Lovers and Gamblers (5 page)

‘But…’

‘No buts. I know what you’re going to say. Al likes to travel alone. He worries when you’re along. He likes you in the background. Well, shit, Edna. If you want to put a stop to the gossip you
must
be seen by his side.’

‘Maybe you’re right…’

‘Of
course
I’m right. And I’ll come too, you won’t be alone. Will you tell Al? Or do you want me to?’

‘No.’ Edna jumped up nervously. ‘I’ll mention it.’

‘Don’t mention it – tell him.’ Melanie stood up. ‘I’ve got to be off, hairdressing appointment. Now don’t forget, when he gets home tomorrow
tell
him.’

Edna nodded unsurely.

Outside the house Melanie climbed into her new white Simca sports car. Edna wouldn’t tell him. Edna was scared shitless of him. If only
she
was married to Al. Oh boy, but things would be different then. Unfortunately she had picked the wrong brother. Paul just basked in the aura of a star – what she needed was the real thing.

Al liked her, he had always liked her. In fact… Melanie smiled. If
she
was married to him he wouldn’t have to spend his life whoring around. Edna was a drag. Fat and dreary, not even pretty. What on earth had Al ever seen in her?

Melanie wanted to go on the tour. She would give anything to go on the tour. But – and it was a big but – as long as Edna wasn’t going there was
no way
she could be aboard. She had nagged and cajoled Paul, but he had pointed out that as long as Al wasn’t taking Edna it would be impossible for him to take her. And of course Al had no desire to take Edna. It would restrict his activities.

So Melanie was stuck, and the only hope was to prod Edna into a little action – and that was a difficult task. Edna thought the sun shone out of Al’s ass, and even if she actually caught him screwing some hooker she would have a mouthful of excuses ready on his behalf.

Melanie pulled up her car on the double yellow line outside Mr. Capone’s and got out. She was blonde and pretty, with slightly pointed features, fashionably thin in all the right places, with a reasonable-sized bosom, and long dancer’s legs. It was her legs that had first attracted Paul’s attention. It was her legs that first attracted
everyone’s
attention; She remembered, with a little smile, Manny Shorto,
the
Manny Shorto – famous but elderly American comedian. He had started on her legs and worked his way up… But then the bastard had run out on her… And she had met Paul. She had been one of the dancers on an Al King television spectacular, Paul had invited her out, and a year later they had married. Materially she had everything she wanted. It wasn’t enough.

She swayed into Mr. Capone’s, throwing her jacket at the receptionist. Mr. Capone himself stepped forward to do her hair.

‘Hi there,’ she smiled lazily, catching his attention with her eyes, and holding it.

Mr Capone responded with a lingering look of his own. He was all tight trousers and teeth. He ran his hands through her hair. ‘What do you want today?’ he inquired.

Melanie smiled. ‘Paul’s coming back tomorrow, so you’d better make it something fuckable!’

* * *

Edna didn’t smoke or drink. Her weakness in times of crisis was eating. As soon as Melanie had departed she returned to the fridge and stared yet again at the contents. There was nothing she fancied. Nothing with chocolate or cream or pastry.

The maid came into the kitchen, and Edna shut the fridge guiltily. She could never get used to the servants. She hated having them around. A maid to do the work. A cook to prepare the meals. A chauffeur to take care of the shopping. What was there left for her to do?

‘Can I get you something, madam?’ asked the maid.

‘Nothing, thank you.’ Edna picked up the newspaper with the vitriolic gossip item that Melanie had brought over and left the kitchen. She wandered into the garden: it was a nice day, sunny and warm. She hoped that the good weather would last over the weekend. Al enjoyed sitting by the pool, it did him good to be able to relax.

Maybe Melanie was right. Maybe she should go on the tour. She didn’t relish the thought much, doing anything with Al publicly was a frightening experience. But it
would
put a stop to all these terrible rumours…

Al had mentioned he might take Evan along. She didn’t like
that
idea at all, the boy was difficult enough as it was. Bad tempered, lazy, untidy, rude. However, without Evan at home it would be so quiet, and she could handle him, she understood him. He was a growing boy and needed the presence of his mother close by.

