanna slide in beside me?”

It was a line from the script and she delivered it with a great deal of relish.

“We can’t afford you,” Alex said.

“I know, you overshot your wad on Johnny Romano.”

“I don’t usually work with stars.”

“I don’t usually work with star directors who’ve hardly heard of me.”

“That’s not true.”

Venus sat up straight. “Admit it, Alex, you don’t know anything about me.”

“I’m not into gossip.”

“Oh,” she said crossly. “Is that what you think I’m about?”

“No. I didn’t say that. C’mon, Venus, tell me more about yourself. You’re from Brooklyn…what kind of family?”

“What is this? My biography?”

“Why’re you getting so uptight?”

“I’m not.”

“Then go ahead, tell me.”

She plunged into a shortened version of her life story. “Hmm…let me see,” she said. “Well, my father was a charming Italian chauvinist. My mom died when I was quite young. I had four older brothers, so I became their caretaker—y’know, washing, cleaning, cooking them pasta, all that housewife crap. Boy, did they get a shock when I took off with my best friend, Ron Machio. We were out for adventure—a couple of desperados—so we hitched our way to L.A. where I did everything from performing in underground clubs to nude modeling for an art class. Then I met a record producer who decided to record me. Ron put together my video. It was so outrageous that I was like…y’know, an instant hit.”

“It certainly got you where you wanted to be.”

“The top, Alex,” she said very seriously. “That’s where I wanted to be. And that’s exactly where I am now.”

“So why are you coming to see me about a cameo role?”

There was a determined thrust to her jaw. “Because I need to prove that I
can
act. That I’m not some freako sex machine who can’t cut it on the big screen. The critics hate me. I’ve made four movies, and each time they’ve shredded my ass.”

Alex said, “They do that to me all the time.”

“They don’t pull you to pieces physically, calling you everything from a sex machine to a vulgar, untalented whore!”

“I’ve been called a lot of names in my life,” Alex said with a wry smile. “But vulgar, untalented whore ain’t one of ’em.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Ignore the critics.
I
do.”

“It’s not that easy—but I manage. I have this huge army of loyal fans, and in their eyes I’m always the best. They’re my silent support group.”

“You want to read a scene for me?” Alex said; it was possible that she did indeed have potential, and he liked her.

“I’m kind of insulted you’re forcing me to read,” she said, determined to let him know how she felt.

“I don’t know your work, Venus,” he explained. “I haven’t seen any of your movies. And if what you’re telling me about the reviews is true, I’d be insane if I didn’t ask you to read.”

She nodded, stood up, and wandered over to the window. “I’ll do it if
you
read with me,” she said, turning to face him.

“My casting people are waiting to join us. Lindy will read with you, she’s good.”

“I’m sure she is, but she’s not a man,” Venus said determinedly. “I need interaction, sexual tension. I gotta get it going here, Alex.”

He studied her, drawn to the vulnerable streak he sensed beneath the high gloss. If he could only capture that quality on film, she’d be a perfect Lola. “What scene do you want to read?” he asked.

“I’ll take a shot at the one where Lola has the breakdown, where she’s really in trouble and doesn’t know who’s gonna help her out.”

Alex picked the script up off his desk. “Good choice,” he said. “Okay, Venus, go ahead and convince me.”

SURFACING FROM YET ANOTHER NIGHTMARE
,
Lennie imagined he heard a noise that was different from every other sound he knew so well. He thought he heard a woman laughing.

He sat up straight, desperately straining to hear.

Nothing—except the relentless pounding of the sea.

He had no idea of time. From the light filtering down into the cave, he assumed it was early morning.

He stood up, stretching his aching bones. Recently he’d started working out, which wasn’t easy with his ankle chained. The challenge was not to lose any more of his physical strength.

He’d also realized it was important to give himself a reason for living, so he now followed a stringent routine he forced himself to adhere to.

With order, there was hope.

Without, there was nothing.

Today was one of those days he simply couldn’t get it together. Instead, he sat back down on the makeshift wooden bed and began thinking about the time he and Lucky first met in Vegas. He’d been performing at her hotel as a stand-up. She’d come along, fired him, then tried to lure him into bed. He smiled at the memories.

