Lovers and Gamblers (7 page)

How many happy marriages did he know of? How many that lasted longer than five years? In the world he moved in now – not many. At least he could trust Edna. She would never think of looking at another man. And she loved him for himself, the whole Al King bit meant nothing to her.

He sighed again. Then he remembered Paul was supposed to be arranging lunch for him with – what was her name the beauty contest winner – Dallas. Yeah. Al grinned. Not a bad bit of crumpet.

He consulted his digital watch to discover it was eleven-thirty. He hauled himself out of bed, and launched into thirty push-ups. Christ, but they got more difficult every day.

Lunch with a girl called Dallas. What would she be like?

Like the rest. Pretty but dumb. Either posing in front of a mirror all the time or allowing him to scrawl his autograph across her ripe and ready breasts. Women – they were all the same.

Disgust built in Al’s gut. Disgust at himself for using women, and contempt for the women for
allowing
themselves to be used just because he was a star.

Fuck it. To hell with a girl called Dallas. He picked up the phone and dialled Paul’s room.

* * *

Paul had not spent the perfect morning.

He had left Linda’s place at six a.m. while she still slept. She had woken at seven and phoned to inform him that she was not pleased.

He was not pleased either. He had fought off a stoned mugger and been unable to find a cab for ten blocks.

Mental note. Get Linda an apartment on the better side of town.

Now he was going through one big hassle trying to arrange a lunch date for Al with ‘Miss Coast to Coast’. He had finally convinced the organizers what a great coup it would be, but apparently Dallas felt otherwise.

Paul wondered who or what would placate Al. Turn-downs were rare, in fact Paul could not recall the last one.

The phone rang. It was Al.

‘Ah,’ said Paul cheerily, ‘how we feeling today?’

‘In good shape. What’s new?’

‘Mention of the tour in all the columns. Bitch item in
Reporter
. Nothing heavy.’ Paul was damned if he was going to mention the lunch. Maybe Al had forgotten.

‘About that lunch I wanted you to arrange…’

‘Oh, yes. Well, it’s like this, she…’

‘Cancel it.’

‘Cancel it?’

‘You heard me. Who needs it?’

‘You’re right. I’ll wipe it out immediately.’ Paul hung up relieved. He was off the hook. Now Al would never know he had been turned down.

Paul was very protective towards his brother. He liked things to go smoothly for Al, he always had. Even at the beginning Paul had only told Al the good things that happened. He never mentioned the recording companies and theatre managers who had not wanted to know… He spoke only with glowing enthusiasm of Al’s future career, and he pushed and pushed until he made a crack big enough to send Al into orbit.

He had willed Al’s success, and he had also worked his ass off to make it happen.

There was a knock on the door. ‘Morning,’ Linda said brightly, ‘I was a bitch on the phone and I’m sorry.’ She put her arms round his neck and stretched on tiptoe to kiss him.

The phone rang, and Paul went to answer it.

Linda lit a cigarette and wandered over to the window. She felt the usual tight feeling that she always got when Paul was leaving. He came into her life. He went out of her life. He was like the goddamn sea. It was most unsettling. She was just his New York girlfriend, someone to hump while he was away from his wife. She had made up her mind though that
something
would have to be settled on the tour, or that would be it.

‘Trying to get hold of Bernie is impossible,’ Paul complained, hanging up the phone.

Linda laughed. ‘What about “Miss Coast to Coast”? Did you line her up for lunch?’

‘Funny thing, she turned us down flat. Can you believe that? First time that happened in—’ He was interrupted by the phone jangling. It was Bernie Suntan. He launched into a business conversation.

Linda was just lighting another cigarette when Al came in. He swooped down on her with a kiss and a hug. Standard Al King greeting, but it made her uncomfortable. He had a habit of thrusting a knee intimately between her legs. She had learned to automatically back away, but this time she was not quick enough.

‘You smoke too much,’ Al admonished.

‘It’s
my
cancer,’ Linda replied defensively.

‘Funny. Hope you’re not laughing all the way to the grave.’

‘So “Miss Coast to Coast” was still not available,’ Linda snapped. ‘Hate to say I told you so!’

‘What do you mean? I was the one who cancelled out on the lunch.’

‘Oh, come on, Paul told me she turned you down flat.’

Al’s smile faded. ‘Paul – what is this shit?’

