Lovers and Gamblers (29 page)

His better judgement told him to get in his car and go on home. Dallas was a free agent, she could do what she wanted. She didn’t have to check with him every time she sneezed.

But he couldn’t do that. He was burning with curiosity about who she was entertaining.

He contemplated marching straight up to the front door, ringing the bell, and, when she answered, saying: ‘Surprise, surprise – just happened to be passing and saw the lights.’ But then he realized that there were no lights on, and anyhow he couldn’t possibly be just passing when she lived at the top of a hill.

He could hear music coming from around the back, the swimming pool area. Slowly he edged through the bushes, hating himself, but determined to see who she was entertaining.

The tableau that greeted his eyes was not what he had expected. Dallas standing, arms akimbo, clad in the briefest bikini, watching a couple on the diving board making the most intimate form of love.

Slowly Cody backed away. His head was churning with mixed emotions. Was that how the love of his life got her kicks? Watching other people? Or maybe things were just beginning. Maybe later she would become a participant…

He felt more depressed than ever. Christ! This was the girl he was risking his future on. A deviate. A voyeur.

Jesus! What if the studio ever found out?

* * *

Coldly Dallas watched Lew Margolis struggle back into his clothes. He was hurrying, obviously late for some event.

Diamond had discreetly vanished.

‘Not bad,’ Lew remarked expansively, ‘but you missed out. Next time I’ll spend more time, service both of you, wouldn’t want you going to bed with a twitchy cunt!’ He laughed happily at his own humour. ‘Next week. I’ll let you know what night.’

‘Yes,’ murmured Dallas. She just wanted him out of her house as quickly as possible.

‘I think…’ he began. But the ringing of the telephone cut him off.

Dallas stared at the phone. She couldn’t answer it. It might be Cody, and she had told him that she wouldn’t be back until the following morning.

Lew waited expectantly.

The phone rang insistently.

‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ growled Lew.

Dallas shook her head.

‘Why not?’ he wanted to know. ‘Boyfriend checking up on you?’

She shrugged.

‘Answer it,’ Lew commanded. ‘Answer it and talk dirty to your boyfriend. I got a few minutes.’

She snatched the phone off its cradle, ‘Yes?’

From far away in Chicago, Al King said, ‘Hey, beautiful, this is Al. How come you and I are always just missing each other?’

‘I can’t talk now,’ Dallas snapped, and she slammed the phone down.

Lew belched. ‘You’ve got to learn to do what I say.’

‘Next time,’ she replied tightly.

Lew withdrew a stack of notes from his jacket, looked at them reflectively and then stuffed them back in his pocket. ‘I almost forgot. Don’t have to pay for the services any more.’

He laughed again, squeezed her right breast harder than was necessary, and finally left.

She listened to his car draw away. Bastard! What a bastard! He thought he had her good and tied up. Well, she would show him.

Linda was in the kitchen.

‘What do you think?’ Dallas asked breathlessly.

‘I think he’s a dirty old man,’ commented Linda. ‘I’m shocked! I didn’t know such things went on outside of magazines and movies.’

‘Did you get what we wanted?’

‘He got what he wanted. And that girl – wow – that’s what I call a professional. She handled him like a fish!’

‘Linda…’

‘Yes, I think we got exactly what we wanted. Of course I can’t really tell until I develop them, but I think we are in business.’ Diamond appeared, fully dressed and groomed. She smiled. ‘Everything cool?’

‘You were wonderful, and thank you,’ said Dallas.

‘Old guys are so pliable,’ remarked Diamond, still smiling. ‘You wouldn’t think they’ve been screwing all their lives, they’re just like little children. I got two regular clients – I think one must be eighty – why, he’s like a naughty
schoolboy
.’

‘Do you enjoy your work?’ ventured Linda.

Diamond shrugged. ‘What’s not to enjoy. I don’t work myself too hard – I got my own apartment, car, plenty of clothes. And a stud whose looks would blow your brains!’

‘Doesn’t he mind?’ asked Linda, unable to understand how such a great-looking girl could sell her body for money.

‘Mind?’ laughed Diamond. ‘Honey, he is in the same business. And if ever either of you two ladies are in the market for a great big, beautiful screw – well, I can recommend my guy. He is the
best
!’

