Double Lucky Page 7

  “Jeez,” he muttered. “What’s the time?”

  “Time for you to haul your lazy ass outta the sack,” announced Kev—gofer, assistant, driver. Kev was short, with wiry brown hair and a permanently cocky expression. They’d been best friends since meeting in kindergarten at the tender age of five. They’d grown up together, closer than brothers. Kev had taken off for L.A. before Billy with a plan to somehow or other break into movies. It hadn’t happened for him, Billy was the one who’d gotten the golden ticket, and once Billy made it, he’d brought Kev along for the ride.

  “Get fucked,” Billy groaned, reaching under the sheet to scratch his balls.

  “It’s past twelve,” Kev said, opening the blackout blinds, flooding the room with bright sunlight. “You got an interview for that fancy mag Manhattan Style. The journo’s comin’ here at one, an’ Janey’s on her way over now. She told me to wake your ass, an’ remind you this is important shit. It’s the cover story, so she says there’s no way you can blow it off.”

  “Crap!” Billy muttered, kicking away the sheets, revealing his naked body and a very impressive piss hard-on.

  Ramona seemed oblivious to her employer’s lack of clothes and his erect penis. She handed him the glass of juice and left the room.

  “Why’s Janey coming?” Billy inquired.

  “’Cause she’s your publicist, an’ that’s what she does,” Kev replied.

  “No, what she does is charge me a shitload of money to do fuck all,” Billy grumbled.

  “You’re in a piss-poor mood.”

  “So would you be if Alex friggin’ Woods had spent the day watching you get the bejesus whacked outta you,” Billy complained. “An’ how come you didn’t make it to the location last night?”

  “You never told me you needed me there.”

  “I gotta tell you everything?” Billy said, finally getting out of bed and making his way into the bathroom.

  “You usually do,” Kev said, trailing behind him. “If you’d wanted me there you should’ve said so.”

  “What am I supposed t’wear?” Billy asked as he finished peeing and headed for the shower.

  “Janey said you’d better look hot.”

  “Janey wouldn’t know hot if it hit her in the ass.”

  Kev chuckled. Ramona reappeared with two plastic dry-cleaning bags. “Meesus Janey say you wear these,” she announced, handing the bags to Kev.

  “What’s a movie star supposed t’do t’get some kind of privacy?” Billy grumbled. “My johnson’s not a show ’n’ tell, so everyone get the fuck OUT!”

  Ramona and Kev hurriedly retreated, leaving Billy alone in the bathroom. He stepped into the shower, thinking that perhaps he should call Venus, tell her how great last night was.

  Problem was he wasn’t feeling it. Anyway, she was probably still asleep, or out with her trainer—the good-looking black guy she swore was gay, although sometimes Billy wasn’t so sure. The dude didn’t act gay. He didn’t even look gay.

  Shit! What if she was screwing her trainer and they were both laughing at him behind his back?

  This thought eased his guilt about the girl in the truck with the broken taillight. If Venus could do it, so could he.

  And yet … Once again waves of guilt swept over him. Venus wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Venus was a one-man woman. She’d often confided how much it had hurt her when she’d caught her husband screwing around on her. But hey, that’s what guys did—especially movie star guys. Surely every woman was aware of that?

  He got out of the shower, toweled himself dry, and ripped open the plastic cleaning bags. Black silk pants and a crisp white Armani shirt.

  Screw it, he was more comfortable in jeans and an old army shirt stolen from the wardrobe department on one of his movie shoots. Janey would simply have to accept his style or get herself fired.

  One of the most important lessons Billy had learned in Hollywood was that nobody was indispensable. They all thought they were, but the sad truth was that everyone was replaceable. Including himself.

  * * *

  “Starbucks,” Venus gasped as she and Cole got back in the Jag after a long, grueling mountain hike.

  “Is that so you can undo all the good work we just put in?” Cole questioned, throwing her a disapproving look.

  “Please! I don’t usually beg. But I would kill for a caramel low-fat Frappuccino.”

