Lady Boss (14 page)

After his first sip of Courvoisier, quiet little Harry Browning turned into Harry the Mouth. Lucky could hardly believe it. This was going to turn out to be worthwhile after all.

‘When Abe Panther was in charge we had a decent studio,' Harry said vehemently, sounding proud. ‘Mr. Panther was a
real
boss. People respected him.'

‘Don't people respect Mickey Stolli?' Lucky murmured.

‘Him!' Harry spat in disgust. ‘He doesn't care about making movies. All
he
cares about is money.'

‘At least he's honest. Mickey is looking after Abe Panther's interests, isn't he?' Lucky asked innocently.

‘The only interests Mickey Stolli cares about are his own.'

‘How do
you
know that?'

‘I see plenty,' Harry said, reaching for the bottle of brandy. ‘I
hear
plenty.'

‘Like what?'

Fuzzily Harry realized he might be saying too much. So what? He could talk if he wanted to. He felt pretty damned good. This woman was fascinated by everything that came out of his mouth, and it was a long time since he'd had a woman spellbound. Maybe he would impress her even more with his knowledge. ‘Do you know who Lionel Fricke is?'

Lucky tried to sound suitably impressed. ‘The big agent?' she asked.

‘Yes, that's right.' He peered at her through his wire-rimmed spectacles. Her image swam before his eyes. She wasn't Olive, but she was a woman, and if she got rid of those god-awful glasses…

‘What about Lionel Fricke?' Lucky pressed.

Harry wondered how far he could go. He took another gulp of brandy and placed his hand on her knee. ‘I saw the two of them together… Lionel Fricke and Mr. Stolli. I heard 'em make a deal for Johnny Romano. A
big
deal.'

‘Yes?' Lucky leaned towards him, her eyes gleaming.

‘A five-million-dollar price for Johnny Romano – only
he
never sees the full pay-out. Lionel Fricke sells Johnny to Panther for four million. Then he sells a script to a shell company for one hundred thousand. A month later Panther purchases the same script for one million.'

‘And Lionel and Mickey split the million minus the hundred thousand, and put it in their own pockets. Right?' Lucky finished.

Harry nodded. ‘I heard 'em. No mistaking what I heard.'

‘I'm sure you did,' Lucky said matter-of-factly, removing his hand from her knee. ‘So tell me,' she added casually. ‘Who else is stealing?'

‘Everyone. Eddie Kane, Ford Werne, most of the producers on the lot. They all have their ways, you know.'

‘I bet,' she said, topping his glass up with more brandy.

Suddenly he sat up straighter. ‘Why are you so interested?' he asked suspiciously.

‘Wouldn't anyone be? You've seen so much. You should write a book.'

Harry was flattered. She had touched his secret dream, this odd-looking woman. He nodded. ‘Maybe… one day.' Reaching for his glass he took a healthy swig. ‘I could tell you about drugs, sex… the loose women and the things they do.'

‘What sort of things, Harry?'

‘They lean on women for sex. They use them.'

‘Who uses them?'

‘Everyone,' Harry said darkly. ‘They promise a girl a part in their movie if she'll perform certain disgusting acts.'

‘How do you know?'

‘Because they do it in my screening room. In plain sight.'

‘I guess you
have
seen it all.'

He mumbled on some more, complaining about the quality of the films Panther produced, and the low level of management. He particularly loathed Arnie Blackwood and Frankie Lombardo. The two producers were apparently the worst offenders when it came to sex in the screening room. After a while his eyes began to roll.

‘Do you feel all right, Harry?' she asked anxiously.

‘Not so good.'

Helping him to his feet she said, ‘Maybe it's time to put you in a cab. There's no way you can drive your car.'

‘They sit in my screening room an' I see everything,' Harry repeated. ‘Some people have no shame.'

Putting her arm around him, she steered him towards the door.

‘Drugs,' he mumbled, ‘an' sex. That's all they think about.' He hiccuped loudly. ‘Don' feel so good.'

‘Can we talk another time?'

‘We'll see.' He hiccuped again, and stumbled.

She managed to get him outside, hail a passing cab, and bundle him in. There was no point in letting him pass out on her floor. If he did, she'd have to stay the night and look after him – and that was the last thing she needed.

