Lovers and Gamblers (47 page)

‘I’ll order you some food,’ he said, ‘then you should get some sleep. Edna wasn’t feeling well – she’s sleeping in another room.’

‘Fuck Edna!’ slurred Al truculently. ‘Frigid bag! Get me another bottle of Jack the Lad.’

‘Listen, Al…’

‘Listen, brother,’ mimicked Al, weaving round the room, ‘I did the show, didn’t I? I did the fucking show. That’s all anyone cares about, isn’t it? Now piss off an’ leave me alone.’

Reluctantly Paul left. He knew better than to argue with Al when he was in that mood. Luke was stationed outside the door. ‘Don’t let him out,’ Paul warned. ‘I’ll be in my room if you need me.’

In the middle of the night they needed him. A terrible crashing noise was coming from behind the locked door of the suite. By the time the manager was called, the passkey found, and they managed to get in, the crashing had stopped. Al had completely wrecked the entire suite. Slinging what he could out of the window, breaking and smashing whatever else was in his way.

He lay in the middle of the wreckage fast asleep, snoring and smiling.

In the morning he remembered nothing about it.

‘I’ve often wanted to do what you did myself,’ sighed the manager, as they tried to work out the cost of the damages.

‘Double whatever the bill is,’ Al said magnanimously. ‘Wreck a room on me!’

The next morning the papers screamed news of Al’s bizarre concert performance and Nellie’s attempted suicide, and without actually saying so they managed to give the impression that Al was responsible.

Paul kept the newspapers away from both Al and Edna, and after a conference with Bernie he issued a joint statement from Mr. and Mrs. King expressing their deepest sympathy about Nellie, who was a dear and close friend of both of them.

* * *

Evan never spent his eleven dollars on breakfast. In fact he never had breakfast at all. He read with a sweeping horror about Nellie.
His
Nellie. And his heart lurched at the filthy allegations about her and his father.

He had to get to Tucson. He had to get to the hospital.

He spent his eleven dollars on phoning Tucson and tracking down Uncle Paul. He didn’t care if they were angry with him. He didn’t care about anything except getting to the hospital and seeing Nellie.

Paul seemed relieved to hear from him, and gave him instructions on what to do.

Whilst Evan hung on the phone Paul looked up a car hire firm in the area – which fortunately was only about a hundred miles away – and arranged for a car to pick Evan up. ‘Don’t get lost on the way,’ he warned.

Get lost! No way! Nothing would stop him getting back to Nellie.

He had forgotten about Glory and Plum safely tucked up in their sleeping bags. Even if he remembered, it wouldn’t have worried him. They could look after themselves. Nellie couldn’t.

* * *

Paul broke the good news to Edna. She was perfectly composed. ‘Book us on the next flight to London,’ she said calmly.

‘Are you sure?’ ventured Paul.

Al was still under sedation in the bedroom.

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Edna quietly. ‘Very sure.’

This was a different Edna to the one Paul had known for so many years. The other Edna wouldn’t have dared make such a decision without consulting Al.

‘Melanie will go with you,’ said Paul.

‘I’d prefer she didn’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t like her. I’m sorry, I know she’s your wife, but I have to be truthful.’

Paul stared at her with a sudden admiration. He didn’t like Melanie either – but he would never have the nerve to say so. What had happened to Edna? Had she suddenly sprouted balls?

‘That’s fine, Edna. I’ll just book seats for you and Evan.’

‘Thank you. I’m going to pack.’

He watched her leave the room and felt good for her. She was walking tall for the first time since he had known her.

* * *

The car ride to Tucson took three hours. Evan sat stiff-backed and anxious all the way. He told the driver to go straight to the hospital where Nellie was.

‘I’m supposed to take you to the hotel,’ the driver complained. ‘Deliver you personally, not let you out of my sight.’

‘I have to go to the hospital first,’ Evan insisted.

Reluctantly the driver agreed. The kid looked desperate.

They stopped him at reception at the hospital. He knew he must look a scruffy sight.

‘I’m Al King’s son,’ he told the receptionist. ‘I have to see Nellie – she’s expecting me.’

The receptionist eyed him suspiciously. She didn’t believe him. She had been bugged by press and fans all morning. ‘She’s dead,’ she said coldly, ‘died this morning at eight o’clock.’

The first reaction Dallas had was to turn and run – get the hell out of there.