  “You’ll get nailed by the paparazzi,” he warned.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Okay,” Cole said, starting his new Jaguar, a gift from an aging rock star who was trying to persuade Cole to work—and other things—exclusively for him. The Jag was a bribe Cole had accepted as long as there were no strings. He quite liked the guy in a casual way, but he had no intention of hooking up on a permanent basis. He’d done that once, and the memories were not good. Besides, his sister Natalie, the host of a TV entertainment show, would kill him. She considered all celebrity relationships poison, and she should know, having indulged in a few disastrous ones herself.

  There was a line at Starbucks, as usual.

  Venus peered out the car window. “You go in,” she suggested. “You know what I want.”

  “This goes against everything you should be doing,” Cole said sternly.

  “C’mon, indulge me, babe,” Venus crooned.

  “Doesn’t everyone, babe?” he said sarcastically.

  Venus giggled. “Yeah, for an old broad I suppose I do get everything I want.”

  “Including Mr. Melina.”

  “Ah, Billy,” Venus said fondly. “He’s such a sweetheart.”

  “Sure,” Cole agreed.

  He didn’t want to ruin her day, but yesterday he’d spotted Billy leaving Tower Records with a young girl in tow. Hey—maybe she was his sister. Besides, Cole didn’t believe in causing trouble. As a trainer of the rich and infamous he knew where every body was buried. He also knew he was better off keeping his mouth tightly shut.

  “He is, you know,” Venus added, as if she was trying to convince herself. “And, in case you’re wondering about the age thing, Billy is an old soul, he’s not like a twenty-something guy. And we’ve been friends for eight years, so it’s not as if I don’t know him.”

  Cole shrugged. He didn’t want to get involved. No good ever came from interfering in other people’s love lives.

  “We have the same interests,” Venus continued. “Lucky thinks we’re great together, and he doesn’t put up with my b.s. So…”

  So what? Cole wanted to say. The dude’s a hot young movie star dealing with pussy overload. It’s a given he’ll cheat. Wise up, Venus, you’re too clever to put up with his shit.

  But Cole stayed silent. It simply wasn’t his business.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Did you see Max before she left?” Lucky asked, sweeping into Lennie’s poolside office early Friday morning.

  He was on the phone and waved her away with a dismissive gesture.

  “Are you kidding me!” she exclaimed. “Don’t dismiss me like I’m a fucking fruit fly!”

  “Hang on a minute,” Lennie said into the phone. Choking back laughter, he pressed down hold. “Fruit fly? A fucking fruit fly?”

  Grinning, Lucky said, “Sometimes I have to come up with something original to get your attention.”

  “I’m talking to the studio.”

  “Fuck ’em,” she said, perching on the edge of his desk. “Have you seen Max?”

  “Nope.”

  “Her car’s gone, and she didn’t leave a number.”

  “Call her cell,” Lennie said, returning to his phone call.

  Hmmm … Lucky thought, getting up and heading for the kitchen. As if I don’t have enough on my mind without Max sneaking off.

  Although what did it matter? Lennie was right: she could reach Max on her cell at any time.

  Yes, but Max should have come and said good-bye. She’d wanted to make absolutely sure her wild little daughter was back in time for Gino’s party. Right
now unreliable was Max’s middle name.

  Sixteen. Some age! She remembered it well. At sixteen you thought you were invincible, you thought you owned the world, you thought you could do anything and get away with it, you thought your parents were moronic idiots.

  Yeah. Sixteen. Fun memories. Until Gino had married her off to Craven “the lox” Richmond, and she’d been too young and too foolish to realize she could’ve said no.

  Ah well … She had no intention of marrying Max off, but she did plan on keeping a closer eye on her. After Gino’s party, after the launch of the Keys, she would spend some quality time with her daughter. She had to convince Max that not cutting school was important for getting into the right college. And even though she’d made it without a formal education, she wanted Max to experience all the advantages.

