Vendetta: Lucky's Revenge (38 page)

“I really don’t appreciate your interfering in my personal life, Mickey,” she said huffily. “I might be doing a movie for you, but that doesn’t give you the right to comment on who I see.”

“Honey,” he said patiently, “I’m trying to teach you street smarts.
Never
live with an actor. They’re ego-inflated pricks. Surely you’ve worked that out by now?”

“Look, I admit Jeff is a little, um…happy tonight, but that’s only because he’s glad to be here.”

“I bet he is,” Mickey snorted.

“Anyway, Mickey, don’t worry—he’s not around permanently. I’m using him, the way you guys use women.”

“I’ve never used a woman in my life,” Mickey said indignantly.

No, of course not
, she thought.
How about that bachelor party where you had a girl spread-eagled on the buffet table while you ate the celebration cake out of her pussy for the boys’ amusement?

“Anyway, I’m taking him home now,” Leslie said. “By the way, Mickey, I had an idea.”

“What?”

“Wouldn’t Cooper be great in
Gangsters?
”

“The movie’s cast, Leslie.”

“I know,” she said, her eyes gleaming. “But can you imagine? Cooper Turner in
Gangsters
, with Johnny Romano and me—what a combination!”

“Didn’t you just finish a movie with Cooper?”

“Yes, and it’s going to be big. Why don’t you find another script for us to do together? We have sensational screen chemistry.”

“Yeah,” he said, thinking that this was exactly the out he was looking for. “That’s not a bad idea. If I come up with something, would you sooner do that than
Gangsters
?”

“Yes,” she said, “as long as it’s with Cooper.”

“A nice romantic comedy—right?”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll definitely get into it, baby. Come by the studio for lunch.”

“My pleasure, Mickey.”

“Meanwhile, take the loser home. I don’t want him throwing up on my couch.”

“I can hear a phone ringing,” Tabitha singsonged, completely out of it. They were both lolling in the middle of Santo’s bed in a drugged-out stupor.

When they’d gotten back to his house they’d shared another joint, then Tabitha started exploring his room, begging for something stronger.

He remembered the heroin Mohammed had sold him. “Girls get off on it,” Mohammed had said. Tabitha was a girl. She had perky little tits almost exposed by her flimsy top. He wouldn’t mind touching them; he’d never touched a real girl. So they smoked the heroin and ended up floating on a beautiful blue cloud above the world, watching everyone.

Santo was overcome with a feeling of goodness. Everything was so nice, and he was filled with joy. Wow! Tabitha felt the same way.

They were both so mellow and calm that it seemed only natural they should take their clothes off and fling them at each other, screaming with laughter.

Santo kept thinking about Venus at the party, her blue eyes, blond hair, and the way she looked in her daring red dress.

He got naked, glanced down, and couldn’t believe how hard he was. His cock resembled a rocket ready for takeoff.

Before he knew it, Tabitha was sitting astride him and they were making out.

She moved fast, riding him like a show horse. All he could see were her perky little tits and her belly button with the gold ring bouncing up and down. It was a mind-blowing experience.

When she fell off him, they both started laughing uncontrollably and rolling around on the bed.

He wondered if he should show her his collection, maybe read her some of the letters he’d sent to Venus, which he’d dutifully copied.

Something warned him she might be jealous. It wouldn’t do to have her and Venus fighting over him.

“You’re not bad, Santo,” Tabitha said grudgingly, stretching out her arms. “We should do this again.”

“Anytime you say.”

“I’m starving,” she said, jumping off the bed.

Naked, they ran downstairs and raided the fridge in the kitchen. Fortunately, the servants had retired for the night to their own separate quarters behind the pool house.

“Where’s your
parents
’ bedroom?”

He took her into Donna’s room. She threw herself onto the middle of the huge old-fashioned four-poster bed, flinging the velvet embroidered cushions at Santo, screaming with high-pitched laughter.

“How we gonna clear this up?” he said, worried for only an instant. “My mom’ll know we were in her room.”

