Lady Boss (36 page)

Later he wolfed breakfast, downed a couple of vodkas, smoked a joint, and went for a walk along the beach.

When he got back to his house, Carlo Bonnatti was sitting in his living room.

A white-faced Leslie said, ‘I didn't know you were expecting company.'

Eddie stared at Carlo. He felt his skin crawl. ‘Neither did I.'

Carlo Bonnatti was a stockily built man in his mid-forties with tightly curled hair, drooping eyelids, sallow skin, and an indolent expression.

‘I was in the neighbourhood,' he said easily. ‘Thought I'd drop by.'

‘Since when was your neighbourhood the beach?' Eddie asked, glaring at him.

Carlo waved a vague hand in the air. ‘Since you owe me a million bucks,' he said, ‘an' since I don't seem to be getting no answers to my questions, I figured I'd make a side trip, see what's goin' on. You have anythin' to say for yourself, Eddie?'

Leslie hovered at the back of the room, paralysed with fear. She'd known something was up the moment the long black limousine had deposited Carlo Bonnatti at her door with two heavies stationed right behind him. When she'd opened the door he hadn't even asked if he could come in, merely pushed past her, saying a terse ‘I'm here to see Eddie,' as if that was explanation enough.

‘You shouldn't have come here,' Eddie muttered. ‘I don't need this shit. You'll get your money, I told you that last week.'

‘Last week was then,' Carlo said. ‘Now is now. I want my money by Monday morning or you know what you can expect.'

‘Are you threatening me?' Eddie demanded, full of false bravado.

‘Call it a threat if you want,' Carlo replied mildly. ‘You should know one thing – Carlo Bonnatti don't make threats. He makes things happen. Either I get what's owed me by Monday, or you an' I are outta business. In fact—' Carlo rose to his feet – ‘you're likely to find you won't be doing business with nobody.' He walked towards the door, stopping to touch Leslie on her bare shoulder. ‘Pretty wife,' he said. ‘Very pretty.' And then he was gone.

Eddie rushed into the bathroom and threw up. When he emerged, Leslie was waiting, gazing at him expectantly, those damn big eyes staring at him, trusting him to come up with an answer to all of this.

‘I'll go see Mickey,' he said quickly. ‘Don't worry, babe, I'll have this worked out today.'

‘You will?'

‘This is a promise.'

He hugged her and hurried outside to his car.

Now it was Leslie's turn to pace around the house. She didn't know what to do. She only knew Eddie was in trouble, and there had to be some way she could help.

Picking up the phone she dialled Madame Loretta's number.

When the older woman got on the line, Leslie sobbed out her story. ‘Can you help me?' she begged.

‘Leave him,' Madame Loretta advised. ‘You're still young and beautiful. There's plenty of other men. Come back to work. I'll find you another one.'

Leslie was shocked. ‘But I don't want anyone else,' she protested. ‘I love Eddie.'

‘Love's no good,' Madame Loretta warned her. ‘He'll bring you down with him. I've seen this happen before. Leave him, Leslie, before it's too late.'

‘No,' Leslie replied. ‘I could never leave Eddie. I love him.'

‘Then I can't help you,' Madame Loretta said brusquely, and put the phone down.

Eddie Kane allowed his white Maserati to rip on the Pacific Coast Highway. When he hit the freeway he really let loose.

Five minutes later he was pulled over by a motorcycle cop.

The cop was movie-star handsome as he swaggered towards Eddie's window. ‘Hey, bud, you going for a world record or what?' the cop said, pulling out his notebook.

Eddie sensed this was somebody he could deal with. ‘Listen, uh, I got a hot date, you know how it is.'

The cop grinned. He certainly knew how it was.

‘Nice car,' he remarked, pen poised for action.

‘I worked hard to get it,' Eddie said, trying to sound humble.

‘You been drinking?' the cop asked.

Eddie laughed mirthlessly. He knew he looked like a bum. Only the car gave him credibility. ‘Who, me?' he said. ‘Are you serious?'

The cop rocked back and forth on the heels of his boots. ‘Yes, I'm serious. Have you been drinking?'

Eddie forced a friendly smile. ‘Let me introduce myself. Eddie Kane. Head of Distribution at Panther Studios. Hey – did you ever think about being an actor?'

