Lady Boss (62 page)

Rita was bored. She didn't appreciate getting pinched by Emilio's father and three brothers. She wasn't enjoying the experience. At first it had been fun. She could act like a star and tell them all about Hollywood. But now it was a drag and she wanted to leave.

‘Come on, Emilio, let's go,' she whined.

‘Come on, Emilio, let's go,' imitated one of his brothers with a sly nudge to Emilio's ribs. ‘Hot stuff,' he whispered, ‘I wouldn't mind a piece a that.'

‘You gotta wife an' kid,' reminded Emilio.

‘I can wish, can't I?' drooled his brother, making sucking noises with his lips.

Emilio took Rita back to the hotel.

If he could get hold of this Tony guy, maybe he'd have a story.

* * *

Martin took his plane out of New York the next day and flew straight to Detroit, ready to launch the Swanson. It seemed all the publicity linking him with Venus Maria had only helped the enormous press coverage he was receiving. If it sold more cars, why object?

It occurred to him that if he'd persuaded Venus Maria to attend, the publicity would really explode.

That would be something, except that Deena would be furious. As it was she was talking about getting half his money.

No chance. He'd already spoken to his lawyers. Deena would get a reasonable settlement and that was all.

He contemplated what it would be like to be married to Venus Maria. Exciting, that was for sure. Different… Stimulating…

He'd be sorry to lose Deena. In a way she was an asset. But he was forty-six years old and it was time for a more exciting life.

Martin loved being headline news.

* * *

Settled into the health spa, Deena felt perfectly calm. She had a simple solution, and soon she would put it into action.

She was getting closer every day.

Saxon was fixing Venus Maria's hair at her home in preparation for a major shoot with the great Antonio.

‘I feel like a prisoner,' she complained. ‘I can't take a step out of here without being stalked. It's ridiculous.'

‘I know,' Saxon agreed sympathetically.

How could he possibly know what it was like to be emblazoned all over the supermarket rags? Let alone on the cover.

God! If she ever got hold of Emilio again, she'd personally strangle the traitorous son of a bitch. How dare he! HOW DARE HE!

She'd tried to find him, but it appeared he'd run off to hide, for all she could get was his goddamn answering machine.

The second instalment in
Truth and Fact
was a real put-down. A lot of crap about how she wore curlers in her hair, walked around without any makeup, admired herself in the mirror for hours, sometimes wore men's underwear, and liked to swim naked. She felt as if someone had broken into her home. It was such an intrusion.

Saxon strutted around her – moussing and blow-drying, tossing his own mane of thick hair, which was more impressive than any of his clients'.

‘Are you gay?' she asked curiously.

‘No, darling, just happy,' he replied, without taking a beat.

‘Seriously,' she demanded.

He massaged the creamy mousse into her scalp. ‘That's a very personal question.'

Ha! Did he want to talk personal? How would
he
like to be all over the papers?

The truth was he'd probably love it!

‘Well,
are
you?' she persisted.

‘I don't think it's any of your business,' he replied, frothing her hair with his hands.

‘Come on, Saxon, tell me,' she teased. ‘Maybe we could get it on.'

‘You're such a bitch.'

‘And so are you.'

‘If you must know,' he said, enjoying her attention, ‘I swing both ways.'

‘I
love
that expression,' she squealed, ‘it's so old-fashioned. Swing both ways. You know, it kind of brings back memories of the playground. Playing on the swings and the roundabouts – that choice – right? What exactly does it mean? And isn't it awfully dangerous right now?'

‘You ask questions nobody else would dare.'

‘That's why I'm me. Anyway, what
is
your preference?'

He began to laugh. ‘None of your business.'

‘Aw, come
on,
' she wheedled. ‘If you had a choice between, well, say, me and Ron, who would you choose?'

‘Both of you,' he said, wielding his brush.

That shut her up. Grinning, she watched him in the mirror as he attended to her hair.

Saxon had a lot of admiration for Venus Maria. Not only was she a superstar with a full work schedule, but she also found time to support causes and charities she believed in. She worked hard for AIDS and also Mothers Against Drunk Driving and the Rape Crisis Center. She preferred to keep her efforts quiet so they were not construed as publicity opportunities.