  Philippe approached. The very precise Philippe had come with the house, and although Lucky often found his manner to be too formal, she put up with him because he was a stickler for making sure the house ran smoothly. Now, with houseguests arriving, Gino’s upcoming party, and the opening of her hotel in Vegas, she was grateful to have Philippe and his organizational skills. At least she knew he was there ready and willing to take care of everything.

  “Mrs. Golden,” he said stiffly.

  “Yes, Philippe?” she answered briskly.

  “There is another hand delivery for you,” he said, passing her an ecru envelope.

  She ripped open the envelope and inside was a Cartier card with the same scrawled message—Drop Dead Beautiful.

  What kind of an invite is this? she thought. Quite stupid if it doesn’t include a save-the-date.

  “Did you see who left it?” she asked, opening the fridge and reaching for a can of 7UP.

  “No, Mrs. Golden. It was in the mailbox with the rest of the mail. But I can assure you it was hand-delivered.”

  Drop Dead Beautiful. Sounded like a movie or maybe the opening of a happening new club. Hollywood publicists were getting much too inventive.

  The phone rang, taking her mind off the latest note. Sticking it under a pile of cookbooks, she took the call. It was Alex Woods.

  “Lucky,” he said. “We haven’t spoken in a while. Thought I’d check in.”

  “Alex, what’s going on?” she said, always pleased to hear from him even though she knew he still harbored a mild crush.

  “I’m shooting my movie.”

  “I know that,” she said, taking a swig of 7UP from the can. “How’s it going?”

  “Great. How’s our hotel progressing?”

  “We’re on schedule. I have a fantastic team in place, and we’ll be opening on time. You’ll be there of course.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it. When I invest money I want to see the results.”

  “Oh, you will. The Keys is going to rule Vegas, I can promise you that.”

  “Everything you do always works out, so I’m confident this’ll be another moneymaking triumph.”

  “Enough with the compliments—Lennie tells me the two of you have been trading missed calls.”

  “You know what it’s like when you’re at the end of a shoot, no time for anything.”

  “Ah yes, I remember it well,” she said, momentarily nostalgic for her producing days.

  “We should develop another movie together.”

  “Oh sure,” she said sarcastically. “I can do that—in my spare time.”

  “We’d have a blast, just like before.”

  “How’s Billy working out?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “I hate goddamn actors,” Alex said vehemently. “Once they make it, they’re out of control.”

  “I know you do, but you wouldn’t be able to do your job without ’em,” Lucky said, wondering what Billy was up to now.

  “Ever heard of animated flicks?” Alex said.

  “Yeah,” she said, laughing. “I can just imagine an animated Alex Woods movie. Cute little rabbits and adorable farm creatures beating the crap outta each other with machetes! Blood and severed limbs everywhere!”

  “Ah … she knows me so well,” he said dryly.

  “Oh yes, Alex, I do.”

  “Any chance of lunch anytime soon?”

  “Thought you were busy shooting.”

  “I am. But maybe you’ll visit the set one day. I’ll have them set up lunch in my trailer.”

  “You, me, and Lennie?”

  “Just you and me was what I had in mind.”

  “It’s good I don’t take you seriously.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “’Cause then I’d have to tell Lennie you were hitting on me, forcing him to kick your ass.”

  “Sounds dramatic. But I was always under the impression that you had the balls in the family.”

  “Low blow, Alex.”

  “Just telling it the way I see it.”

  “Lennie has plenty of balls, believe me.”

  There was a short silence while she tried to figure out what was on his mind. Every so often he made an attempt to get together without Lennie. She always laughed him out of it. She was very fond of Alex as a friend, and that’s the way she wanted to keep it. Yes, she’d slept with him once and once only, but it was long ago and it didn’t really count, because at the time she’d thought Lennie was gone forever. It was obviously a night Alex had never forgotten.

  “You’re coming to Gino’s party on Sunday?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Alex replied.

  “Bringing Ling I hope.”

  “Should I?”

  “Why are you asking me? She’s your girlfriend. Isn’t it about time you made it legal?”

  “Gotta go,” he said abruptly. “See you Sunday.” And he hung up.

