Lovers and Gamblers (56 page)

Cristina had nodded. All that mattered to her was Nino. As long as she had him she didn’t care what happened.

Enough thinking. She leapt out of the pool and ran into the house. The door to her parents’ bedroom was firmly closed.

If they only knew what she had been up to… She shuddered at the thought. They would lock her in the house and never let her out again!

* * *

Evita stretched and sighed. There was no getting away from it, her husband was a selfish lover. She could hear him singing happily in the shower. Jorge Maraco.

How surprised everyone had been when he had chosen her as his bride. It had taken years before his friends had accepted her. Now her early days of poverty seemed like a bad dream. It was almost as if her life had begun the day she had set eyes on Jorge.

She had not been a disappointment to him. She had come to his bed a virgin, and he had been the only man she had ever slept with. Although it was not for want of other men trying – she had often received secret notes and phone calls from Jorge’s so-called friends. She had turned them all down. She had been absolutely faithful. Except… She blushed at the memory. One lapse in eighteen years of marriage. Her blush deepened. One lapse…

Three years earlier Jorge had taken her to Acapulco. There was a film festival in progress, and the town had been filled with movie stars, directors, and producers. Jorge appeared to be on nodding terms with everyone. He loved the gaiety and excitement. Evita was somewhat intimidated by it all. She encouraged Jorge to go out and about, attending receptions and screenings, whilst she stayed mostly at the hotel, lying under a large umbrella beside the swimming pool.

It was during this time she had struck up a friendship with the American film star Doris Andrews. Doris’s husband was in the entertainment business and he too seemed to be out all day. Doris and Evita became close friends, sharing gossip, ordering long cool Planters Punch together, exploring the tourist shops.

Evita had never suspected that Doris was anything but completely normal. Until one day, returning from a shopping trip, they had both collapsed exhausted from the heat in Doris’s suite. They had lain side by side on the large bed, giggling, laughing. Doris had slipped off the pink muumuu she was wearing. It had seemed perfectly natural, after all it
was
hot, so Evita had slipped out of her beach dress also.

They lolled on the bed clad only in panties.

‘What lovely breasts you have,’ Doris had said, and she had leaned over and touched them and murmured, ‘So full, so firm.’

Evita had smiled. Her breasts were lovely. She was proud of them.

‘I wish mine were better,’ Doris had complained, cupping her own small boobs. ‘What do you think of them?’

Evita hadn’t really thought about them at all. But she looked, and noted the erect nipples, and noted that her nipples were also extended. And it had seemed perfectly natural when Doris had started to stroke and caress her.

One lapse…

And she had not repeated it. She had insisted to Jorge that they flew home that very evening. He had been surprised, but hadn’t argued. He never argued with her.

Jorge emerged from the bathroom, a towel tied round his middle. ‘I spoke to Cristina,’ he said. ‘I told you we have nothing to worry about. She is a good girl. It is Louis we have to worry about. He tried to take liberties with her. She refused him. That is why she sees different friends now.’

‘But who are her new friends? She never brings them home, we know nothing about them…’

‘If it will make you happy I’ll tell her we must meet them.’

‘Yes. I think we must.’

‘Of course.’ He dropped the towel and approached his wife. His penis was erect and ready.

Just once Evita wished he would use his tongue instead. Doris Andrews had used her tongue…

‘Evita!’ Jorge sighed, positioning himself above her. ‘My darling Evita!’

Melanie King was still in New York. If Paul knew, he would be furious. She had taken elaborate precautions to make sure that he didn’t find out. His only concern was the children, she didn’t kid herself on
that
count.

She phoned nanny and made up a mass of lies as to why Nanny should say she was back in London if Mr. King phoned.

Nanny sniffed her disapproval. ‘About my time off…’ she began.

‘You can have two weeks to visit your mother when I get back,’ Melanie promised rashly.

‘Very well, Mrs. King.’

Melanie had hung up relieved. That took care of
that
end of things. She had herself to take care of. She was twenty-eight years old, and she wasn’t getting any younger. Paul was dull and boring. She had thought when they married that being Al King’s sister-in-law would bring a lot of excitement into her life. It had brought nothing of the sort. It had brought a boring life stuck in a house next to boring Edna – and
it just wasn’t good enough
.