‘Oh,’ said Linda, suddenly embarrassed, ‘well, I don’t think that…’

‘Don’t knock it,’ interrupted Diamond. ‘The long cold night may come when you had a fight with your husband, fella, whatever. Well, y’all might feel a little horny. Now you don’t want to go cruisin’ for some stud who’ll just as soon as give you a social disease. What you’ll need is a few hours of my man. He is pure funk. You can’t go wrong.’

‘Don’t you get jealous?’ enquired Linda, intrigued about the whole situation.

‘What’s jealous?’ laughed Diamond. ‘I still get my piece of the action.’

Dallas finished counting out the five hundred dollars and handed it to Diamond. She wished that she had looked on the hooking profession in the same easy-going fashion that Diamond appeared to. But every memory she had of it was bad. Being used, like a commodity. Ugh! She shuddered.

Diamond left, and Linda got down to work. She converted the kitchen into a darkroom and got right into developing the rolls of film.

It wasn’t until the images of Lew Margolis and the black girl started to take shape that Dallas suddenly remembered about Al King phoning. Linda was busy pinning the pictures up to dry when Dallas told her about it. ‘What do you think he wanted?’

Linda stood back to survey her work. ‘Your body, I expect, he’s always had a yen for you. Wow – I think I could get a job with
Macho
any day – just look at these shots!’

‘Just what I needed. Linda, you’re a genius!’

‘Tell it to Paul, if he doesn’t get our act together soon I might just be tempted by the thought of Diamond’s big beautiful boyfriend!’

‘I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him.’

Linda inspected another picture fresh from the solution. ‘Dallas, babe, I think you and I are in the blackmail business!’

Van Valda had assembled a cast of stars. Anyone who was a harassed personality and who happened to be in Chicago was invited to the party to honour Al King.

There was a brilliant but drunken writer who weaved about insulting everyone. There was an elfin-faced movie star recently featured naked between the covers of
Macho
. There was a socialite lady of chiselled beauty who trailed an outrageous fag gossip columnist. There was Marjorie Carter, in town to do a taped interview with Van Valda, and she froze Al with a look. There was a male movie star with bedroom eyes and a pocketful of cocaine that he was being more than generous with.

And amongst this group of luminaries frisked at least twenty special hand-picked Nymphets.

They all wore the same uniform, which consisted of crotch-hugging hip shorts and minuscule fluffy sweaters, short enough to show off plenty of tummy, and if the arms were stretched up, the underside of bouncy baby bosoms.

Some of the ground rules for being a Nymphet contained the riveting information that no panties or bras were to be worn at any time, and that a Nymphet’s bust measurement must be no less than 34 (C cup) or more than 36 (B cup).

Van Valda had laid down the rules himself.

Nymphet of the month was a freckle-faced redhead named Laurie-Poo, who because of her position was allowed first crack at Al. She sprang to his side the moment he arrived, announcing coyly, ‘I am your Nymphet for the night, my name is Laurie-Poo, and anything you want you just have to ask me. Any thing,’ she added, in case he was too thick to get her point. ‘Now what can I get you to drink, Mr. King, sir?’

‘Rustle up some champagne, sweetheart.’ He looked around and made a face at Paul.

Then Van Valda came strolling over clad in a silken Kung-Fu jacket and velvet trousers. Van extended a firm masculine handshake, nodded at Paul, and confided, ‘I can have any woman in this room. So can you, Al, so can you. I don’t expect there are many men who can say that.’ He puffed proudly on a phallic-looking pipe.

‘Henry Kissinger,’ suggested Al drily.

Van chose to ignore that remark. ‘Glad you could make it,’ he said. ‘The Macho Mansion is at your disposal. Anything you want is yours.’ He paused, then added meaningfully, ‘Anything.’

‘I’m getting the message,’ replied Al pleasantly, ‘but right now all I want is a drink.’

Van looked outraged. ‘You don’t have a drink yet?’ He hooked his fingers into the shorts of a passing Nymphet, ‘Mr. King doesn’t have a drink yet,’ he said sternly.

‘Oh dear!’ she cooed.

‘We only just got here,’ remarked Paul.

At that moment Laurie-Poo returned, balancing a tray professionally on one hand. It was loaded with full glasses of champagne and little dishes filled with Polynesian tidbits. She placed the tray on a table, a glass of champagne into Al’s hand, and a fried shrimp into his mouth.

Van nodded his approval. Al nearly choked.

