Hollywood Sinners

46



Days later, at the Vegas palace he called home, Frank Bernstein uncorked his finest bottle of vintage Krug with a great flourish. A twist of vapour escaped at the neck before it was emptied into a spread of waiting glasses.

‘What did I tell ya?’ he boomed, slapping Robert hard on the back. ‘I knew you’d do the right thing, son, I knew it all along.’ He raised his glass. ‘To the wedding!’

Robert smiled at Elisabeth as everyone lifted their crystal flutes-Bernstein, looking more leathery than usual after a business trip to Sicily; Christie Carmen, clad in a microscopic pair of silver hot pants; and Jessica, with lips slightly pursed, as usual, at her sister being the centre of attention.

‘Mr and Mrs St Louis,’ said Elisabeth, savouring the words as she took a drink.

Her father nodded, satisfied. Thank Christ this damn union was finally going ahead. He’d thought back in France they were cooling things off, taking their time. Not on his watch.

There was too much at stake. Elisabeth had to get down that aisle and not a moment too soon.

‘How long will this take?’ moaned Jessica, already thinking about her outfit for the New Year’s party she was attending that evening.

Ignoring her, Bernstein took Robert’s arm and they moved away from the women.

‘You know what this means, right, St Louis?’ At the window they stopped and he put a hand on the younger man’s back. ‘You and I got some talking t’do.’

Robert ran a hand through his dark hair. He was tired. ‘We have? ‘

‘The future,’ said Bernstein, lighting a Cuban and angling his body away from the girls. A curl of smoke escaped out the side of his mouth. ‘You got responsibilities now.’

‘I know my responsibilities, Bernstein.’

‘Damn right. An’ now I’m tellin’ you, you got some more. Capiche? ‘

‘I won’t be threatened.’ Robert kept his voice down. ‘You can tell your associates it’s not happening.’

‘Wake the hell up, kid. What makes you think you’re any cleaner than the rest of us?’

‘I told you, I’m not interested.’

‘Well, get interested.’ Bernstein’s eyes darted to his daughter. ‘Call it insurance. One of these days you’re gonna need someone t’watch your back, an’ Elisabeth’s, an’ the kids’.’ He leaned in. ‘You got a story I could wipe my ass on? Think about it, wise guy.’

Robert’s head snapped up. What did Bernstein know?

He was being paranoid. Christmas had been and gone since Lana’s visit, but still he couldn’t get her out of his head. Every night since he had replayed it and tried to find a different outcome. The bottom line was: he’d blown it.

Sleep had eluded him that night of the dinner, knowing she was close by, closer than she’d been in years. He’d lain awake and thought of her in his hotel, making love to her perfectly pleasant but strangely artificial husband; of all the things he wanted to do but couldn’t. In the end he had given up and crept out of bed, careful not to wake Elisabeth, and spent the early hours composing a number of letters, none of which said what was important and all of which were balled up and thrown in the trash. He had dressed at six, waited an hour and then headed to the Orient, resolved to find her. He hadn’t prepared what he would say, but knew when he saw her that he’d find the words.

But she had already gone. He was too late.

‘Can you please tell your girlfriend to put some clothes on?’ Elisabeth drifted over in a mist of Chanel, a distasteful expression on her face. ‘It’s like the Playboy mansion in here.’

Bernstein chuckled as his eyes feasted on Christie Carmen, burbling on to a fed-up-looking Jessica, her ass like a split peach. He patted his stomach as though he’d just eaten a big and satisfying meal.

As soon as he moved off she pounced on Robert. ‘What was he talking to you about?’

‘Nothing important.’ Robert twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers.

Elisabeth was suspicious. Her sister’s words came back to her.

Something Daddy’s not telling us.

‘It looked important,’ she said, narrowing her eyes.

‘It wasn’t.’

She held up her hand, showing him her engagement ring like an identity badge. Elisabeth loved diamonds. It struck Robert then that he’d never thought he would marry a woman about whom he could say that.

