Angelo Bassalino had been sent to London after the trouble. It was only a temporary move, a discreet way of getting rid of him until the Camparo family calmed down. Gina Camparo was to be married soon, and after the ceremony—a few months, perhaps—the whole incident would be forgotten, and Angelo could be brought safely home.
Enzio had been somewhat amused by the whole affair. Angelo was his true son, a boy who let nothing stand in the way of his fine upstanding Bassalino prick.
It had been a touchy situation, and if Angelo had not been Enzio’s son, he might have found himself lodging inside a block of cement at the bottom of the East River. To screw a girl was one thing, but not at her engagement party to another man, and not where her brother and fiancé could discover you. And not when the girl was the daughter of a powerful rival—albeit a friendly one.
So Angelo was dispatched to London. There were gambling interests he could take care of there, and without too much effort Enzio arranged everything.
Angelo was not up to his expectations businesswise. The boy had none of the Bassalino drive or ambition. He had no hard core of toughness to call upon when dealing with people.
Enzio reasoned that Angelo was only twenty-four, a baby; he had plenty of time to wise up. But he also remembered himself at twenty-four, a veteran of six successful hits, already Crazy Marco’s right-hand man, a man with a big future ahead of him.
In New York, Angelo had worked for Frank.
‘He’s a lazy little punk,’ Frank constantly complained. ‘You send him to a joint to shake loose some tight cash, and you hafta send another guy chasing him ’cos he’s shacked up with some broad. Cooze, that’s all he’s got on his mind.’
Enzio tried sending him out to the coast to work for Nick, but that was even worse. Angelo fell for a sexy starlet and ended up getting his ass beaten off by her ‘producer.’
‘You’d better get yourself together in London,’ Enzio warned him. ‘A Bassalino should command respect. Screw around all you want, but you gotta remember—work is the important thing—an’ money. There’s solid opportunities for setting up over there, an’ one of these days I wanna see you control our end of it. To begin with, you work with the Stevesto organization—they’ll show you around.’
Angelo had shrugged. He didn’t care about making money—as long as there was plenty in the family, why did he have to work his butt off scoring more? It didn’t make sense. Let Frank and Nick keep the Bassalino respect going—they enjoyed it, he didn’t.
He didn’t argue with his father. Nobody argued with Enzio. There had been a time when he had expressed a wish not to go into the family ‘business.’ He’d wanted to be an actor, or maybe a musician. At sixteen those were his ambitions. When Enzio found out about it he’d beaten him with a leather strap and locked him in his room for a week. Angelo never mentioned it again.
London was a fine town, as Angelo soon discovered. Lots of pretty girls and friendly people. A person could walk the streets without fear of getting beaten up and robbed.
An apartment had been arranged for him, and he went to work for the Stevesto setup. It was easy potatoes; all he had to do was keep his eye on a couple of casinos and begin getting the hang of things.
Angelo was happy. He could have a different girl every week if he felt like it, and he did feel like it. He had to have sex every day. It was a habit—like morning coffee or doing push-ups—a habit he enjoyed excelling at.
Angelo was not tall and muscular like his brothers. He was slighter in build, almost skinny. And his face was more angular, with high cheekbones. He liked to wear his hair thick and long—a minor freak-out—and sometimes he featured a Che mustache and stubbly beard.
‘You look like a fuckin’ commie,’ Enzio was always screaming at him. ‘Jesus! Whyn’t you cut off that hair, buy some decent clothes—a suit maybe. You look like shit. Why can’t you take after your brothers?’
Fuck his brothers. Angelo kept his personal appearance exactly as he wanted. It was about the only way he could spit in his father’s eye without doing too much damage.
* * *
The full contingent of English press turned out at Heathrow Airport to meet Rio Java. Her reputation always preceded her.
She stepped off the plane in an outlandish pink catsuit, trailing a full-length leopard-skin coat over one arm.
‘Hi, boys,’ she greeted the army of photographers. ‘What do you want me to do?’
What didn’t they want her to do. Rio Java was always good for a front-page picture.
She had been making headlines for years. A heroin addict at eighteen, Rio had first been discovered in a rehab center by the very famous avant-garde film maker, Billy Express, who was making a movie about drugs called Turn On/Turn Off. His intrusive camera followed her every move as she was given the treatment—the cure. He didn’t miss a thing, and the result was instant stardom. It wasn’t long before she moved into his life permanently, gave birth to his baby (an event he filmed in loving if somewhat lurid detail), and starred in all his future projects. Billy Express was extremely successful and very, very rich. The more pornographic of his movies had made him a fortune.
