Dangerous Kiss (31 page)

'I hate to keep telling you, sweetheart,' Lennie had said, more interested in getting back to his computer than anything else, 'it's none of our business.'

Oh, yes, it is, Lucky had thought. Somebody has to look out for her. And I guess that somebody is going to be me.

She'd immediately phoned Lina, who'd just checked into the Bel Air Hotel ready to start shooting her movie with Charlie Dollar.

Lina had no idea what Brigette was up to either. Like Lucky and Lennie, she'd received the occasional postcard with no real information.

'Did Brigette send you a photo?' Lucky asked.

'No… but I've been in Paris for the collections,' Lina explained. 'Flew directly to LA.'

'Do you happen to be free for lunch?'

'For you, Lucky. Yes.'

'Good. It's important that we talk.'

They met in the garden of the Bel Air Hotel, a leafy paradise with attentive waiters and delicious food. Lucky sat down, ordered a Perrier, lit a cigarette, and as soon as Lina arrived, got straight to the point. 'She married the guy.'

'What? Lina exclaimed. 'Who is 'e?'

'See if you know him,' Lucky said, handing her the photo. 'This arrived today.'

'Bleedin' 'ell!' Lina squealed, peering at the photo. 'It's the Italian bloke she thought raped her.'

Lucky stubbed out her cigarette. 'You've got to be kidding?'

'No, that's 'im all right,' Lina said, still studying the photograph.

'Obviously she must have been mistaken about the rape.'

'Obviously,' Lina agreed. 'Oh, boy… ain't love grand? I know 'is cousin - shall I talk to 'im, see what 'e knows?'

'Good idea,' Lucky said. 'Maybe at the same time you can find out where she is.'

As soon as she got back to her room, Lina called Fredo, who was as shocked as everyone else.

'I will telephone Italy and get back to you,' he'd promised.

'Not a word about the whole drugged-drink thing,' Lina said. 'It can't 'ave happened if she's married 'im, can it?'

'I understand,' Fredo said, obviously anxious to get off the phone and find out the real story.

He phoned back twenty minutes later. 'It is true,' he said, in shock. 'They were married at the Palace.'

'Are Brigette an' Carlo still there?' Lina asked.

'No. They left on a honeymoon.'

Lina reported in to Lucky, who immediately decided she'd better have Count Carlo Vittorio Vitri investigated. She contacted the private detective agency she used, and they immediately went to work.

Finally, Brigette phoned. 'We're coming to LA,' she announced over the phone from Portofino. 'Carlo wants to meet everyone.'

'And about time!' Lucky exclaimed. 'I'm so mad at you for running off the way you did and marrying in secret. I wanted to be at your wedding. So did Lennie and the kids. Not to mention you not conferring with your lawyers before you did it.

Brigette, you have to realize, you are not an ordinary girl, you have big responsibilities. As soon as you get here, we must sit down and go over everything.'

'You're not my mother, Lucky,' Brigette said, in a flat voice. 'I'm aware of my responsibilities, so is Carlo. In fact, he's the one who wants to meet with my lawyers. We're stopping in New York on our way to LA.'

Lucky was shocked at Brigette's unfriendly tone. 'What's the matter with you?'

'I resent being told what to do.'

'I'm merely pointing out that you'll be inheriting a vast amount of money, and you have to be careful.'

'I know,' Brigette said impatiently. 'Carlo and I will be there next week. We're staying at the Four Seasons.'

'We'd like to throw a party for you,' Lucky said. 'So we can all celebrate.'

'I… I don't know,' Brigette answered tentatively. 'I'll have to check with Carlo.'

'Does Carlo make all your decisions now?' Lucky asked, unable to keep a sharp edge out of her voice.

'No, Lucky, he doesn't,' Brigette snapped. 'Why would you think that?'

'The way you're talking…'

'Anyway, you'll like him. He's a count, very handsome. And Italian. Gino will be pleased about that.'

'There's more to a person than good looks.'

'Don't be mad at me, Lucky,' Brigette pleaded, suddenly sounding like her old self. 'I can't stand it when you're mad at me.'

'What about your career?' Lucky said, knowing how much Brigette's success meant to her. 'Your agent's not exactly thrilled about you running off. You'd better call in and tell her where you are.'