‘Yeah, I've thought about it,' the cop said. ‘Who hasn't, in this town?'

‘Tell you what,' Eddie said in his most persuasive voice. ‘I'll give you my card an' you can call me at the studio. I'll see if I can get you an audition.'

The cop laughed.

Eddie fished out one of his cards and handed it over. ‘I'm serious. What are you laughing at?'

The cop laughed again. ‘I've heard of being discovered, but this is ridiculous!'

‘You've got charisma,' Eddie said, rising to the occasion. ‘You've got the look. And a sense of humour. So come on, I'll try to help you, an' you can help me. Let me go, huh? I'm late for an appointment.'

It was the one good thing that happened to Eddie that day. The cop pocketed his card and waved him on his way.

Undaunted, Eddie did not slow down. He hit the gas all the way to Panther.

Mickey was in a meeting with a writer on one of his special projects. When Eddie burst into his office he was taken by surprise.

Lucky let him through without question. This was her last day at the studio and she didn't care what happened.

The writer, an earnest young man, leaped to his feet as soon as Eddie entered. Eddie looked like a madman with his ten days' growth of beard, crumpled clothes, and wild bloodshot eyes.

‘I'm through takin' shit,' Eddie yelled, placing both hands on Mickey's desk and glaring at him. ‘Carlo Bonnatti came to my house. My fucking
house
, for chrissakes! No more, Mickey. You're in this with me, an' there's no way you're backin' out. Panther's gotta pay him.'

Mickey's eyes narrowed. This was what happened when you tried to assist a friend? ‘Luce,' he shouted.

No acknowledgement.

‘Get the guards up here,' he screamed.

‘You get the fucking guards an' you got more trouble than you ever believed possible,' Eddie yelled, grabbing Mickey by the lapels of his sports jacket. ‘I'll go to Abe Panther. I'll spill the works. Your fat ass won't be worth a dime.'

The writer slowly and carefully backed his way towards the door. He'd heard about these scenes where unhinged maniacs went on a rampage. Sometimes they had a gun. This could get nasty. ‘I'll come back later, Mr. Stolli,' he said.

‘Get your hands off my jacket,' Mickey growled at Eddie.

Fuck you,' replied Eddie.

They began to scuffle.

The writer scuttled out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

Lucky glanced up from her desk.

‘Did you call the guards?' the writer asked urgently.

‘I think they'll be able to work it out between them, don't you?' she said sweetly.

Shaking his head, the writer ran out of there. He was paid to write, not get involved in grudge battles.

* * *

Just as she was recovering from Madame Loretta's callous attitude, the doorbell rang.

Tentatively Leslie peered through the peephole. A woman stood on the other side of the door. A well-dressed, heavily made-up woman. ‘Yes?' Leslie called out. ‘Can I help you?'

‘Where's Eddie?' the woman said irritably.

‘He's not here.'

‘Shit! We had an appointment.'

‘I'm Mrs. Kane,' Leslie said, attempting to assert herself. ‘And who are
you
?'

‘Kathleen Le Paul. Open up this goddamn door.'

Cautiously Leslie opened it an inch, keeping the security chain firmly in place. ‘What do you want?' she asked.

‘Eddie told me to meet him at noon,' Kathleen said. ‘I haven't driven all the way here for nothing. Did he leave me the money?'

‘What money?'

‘The money for his… delivery. I have a package for him.'

‘How much does he owe you?' Leslie asked curiously.

‘Fifteen hundred dollars, cash,' Kathleen replied, thinking to herself she was getting too old for this kind of thing. If Umberto Castelli would only divorce his fat Colombian wife and move to Los Angeles, she could live in luxury instead of being a runner.

‘He didn't mention you or any money,' Leslie said.

Kathleen impatiently tapped a Chanel-clad toe on the sidewalk. ‘Take a look,' she said abruptly. ‘Maybe you'll find he left something for me.'

Leslie shut the door in her face and scurried into the bedroom. Sure enough there was a pile of cash on top of Eddie's dresser.

For a moment she was unsure about what to do. If she refused to accept this package, Eddie could be mad. And yet if she took it and gave the woman money, he could also be angry. Thinking fast, she tried to reach him on his car phone. There was no reply.