Edna sighed. Perhaps she should have gone to the hairdressers with Melanie. She wanted to look pretty for Al, she had been trying to diet but it wasn’t easy. Anyway he was always saying that he liked her just the way she was. ‘I like something to grab hold of,’ he would comment.

On the other hand Melanie was always nagging at her to do something with herself. ‘You
must
lose weight,’ she would insist. ‘Why don’t you come to the health club with me?’ Edna remembered her day at the health club with cringing embarrassment. Perfectly made-up girls in white mini dresses who looked like they had come straight from the hairdressers verbally pulled her to pieces. ‘You’re very overweight.’ ‘Your skin is in a neglected state.’ ‘Your hair is lifeless.’ ‘You need massage, sauna, scalp treatment, colouring, tinting, skin therapy, a professional make-up.’

Edna had got through the day somehow, and she had to admit that when she emerged she did look almost glamorous. But the price had been ridiculous, and Al had hardly noticed any difference. That had been three months previously and she hadn’t bothered to go back.

‘Do you want to swim, Mrs. King?’

Edna jumped. It was Nelson, the odd job man, who also attended to the maintenance of the swimming pool.

‘No, thank you, Nelson.’

‘You sure? Won’t take me but a minute to get my equipment out.’ He leered knowingly at her.

‘No.’ Edna shook her head. She didn’t like Nelson, there was something not quite nice about him. He had only been with them six weeks, and when she had complained to Al about him he had said, ‘Give him a chance. It’s not that easy to get people to work for you today.’

Nelson was watching her, and she tried to avoid his penetrating stare. It was no good, she couldn’t feel at ease in front of him. Abruptly she turned and went back into the house. Was it her imagination or could she hear Nelson laughing? She would really have to talk to Al about him again.

* * *

Evan King sat chewing on his fingernails in the back of the chauffeured Rolls. He huddled into the upholstery hoping as usual that not too many people would notice him. He was a very thin boy, with acned skin and greasy brown hair.

He resented the fact that every day he had to be ferried to and from school in a Rolls Royce. ‘Why can’t I take my bike?’ he constantly demanded of Edna.

‘It’s not my decision,’ she would reply. ‘You know that your father insists on security.’

‘Balls!’ Evan would mumble in reply. He hated his bloody father. Bloody Al King. What a burden it was to go through school with someone like that for your father. The other kids gave him hell about it. Evan looked forward to the end of term with unconcealed joy. It was his
last
term, the end of school forever. He couldn’t wait.

The Rolls dropped him off in front of the house, and Evan kicked at the gravel drive moodily. He anticipated his mother’s questions. Hello, dear. Did you have a good day? What was for lunch? Who did you talk to? Is anyone coming over?

She bloody knew no one was coming over. They never did, except maybe once to check out Al King’s house, and then to sneer.
Three
colour televisions. A
billiards
room. A
swimming
pool.

‘Evan! Evan!’ Nelson was calling to him from the side of the house.

‘Yes?’

‘Come here for a minute. Got something to show you.’

Evan followed Nelson to the shed he used. ‘Seen these?’ said Nelson, proudly thrusting a pile of magazines upon him.

Evan squatted down on the ground and leafed through the magazines. They featured titles like
Sun Child
,
Birds of Nature
and
Pussy.
They consisted entirely of females in various stages of undress.

‘Where did you get them?’ asked Evan slowly.

‘I found them. Nice, aren’t they? Some lovely little birds in there, real tasty little pieces. Nice. Aren’t they nice then? I’ll sell you the lot for a quid.’

‘OK,’ agreed Evan quickly. He stuffed the magazines in his school satchel and fished in his blazer pocket for some money.

‘I could get you the real thing for a tenner,’ offered Nelson slyly. ‘Ever had the real thing?’

‘Course,’ said Evan weakly.

‘Yes,’ agreed Nelson, ‘I expect your old dad passes a few your way.’ He laughed knowingly. ‘I bet he’s got crumpet knee deep.’

‘See you,’ said Evan, and headed for the house. Now if he could only avoid his mother he could settle down and really get a good look at the magazines.

‘Evan, dear.’ Edna sprang at him from outside the kitchen. ‘How was school today?’