“Who cares?” Tabitha said carelessly. “Come over here. Let’s do it again on her bed.”

He hadn’t taken much persuading.

Now they were back in
his
room and the phone was ringing.

“Ignore it,” he said, grabbing her pointy little tits.

“You sure?”

“Wanna show you something.”

“What?”

He got off the bed and went to his locked closet.

“
What?
” Tabitha repeated impatiently.

Unlocking the closet, he reached in the back, pulling out his new prized possession.

“Holy shit!” she exclaimed. “That’s a
big
gun.”

“All the better to kill them with,” Santo replied, laughing like a maniac.

“Huh?” Tabitha said, blinking rapidly.

“One of these days,” Santo boasted, “I’m gonna blow their fucking heads off!”

JOHNNY ROMANO WAS NOT AS PUSHY AS VENUS
had thought. When she turned down his invitation to go back to his place, he accepted her refusal in a good-natured way. His limo was now parked outside her house.

“Gotta say I’m buzzed you’re doing the movie,” he said, flexing his long, surprisingly elegant fingers.

“So am I,” she said, noticing his huge diamond pinkie ring and diamond-studded identity bracelet. He had to be wearing at least half a million bucks’ worth of diamonds. “The script’s brilliant, you’ll be terrific.”

As big a star as he was, Johnny still enjoyed receiving praise. “You think so?” he asked anxiously.

“Absolutely.”

“I got me this acting coach,” he said, his voice filled with boyish enthusiasm. “Don’t laugh—the guy comes to my house twice a week. He used to work with De Niro.”

“That’s smart, Johnny. You can never know enough about your craft.”

“I got Lucky to thank for gettin’ my career back on the straight.”

“How come?”

“Remember when she first took over Panther?”

“How could I ever forget? From undercover secretary to studio mogul in one quick move.”

“I was doin’ a lot of shit movies then. Violence. Sex. She called ’em my ‘motherfucka movies’—’cause that’s all I ever said! They made me a fortune—but Lucky pointed out I was never the hero. ‘Be a hero,’ she told me, ‘that’s what the audience wanna see.’ An’, goddamn it—she was right.”

“Good for you, Johnny. There’s nothing like moving on.”

He edged across the seat, getting closer. “Did you enjoy tonight, baby?”

“It was okay.”

“Didn’t bother you seein’ your old man with that luscious piece?”

“Cooper and I are history.”

“Shame for him.” His thigh was now pressed up against hers. “Fortunate for me.”

“Don’t bet on it, Johnny,” she said, moving away.

“I got somethin’ funny to tell you.”

“What?”

“Veronica used to be a man.”

“Get
outta
here!”

“I met her in Sweden years ago, when I was workin’ as a waiter. She’d just had the operation.”

“Come
on
.”

He laughed. “Cooper’ll never know the difference.”

“You’re bad, you know that. Why didn’t you
tell
him?”

“And spoil a beautiful romance? No way.” He laughed again. “So…I saw you bending Mickey’s ear all night.”

“He’s got a hot dick for me—what can I do?”

“Oh, baby, baby—you got a way of sayin’ it the way it really is.”

“Secret of my success,” Venus said with a confident smile. “And now, Johnny, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me out of the car.”

He did as she asked and said good night without pushing it.

She was relieved, not being in the mood to fight off an overly amorous Latin movie star.

The first thing she did was play back her answering machine. There was a plaintive message from Rodriguez begging to see her, and a happy one from Ron.

“Taking your advice, sweet thing,” Ron said. “I’m moving out.”

He didn’t say where he was moving, otherwise she would have called him.

She went into her all-white dressing room, stepping out of her red dress on the way.

The phone rang. Hoping it was Ron, she ran to pick it up in the bedroom.

“Hi, it’s Cooper.”

“Oh…hi.”

“You looked
veree
sexy tonight.”

“What do you want, Coop?” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, wondering if he’d discovered the truth about Veronica.

“Just wanted to say hello.”

“That’s not very original.”

“I’m fresh out of lines.”