  That’s right, Alex, let’s not get anywhere near your personal life, Lucky thought. She wished he’d find that special someone, because even though he’d been living with Ling for a couple of years, she obviously wasn’t it.

  There were times Lucky found it uncomfortable between her and Alex—especially as she’d never told Lennie about their one-night stand. The truth was she wanted Alex and Lennie to remain friends, but if Lennie ever found out …

  It was all too complicated, she refused to think about it. There were too many other things to deal with, and right now making Gino’s party perfect was number one on her agenda.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Friday morning Brigette and Bobby Stanislopolous met at a private airport in New York, ready to board the Stanislopolous plane to Los Angeles. Neither of them used the plane much; it was the company jet and usually flew members of the Stanislopolous board and chief executives around Europe. However, it was at their disposal whenever they needed it.

  When they met up at the airport, Brigette realized she hadn’t seen Bobby in almost a year. “Look at you,” she exclaimed, genuinely pleased to see him. “Handsome!”

  Bobby was indeed handsome. Like Lucky he was tall, with olive skin, jet-black hair, and intense black eyes. Like his late father, Dimitri, he had a Greek nose, strong chin, and dominant personality. He was a hybrid—half Santangelo, half Stanislopolous.

  “Is that any way to talk to your uncle?” he teased, checking out his devastatingly pretty niece.

  “Oh, sorry, Uncle Bobby,” Brigette said with a flicker of a smile. She was naturally blond and cover-girl pretty. “I hear your club is doing great,” she added. “Good for you.”

  “Yeah,” Bobby replied, nodding his head. “We got written up in New York magazine last month. How come I’ve never seen you there?”

  “I finished with the club scene after I finished with modeling,” she said. “It’s not for me. Too many needy people on the prowl.”

  “You gotta be my guest one night,” Bobby said, full of enthusiasm at the thought of showing off his gorgeous niece. “I’ll look after you. We’ll have fun, that’s a promise.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Bobby,” she answered, smiling. “I shall look forward to that.”


  Wow! She’s such a babe, Bobby thought. What a waste. I know a dozen guys who’d give their left nut for a shot at her. And if we weren’t related …

  “Is the plane ready for boarding?” she asked.

  “All set,” he said, scooping up her Fendi overnight bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

  “Then let’s go,” Brigette said, standing up.

  “You got it,” he said, taking her arm.

  Together they headed for the plane.

  * * *

  Meanwhile, Gino Senior sat in the front passenger seat of his new Cadillac, while Paige, his wife of twenty years, drove. For an old broad Paige still had it going on, or at least Gino thought so. He couldn’t have asked for a more spirited, loyal, always-there-for-him wife. And attractive too, with her flaming red hair and pocket Venus figure. Even in her seventies Paige still cut a swath. He’d made a smart choice when he’d dumped his third wife, the frosty Susan Martino, and married her best friend, Paige. There’d been a few bumps along the way—nobody was perfect. He’d never forget walking in on the two women in bed together. But that was ancient news, and who was he to make judgments? After all, his past was hardly blameless.

  Ah … So many women, so many memories …

  Now he was old. Frigging old. And it didn’t seem possible when in his head he was still maybe forty years of age. Christ! Looking in the mirror and seeing an old face peering back at him was not something that thrilled him. Better than the alternative, though; he was a true survivor and let no one forget it. He’d outlived them all—Enzio Bonnatti, Pinky Banana, Jake the Boy—all the old crew. He’d weathered jail, a heart attack, the death of a child, a couple of assassination attempts, the murder of his beloved first wife. Jeez! And a thousand other things.

  In two days he was about to be ninety-frigging-five, and it wasn’t so bad, apart from the fact that his body was falling to pieces. His knees were gone, arthritis had claimed his hands, his back hurt, his eyes were fading fast, and worst of all, he couldn’t get it up anymore. Not that he had any desire to, sex was off the agenda—had been for a couple of years. Gino the Ram was no more. He’d had a good run, and he didn’t regret one step of the way, although he did feel sorry for Paige—she must miss the action. Not that she complained; Paige would never do that.