‘Since we're on the personal-question kick,' he ventured, ‘what's happening with you and Martin Swanson?'

‘Now you sound like Ron,' she groaned. ‘That's all he wants to know.'

‘You can confide in me. Who am
I
going to tell?'

‘Oh, just about every woman in Beverly Hills. Your salon is gossip heaven. Isn't that what goes on there, Saxon? Everyone talks about everybody else? It's a hotbed of scurrilous rumour!'

‘I can't control it.'

‘That's because you love it.'

He brushed against her. She glanced at his jeans in the mirror. They were almost as tightly packed as the Ken Doll's, and that was saying something.

‘I bet you hear some great scandals in the salon,' she pressed.

‘Let's put it this way – we hear it first.' He smiled proudly.

‘Was everybody talking about Mickey Stolli when he got himself arrested with the hooker?'

‘You could say it was a hot topic of conversation.'

She laughed. ‘But I'm more of a topic, huh?'

‘Not so much
you
as Martin Swanson. They all love Martin Swanson.'

‘They love his money,' she corrected.

‘True. They love his money
and
they love his power. To be a Hollywood Wife you have to marry a man with both those things, and apparently Martin has more than anybody.' He gave a wicked laugh. ‘
Does
he have more than anybody, darling?'

She laughed back. ‘I
never
screw and tell!'

Yves, her makeup artist, arrived next, followed by two stylists and Ron, dragging the Ken Doll behind him.

The Ken Doll had on his usual skin-tight jeans and a white fifties T-shirt, all the better to show off his muscles. He flexed for the stylists.

‘He's been shooting a beer commercial – doesn't he look divine?' Ron said, establishing ownership up front.

‘Divine,' Venus Maria said sarcastically. ‘You know Saxon, don't you?'

‘Do
I
know Saxon?'

‘We were just discussing his sex life,' Venus Maria said wickedly.

‘Really?' said Ron, all interested. ‘And how
are
all those little thirteen-year-old schoolboys, Saxon, dear?'

Saxon shook back his mane of hair and laughed. ‘You've got it all wrong. That's
your
territory, Ron.'

‘Oh, God, there's nothing worse than bantering fags,' giggled Venus Maria.

At noon the great photographer Antonio arrived, accompanied by several hard-working assistants.

‘Baby!' Venus greeted him.

‘
Bellissima!
' gushed Antonio.

They hugged and kissed.

Antonio was extremely famous, extremely temperamental, and extremely tight when it came to spending money. Fortunately he rarely had to put his hand into his pocket because the magazines who assigned him to photograph the various stars always paid.
Style Wars
, for whom this shoot was taking place, didn't pay as much as other publications, but that was because
Style Wars
was way ahead of the pack. It was the magazine of the moment – the avant-garde
must
read, a combination of
Vanity Fair
and
Interview
.

Antonio prowled around her house followed by his minions, deciding where he would shoot the cover picture. Usually Venus Maria did not allow photo sessions at her home, but for Antonio and
Style Wars
she'd made an exception.

‘What do you think, darling?' Antonio asked. ‘The bedroom? Miss Venus Maria in the centre of her bed, naked with only the black silk sheet to cover her beauty.'

Venus Maria quite got off on the idea of nothing except a thin silk sheet between her and her voracious public. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I like it.'

‘Why not, darling? You are the big star. Glamour is everything.'

‘What do
you
think, Ron?' she asked, turning to her closest advisor.

‘Sounds good to me,' he replied, busy thinking about the surprise birthday party he'd planned for her. She was going to be twenty-six in three days' time, and he'd been planning the surprise party for six weeks. It was going to be a fantastic affair if all went according to plan.

‘Imagine,' Antonio said, gesturing wildly as he spoke. ‘Your body,
bellissima
, one leg exposed. Your blond hair piled up on top of your head. And black silk up to your chin. Maybe we go wild and one breast escapes.'