“You?
Never!
”

“I was thinking…” he said.

“What?”

“Oh, about what a great marriage we had.”

“How can you say that when your mission was to screw as many other women as possible?”

“I know,” he said, sounding repentant. “All my life I did exactly what I wanted, and women came along for the ride. Then I met you, fell in love, and got married. I didn’t think I
had
to change. I was selfish and incredibly dumb. Now I realize I made a big mistake.”

“What happened? You strike out with the model? Didn’t get any, huh?”

“I got plenty; problem was, I didn’t want it.”

“Really,” she said, not about to ruin his evening with Johnny’s story.

“How ’bout you? Was Romano all over you in the car? You know, he jokes about it to his pals—tells everybody that once he gets a girl in the back of his limo, a blow job goes with the territory.”

“You should know me better than that.”

“Can I come over?”

“What for?”

“To talk…that’s all, I promise.”

She knew she should say no, but she felt herself weakening.

He took advantage of her silence. “Strange coincidence,” he said. “Right now I happen to be on your block.”

“Okay,” she said, against her better judgment. “Come on over.”

Johnny Romano’s limo cruised down Sunset. He sat back, chatting on the car phone to Leslie.

She cradled her portable while taking a good look at Jeff. He was sprawled in the middle of her bed, still in his clothes, snoring like a stuffed-up hog. Mr. Romance strikes again.

“You gave me your number, an’ I’m usin’ it,” Johnny said. “An’ this man is wonderin’ what you are doin’ right now.”

“Where’s Venus?”

“Why would I be with Venus when I’ve got
your
number, baby?” he said, putting on the sexy, macho voice he used for imminent seduction. “How ’bout havin’ a drink with me?”

Jeff burped and rolled over on the bed, reeking of booze.

Leslie thought of Cooper. He was probably real cozy with that big horse model and her big horse teeth. She felt sad, she’d loved Cooper all her life, and for a few magical weeks she’d had him to herself—now he didn’t want her anymore. It wasn’t fair.

“I can pick you up in five minutes,” Johnny said. “Just tell me where I gotta point my limo, an’ baby—believe me—I’m there.”

Alex drove directly to Lucky’s house at the beach.

A security guard stopped him at the door. “Good evening, Mr. Woods,” the guard said politely. “Ms. Santangelo mentioned you might drop by.”

“She did? Good.”

“She also said she doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“She left me that message?”

“Ms. Santangelo said she’d talk to you tomorrow, Mr. Woods, and to please not call her tonight.”

“Oh…fine…okay.”

Alex got back in his car, furious with Lucky for playing games. One moment she was confiding in him. The next she was treating him like a total stranger. He understood that she had problems, but why wouldn’t she let him help her?

He drove home experiencing a feeling he’d never had before. Was this love? Because if it was, then love was a crock.

He decided he had to get himself together, forget about Lucky Santangelo and concentrate on what he did best. Making movies.

The guard waited until Alex drove off, then buzzed Lucky. “Mr. Woods was here. I told him you’d speak to him tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Enrico,” she said.

You’re doing the right thing
, she told herself.
Mustn’t encourage him. Alex is getting too close, and it’s not what I want
.

She sat on her bed and reached for Lennie’s photograph, in a silver frame. She missed him so much. His smile, his company, his lovemaking, his conversation.

There could be no substitute.

Not yet anyway.

“There’s no reply at our house,” George said, replacing the receiver. “Perhaps we should wait for Santo at home.”

“I agree,” Donna replied, glaring at Mickey. “I wish you’d consulted me before you sent my son off with your daughter.”

Mickey shrugged. “Thought I was doing the kids a favor. How was I to know they wouldn’t get back on time?”

“They’ll be here soon,” Abigaile said. “Tabitha’s a very reliable girl.”

“Yes, from her appearance I would judge her to be
really
reliable,” Donna said sarcastically.

“Excuse me?” Abigaile said, not liking Donna’s tone at all.

“Do you actually let your daughter walk around dressed like that?” Donna said.