'Carlo doesn't want me to work,' Brigette said.

'What?

'He says it's not necessary.'

'Why? Is he jealous?' Silence. 'Oh, God! Don't tell me you've married a jealous Italian, the worst kind.'

'He loves me,' Brigette said. 'That's all that matters, isn't it?'

How naive and sweet. Typical Brigette. Her judgement of men was irreparably damaged; she always trusted the wrong ones.

Lucky hung up, hoping and praying that Brigette hadn't got caught up in another bad scene.

Shortly after their conversation, the detective agency delivered a report on Carlo.

According to their research he was from a good but impoverished family, had been a playboy around Rome before going to London to work in a bank, and had been engaged to an English heiress. They had parted abruptly on a sour note shortly after he met Brigette.

Lucky feared the worst, that he'd homed in on Brigette for her money.

Not that her goddaughter wasn't beautiful - she was totally gorgeous and sweet and successful. But Lucky's gut instinct told her it was the Stanislopoulos fortune Carlo was after. And control. Italian men got off on control.

Oh, well, soon Brigette would be in LA, and there was nothing Lucky could do now except simply wait and see.

And watch… very, very carefully.

Chapter Fifty-three

'Surely you are not wearing that?' Carlo said, his voice filled with criticism. They were standing in the living room of Brigette's New York apartment.

'What's wrong with it?' she asked, smoothing down the waistline of her long-sleeved dress.

'Makes you look fat.'

'I am fat,' she said flatly. 'I'm almost four months pregnant.'

Actually, she wasn't fat at all, she was painfully thin. Only her stomach protruded.

The heroin Carlo had been feeding her on a regular basis had sucked the energy out of her. She was still beautiful, but not the glowing beauty she'd been two months ago. Now she was deathly pale, with sunken cheeks and huge, bright blue staring eyes. She personified the currently popular heroin-chic look - but in her case it had become the real thing.

'I'll change,' she said dully, realizing that whatever she changed into she had better keep her arms covered. The tell-tale tracks were becoming a problem. 'If you're sure you don't like this dress.'

'I suggest that you do change,' Carlo said, sipping a martini as he continued staring at her critically. 'Now that you are a contessa, Brigette, I would appreciate it if you would make an effort to look the part. Right now you look like a puttana!'

Sometimes he could be mean and cruel, other times kind and loving. She was never sure what sort of mood he'd be in.

There were moments she considered him to be the most wonderful man in the world. Other times she hated him with a deep, dark loathing.

Despite the mood, however, whatever he said, she did. It wasn't worth upsetting him: his temper tantrums were too violent to endure.

She sighed. Carlo was her life. He supplied the drugs that kept her happy, and the insidious heroin was all she cared about. She'd never known such euphoria, such a feeling of peace and joy each time after she shot up. Every trouble she'd ever experienced vanished - it was as if she were floating on a gossamer cloud of pure pleasure. She lived for the shots that Carlo's acquaintance had taught her to administer to herself.

The events of the last couple of months were more or less a blur. She vaguely remembered Carlo taking her to his apartment in London, where she'd been injected with drugs on a twice-daily basis, until eventually she'd been unable to function without them. And by the time he'd told her she was free to go, she'd had no desire to go anywhere. Carlo was the keeper of her heroin supply, and she had no intention of trying to stop using it, since it was the first time she'd felt free and alive and totally happy. Especially when Carlo made love to her, which he did frequently.

She depended on Carlo for everything, conveniently forgetting that it was he who'd forced her into such a position, because when he was sure she was truly hooked, he'd lured her with his charm, constantly telling her how much he adored her, making love to her with a fiery passion that left her breathless.

After a while they'd said goodbye to London and started travelling around Europe. Carlo was with her day and night, never letting her out of his sight.

One morning, after a night of passionate lovemaking, he'd informed her they should get married, for surely it was as obvious to her as it was to him that they were destined to be together for ever. Somehow she'd agreed, and later that day he'd driven her to his parents' palace outside Rome, where a priest had performed the simple ceremony in the garden, with only Carlo's family and a few servants present.

She was too out of it to understand what she was getting into. Besides, it seemed like the right thing to do, for Carlo was constantly telling her that he loved her more than any man had ever loved her before, so why shouldn't they be married?