‘OK.’

‘Your father telephoned from New York last night. He sends you his love.’

‘What did he want?’

‘Just to see how we were.’

‘Did he mention the tour? I
can
go on it, can’t I?’

‘I suppose so. Whatever your father says. I was thinking that perhaps I might come too.’

‘
You
,’ stated Evan scornfully. ‘Why would
you
want to come?’

‘I just thought it would be nice for both of us to go…’

‘That’s a lousy idea. It stinks. I don’t want to go if you’re going.’

‘Oh, Evan.’ Edna bit her lip. ‘Why ever not?’

‘Because you spy on me. You’re always asking me questions. Anyway, I’d like to be with Dad alone.’

Edna nodded miserably. Where had they gone wrong with Evan? They had given him everything, denied him nothing. Yet he was full of hostilities and resentments. ‘Is anyone coming over?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘Do you want some tea?’

‘Yes.’

Edna scurried off to the kitchen to prepare him a tray. He was going through a difficult time. It was his age. She understood. He was just a child. Although when
she
had been sixteen she had been pregnant, and shortly after, married.

Edna sighed. She wished Al was home, she hated it when he was away.

Things were beginning to grow hazy. She had won. She was a star. And prepared as Dallas had been, the fuss and activity around her was startling. Photographers. Television cameras. People. Men. And a sudden tinge of respect reserved for a person who was about to become a personality. Dallas liked it. In fact she loved it. But she wanted to get rid of the cheesy cloak and crown. Most of all she wanted a drink.

At last the photographers were finished, and she was escorted back to the dressing-room to collect her belongings. The organizers of the contest seemed intent on taking her over. She was their ‘Miss Coast to Coast’, and as such they expected to make quite a bit of money promoting her for the year she would carry the title. She had won ten thousand dollars prize money, a screen test, and the chance of making a lot more money by accepting the various contracts to promote products that would be waved in her direction. For the time being she was being given a suite at the Plaza for a week, a car and chauffeur for the same period, and a list of immediate engagements that she would be expected to fulfil.

She was also being given a permanent escort, Mrs. Fields, a middle-aged lady hired to keep a firm eye on the winner, and an even firmer eye on the winner’s reputation. ‘Miss Coast to Coast’ was supposed to represent the young, good, clean image of American girlhood. Dallas couldn’t help giggling at that thought.

* * *

Dallas Lunde survived the hazards of staying in Miami with hardly any money, no permanent residence, and no job, for almost three months.

She quickly picked up the pattern of the way things were. No man was permanent. They came and they went, and the trick was to find one who wasn’t just a one-nighter.

The conventions were the best hunting grounds, and sometimes Dallas found herself with a man who might even stay as long as six or seven days.

She soon developed a routine. She got up late in whichever hotel room she had spent the night. Then she would order a substantial breakfast, watch television for a few hours, and if the man she was with had checked out, she would saunter down to the beach or swimming pool and look for a likely replacement. There was no shortage of replacements. She began to use make-up, bought herself some new clothes. In a way it was a whole exciting new life.

She had started to copy the way people talked on television. She loved the old Lana Turner movies, and moulded herself on the good-time girl with a heart of gold.

It did not occur to her that the type of life she was leading might be wrong. Sexually she derived no enjoyment from her encounters with the mainly older men she slept with. They seemed more than delighted with her, and she tried to please. They didn’t bother her, they didn’t hurt her, and most of the time she was free to watch television which was teaching her so much about life.

Then one day she met Bobbie.

It had been a fairly normal week. A married man in his fifties had kept her in his room for three days. He was in from Chicago on a toilet tissue convention. On his last night he became restless. ‘Know any other broads?’ he questioned.

Dallas shrugged, ‘Nope.’

‘I fancy a sandwich, a nice thick juicy little sandwich. Rye one side, white the other. Can you handle that?’

Dallas smiled vaguely. She had no idea what he was talking about.

The man phoned the desk clerk and made some mumbled requests. Half an hour later Bobbie arrived. She was a tall black girl, wearing denim hot pants, boots, a lace-up sweater, and a curly wig. She had an incredible rounded jutting-out ass, and a flashing dazzling smile.