“At least she’s not bloated and overweight,” Abigaile responded, not caring if Mickey got mad.

Mickey quickly moved in, nudging his wife to shut up. “I’m sure they’ll be here any moment,” he said. “As soon as they arrive, I’ll personally drive Santo home. He’ll be fine.”

Donna glared at him. How dare they send her son off just because they didn’t want him sitting at their boring
dinner table? She hated the Stollis. She had a good mind to fire Mickey as soon as she found somebody else to take his place. In fact, the entire evening had been a disaster.

Their limousine was parked in the driveway. Donna marched over, waiting for her driver to spring out and open the door.

The man didn’t move; he was slumped over the steering wheel, obviously asleep. Donna tut-tutted her annoyance while George tapped on the glass.

No response. George opened the door and the driver, John Fardo, fell out onto the concrete driveway.

“Oh, my God!” Donna shrieked.

George bent over the man, feeling for his pulse. “Get help,” he said tersely.

Donna hurried back to the Stollis’ front door and rang the bell. Mickey opened the door. “Our driver’s sick,” Donna said. “Call the paramedics.”

Mickey walked outside. “He looks drunk to me,” he said, staring at the man on the ground.

John Fardo groaned, gradually regaining consciousness.

“Are you all right, John?” Donna asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine…fine,” he muttered, embarrassed about the incident.

All he could remember was somebody dragging him out of the car, beating the shit out of him, and shoving him back behind the wheel with the curt warning, “Don’t ever fuck with the Santangelos again.” After that, he must have passed out.

Making a supreme effort, he pulled himself together and staggered up off the ground. “Sorry, Mrs. Landsman…dunno what happened. I, uh…guess I musta fallen.”

“Fallen?” she said imperiously.

He hoped they wouldn’t notice his swollen face in the dim light. “I’m okay now. Lemme drive you home.”

The Landsmans got in the car.

Mickey shrugged and went back in the house. “Their driver was drunk,” he informed Abigaile, who was already on her way upstairs.

“What did you think of the party?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Your usual success,” he said, following her up the stairs.

“How would
you
know?” she said tartly. “You spent the entire evening drooling down Venus’s neckline.”

“Honey, you can’t possibly be jealous of me and Venus. She works for my studio.”

“You paid her too much attention, Mickey. It’s disrespectful to me.”

“Gotta keep the actresses happy.”

“Ha!” Abigaile snorted, stopping for a moment.

Mickey grabbed her ass. “Come here, hon,” he cajoled. “You know you’re the only one for me.”

The first thing Donna noticed as they approached their house was Tabitha’s BMW parked in the driveway. “Thank God they’re here,” she said to George. “I was beginning to worry.”

“He’s sixteen, Donna. You worry about him too much. Santo needs discipline, not coddling.”

“Why would he bring Tabitha here?” Donna mused. “
I
know. It’s probably because those stupid Stolli people made out he wasn’t a welcome dinner guest. Santo was upset.”

That’ll be the day
, George thought. Donna had no idea what a spoiled monster she was raising.

They entered the house.

“Santo!” Donna called out in the dark hallway, reaching for the light switch.

“They must be up in his room,” George said.

“Why would he take her up there?” Donna said.

Why do you think?
George thought, following his wife to their private elevator.

“I can’t believe they invited Lucky Santangelo tonight,” Donna grumbled. “A true lack of judgment on Mickey’s part. I shall be watching him very closely from now on.”

“Yes, dear,” George said, standing next to her in the small but luxurious elevator.

The door to Santo’s room was closed.

“Knock,” George said.

“Why should I?” Donna said, flinging open the door. “This is my house.”

Santo was sprawled on his bed, passed out. Lying across him was a half-naked Tabitha, also in a drugged stupor. Loud rap music blared from the CD player in the messy room. On the bedside table was a half-eaten pizza, a spilled bowl of popcorn, half a joint, and an empty bottle of Scotch precariously balanced on its side.

“Oh, my God!” Donna wailed. “What has she done to my baby?”