After the brief ceremony they'd stayed in Rome only one night, then they'd set off on a honeymoon trip around Europe.

When they'd arrived at the first hotel, Carlo had handed her one of her chequebooks, instructing her to pre-sign dozens of cheques. 'I'm waiting for some money from England,' he'd said vaguely. 'In the meantime…'

She didn't care, money meant nothing to her.

A week later Carlo informed her that he thought it was best if she gave up her modelling career. She agreed readily. Who gave a damn about work? All she cared about was getting high.

One night in Paris they bumped into Kyra Kattleman at a disco. 'Oh my God!'

Kyra squeaked, in her incongruous baby voice. 'I hardly recognized you, Brig.

You must've lost thirty pounds.'

'This is my husband,' Brigette said, a blank expression on her face. 'Count Carlo Vittorio Vitti.'

'I know you!' Kyra exclaimed. 'You're the guy from the restaurant in London. You two got married. Way cool. Are you doing the Paris shows this year?'

Brigette had shaken her head. 'Not me. I've given up working.'

'Wow!' Kyra exclaimed. 'Maybe that's what I should do.'

After a while, Carlo decided they should go to America and meet with her lawyers. 'I must see exactly how your money is handled,' he told her. 'How do we know they're looking after it properly? I am the only one who has your best interests at heart, Brigette, the only person you can trust. All your life you've had people leeching off you. Now I will oversee everything.'

'My lawyers handle my trust and all of my investments,' she'd said. 'I'm sure they do a good job.'

'It might be prudent for you to give me power of attorney,' he'd suggested. 'That way I can make sure nobody steals from you.'

So far New York had been a nightmare. Her team of lawyers were concerned and angry that Carlo was attempting to interfere and take over. They'd tried to pull her aside and warn her that giving any kind of control to her husband was not a good idea. But Carlo had made sure they did not get her alone for more than a few brief moments.

'I liked it better in Europe,' she complained to Carlo, Where people left us alone.'

'I know, cara,' he answered, in one of his caring moods, 'but we must get this settled so you and I can enjoy our lives. I was thinking that we should buy a house outside Rome. You could live there quietly with the baby, while I travel and take care of business. Would that please you, my sweet?'

As long as I have what I need every day, she wanted to say. But she didn't. She merely smiled, high as usual.

Sometimes she thought about the moment she'd told him she was pregnant. At first he'd been furious. 'Whose baby is it?' he'd demanded. 'What bastard did this to you? Slut! Whore! Who did you sleep with?'

'It's your baby, Carlo,' she'd assured him. 'I haven't slept with anyone else. It happened that night in New York.'

When he'd realized she was speaking the truth, he was pleased. 'It had better be a boy,' he kept on repeating. 'A boy who looks like me.'

Doctors were not on her agenda. She was scared to have the test that would tell her the sex of the baby. She was also smart enough to know that doctors would try to stop the drugs that allowed her to get through each day.

Carlo had found a doctor in New York who did not ask awkward questions. They went to see him together and, after examining her, the doctor warned her that she had to give up drugs, otherwise her baby would be born addicted.

'Oh, yes, Doctor,' she'd lied sweetly. 'I intend to.'

'I can help you,' he'd said. 'There's a methadone programme we can put you on.

You have to do this, Brigette.'

'I'll be back,' she'd said. 'Maybe then.'

'You've got to get off that shit soon,' Carlo had said, when they left the man's office. 'It would not do for our baby to be born addicted.'

'You got me on it,' she'd pointed out. 'I don't want to stop.'

'Of course not,' he'd spat in disgust. 'Because deep down you're a drug whore -

exactly like your mother.'

She knew she should never have confided in him about Olympia, but in moments of intimacy she'd told him everything because when he was in a loving mood there was no one as sweet as her Carlo.

Now they were preparing to go out to dinner with Fredo, something she had no desire to do. She fumbled through her closet, muttering to herself. She hated it when Carlo was mad at her. All she asked for was peace and harmony and to be left alone. And to have her drugs.

After a while she pulled out a simple black Calvin Klein dress and a tuxedo jacket that hid her slightly protruding stomach. She changed quickly, pinning up her long blonde hair and adding jet drop earrings. The result was stunning.