The Last Don - Mario Puzo [209]
“Of course,” Molly said. “I must say I was surprised when you gave me your instructions. I had no idea you and Athena were so close. And besides she’s pretty rich in her own right.”
“She may need more money than she has,” Cross said.
“Her daughter?” Molly said. “I know about her. I’m Athena’s personal attorney. You’re right, Bethany may need that money. I had you figured differently.”
“You did?” Cross said. “How so?”
Molly said quietly, “I had the idea that you took care of Boz Skannet. I had you figured as a Mafia guy with no mercy. I remember about that poor kid I got off from a murder rap. And that you mentioned him. And that he was killed supposedly in some drug deal.”
“And now you see how wrong you were,” Cross said, smiling at her.
Molly looked at him coldly. “And I was very surprised when you let Bobby Bantz screw you out of your profit share in Messalina.”
“That was small potatoes,” Cross said. He thought of the Don and David Redfellow.
“Athena is going to France the day after tomorrow,” Molly said. “For quite a while. Are you going with her?”
“No,” Cross said. “I have too many things here.”
“OK,” Molly said. “I’ll see you at the movie screening and the wrap party. Maybe the rough cut of the film will give you an idea of the fortune Bantz gypped you out of.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Cross said.
“You know, Dita put in a card at the beginning of the rough cut. Dedicated to Steve Stallings. Bantz will be really pissed off at that.”
“Why?” Cross asked.
“Because Steve screwed all the women Bantz couldn’t,” Molly said. “What shits men are,” she added. Then she left.
Cross went to sit on his balcony. The Vegas street below him was crowded, people sifting into the hotel casinos that lined the strip on either side. The neon marquees flashed their signs: Caesars, the Sands, the Mirage, the Aladdin, the Desert Inn, the Stardust—purples, reds, and greens, a mixed rainbow to which there was no end until you lifted your eyes to the desert and mountains that lay beyond. The blazing afternoon sun could not subdue them.
The Messalina people would not begin to arrive until three, and then he would see Athena for the last time if things went wrong. He picked up the balcony phone and called the Villa where he had housed Lia Vazzi and told him to come up to the penthouse suite so that they could go over their plans one more time.
Messalina wrapped at noon. Dita Tommey had wanted the last shot of the rising sun illuminating a terrible slaughter of the Roman battlefield. Athena and Steve Stallings looking down. She shot a double for Stallings and used a shadow over his face for disguise. It was nearly three in the afternoon before the camera truck, the huge mobile trailers that served as homes on the set, the mobile catering kitchens, the wardrobe trailers and vehicles carrying weapons of the time before Christ, rolled into Vegas. Many others came as well, because Cross had treated this occasion in the Old Vegas style.
He had comped everyone who worked on Messalina, above the line and below the line, with room, food, and beverage. LoddStone Studios had supplied the list of over three hundred names. Certainly it was generous, certainly it created goodwill. But these three hundred people would leave a substantial part of their wages in the casino drop. This he had learned from Gronevelt. “When people feel good, when they want to celebrate, they gamble.”
The rough cut of the movie Messalina would be played at ten P.M., but without music and special effects. After the screening would come the wrap party. The huge Xanadu ballroom where the party for Big Tim had been held was cut into two parts. One to show the film, the other, larger part for the buffet and orchestra.
By four in the afternoon, everybody was in the Hotel and the Villas. It was not to be missed by anyone: everything free in the convergence of two glamorous worlds, Hollywood and Las Vegas.
The press was infuriated by the tight security. Access was barred