The St. Tropez Lonely Hearts Club by Joan Collins Read Free Book Online

outcomes. ‘But, my dear boy, whoever told you you could sing?’
    ‘I can sing, bitch,’ Fabrizio replied sulkily. ‘I’ve been taking lessons here in Paris . . . with Lara’s blessing,’ he added.
    ‘Ahhh, so how
is
Madame Lara?’ Max asked with bonhomie, then sharply spat, ‘Did you make the deal yet?’
    Maximus had been conspiring to make Fabrizio marry Lara Meyer since last summer. They both knew she had formed an inordinate obsession with Fabrizio (which even she admitted started and ended below the waist). But there was no denying her possessive adoration and Maximus mercilessly exploited that weakness. Maximus’s objective was financial: Fabrizio’s marriage to Lara Meyer would mean an increased monthly stipend, of which he would collect 20 per cent, plus an additional 20 per cent ownership of all of Lara’s assets, which Fabrizio would share as soon as Lara convinced her controlling ex-husband to drop the intricate pre-nup his New York lawyers insisted on which stopped her from getting anything if she remarried.
    But Fabrizio was becoming a real pain in the ass now. Content to draw on the already generous monthly allowance he was receiving from Lara, he was in no hurry to be pressured into wedlock. There were still too many female fish in the sea to sample – and what did he have to gain?
    ‘All right, all right, all
right
,’ Fabrizio drawled,
à la
Matthew McConaughey.
    Maximus winced. He had tried to make Fabrizio stop attempting to emulate the American actor, but Fabrizio’s harem thought it cute.
    ‘Why are you still on about “the deal”?
Everythin’s okay
.’ Fabrizio continued, ramming home the caricature impression, which he knew irritated Maximus.
    ‘Look, Fabrizio,’ Maximus wheezed menacingly, ‘you may be “okay”, but Lara is not “okay” and I am
sicuramente
not “okay”. I expect this deal to be made by the end of the summer or you will start not feeling “okay”,
okay?
’
    Fabrizio put on his ‘little boy lost’ bewildered look, which had served to diffuse many a difficult situation, but it had been overused on Maximus. ‘Chill. Everything’s cool. Kazakhstan
X Factor
definitely will go for me. I mean, I’ve seen some of the talentless nobodies – I’m a lock, bitch.’
    ‘Don’t call me bitch and don’t give me your “everything’s cool” shit! Kazakhstan is bullshit! It will never happen. Close the deal now before Lara finds out about CRAP!’
    Fabrizio shuddered. CRAP – Carina, Raimunda, Alberto, Pietro – Fabrizio’s two ex-lovers and their two children, was an acronym used between Maximus and Fabrizio. He was only able to maintain them through Lara’s generosity. Maximus only mentioned CRAP when things became dire. Things must be very dire, thought Fabrizio, for it to be aired.
    ‘If I can only get the bitch to sober up,’ Fabrizio muttered. ‘She’s drunk morning, noon and night. Do you realise how hard it is for me to get . . . hard?’
    ‘Think of someone else,’ Max said dismissingly. ‘It always worked for me – or get the blue pill.’
    ‘Yeah, but you haven’t had to get it up since the last century,’ Fabrizio chortled, as Maximus’s phone started ringing. Fabrizio, sensing advantage, sauntered to the door. ‘See ya in Saint Trop, bitch.
Ciao
for now.’
    ‘
Merde
,’ snapped Maximus, picking up the phone. ‘
Ciao
, Maximus Gobbi.’ He smiled as he heard the girlish voice.
    ‘Oh,
ciao
, Maximus, it’s Contessa Carlotta Di Ponti here. I’ve been thinking about your suggestion and I think it’s a wonderful idea. I’d love to come to Saint-Tropez. It sounds divine for the summer. Do you think you could find me a house?’
    ‘Of course, Contessa –
ne vous inquiétez de rien
– I’ll take care of everything.’ Maximus covered the receiver and hissed to Fabrizio, who had stopped in his tracks when he heard a young female voice and was lurking, ears hawk-like, ‘Make the fucking Lara deal, now piss off!’
    Maximus