Rio lived with Billy and his entourage in an elegant New York brownstone he shared with his mother. It was not the ideal arrangement, but his mother—a former Ziegfeld girl—came with the package.
Rio felt she owed Billy a lot. He was responsible for making her a celebrity, and she loved every minute of her notoriety. Off heroin, she had no objections to joining Billy, his friends, and his mother on their constant LSD trips. One memorable night she found herself sharing Billy’s bed with his Chinese boyfriend, Lei. It amused Billy to have them make it together while he filmed their lovemaking. The result was that Rio became pregnant again, and Billy was delighted. He loved children and lost no time in having the top floor of his house redecorated as a nursery, just in time for the birth of Rio’s twins—two tiny Chinese boys.
They were all happy. Billy, his bizarre mother, Lei, the children, the entourage. They made their movies, threw outrageous parties and existed in a sort of delicious, stoned vacuum.
Until one day Rio met Larry Bolding. He was a very straight married senator in his mid-forties. He came to one of Billy’s parties, and Rio took one look at the suntanned face, the suit, the honest eyes, and flipped out. There was something about Larry Bolding that attracted her with a passion.
‘I have to have him,’ she whispered to Billy.
‘No problem,’ he replied easily—jealousy was an emotion unknown to Billy. He selected a pill from his pocket. ‘Slip this in his drink and he’s all yours.’
In a rare moment of clarity Rio decided against spiking the senator’s drink. She wanted him without having to resort to drugs. She wanted him to want her.
Larry Bolding had a politician’s smile and a very direct gaze. Rio went to work. She was no slouch when it came to seduction.
It took some time to get him to a bedroom. More time to get him undressed. He was so sweet! He actually wore patterned Jockey shorts and an undershirt.
Rio launched into her specialties. He was more interested in straight screwing.
It was the start of a six-month affair. An affair that had to be kept secret, due to the fact he was a married man.
Rio understood. He gave her the age-old story about how he and his wife just stayed together for appearances, and worldly as she was, she believed him.
After a few weeks she told Billy she couldn’t sleep with him anymore. In fact, because Larry didn’t approve of her setup, she moved out and took an apartment in the Village. It was more convenient for Larry, more private.
Billy gave her a generous allowance and kept the children with him, because they both agreed it was for the best. She visited them every other day.
Eventually Billy decided he wanted her to do a new movie he’d written. After all, she was his superstar.
Larry Bolding said he didn’t want her to do it. He preferred to keep her always available, as he never knew when he could see her.
‘The guy is an asshole,’ Billy warned. ‘He’s going to ruin you.’
But Rio was in love and didn’t listen. Instead she turned very straight for Larry, doing everything he told her to. She gave up drugs, drinking, parties; no screwing (except for him), no outlandish makeup, and no weird clothes.
Larry’s visits grew fewer and fewer. Eventually they stopped altogether.
Rio was destroyed. In vain she tried to contact him, but the barriers were up. There was no way of getting past the many secretaries and aides. Absolutely no way of letting him know she was pregnant with his child.
When she finally realized she’d been used, it hurt more than she ever thought possible. One gloomy Saturday night she slashed her wrists and fortunately was found by a neighbor. The neighbor turned out to be Margaret Lawrence Brown.
It took Rio a long time to get over the way Larry Bolding had treated her. She developed a deep resentment of the way women allowed themselves to be used by men. Especially married men.
She listened to Margaret, and her words made sense. Why waste time brooding about the past when the future was all that really mattered?
Without his ever knowing, she gave birth to Larry Bolding’s baby—a little girl. Billy Express suggested she move back in with him and her other children. It wasn’t the way she wanted to live anymore, and she told him. She also told him she wanted her children to come and live with her. Billy said no, they would stay with him.
This clash of wills resulted in a long-drawn-out court battle that Rio finally won. She got her children back in spite of the abuse Billy Express publicly hurled at her. He was enraged.
They all stood up in the witness box and testified about what a bad mother she was, every one of her so-called friends, the entourage, and Billy’s mother.
Margaret Lawrence Brown testified on her behalf, and in the end she got her children.
It was a juicy court case. The newspapers and gossips loved every minute of it.
Afterward, Rio was inundated with film scripts. Everyone had a project she would be perfect for.
Soon she started to work again and never looked back.
Now she was in London, and she was there for one purpose only.
Angelo Bassalino and the revenge.
She would destroy him as only she knew how.