She had come to New York determined to have a good time before returning home. She hadn’t counted on running into Manny Shorto again. Now that she had…

She had first met Manny eleven years ago. She had been seventeen, pretty, innocent, and stupid.

Manny Shorto, the famous American comedian.

Eleven years ago he had seduced her, used her, tricked her, trapped her.

She had been one of the dancers on the television spectacular he had come to England to star in. He had promised her the earth, delivered her three mediocre screws, and flown back to America leaving her confused and pregnant.

She had been forced to sleep with two film extras and a camera operator to get enough money together for an abortion. Then, a few months later she had met Paul King. Without hesitation – when he asked – she had married him. She had never loved him. She had always expected something better to be just around the corner.

Now Manny Shorto was back in her life. And he didn’t even remember her! The bastard.

But he wanted her – oh how he wanted her. His wife had died of cancer, and he lived alone in a large hotel suite surrounded by hangers-on. He was more than a star – he was an American legend.

They had met again at a party. He asked her out – she said no – he sent her some presents – she said yes – he tried to screw her – she said no – he sent her some more presents – she still said no.

She was his type. There was no denying that. ‘What do you want?’ he asked. ‘Name it – you got it.’

She wanted to be Mrs. Manny Shorto.
She
wanted to be the star’s wife.

Now if she played her cards right… If she could only stay in New York long enough… This time
she
was going to screw
him
. This time
she
would win.

* * *

The Hollywood Bowl concert was a smash. Even Bernie had to admit that he had never heard Al in better voice. He grabbed the audience in his fist, and held them there in a dazzling performance. They screamed their approval – stars and fans alike. At the end of his ‘tribute to other singers’ he dedicated Bobby Womack’s version of ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’ to a ‘wild-haired, green-eyed lady out front.’

Dallas, sitting with KM and Chuck, smiled slightly. No one knew it was for her. It was their secret.

He over-ran by half an hour, and everyone stamped and clapped and cheered for him to stay longer – but it was time to go – and he gave them his boxer’s salute and vanished.

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Kiki. ‘He is
too
much – but the best. I never realized what impact he has. Jeeze – I’m weak at the knees. That is one horny man!’

Chuck laughed. ‘I’d look horny if my pants were cut to within an inch of my life!’

Kiki giggled. ‘You’re horny anyway, baby.’ She hugged him. ‘In fact – you are the horniest! I can vouch for that!’

They got caught in a huge traffic snarl-up, and it seemed like hours before they reached the Beverly Hills Hotel. There was a hassle to get directed to Al’s bungalow, and Chuck nearly got involved in a fight.

There was a mob of people at the bungalow. Dallas found Paul and asked what was happening. ‘Go through to the bedroom,’ he said. ‘He’s waiting for you.’

She edged through the crowd, and Luke ushered her into the bedroom.

Al was lying on the bed in a towelling dressing gown. He sat up when he saw her and said, ‘
Where have you been?
’

‘The traffic…’

He reached around her waist and pulled her onto the bed with him, ‘Let’s fuck,’ he said urgently, ‘I was thinking about you all the time…’

She shoved him away. ‘What is it with
you?
’

He leapt on top of her, pinning her arms down. ‘What is it with
me?
I haven’t had a woman for weeks. I can have my pick, but I’ve been waiting for you… Do you know what it means for me to wait?’ He lowered his mouth onto hers. She flicked out her tongue to meet him. He relaxed his hold on her arms and pushed his own tongue into her mouth.

She bit his tongue sharply, at the same time springing free and rolling off the bed. ‘I don’t want to screw you. Get it? I’m not another one-night lay. Another silly little star fucker.’

He started to laugh. ‘Is my tongue bleeding?’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she huffed, picking herself up from the floor. ‘I walk in the room – you
attack
me. There’s a million and one people right outside. Honestly…’

‘I love you,’ he laughed. ‘I really love you.’

‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Now get dressed and we’ll go to the party.’