‘We’re going to be married,’ she announced. ‘Let’s start by being honest.’

Elisabeth was shocked at how far she could push her hypocrisy. It’s easier to point the finger, isn’t it?

‘Can I get everyone’s attention?’ bellowed Bernstein, mercifully coming to the rescue. His terracotta face was cracked in a wide smile as he fondled Christie Carmen’s behind. ‘Me an’ Christie’ve got a special announcement of our own.’

‘What is it?’ asked Jessica, impatiently tapping her foot.

‘Well …’ said Bernstein, giving Christie a quick kiss on the lips, ‘we’re tying the knot.’

‘What?’ Elisabeth made no attempt to conceal her shock. She turned to Robert for reassurance. He shrugged. Jessica started laughing.

‘An’ you know what this calls for?’

‘More champagne!’ recommended Jessica, hiccupping.

‘Honeys,’ Bernstein held his arms out to Christie and Elisabeth, ‘this is gonna be the double wedding of the century!’

‘What do you want?’ Elisabeth said coldly, pushing past Alberto Bellini and stalking into her dressing room.

‘I had to see you.’ He followed her in and closed the door. ‘It has been too long.’

‘Forget it, Alberto. I have.’

Elisabeth pulled off her clothes and lifted a Dior gown from where it hung in waiting. She stood for a moment in her underwear, trying to work out how to put it on.

‘Could I get a little privacy?’ she snapped, sliding her wrists through the armholes.

Alberto watched her hungrily, his eyes scanning her body. ‘We must talk.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ She turned and unfastened her bra, tossing it over the back of a chair. ‘Now, please, I’ve got a show to do.’ Dropping the fabric over her head and trying to tug it down to cover herself, she thought she heard a tear. Shit!

There was a tentative knock at the door.

‘I’m capable of dressing myself!’ barked Elisabeth blindly through the folds of material. Why did Alberto have to choose now of all times to make an appearance? The New Year Show wasn’t something she could afford to blow.

‘Let me help, bellissima,’ he crooned, approaching her half-clothed form.

Elisabeth gritted her teeth. She felt Alberto’s rough hands pull gently at the fabric, and a couple of times the cold metal of his rings as they brushed against her naked skin. His face was close to hers, she could feel his hot breath. Her nipples hardened and she realised she was aching to be touched.

‘Thank you,’ she said tartly, as with a final movement he slipped the dress over her head.

‘My Elisabeth,’ he whispered. He looked in her sea-blue eyes. ‘How I have missed you.’

Elisabeth shook her head. ‘Give it up, Alberto.’ She dragged an ivory-handled brush through her hair, now something of a nest after the scuffle with the gown. ‘Our night together was a mistake. I’m sorry for having led you on. I’m marrying Robert and that’s the end of it. Please,’ she looked at him, ‘let’s forget it ever happened.’

‘Amore mio,’ Alberto murmured, ‘I cannot forget.’

‘Then try.’

He shook his head sadly. ‘Do you disregard all that we talked about?’

‘I made a mistake,’ Elisabeth retorted sharply, spritzing fragrance behind her ears. ‘This is my future, Alberto, and you had better get used to it.’

In a heartbeat he was behind her, his fingers tracing a line down her spine. ‘You cannot erase the passion we have shared.’ He planted a chain of soft kisses across her shoulders.

‘Passion?’ She tried to make a joke of it. But she could feel her resolve crumbling.

What is one last time? she reasoned as Alberto began to kiss her neck. His hands crept round and cupped her breasts, caressing her between a finger and thumb, covering her delicate frame with his bear paws. She turned, and in a flash his lips were on hers. In her heels she was almost as tall as him and could smell the ginger in his hair. When he placed his hands on her waist, they were so big they almost met round the middle.

Call it one last time before she walked down the aisle, Elisabeth thought. Call it a lucky charm before the show. Call it a poison she had to bleed. She ignored the voice that called it different. Call it infidelity.