A year later they’d bumped into each other when he was married to Olympia and she was married to Dimitri. One look and they’d both known that this time they were never going to be parted.

His wonderful, stubborn, beautiful Lucky.

What he wouldn’t give to be with her now.

He wondered what she was doing. Had his kidnappers contacted her? Was the ransom demand so big that she wasn’t able to pay it?

Not possible. He knew his Lucky. She would find a way to pay it even if it was a billion dollars.

He heard the noise again—a woman’s soft laugh. This time he was certain he wasn’t imagining it.

“Is anybody there?” he yelled out. “Anybody around?” The echo of his voice came back at him. Apart from that, there was the usual silence.

Was his mind playing cruel tricks on him? Perhaps he was truly going crazy.

If only he could get this goddamn shackle off his foot. His ankle was raw from trying.

He fell back on the so-called bed, throwing his arms across his face, covering his eyes. Despair enveloped him like a heavy cloak of unremitting gloom.

Lucky, Lucky, Lucky. Ah…my sweetheart…why aren’t you saving me?

He drifted back into a light sleep, imagining he was driving a speedboat on the sea—a fast boat carving its way through the heavy waves, heading for freedom.

A girlish shriek jolted him awake. He sat up abruptly. Hovering in the entrance to the cave stood a young woman in her early twenties, with clouds of curly brown hair and a Madonna-like face.

Surely he was dreaming. She must be a vision.

The woman’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped something in Italian, a language he didn’t speak.

My God, she’s real
, he thought.
She’s flesh and blood. SHE’S MY SAVIOR
.

“Thank God you’re here,” he shouted. “Thank God!”

She stared at him, her eyes registering fright and surprise. Then she turned and ran, vanishing from sight.

“Come back!” he screamed after her. “Come back, whoever you are. I’m not going to hurt you. Goddamn it—COME BACK!”

She was gone.

He hoped and prayed she was going for help, because without her, he was lost.

THE ONLY THINGS LUCKY BOTHERED TAKING WERE
the silver picture frames on her desk containing photos of her children and Lennie. She snatched them up, and without another word marched from her office.

Kyoko ran alongside her as she headed for her car. “What happened?” he asked, almost as distressed as she was.

“That deceitful, lying sonofabitch sold me out!” Lucky seethed. “I’m going to bury him. Do you hear me, Kyoko? I’m going to
bury
that man.”

“Can I help?” Kyoko asked.

“Yes. Arrange to have all my things removed from my office immediately. I want my desk out of there, my leather chair, I want every piece of furniture that belongs to me. And if that woman gives you any trouble, call my lawyer.”

“It doesn’t seem possible that this could happen,” Kyoko fretted.

“It’s very simple,” Lucky said resolutely. “I was set up by my confidant and business advisor—Mr. Morton Sharkey. But don’t worry, Kyoko, I’ll find out why—and I’ll shred his sorry ass.”

“Should I inform Charlie Dollar you’ve left?”

“Yes, please do that,” she said, trying to control her anger and think straight. “I don’t want this going around the studio. Tell Charlie I had an emergency to deal with.”

“Certainly, Lucky.”

“You’ll work for me at home, Ky, until we get this straightened out. Is that okay with you?”

“It will be an honor.”

She sent him off to tell Charlie she wasn’t coming back, got in her car, and sat behind the wheel for a moment, placing the pile of silver frames on the passenger seat. Lennie’s image gazed up at her. Impulsively she picked up his photo, kissing his face through the glass. “I miss you, my darling sweetheart,” she murmured softly. “I miss you so very, very much.”

Oh, God, what was happening to her life? First Lennie, now this. Everything was falling to pieces…everything.

She fought off tears, and drove off the lot with nowhere to go except home. Recovering her composure, she called her personal lawyer, Bruce Grey, informing him of the situation.

Bruce was as shocked as she was. “How could Morton allow this to happen?” he said.

“
Allow
it,” she steamed, “somehow or other he engineered it.”

“Why?” Bruce asked, puzzled.