But how could she go? How could she leave Bobbie in the state she was in?

One part of her warned, ‘Don’t get involved.’ On the other hand you wouldn’t leave a dog like this. After all, at one time Bobbie had befriended her – abortive as that friendship had turned out to be.

Decision made, Dallas slammed the door behind her, shutting out the muffled sounds of love-making coming from the other apartment.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she try to move Bobbie? What if something was broken?

An Indian bedspread was draped across the window, secured only by string. Dallas removed, it and covered the shivering black girl’s body. She couldn’t help noticing the gnarled tracks of heroin addiction covering both of Bobbie’s arms. The veins were bruised and discoloured, covering old scars where she had injected herself over and over again. Unable to find more space on her arms she had started on her legs. Dallas shuddered.

Bobbie was rolling her eyes around and around. Dallas placed a dirty pillow under her head. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Who did this to you?’

‘Hey,’ mumbled Bobbie, focusing at last, ‘The man, baby. Who else? I tole him I was gettin’ the bread – I tole him.’ Her head rolled to the side. ‘Get me a shot of scotch – s’over there – kitchen.’

Dallas took quick stock of her surroundings. A small, dark room. Couch that doubled as a bed. Table littered with makeup, magazines, clothes. A jagged piece of glass propped up in the middle to do duty as a mirror.

The kitchen consisted of a cracked Formica unit in the corner.

Amongst crowds of empty bottles littering the top, Dallas located one a quarter full of scotch.

She handed it to Bobbie, who sucked greedily from it.

‘Is there a phone here?’ Dallas asked.

‘You don’ wanna phone, sugar,’ mumbled Bobbie. Her voice was very weak.

‘But you need a doctor.’

‘Yeah. But I don’ need the shit goes with it. I’ll be fine. You just hand me the bread and get out before they come back.’

‘Before
who
comes back?’

‘Whadda you care? I’m leanin’ on you for bread – that’s all. So be wise – like I taught you.’ She tried to sit up, but couldn’t make it. ‘I need some stuff… I got a beeeg need… Be a nice girl – reach outside the window – there’s a ledge – pass it to me. Those cocksuckers don’ know it all…’ She wiped blood from her mouth and looked at it with surprise. ‘One shot and those bastards can take a flyer up their own assholes… I’m gonna own the world… the world, man. Like I’ll have myself a house. Best fuckin’ house in LA. Best fuckin’ girls…’ Her eyes were rolling again. ‘You wanna come an work for me, sugar… Wanna be my star… Wanna be my lover…’ Her mumbling was becoming incoherent. ‘Nevah was given a fuckin’ thing in my life… Worked ass… Hey – get me the stuff – get me the magic…’ Her eyes closed. She had passed out. The bottle fell from her hands, gurgling the remains of its contents out on to the threadbare rug.

Dallas picked it up. This was it. This was the bottom line. Bobbie had sunk pretty low – but whose fault was it? She had started off with none of the breaks. Hooking at thirteen. And now hooked in another direction. Heroin. The land of peace and glory for those that had nowhere else to go.

Dallas cradled her head and tried to remove some of the blood. ‘It’ll be OK, Bobbie,’ she crooned, ‘I’ll look after you. I’m going to get you into a hospital, get you cured.’

Bobbie’s eyelids fluttered. But she didn’t open her eyes. She seemed to be breathing in a very laboured way.

‘I’ve got to get help,’ Dallas muttered. She ran from the apartment and hammered on the next door.

‘Get lost!’ shrieked a woman’s voice.

‘I need help!’ pleaded Dallas.

‘Honey, don’t we all!’ replied the voice.

‘Please! The girl next door is very sick.’

‘That little junkie! She can drown in her own piss for all I care.’

Nice place. Was it worth trying the other apartments, or should she go down to the street and try to find a phone? She decided to try the street and started off down the stairs. On the second floor her way was blocked by two men coming up.

‘You know where’s the nearest phone?’ she asked.

They made no move to let her pass. One was a heavy-set black, the other a tall skinny white man with yellow hair and jumpy eyes.

‘Whatcha’ all needin’ to telephone for?’ asked the black.

‘I need some help… with a sick friend.’ As she spoke she knew with a feeling of dread that these two men were the ‘they’ that Bobbie had been mumbling about.