He saluted, still smiling. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

She couldn’t help smiling too. ‘And don’t get smart, or we won’t go.’

* * *

Karmen Rush wanted him.

She was a lady who always got what she wanted or all hell was let loose.

She was a not too attractive female who had styled herself into a devastating cult beauty. Her aquiline features she emphasized with deliberate shading. Her too-close-together myopic eyes she hid behind black contact lenses, and emphasized the outer eye and lid in a dramatic Egyptian fashion. Over her thin mouth she drew a shape of a more inviting nature, which she filled in with a dark brown lipstick. She dieted fanatically to keep her thinner-than-thin figure. And her hair she had dyed a jet black and wore it very long with the help of various hair pieces.

Her magic voice was all her own.

She was one of the very few bankable female stars in the world.

At the age of thirty-two, she had devoured three husbands, and was currently sharing her sumptuous house with a young dress designer by the name of Keeley Nova. His friends sometimes called him Keelin’ Over, on account of the fact that he was always stoned out of his head, and had a habit of falling down flat at the most inopportune moments. Karmen never seemed to notice. She sailed through everything like a queen, her face an impenetrable mask. As long as she was never disturbed during the three hours it took for her to get herself together every day – then she seemed unruffled by anything.

When Al arrived at her house she took him by the hand and husked, ‘Beautiful… Beautiful…’ in his ear.

He had always wanted to meet her. She did not leave go of his hand, and she had a grip of steel.

The house was alive with freaks – music issued forth from every corner – an old Shirley Temple movie played soundlessly on a giant screen.

Karmen fixed him with her deadly eyes. ‘Come with me,’ she whispered. ‘I want to tape record our first conversation.’

Dallas gave him a little shove from behind. ‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘But…’Al began.

‘Go on!’ insisted Dallas. ‘I don’t mind – really.’

‘I’ll be back in a minute, then.’

Karmen dragged him away.

‘I can’t get over this house,’ Kiki was saying. ‘Dallas, have you looked around – it’s insane!’

The house was indeed weird. Not furnished in the conventional sense – but littered with exotic cushions and rugs, and only lit by long black candles that were stuck in holders ranging from exquisite silver to wine bottles.

On the walls priceless Picassos jostled next to old movie posters. The back of the house was sheets of glass which led out to the beach and the ocean. Various huge dogs wandered about apparently harmlessly. Word had it that at a gesture from Karmen, they would attack and kill.

‘Kinda cosy!’ joked Kiki. ‘What do you think, Chuck baby, shall we take it?’

‘Christ! Be careful what you drink!’ Chuck replied. ‘There’s not one normal person here. They’ll slip you acid before you can say hello!’

Dallas wandered onto the beach. She didn’t mind the fact that Karmen had spirited Al off. In fact in a way she was pleased. If he was so anxious to get laid, let Karmen do him the honours. At least it would give her an excuse to stop seeing him. And she wanted to stop seeing him – she wanted it to be over before it had begun. That was the only way she would be safe.

* * *

Paul arrived at the party a little later. He had stayed behind to get rid of the people at the bungalow. He couldn’t spot either Al or Dallas, and assumed that they had finally got it together and were hidden away somewhere consummating the relationship. Good. That would mean the end of Dallas. It didn’t seem right for Al to be so hung up. Paul preferred him the way he knew him – this whole Dallas trip was unusual.

He looked around. It was pure freaksville. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he out trying to get Linda back?

A stoned redhead swayed over to him. ‘What star sign are you, lover?’ she asked. ‘If you’re a Scorpio we’re in luck. My horoscope promised me a Scorpio today and you look like a beautiful human being.’

‘No, no,’ he backed away. He couldn’t turn on to women the way Al did. He couldn’t produce an instant hard-on with a complete stranger. It just wasn’t his scene. He needed more. He needed a certain mental communication before anything physical could happen.

He wanted to leave. This wasn’t his kind of party. Quietly he headed for the door.

* * *

Karmen said, ‘Your vibes are reaching me, Al. I knew you and I were tuned into the same thought waves.’

They were in her bedroom. A room painted black with no ceiling. The ceiling was the sky littered with stars.