“Beats me,” she said bitterly. “However, I intend to find out. In the meantime, I’ll messenger all the relevant papers over to you. Get me a complete rundown on everybody who owned the stock. Let’s see if they sold, or if they merely voted in this woman’s favor.”

“That should be easy.”

“Her name’s Donna Landsman. Sound familiar?”

“Never heard of her.”

“Prepare a full profile on her. Oh, yes, and Bruce—get me this information before the end of the day.”

The children were out when she arrived home, everything peaceful and quiet. She walked over to the window and stared out at the spectacular ocean view.

On impulse she ran upstairs, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and made her way down to the beach.

She loved the sea—walking along the edge of the surf was the perfect place to get her head together and think this through.

Why was this happening to her?

What had she done to deserve it?

Wasn’t it enough that she’d lost Lennie?

It seemed that things were stacking up against her, but hadn’t it been that way all her life?

Yes
.

And hadn’t she always been able to overcome?

Yes
.

Okay, so this time she’d fight back and win. No question.

By the time she returned to the house, she felt better. She could deal with it. She
would
deal with it. There had to be a way.

She wished Boogie were here. Right now he was on vacation, fortunately due back tomorrow. At a time like this she needed the support of familiar faces around her—and there was nobody more loyal than Boogie.

The kids and Cee Cee were still out. Settling in the den, she phoned Abe Panther. “I hope you’re sitting down,” she said, wondering if he’d already heard.

“What’s your problem, girlie?” he cackled hoarsely.

Automatic response: “How many times have I told you not to call me that.” A beat. “Panther’s been taken over. And—this is the shocker—your favorite grandson-in-law, Mickey Stolli, has been rehired to run it.”

Abe began to choke on the other end of the line.

“I know it’s difficult to comprehend,” Lucky said. “Thought I’d drive over and see you, get your advice.”

“Sounds like you need it.”

“The bottom line is, I was double-crossed. I’ll tell you about it when I get there.”

She went upstairs and hurriedly dressed.

As she was leaving the house, a flower delivery van pulled up to the door. The driver got out and handed her a small arrangement of mixed flowers.

She tore open the card, quickly reading the scrawled message.

Sorry about last night
.

Call you soon
.

Alex

What was
that
all about? Ten out of ten for not being the romantic type.

Not that she wanted him to be.

Not that she needed him at all.

Throwing the card on the hall table, she left the house.

Alex got the news on the plane to Vegas. Lili informed him, via phone, that there was a rumor going around that somebody had taken over Panther Studios and dismissed Lucky Santangelo.

“No way,” he said. “Who’d do that?”

“Reports are, it’s a businesswoman. Nobody seems to know who.”

“How could this happen so suddenly?”

“Apparently she ordered Lucky off the lot this afternoon.”

Alex frowned. “She did
what
?”

“Everybody’s talking about it.”

“See what else you can find out, Lili, and call me at the hotel.”

“Tin Lee phoned.”

“What did
she
want?”

“She said she’d be delighted to see you later, and to thank you for the fantastic roses
and
the invitation.”

“
What
invitation?”

“I don’t know, Alex. I can’t keep up with your love life
and
run your production company.”

Alex hung up, puzzled. Why would Tin Lee mention an invitation when all he’d said was,
Sorry about last night. Call you soon. Alex
.

Hmm…the invitation had gone to Lucky.
Can I see you tonight? Call me
. So had the roses.

Fuck! It was obvious there’d been a mistake. Tin Lee had gotten Lucky’s flowers and note, while Lucky must have received Tin Lee’s.

He grabbed the phone and tried reaching Lili again. The line was out due to turbulence.

Russell, his location manager, a cheerful man, moved over from the seat across the aisle, strapping himself in next to Alex.

“How did the Venus Maria reading go today?” Russell asked.

“Pretty damn good,” Alex replied, not really in the mood for conversation.

“Are we hiring her?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You should grab her,” Russell said. “My kids buy every one of her CDs. They’re first in line for her concerts. She’s got a lock on the young audience.”

Russell had worked on his last three movies, and Alex valued his opinion. “How do you think she’ll come across with Johnny Romano?” he asked.