‘Move on up,’ stated the black firmly. ‘Y’all must be the friend Bobbie said was bringin’ her a present. Gotta admit we di’nt believe her.’

‘I’m going to call a doctor,’ Dallas said, trying to keep her voice controlled.

‘Y’all goin’ to pay us her little debt first.’

‘How much does she owe you?’

‘How much you got, foxy? And how come I ain’t nevah seen you around?’ His hand moved like lightning, brushing over her breasts, removing her shoulder bag. He opened it, found the stack of bills, whistled admiringly. ‘Must be over a thou here… Business pretty good, baby?’

‘Does she owe you all that?’ Dallas asked coldly.

‘Don’ worry that foxy little head ’bout it,’ he smirked. ‘She gotta habit to support, she gotta learn how to support it. Who you work for? Might just pay you a visit – a free visit. Wouldn’t wanna see you all messed up like your friend.’

‘You did that to her? Why?’

He laughed. ‘Why? She wants to know why.’ He cackled some more. ‘’Cos I’m
mean,
bitch, real fuckin’
mean
.’ He reached forward and squeezed her breasts.

‘Let’s get outa here,’ said the other man. ‘We got what we came for.’

‘You may have got what you came for. I wouldn’t say no to fucking this sweet piece – fucking her good.’

‘Another time. We got work to do.’

‘Another time. I’ll get your address from Bobbie.’ His hand slid down her body, pushed between her legs. ‘Remember, it’ll be for free.’

She shoved him away, thankful that she was wearing jeans.

Cackling he started off down the stairs. ‘Keep it hot for me, foxy. Y’all are in f’a thrill.’

She bit her lip to stay silent. She knew what men like that were capable of doing. She had seen what they had done to Bobbie. And Bobbie was her prime concern.

There was a telephone in a bar half a block away. She called emergency and told them to send an ambulance.

If you were smart – she told herself – you would get the hell out of here and go on home. But how could she leave until she saw that Bobbie was properly looked after? Besides, she wanted to let them know that she would be willing to pay for Bobbie’s treatment, and then a cure. A private nursing home where she would be well looked after.

She ran back to the seedy apartment house, hurried up the four flights of stairs, pushed open the door.

Bobbie had dragged herself over to the window, managed to get her heroin, managed to inject herself with the help of an old belt pulled tight to locate a welcoming vein, and a plastic syringe.

She was slumped on the floor by the window. The belt hung loosely round her arm. The syringe was on the floor beside her.

She managed to smile at Dallas. ‘Hey – glad you’re here.’ She was groggy and rubbing her eyes. ‘Feel kinda funny – kinda bad. Pills. Booze. Little shot of H. Guess I mighta overdid it, sugar. Like we had some laughs once…’ Her voice turned into a rasping, choking gurgle, and her eyes rolled back for the final time.

She was dead.

From the next apartment a woman could be heard screaming in the throes of orgasm. A man laughed, a harsh unkind sound. Rock music drifted up from the second floor. In the distance came the blare of the ambulance.

Dallas hurried from the room. There was nothing she could do now.

* * *

Cody paced angrily around the house, glancing at his watch for the twentieth time. She was late. Very, very late. And he had checked that she had left the studio on time. He had checked with Kiki and Chuck, and she hadn’t gone home with them.

So where was she?

She was with another man, that’s where she was. Maybe the black stud with the white Ferrari. Or maybe the little group he had spied her orgying with that night. Or maybe the guy she had flown off to see when she had lied to him she was visiting an aunt.

He felt sick with jealousy. An emotion he had never felt in his life.

It was all so wrong – he should never have gotten involved. Never. She was playing him for a sucker… She was his wife. His
wife
. And she was out screwing another man.

It was to have been such a great evening. A celebration. He had completed a terrific deal that afternoon for his English comedy actor to star in a top movie. It proved to him that his magic touch wasn’t confined to Dallas.

He had booked a table at the Bistro to celebrate. And he had planned to tell Dallas about the house he had rented in Acapulco, and also that he was delighted with the fact that she wanted to have a baby, and having thought about it, decided that they could definitely slot it into their schedule.

So where was she?

She was impulsive. Maybe she had just moved out. They hadn’t argued, but he was only too painfully aware that she wasn’t happy.

Maybe she had had an accident. But she was a good driver.

He was getting dumped sooner than he had thought.