Harry Browning had given her enough for one session. At least it was a promising beginning.

Two more weeks and she'd be out of school! Brigette was marking the days. Two weeks ago she'd been counting seconds. Now it was OK, she had a friend, and what a difference it made.

Her new found friend, Nona Webster, was the funny, vivacious daughter of a New York publisher and his fashion-designer wife. Nona had long natural red hair, slanted eyes, and an interesting face covered in freckles. She was slender and quite tall. Like Brigette, she'd seen plenty of the fast life, and once they got to talking they soon found out they had lots in common. Nona had lived in Europe, met many famous people, slept with a man ten years older than herself, and tried cocaine on more than one occasion.

Brigette confided about her own troubled past, including the kidnapping and her mother's death from a drug overdose. They'd both decided drugs were useless, causing nothing but heartache and trouble.

‘We're cosmic twins,' Nona explained eagerly when she found out their birthdays fell in the same month. ‘It's amazing we didn't get to talking before. I never bothered, because everyone told me you were such an unbearable snob. And let's face it – you don't exactly encourage friendships, do you?'

‘Right,' Brigette admitted. ‘It's not easy being who I am.' She looked embarrassed. ‘Y'know, with the money thing and all.'

‘God! I wish
I
was going to inherit a fortune,' Nona said enviously.

‘Your family has money,' Brigette pointed out.

‘Compared to you we're bloody paupers!' Nona complained. ‘And my parents don't believe in passing it on to their kids. They spend everything they make. It's not fair. My brother is furious. He's threatened to murder them both before they get rid of it all!'

Brigette giggled. ‘How old is your brother?'

‘Twenty-three and much too cool-looking for his own good. He's into rich older women and money. In that order. I'm trying to save his soul. Trust me, it's a losing battle.'

Brigette was immediately intrigued. ‘Save his soul from what?'

‘Booze, coke, and women. He's a real loser, but I love him.'

‘I wish
I
had a brother,' Brigette sighed wistfully.

‘I'll let you share mine if you promise to help me save him,' Nona offered.

‘How can I do that?'

‘Marry him. All your money will surely make him a very happy man!'

They both giggled. Ridiculous conversations could be fun.

The other girls did not change their attitude towards Brigette. ‘You gotta ignore them, they're just jealous,' Nona said one afternoon as they took off for town.

‘Why?' Brigette asked. She couldn't understand how anyone could possibly be jealous of her.

‘'Cause you're pretty,
and
you've got big boobs!' Nona joked. ‘That's quite a combination.'

Brigette was glad Nona thought she was pretty. But they both knew it wasn't that. It was the money. The money was an impenetrable barrier separating her from the rest of the world.

‘What are you doing this summer?' Nona asked as they trudged along the country lane on their way to the bus stop.

‘Some of the time I have to spend with my grandmother. Then I'm joining my ex-stepfather and his wife in California. They're renting a house in Malibu. How about you?'

Nona kicked a pebble. ‘Montauk some of the time. We've got a place there. It's really boring. Malibu sounds more like it.'

‘Hey – I've got a sensational idea. Why don't you come with me?' Brigette suggested impulsively. ‘Lennie and Lucky won't mind – really – they're terrific.'

‘Lennie, as in Lennie Golden?' Nona asked, raising her eyebrows. ‘Lucky, as in Lucky Santangelo?'

‘She's Lucky Golden now,' Brigette pointed out.

‘Wow! That makes all the difference.'

Brigette laughed. ‘Well?'

‘Well, how can I possibly turn down an invitation to meet a real live movie star,' Nona said. ‘Lennie Golden is gorgeous.'

Brigette smiled. ‘He's OK.'

Nona looked pleased. ‘It sounds like a cool idea. But only if you come stay with us first. You'll meet Paul, my brother. What a thrill! Maybe even marry him. Can you do me that small favour? Get him off my case forever.'

Brigette went along with the joke. ‘Yeah, sure. Why not? Anything to oblige a friend.'

They both laughed.

‘I'll call Lennie tomorrow,' she promised.

And for the first time in ages she felt she really had something to look forward to.

* * *

‘
Oooh
, Lennie, you're
sooo
cold. Why are you so icy to me? What have I done to upset you?'