“They’ll generate plenty of heat,” Russell said enthusiastically.

“You could be right,” Alex replied, thinking about it. “I’ll call Freddie when we get to Vegas—suggest we run a test.”

“Will she test?”

“She came in and read, didn’t she?”

Ron Machio, Venus’s best friend, arrived at Orso’s—a busy Italian restaurant on Third Street—a few minutes late. Ron was tall and lanky, with straight brown hair worn back in a ponytail, and a long, bony face. “Well, madame,” he said, scrutinizing Venus, who was already sitting out on the patio sipping white wine. “
Very
fifties.”

She grinned, delighted he’d known immediately what period she was going for. “Sit down,” she said. “I ordered for you. Wine and pasta. It’s my check.”

“Have we reinvented ourselves yet again?” he asked, flopping into a chair, stretching out his long legs.

“No, Ron,” she said. “
This
is the me that went up for a role in Alex Woods’s new movie.
This
is the me who’s going to win an Oscar.”

Ron’s thin eyebrows shot up. “
Really?
”

“Yes, really. I believe if you want something badly enough, you can get it. Look at us—we’re the perfect example. We came out to L.A. with zilch, and now I’m like Miss Superstar Big Deal and you’re this hugely successful director. It’s pretty amazing when you consider that neither of us graduated from college.”

“Very successful people
never
graduate college,” Ron said knowingly. “They’re all former dropouts. All these poor schmucks who sweated their youth away in college ended up slaving in the mail room.”

“
Very
philosophical, Ron. Major Mogul’s influence?”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” Ron said irritably. “If you got to know him, you’d find he’s quite nice.”

“I’m sure Harris Von Stepp has been called a lot of things in his time, but never nice.”

“Well, he is. He’s just…”

“Uptight,” she offered. “Is that the word you’re searching for?”

“Venus,” Ron scolded, shaking a finger at her. “You can be a
very
mean little girl.”

The waiter delivered two plates of linguini with clam sauce.

“Anyway,” Venus said, “I read for Alex, and he seemed to like me. He’s calling Freddie.”

“Freddie?” Ron questioned, picking up his fork.

“Didn’t I mention it? Freddie Leon represents me now.”

“My, my…we
are
in the big leagues.”

“It was about time I changed agents,” she said, taking a mouthful of pasta.

“And naturally you had to have the best.”

“But of course!”

“Minx!”

“Did I tell you about my new assistant Anthony?”

“
Noo…
”

“He’s a gorgeous blond,” she teased. “Isn’t that your passion, Ron—gorgeous blonds?”

“Trying to tempt me?”

“Would I do that?” she asked, all innocence.

“Yes,” Ron said, curling pasta around his fork. “That’s
exactly
what you’d do.”

“How
old
is Major Mogul?” Venus asked, as if she didn’t know.

“What has age got to do with anything?”

“’Cause you shouldn’t get into that older man, younger man routine. It’s so passé. And you don’t need it.”

“You’re a
fine
one to lecture,” Ron responded crisply. “Does madame recall Cooper’s age? He’s
at least
twenty years your senior.”

“Yeah, and look where it got me,” she said ruefully.

“And talking of relationships,” Ron continued, “what’s happening with your masseur?”

“Ah…Rodriguez,” Venus sighed, twirling several thin silver bracelets enclosing her wrist.

“Is he what you expected?”

“Nobody’s ever what you really expect.” Venus sighed, smiling wistfully. “I guess he’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“The thing is, Ron, after Cooper…”

“Oh, you mean Cooper’s reputation was actually true?”

She laughed softly. “Cooper was the best lover I ever had. I’ll have to go a long way to find another as good as he was.”

“Ah…” Ron said. “If only he’d kept it in his pants.”

“Yeah,” Venus agreed, going for the joke. “Every time he unzipped ’em—his brains fell out!”

They broke up laughing.

“About this Anthony…” Ron ventured.

Venus grinned. “You’re such a slut!”

“Takes one to know one.”

“I think it’s coffee at
my
house, right?”

“Well…if you insist.”