Goddess of Vengeance - Jackie Collins [39]
After a while Paulo approached and whispered discreetly in his ear that Zeena, the outrageous superstar, was requesting his presence at her table.
Ah, Zeena! They’d had a few run-ins, the last one in Vegas where she’d unexpectedly appeared in his shower and given him head, later practically announcing it on stage in the middle of her concert, this all happening while he was on his first date with Denver. Not easy explaining that little incident to Denver; it had gotten them off to a rocky start. But fortunately everything had worked out, and the last thing he needed was Zeena screwing things up again.
He instructed Paulo to make sure there was no one taking any photos in the club – had to watch out for cell phones – then reluctantly he made his way over to Zeena’s table, where she was holding court with her usual entourage of hangers-on, and her latest boyfriend, an emaciated English actor famous for playing a blood-crazed vampire on TV.
Zeena was her usual over-the-top self – half Brazilian, half Native American, her exotic beauty could be quite mesmerizing.
‘Bobbee,’ she purred in her low-down husky voice. ‘Zeena hasn’t seen you for too long. Where has my Bobbee been?’
He stared into her cat-like eyes and realized that the crush he’d once had on her was long gone. ‘Around,’ he said casually, shaking the hand of her pale-faced boyfriend.
‘Maybe Zeena should come visit you,’ Zeena suggested. ‘You like?’
Vampire boyfriend spoke up. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘He wouldn’t like, and neither would I.’
At last! Zeena had finally hooked up with someone who wasn’t afraid to stand up to her.
Bobby laughed, easing the sudden tension. ‘Zeena, always the joker,’ he said smoothly, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. ‘I’m sending your table more champagne. Enjoy.’
And before she could respond with another unwelcome come-on, he was on his way to the next booth where Adrian Brody and his friend, Dieter Abt, were ensconced with a group of beautiful models, male and female.
A fast escape. The best kind.
* * *
‘Y’know,’ Lucky said affectionately, ‘if I didn’t know any better I would swear you weren’t a day over seventy. You’re amazing!’
Gino roared with laughter. Remarkably he still had all his teeth, and although his hair was grey, it was still there. Age had not bowed him. ‘I’m in my nineties, kiddo,’ he said. ‘Outlived ’em all. An’ I don’t regret a minute of the life I lived. ’Cept maybe when you an’ me wasn’t talkin’.’
‘Well, that didn’t last, did it?’ she said, remembering their many famous fights over the years.
‘Naw. Knew it wouldn’t,’ Gino answered, grinning. ‘You’re easy.’
‘Sure I am,’ Lucky replied sarcastically.
They were sitting together in Lucky’s favourite restaurant at The Keys, a small cosy Italian place tucked away in a corner spot, aptly called Gino’s. The restaurant served all the food Gino loved. Meatballs with garlic and a rich tomato sauce. Penne pasta. Tasty veal chops with roasted Tuscany potatoes and myriad vegetables. Plus an assortment of pizzas named after various members of the Santangelo family.
Paige had elected not to join them, claiming she was tired, but Lucky knew it was because Paige was smart enough to know they enjoyed spending time together, just the two of them.
‘How’s little Max?’ Gino wanted to know. ‘Still plannin’ her escape?’
‘Oh yes,’ Lucky said ruefully. ‘There’s no stopping that one.’
‘Just like you, Lucky, huh?’ Gino said, nodding at the memories.
‘I hope not. I was a wild one.’
‘You still are, kiddo, you still are.’
‘Thanks, Gino, but I don’t know about that.’
‘Yeah, well, I do. You inherited the Santangelo balls, that’s what makes you such a winner. An’ you gotta teach Max how t’deal.’
‘She’s pretty smart, Gino.’
‘Not as smart as you when you were her age—’
‘There’s plenty