Lovers and Gamblers (11 page)

They rehearsed the shot several times until the director was satisfied, then they broke for lunch which was served from a mobile canteen. Nicky helped Dallas get a plate of cold meats and salads and hovered reassuringly by her side. They sat on the nearby bench. Al retired to a private caravan.

‘How do you like our star?’ asked Nicky.

‘Silver, plastic, and tarnished.’

Nicky laughed. ‘Don’t let anyone hear you say that. Oh, here comes his brother.’

Paul had been delayed at the hotel on long-distance calls, and as soon as he arrived Al said, ‘She’s here. Go find her and tell her to join me for a glass of wine and a quick fuck.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘About the wine. The other I’ll ask her myself.’

‘Terrific. I hope it will have all been worth it.’

‘Got a feeling it just might be.’

Paul spotted her immediately. You could hardly miss her with that tangle of sun-streaked hair and incredible figure.

He approached briskly. ‘Hello, I’m Paul King. Al would like you to join him for a drink.’

Dallas smiled. ‘I bring love and kisses from Linda. She said to tell you New York misses you.’

‘That’s nice.’ He shot a wary look at Nicky. It wasn’t exactly discreet of Linda to send that kind of a message. Suppose Melanie had been with him? ‘How about the drink with Al?’

‘Gee, thanks. But I think I’ll just stay out here. The sun is so lovely, I’m really enjoying it.’

‘Oh. You see Al thought it might be nice if the two of you got to know each other a little better.’

Dallas winked. ‘I know.’

Paul felt suddenly awkward. The village pimp. ‘Sure you won’t change your mind?’

‘Not unless it’s part of my contract.’

‘No, it’s not,’ Paul said stiffly, and he walked away.

Nicky shook his head in admiration. ‘Wow! Mr. King is not going to like this.’

‘Mister King is not going to get this.’

‘This is the second of his television shows I’ve been on and he gets
everything
he wants.’

‘So he’s just going to have to be deprived. I’m sure there are plenty of ladies around who wouldn’t mind him jumping on their bones, but I am
not
one of them.’

Nicky grinned shyly. ‘Would you come out with me tonight?’

‘How
old
are you?’

‘Twenty-two. We could go dancing. There’s a good disco in Juan les Pins.’

‘Sounds like fun, Nicky. And I know that you wouldn’t even
think
of jumping on my bones.’

‘Certainly not.’ He smiled proudly. ‘So it’s a date then?’

‘A date.’ Even Ed couldn’t get mad about her going out with a kid like Nicky, and she didn’t want to sit in her hotel, she wanted to get out and see something of the Riviera.

* * *

‘So what’s the matter with the bitch?’

‘I don’t know. Jesus, Al, I don’t even much care. You’ll nail her – you always do.’

‘I know
that
,’ agreed Al coldly. He lit a cigarette, thought of his voice, stubbed it out, and swore softly. ‘I felt like having her now.’

‘So you’ll have her tonight – big deal.’

‘Yeah. I’ll have her tonight. Arrange dinner – set something up.’

‘Christ!’ exclaimed Paul, ‘I think the message is she wants you to ask her yourself.’

‘You’re right. That’s the problem – she wants
me
to ask her. OK, boyo. Book me a table somewhere horny, order flowers, champagne. Jesus H, she had better be worth it.’

Paul frowned. Orders. Sometimes Al treated him just like another lackey. Linda was right. Maybe he should stop wet-nursing Al and put a manager on the job. Then he could relax, enjoy his money, and organize everything from the air-conditioned comfort of his suite of offices in Park Lane. Maybe after the tour. He knew what Al was going through now, it wasn’t the time to start making changes. Al didn’t mean to issue orders, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Having everything done for him had just become a fact of life. It was all part and parcel of being a star.

‘You could take her to dinner at the Colombe d’Or in St. Paul de Vence. Romantic. Private.’

‘Ask her, Paul.’

‘I thought
you
were going to ask her.’

‘You give it another try.’

‘Oh shit – Al.’

‘Arrange it. I’ll romance her first and fuck her later!’

Edna King awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. It was eight o’clock; she was usually awake by that time, but lately she had been taking sleeping pills and they seemed to make it more difficult to get up in the mornings.

