Lady Boss by Jackie Collins Page A

didn’t help. Sweat moistened every inch of her, and she could hardly stop the thick pebble glasses from sliding off her nose. Playing dressing-up was not exactly dinner with Al Pacino.
    â€˜Oh,’ said Olive, the woman with the English accent and floral print dress who’d given her directions earlier. ‘It’s you again.’
    Lucky attempted a pleasant expression. ‘’Fraid so. Mr. Stone sent me over to collect some papers.’
    â€˜Yes.’ Olive appeared flustered. ‘Mr. Stolli will get them to Mr. Stone later in the week.’
    Why?
Lucky wanted to ask.
What’s wrong with now?
Instead she mock-groaned. ‘Don’t tell me I’ve come all the way over here for nothing?’
    Olive put on a suitably sympathetic face. ‘It is hot, isn’t it?’
    Noticing a water-cooler in the corner, Lucky asked if she might have a drink.
    â€˜Certainly,’ Olive said crisply, although her eyes darted towards the door to the inner sanctum, as if she needed Mickey Stolli’s approval.
    Lucky approached the water-cooler and took a long refreshing drink, using the time to check out her surroundings. The outer office was painted a cool light beige, with matching wall-to-wall carpet, and a large modern window overlooked fancy landscaping. Quite a difference from Herman Stone’s dreary space. On the walls were perma-plaqued pictures of Mickey Stolli with various celebrities and politicians.
    A sudden commotion took place as a woman swept through the door, paused dramatically, and said, ‘Olive, dear, is he here?’
    Olive jumped to her feet. ‘Miss Rush. He’s expecting you.’
    A tinkling, phony laugh. ‘Of
course
he is.’
    Susie Rush was petite and slim, with straggly yellow hair artfully arranged in neat curls, wide pale blue eyes, porcelain skin, and thin lips. She was almost pretty, certainly petulant. She did not have the presence of a movie star. More girl-next-door than Marilyn Monroe.
    Olive buzzed her boss, who apparently didn’t hesitate once he got the news. Throwing open the door to his office, along with his arms, he exclaimed, ‘Susie, my
pet!
Come in.’
    Susie my pet ran straight into his welcoming arms and nuzzled for a moment or two. Small mewing sounds could be heard. Then the two of them, still in full embrace, entered his office and slammed the door shut.
    Olive’s nostrils flared. A sign of disapproval? Lucky couldn’t be sure. ‘Wasn’t that Susie Rush?’ she asked brightly.
    â€˜You must
never
ask for autographs,’ Olive admonished sternly. ‘It’s a studio rule.’
    â€˜I wasn’t planning on doing so,’ Lucky couldn’t help responding.
    Olive ignored her, busying herself with a pile of papers on her desk. Susie Rush being in her boss’s office was obviously not a thrilling happening.
    â€˜Is there somewhere around here for lunch?’ Lucky asked in her best polite voice, hoping to win Olive over.
    â€˜The commissary,’ Olive replied, without looking up.
    â€˜Maybe we can lunch together,’ Lucky ventured.
    â€˜I rarely eat lunch,’ Olive replied brusquely. ‘The commissary is halfway between here and your office. Do give my regards to your aunt.’ It was a dismissal, firm and proper.
    So… English Olive had a thing about her boss, who was very obviously kissing Susie Rush’s ass – if not other parts of her anatomy.
    Veree interesting
.
    And Mickey Stolli did not want to hand over the budget sheets on his three big movies in production. Even more interesting.
    These weren’t important discoveries, but it was a start. And at least she’d got a look at the first ‘scum-in-law’, Mickey Stolli, a bronzed bullet of a man with cobra eyes and a phony whiter-than-white smile.
    Outside the gleaming structure there was a pleasant walkway lined with shady trees, banks of flowers, and in the middle an elaborate