Free Scruples Two by Judith Krantz Page B

used her crafty wiles to put her unmistakable stamp on his daughter, at least he supposed it was still Gigi who called him “Dad,” to take it entirely upon herself to arrange Gigi’s life, and to announce her future to everybody.
    “Cheers,” Billy said so quietly that the others couldn’t hear. She looked at him hard and raised her glass.
    “Cheers?” Vito replied. “Cheers to the winner? I guess I’m the only one who didn’t realize that this was a contest.”

3

    A week later, Maggie MacGregor and Vito sat having lunch in the Polo Lounge of the Beverly Hills Hotel. Maggie had her customary command-center booth, placed to the left of the door, so that she could observe everyone who came and went. However, when she didn’t want to be interrupted by greetings she positioned herself with her back to the door, in a way that indicated to everyone in the industry that she was doing an interview and would welcome no intrusion. As she and Vito drank white wine and consumed their Cobb salads, a double operation was taking place in Maggie’s alarmingly alert mind. On the one hand she was listening intently, her round, Coca-Cola brown eyes focused and serious. In her capacity as a journalist she was the first, as was her right, to hear Vito’s earliest plans for the film production of The WASP , now that all the contracts to the rights to the book had been signed and Curt Arvey’s studio’s check for the down payment of half a million dollars had cleared the bank. On the other hand, in her capacity as a female, and one who had hankered after Vito for the four years after their affair ended, she was trying to figure out the exact nature of his mood. She was too tough an interviewer and too shrewd and intuitive a woman to be entirely convinced that Vito’s new project was the only thing on his mind.
    There was some other quality, a kind of an edge or shadow, coupled with a forced over-intensity, an overinsistence in his apparent singlemindedness, that made every inquisitive hair on her head rise slightly off her scalp. The Vito Orsini she had first met in Rome four years ago, with his formidable aura of invincibility, was here in the flesh but not entirely in the spirit. Something was up with Vito, something not quite kosher, and she suspected that it didn’t have to do with movies or their production. Vito’s energy level, usually twice that of other men, lacked its full focus. His tone of voice sounded a shade less vibrant than usual, as if he’d forgotten to consume plutonium for breakfast. He still radiated the control of a maestro, a virtuoso, a man for whom the words “make haste slowly” would be utterly meaningless, but there was something.… something bitter?…. about him. Bitter or gloomy? Or possibly disappointed?
    But how could he be any of these things, Maggie asked herself. He had received the ultimate accolade of the industry, and with his new picture still in the earliest, blue-sky phase of development nothing yet could have dimmed that glory. Hell, if a Best Picture Oscar didn’t give Vito total joy for at least a week, what would? And now he was about to make a film of the book for which the record-breaking price of a million and a half had been paid by Arvey’s studio. He should be flying. Well, she wasn’t the most powerful woman in television reporting because she hesitated to ask questions, Maggie reflected, and spoke with her usual tact.
    “Vito, what the fuck’s wrong with you?”
    “Nothing! You’re absurd, Maggie.”
    “Have I ever been absurd since you’ve known me, pal?”
    “A fool, yes. Infinitely foolish. But absurd … well, there’s always a first time.”
    “Maybe so, but it hasn’t happened yet. What’s going on? And I’m not asking as a reporter, just as your friend.”
    Vito drew a deep breath, put down his fork and allowed a silence to hang between them. Finally he spoke in an altered tone, acrid and touched with self-pity. “Maggie, could you just explain