By this time Kathleen Le Paul was banging on the door again.

Leslie hurried back to the door.

‘I'm not standing out here all day,' Kathleen Le Paul complained. ‘Do you have the money or don't you?'

Leslie took a deep breath and decided to pay. She went back to his dresser, counted out fifteen hundred dollars, and took it out to the woman.

In return Kathleen handed over the package and left.

When she was gone, Leslie carried the small, wrapped package into the kitchen, put it on the table, and opened it up with a kitchen knife.

Inside there was a small glassine bag filled with white powder.

Carefully Leslie slit the bag and tipped the powder onto the table.

Cocaine.

It was ruining their lives.

It was taking all their money and screwing up their marriage.

She knew what she had to do.

It was incredibly great knowing this was her last day of purgatory. After today she was a free person. No longer Luce – quiet, obedient little secretary. Within hours she was returning to her true identity. Lucky Santangelo. Winner takes all.

It was Friday noon, and at the end of the day she was out of there.

She knew the first thing she'd do. Burn the goddamn wig and dreadful clothes. Smash the vile glasses. And dance around the bonfire chanting thanks like a crazy woman.

After that she'd get on the next plane to New York, and be with Lennie.

Ah… she couldn't wait. A long weekend with her husband was just what they both needed. A very long weekend in bed catching up on all the time they'd been apart. And during the weekend she'd give him the news.

Dear husband, I've brought you a present. I hope you like it
.

Naturally they'd run Panther Studios together. What a trip!

Soon, Bobby would be out of school for summer break. He'd travel with his nanny straight to California. And Lennie had mentioned something about Brigette joining them. It was going to be the most wonderful summer. A real family affair. Maybe she'd even persuade Gino to come out for a week or two.

When Eddie Kane came racing through her office like a deranged maniac, she didn't take much notice. Eddie Kane was Mickey's problem, not hers. In fact, Mickey was going to have a lot of problems to deal with after today – not the least being that on Monday morning he was going to find himself out of a job.

This was the plan. Today, she was out of there. At six o'clock there was a meeting at Abe's house to sign the final papers with both sets of lawyers present. And when all was signed, sealed, and delivered, Panther Studios would be officially hers.

Monday morning Abe had requested the pleasure of announcing the sale himself. He'd already sent an urgent telegram to his other granddaughter, Primrose, and her husband, Ben Harrison, in London, summoning them to the meeting.

Abe had decided to visit the studio in person for the first time in ten years. ‘Can't wait to see their faces,' he'd told Lucky excitedly. ‘Can't wait to present 'em with you, girlie.'

As long as she had the weekend to spend with Lennie, she was ready for anything.

The noises coming from Mickey Stolli's office were becoming violent. Idly she wondered who was getting beat up. In a fight she would put her money on Mickey. He was shorter than Eddie, and older, but he had the real strength. Mickey was a street fighter. She'd recognized that quality in him the first time she'd seen him.

Mickey's writer ran from the office with a panicked expression on his face.

Her intercom was buzzing out of control. ‘Call security,' yelled Mickey. ‘Get 'em up here
now
.'

She could hear Eddie's raised voice. ‘Don't fuck with me, Mickey, 'cause you're fucking with the wrong guy.'

‘
I'm
fucking with the wrong guy?' screamed Mickey. ‘
Me?
Clean up your act, shithead, and get the fuck out of my sight.'

Lucky called the front gate. ‘Can you send a security guard to Mr. Stolli's office please?' she requested.

‘Sure, ma'am,' one of the guards replied. ‘Is it urgent?'

‘It depends what you call urgent,' she said calmly.

‘Life-threatening?'

‘Hardly.'

Before the guard had a chance to arrive, Eddie stormed out of there with a bloodied nose.

Hmmm, Lucky thought, she was right. In a fight it was always the street fighter who came out on top. Eddie was a little too weak around the edges. Too many late nights and too much cocaine.

Mickey emerged from his office in a black fury. ‘You dumb cunt!' he yelled. ‘Don't you ever let anybody in here unless I tell you to. Even if you have to throw yourself in front of my office door and they have to trample over your body, you
do not
let anybody in here. Am I makin' myself clear?'