Marisa was all over him and she was big. Long legs and arms, huge breasts, thick gooey lips, and an overly active tongue that slid into his mouth every time they had to kiss for the camera.

Love scenes were the worst, especially with someone you didn't like, and there was a Berlin wall between Marisa Birch and Lennie Golden. He didn't respect what he considered she represented – the phony glitz and so-called glamour of show business. He also thought she was an abysmal actress. Not to mention that she was screwing Ned Magnus,
and
managing to put in time with her stand-in, Hylda, another Amazon with large knockers.

The crew were in pussy heaven. Marisa wore nothing except a flesh-coloured G-string as she thrashed around under a sheet with Lennie. She got off on giving the boys a show, and it annoyed her that she couldn't turn Lennie on too. Marisa was used to instant drool. She felt insecure when a man didn't react to her all too obvious charms.

‘We've got a scene to do, Marisa,' Lennie said patiently, trying not to notice an erect nipple thrust dangerously close to his face. ‘It's called acting. Isn't that what you are – an actress? Remember?'

They were on location in the bedroom of a spectacular villa perched high on a cliff top.

‘Darling, when I'm making love I'm
never
acting,' Marisa confessed, waving away her dresser, who wished to cover her undulating flesh between takes.

‘Let's roll another one,' Grudge Freeport said, striding over to confer with his stars. ‘Lennie, you're supposed to be enjoying yourself. The broad is naked. Go for it, for chrissakes.' He turned to spit a great gob of tobacco into a yellow dish handily carried by his young female assistant.

‘Don't call me a broad,' Marisa scolded. ‘Call me a star.' She stretched languidly, and spotted Ned Magnus, who'd just arrived. ‘Hi, honey.' She waved and blew him a few kisses.

Ned looked pleased.

‘Does Honey's wife know about you?' Lennie asked.

Marisa smiled. Her teeth were big and white. Lethal teeth. Man-biting teeth. ‘Wives are always the last to know,' she said sweetly. ‘And if it's the wife who's fooling around, then it's the husband who finds out last. Didn't you know that?' Another stretch. Another treat for the crew. ‘By the way, Lennie, where is
your
wife? I'd heard she was joining us on location. Did something more exciting come up?'

‘Action!' Grudge Freeport yelled.

* * *

Gino Santangelo checked into the Beverly Wilshire Hotel and called Paige.

‘Mrs. Wheeler, she out,' a maid informed him. ‘You lika Mister?'

No. He would not lika Mister. He hung up.

The Beverly Wilshire held all sorts of good memories. Afternoon trysts with Paige. Non-stop champagne and sex. Long, throbbing marathon sessions.

Gino grinned, and fingered the faded scar on his cheek, a souvenir of his youth. Ah, if Paige had known him in those days she would not have hesitated. Gino the Ram was his nickname then.

Gino Santangelo… the first boy in the neighbourhood to discover the secret of pleasing women…

He was twenty-two and horny when he met the incredible Clementine Duke, wife of an elderly senator. What a lady! She'd taken raw street material and moulded him into something. She'd taught him how to dress, what to drink, how to make polite conversation. She'd
really
taught him how to make love. And he'd allowed her to tutor him willingly, because he'd wanted to learn. More than anything else he'd had a strong desire to succeed, and Clementine and the senator had helped him achieve every one of his goals.

Now, all these years later, he could still remember her sensuous silk underclothes, the smoothness of her firm white thighs, and the musky scent of her hair.

There'd been many women, but only a few he remembered. His first love was Leonora, who turned out to be a bitch on wheels. Next came Cindy, his first wife, another winner. Followed by Bee, a woman he almost married. And then Carrie – a short one-nighter resulting in Steven. And then his second wife, Maria, the true love of his life, innocent and beautiful mother of his other two children.

When he thought about Maria and the tragic way she'd been taken from him it was almost too much to bear. But he'd carried on without her, although there was always a deep sadness buried in his soul.

After Maria there were countless women. A fling with Marabelle Blue, the movie star, had kept him busy. The widow Rosaline had looked after him in Israel. Finally he'd married for the third time, to Susan Martino, a perfect Hollywood Wife.