‘No nudity,' Venus said firmly. ‘I've never done it in photographs, and I never will.'

‘For Antonio, you change your mind.'

For Antonio she'd do a lot of things, but she'd decided right at the beginning of her career that she would never take her clothes off for media consumption.

Not that she couldn't if she wanted to. She had beautiful breasts. Not too big. Not too small. Just perfect.

Perfect Venus Maria breasts. She smiled to herself.

Antonio described to Saxon how he wanted her hair to look.

Saxon understood perfectly. A tumble of wild curls, the hair piled on top of the head, a few tantalizing strands escaping on each side.

‘You'll look great, Venus,' he enthused.

‘Naturally she look great,' Antonio announced. ‘Antonio – he say so.'

While her hair was up in rollers, the makeup artist went to work.

Antonio checked out the clothes the stylists had brought with them, just in case he decided she should wear anything at all. He discarded everything, obviously in love with the black silk sheet idea.

In the middle of it all Martin called. Her feelings were ambiguous. Since the rush of publicity he'd been particularly cagey towards her. They'd spent one night together in the Bel Air Hotel, and apart from that he'd told her he was too busy with the Orpheus takeover, and that he felt he was being followed and had to check with his lawyers because he didn't want to give Deena cause to take him for everything he had. And then he'd returned to New York.

Understandable, but still it pissed her off. Either Martin committed himself or he didn't. She wasn't going to be the Hollywood girlfriend any longer.

‘I'm in Detroit,' he said, like she was anxiously awaiting news of his whereabouts.

‘Really,' she replied coolly.

‘You sound mad.'

‘I
am
mad, Martin. I refuse to sit around waiting for you any longer. When you were out here we saw each other once – it's not enough. Now you've been back in New York for almost a week and I've heard nothing from you. What's happening with you and Deena?'

‘It's no good talking on the phone,' he said, sounding very businesslike. ‘I need to be with you.'

‘In that case you'll have to make a choice.'

‘I've made a choice.'

‘You have?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you going to let me in on it?'

He took a deep breath and announced, ‘I'm leaving Deena.'

She'd been waiting months to hear him say those words, and yet when she heard them she felt a cold chill. Did she really want to be with Martin all the time? Was this the relationship of her dreams?

‘Well?' he demanded impatiently. ‘Don't you have anything to say?'

‘I'm shocked,' she managed.

‘Why are you shocked?'

‘Because I never thought you'd do it.'

‘I'm doing it for you. I'll launch the Swanson, and then I'm flying out to see you.'

‘Are you coming here for me or Orpheus?'

He conveniently forgot about his promise to Deena. She'd never find out anyway. ‘You, Venus. We'll be together and discuss our future.'

‘Sounds serious.'

‘I
am
serious. Very serious.'

‘Hmm… we'll see.'

‘Who was that?' asked Ron when she returned to her dressing room.

‘You're so goddamn nosy. You know perfectly well who it was. Martin, of course.'

‘Ah… And is Superstud flying to your side?'

‘Good guess.'

Ron's mind starting racing. If he could arrange to have Martin at the surprise party it would really make her evening.

While she'd been on the phone, Antonio had obviously fallen in love with the Ken Doll.

‘We shall put him in the background,' Antonio decided, pointing in the Ken Doll's direction. ‘You, Venus darling, on the bed. Ken, he lean against the headboard. It will look marvellous, so… how you say… macho. Ken, unbutton the top of your jeans.' He clicked his fingers for one of the stylists. ‘And we tear the T-shirt. Very Marlon Brando, very sixties.'

‘I think you mean fifties,' corrected Ron, eager to score points. ‘Of course I wasn't born then, but
you
would know, wouldn't you?'

Antonio ignored Ron.

‘Mmm…' murmured Saxon. ‘I sense trouble in paradise.'

Venus Maria was primed and painted. Her platinum hair was curled and pinned atop her head, her body was smoothly covered with makeup. Clad in a brief pair of bikini panties and with nothing else but her hands to cover her modesty, she arranged herself under the black silk sheets the stylist had draped on her bed.