It was Melanie on the phone. ‘Have you seen the papers?’ she demanded shrilly.

‘No,’ replied Edna, already resigned to the bad news they would no doubt contain.

‘I
warned
you, I
told
you we should have gone with them.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’ll be right over.’

Edna climbed reluctantly out of bed. She knew what it would be, some item about Al and another woman. There were always items about Al and other women. Ignore them, he had continually told her. Never believe anything you read in the papers. Melanie appeared to take every word as gospel, and she never allowed an item to slip by Edna unnoticed.

The kitchen was already occupied by the maid and Nelson, who were enjoying a bacon and egg breakfast.

The maid, a strapping Italian, asked in her careful English, ‘Something, madam?’

‘Coffee,’ said Edna nervously, ‘for two. In the lounge.’ What she really wanted to say was ‘Get out of my kitchen, my house, my life.’ What she really wanted to do was make herself a hot sweet cup of tea and some thick fattening toast liberally spread with strawberry jam.

She had ordered coffee because it was what Melanie preferred. ‘Tea is for peasants,’ Melanie would sniff.

The newspapers were in a neat pile on the hall table, but Edna purposely left them untouched. Why spoil Melanie’s fun?

She walked in to the lounge and gazed out of the French windows into the garden. It was the start of another beautiful day, and the pool gleamed invitingly. Swimming was good exercise, maybe she should swim more. If only Nelson wasn’t always lurking round the pool. When she put on her bathing suit he seemed to stare at her in a peculiar way, a penetrating way. She would have to ask Al to get rid of him. It really wasn’t fair of Al to tell her not to be silly, it wasn’t him he stared at.

Melanie came striding purposefully across the garden. She was wearing a purple track suit, and without make-up her prettiness faded and was replaced with a petulant, pinched look.

Edna unlocked the French doors and let her in.

‘Take a look at this!’ Melanie thrust a paper at her.

On the front page there was a photograph of Al sitting in an open car smiling at a girl who gazed back at him with a faintly mocking smile. She was a very beautiful girl with long legs propped on the dashboard and a seductively unbuttoned shirt. The caption read ‘Al King Meets His Queen’, and underneath, in smaller print, it said, ‘Al King enjoys a get-together with American beauty queen, Dallas. They will appear together on Al’s forthcoming television spectacular.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Edna explained, placing the newspaper carefully down, ‘just publicity.’

‘Just publicity,’ jeered Melanie, ‘
just publicity
. Are you blind? Look at the way he’s looking at her.’

‘It’s publicity, Melanie. Al has to do these sort of things.
I
don’t mind, so I don’t see why
you
should.’

‘Oh, charming! I’m trying to help you, Edna. If you’re too naive to see what’s going on,
I’m
not. Al is making a fool of you, and if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, you should be by his side – otherwise one of these days you’re going to
lose
him.’

The Italian maid came in with the coffee. ‘Where, madam?’ She smiled knowingly. Had she heard? Edna gestured to the table. Damn Melanie and her loud voice.

‘I can’t stay for coffee,’ Melanie snapped, ‘I have a masseur coming over.
Think
about what I’ve said.
Think
about the position you may find yourself in. It’s not too late – yet.’ She flounced out the same way she had come in, leaving Edna in a state of flux.

Lose Al. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. But was she being naive? Was Al making a fool of her? Edna shook her head in disbelief. She trusted him. She always had and she always would. Melanie was just trying to cause trouble for no reason.

Edna gulped down the hot coffee. If only her sister-in-law would leave her alone. If only everyone would leave her alone. If only she could go back to the days when it had just been her and Al… Just the two of them. No money, but what wonderful times they had enjoyed together.

Perhaps before he went off on the American tour they could go away somewhere. Maybe Brighton, where they had spent their honeymoon. What a week
that
had been. In the last few years Edna had noticed Al’s gradual slackening of interest in sex. At first she had been relieved. In the early days he had wanted it constantly; she shuddered at the memory of his demands. Morning, noon, and night. Day after day. Even when she had been
pregnant
. Now he seemed content just to lie beside her. It had been months since he last made love to her. Of course she didn’t mind, she knew that his work took a lot out of him. But a week in Brighton would do him good, even just a few days. She resolved to discuss this with him.