Across the room, marooned by the door, Evan stared around in amazement. He had never seen anything like it. Is this how people really lived? The Macho Mansion was an incredible place, and Evan felt awed that he had been allowed in. Perhaps there were some good points to being Al King’s son after all.

He stood at the door to a huge luxurious living room. A Macho fantasy room filled with chocolate leather couches, chrome and marble tables, marvellous quadrophonic sound equipment issuing forth the voice of Al King, giant television screens on every wall with headphones for any guest who did not wish to miss their favourite programme.

In the middle of all this luxury was a sunken bar, set firmly in the centre of a miniature lake. Nymphets tripped lightly back and forth across a small bamboo bridge, holding aloft loaded trays.

Evan could recognize at least two movie stars. His mouth dropped open at the daring outfit of the female one. Why, her breasts were completely visible through some type of gauzy top. He stared, completely mesmerized.

‘Hey – close your mouth – somethin’s gonna fly right in!’ It was Nellie by his side. She giggled. ‘Some set-up huh?’

‘Yes,’ croaked Evan, overwhelmed at her sudden attention.

‘So how ya doin’? Havin’ all sorts of fun?’

He looked around quickly to make sure she was talking to him. She was.

‘It’s not bad,’ he managed.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed, ‘know what you mean. I guess you must feel the strain too. I mean being with Al all the time – I guess he’s not that easy to be with – kinda tied up in knots, tense, never sure of what he wants.’

Evan was not quite sure how they had arrived at discussing Al, but anything was all right as long as she stayed next to him.

She looked particularly pretty in a yellow boiler suit which emphasized her delicious dark skin.

‘Have you been here before?’ he ventured.

‘Where? Chicago?’

He nodded.

‘Oh sure, bin through every crummy joint in the town. Never rated an invite here before. It’s kinda unreal, like one of those men’s magazine lay-outs.’ She tossed her long black hair back. ‘Believe me, I understand the pressures Al has to go through. You can tell him that from me, tell him Nellie says she understands. Right?’

Evan sensed that she was about to move off. He gripped her by the arm and blurted out quickly, ‘You’re the prettiest girl here.’

She giggled, surprised. ‘Why, thank you – I never knew you cared!’ Then seriously she added, ‘Don’t forget to give Al my message.’ And she was gone, plunging into the centre of the room, immediately surrounded by an admiring group of men.

* * *

Al found the whole scene oppressive. He did not care for Van Valda, a boring man who puffed smugly on his pipe and groped every female who came within range. He did not care for the other guests, mostly hangers-on who grouped around the celebrities and told them how wonderful their last book/film/record/concert was. Their conversations were interchangeable.

The whole party was bullshit.

He couldn’t even fancy the plastic baby Nymphets. Especially not the one who had attached herself to him like glue.

Looking around he suddenly thought of Dallas, and of how she would stand out in this crowd. A real woman. The best-looking woman he had ever seen.

And why hadn’t he had her by now? Where was the King magic? A little persuasion and she could be his.

He reached in his pocket, found the bit of paper with her number on, and instructed Laurie-Poo to take him to a private phone.

She led him into an office of which one entire wall was an aquarium. She waited expectantly.

‘Get lost,’ he told her. ‘I don’t need my hand held for a phone call.’

‘I’ll wait outside,’ she stated primly.

He gave the operator the number he required in Los Angeles and leaned back in the plush leather swivel chair. He smiled as he listened to the phone ringing, planning what he would say. Nothing heavy. Just some light conversation, and then casually he would suggest she catch the show, he could send the plane for her.

She picked up the phone, her voice brusque.

‘Hey, beautiful,’ began Al easily, ‘this is Al. How come you and I are always just missing each other?’

‘I can’t talk now,’ she snapped, and bang, his connection went dead.

For a moment he was stunned, hurt. Then anger took over. She had hung up on him. The bitch had put the phone down! He couldn’t believe it! It had never happened to him before. Who the hell did she think she was? So she was beautiful, big fuckin’ deal. Hundreds of girls were beautiful. Bitch! Bitch! She was under his skin. She was getting to him. Women were not supposed to get to you. Women were supposed to be ready, available and accommodating.

Angrily he got up, marched out of the room, brushed past Laurie-Poo. He found the movie star with the cocaine and indulged himself generously. Then he noticed Evan, still huddled ignored by the door. He turned; located Laurie-Poo right behind him, and whispered in her ear.