Satisfied with her decision she finished her coffee and then drank Melanie’s. It wouldn’t do to
waste
it. Anyway, it went well with the packet of Bourbon Cream biscuits that the maid had thoughtfully provided.

* * *

Upstairs in his bed Evan stealthily inspected his collection of magazines. He found studying them a diverting pastime. He had his favourite girls and would quickly turn to the relevant pages and study the female of his choice. There was Bertha. Blonde. Eighteen. Hobby – breeding horses. She liked big dominant men who knew what they were doing. She wore pearls, and see-through nylon knickers, and appeared in a variety of poses with her legs apart.

Then there was Maralyn. A big girl, Maralyn, with enormous jutting breasts which she seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in playing with.

He really could fancy a night with Bertha or Maralyn. Oh yes. Actually he could fancy a night with anyone. Sixteen and still a virgin. It was ridiculous. None of the other boys at his school were in that position. They had all had ‘experiences’. Evan had heard them discussing various aspects of what appeared to be highly exciting sex lives.

He brooded about his lack of female companionship, and anxiously perused his magazines, of which Nelson seemed to have a never-ending supply. He often thought of Nelson offering him the ‘real thing’. How much would it cost? Would he know what to do? Where would it take place?

He had at last decided to ask Nelson to arrange it.

Meanwhile there remained Bertha and Maralyn. He just had time for one of them before school.

He chose Bertha with her nylon knickers, and clutching her firmly under his arm he made his way to the bathroom.

He wanted her, and he was pushing. Gradually it dawned on Dallas that the only reason she was on the Al King television spectacular was because Al King himself had ordained it. It all fell into place. The offer of a drink on the night she had won the contest. The lunch she had never attended in New York. The request for her to join him in his caravan. And now a dinner invitation – which she had turned down.

‘I wish you would change your mind,’ Paul had said tightly at her refusal.

‘I’m busy,’ Dallas had replied. ‘Anyway, I don’t go out with married men.’ Lies. Lies. Lies. What about Ed Kurlnik jetting in the very next day? Nobody was more married than Ed.

‘Al is just extending his friendship,’ Paul explained. More like his cock, Dallas thought, and I am not for sale any more.

During the afternoon they taped the beginning of Al’s song in the car. Dallas just had to sit there gazing at him. He was good-looking. Too good-looking. Arrogant, with an assurance that came from getting everything he wanted. Well, he wasn’t going to get her. She wondered if his brother had told him yet.

Photographers buzzed around snapping numerous shots. She smiled at him, licked her lips, and threw her head back.

‘You love it, don’t you?’ said Al.

‘It’s fun,’ she replied carefully.

‘I like your tits.’

‘Good for you.’

‘Why don’t you want to have dinner?’

‘I’m not in the mood for getting chased around a table.’

‘What table? What are you talking about?’

‘Oh, come on. You know what I mean.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, kid. Girls like you are fallin’ off the trees to get me.’

‘So go find a tree.’

The afternoon passed quickly, and shortly before they finished for the day, Nicky came over and in an embarrassed voice told her that he wouldn’t be able to take her out after all. Poor kid, somebody had warned him off. Probably the brother. Well, screw all of them. So she wouldn’t see the sights. She would go to bed.

‘Dinner, darling?’ the director inquired.

‘I’m too tired,’ she excused herself.

‘See you in the morning then.’

* * *

‘I don’t believe it!’ Al exclaimed. ‘She’s a dyke, must be.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Paul, although privately he thought nothing could be further from the truth.

‘She’s sharp too. Answers back. Maybe I could convert her.’

‘Why not just forget her. She’s a headache.’

‘I’ll fuck her, I’ll forget her. It’s that easy.’

‘And if you don’t fuck her?’

‘Ah, boyo, that’s the problem. You know me when I don’t get what I want.’

Paul frowned. Indeed he did know.

‘Violette Victor is in town. She’s having dinner with us.’ Violette Victor was a young French movie actress in current vogue.

Al’s interest perked slightly. ‘Have you met her?’

‘I met her agent this afternoon. She’s looking forward to meeting you.’

* * *

Later, on the Carlton terrace, they met with Violette and her agent. She was tall and skinny, with straggly brown hair and luminous almond-shaped grey eyes. Wide-mouthed, she smiled a warm greeting and clutched Al firmly by the hand.