Paul waved vaguely. He was busy on the phone and had not heard their conversation.

‘He’s talking to Bernie,’ Linda explained.

‘Fuck Bernie. When I want to talk to baby brother, I talk.’ Al walked over and cut off the connection with a vicious slam of his hand.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ complained Paul. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Bernie all morning.’

‘Did you fix up that beauty queen bitch for lunch or did you not?’

‘You said you didn’t want to have lunch with her.’

‘I know that. But was she coming?’

‘I don’t really know – I was—’

‘Cut the shit… She said no. Right? As your girlfriend so nicely put it, she turned me down flat. Right?’

Paul glared at Linda. ‘What does it matter? You didn’t want to have lunch anyway.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. Get her.’ Al slammed his way out of the room.

‘What can I say?’ mumbled Linda.

‘I think you’ve said enough. You know what he’s like. Why couldn’t you just keep quiet?’

‘I guess I’ll go home.’

‘I guess you should.’

Once again Al had come between them. Well, screw him, she wasn’t going to creep out. ‘If you like,’ she ventured, ‘I’ll see if I can fix something. I have some pictures I could drop by the hotel – maybe I could talk to Dallas.’

‘Anything would help.’ He softened. ‘Look, I know it’s not really your fault. I should have told you not to say anything.’ He kissed her. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call. Do what you can.’

Her photograph adorned the front page of the newspapers, and she studied it intently. It was a thrill, a great big crazy thrill. On the same page there was an article about the President, and there was a picture of him also, a small picture,
much
smaller than the one of her. Suddenly she was
somebody
, no longer a faceless hooker, but a person whose photograph was larger than the President’s!

She was staying at the Plaza Hotel and she didn’t have to fuck anybody. She was a free agent. She had a cheque for ten thousand dollars, and she hadn’t lain on her back to earn it.

She felt incredibly elated. She leapt out of bed, threw open the window, and admired the view.

* * *

‘Check out the view, sugar baby!’ Bobbie insisted when they flew into Los Angeles. ‘Mind blowing!’

They went to stay with a friend of Bobbie’s who was white, miserable, and addicted to heroin.

‘I can’t stand it here!’ Dallas insisted after a few days. ‘Aren’t we going to get a place of our own?’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we gotta get back in action.’

So she found them an apartment off the Strip and renewed her connections.

Things in Hollywood were different. No longer out-of-town schmucks set on getting laid. Instead, sophisticated, jaded people, who required much more than a simple fuck. Dallas started to complain immediately.

‘Shit, man!’ exclaimed Bobbie. ‘Just shut your eyes an’ think of nothin’. Their money is just the same.’

‘No,’ insisted Dallas, ‘I won’t do it.’

‘OK,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we’ll only book you out to the straights.’

So Dallas found herself alone most of the time. She cleaned the apartment and did the cooking; it kept her busy while Bobbie was out working. She also learned to drive – an essential for California living.

But it wasn’t long before she started to feel a revulsion at Bobbie’s advances. At first it had been something new, but now, with Bobbie coming home from a twenty-handed orgy, it began to pall when she wanted to make love.

‘You got yourself another girlfriend?’ Bobbie asked accusingly.

‘No, I’m just tired.’

The more she resisted Bobbie, the more the black girl started to do for her. She bought her presents and flowers and chocolates. She became like an attentive suitor.

One day Dallas packed her things and left. She was fed up with the whole situation. She moved into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel with an impotent writer who liked her to walk around naked. That was all he required of her, and he was quite friendly and nice. He didn’t pay her, but she had free board and lodging at one of the best hotels in town, and the use of his Cadillac. It was a convenient arrangement, and occasionally Dallas would pull a trick on the side and make some extra money. There was one man who came to the hotel pool every day and offered her a thousand dollars to star in a porno film. Dallas declined. ‘Why?’ he had questioned, affronted. ‘Ain’t ya ever heard of Linda Lovelace?’

She had heard of her, but it wasn’t the kind of stardom she wanted. In her mind she knew there was a better life for her somewhere. Television had shown her the American dream, and she saw no reason why there shouldn’t be a piece of it for her.

Bobbie found her five weeks later. She was waiting when Dallas returned from a shopping trip. ‘Get your ass packed and out of here!’ she snapped.

Dallas stopped in amazement. How had Bobbie found her?

The writer, somewhat nervous, but smiling bravely, said: ‘I think that you had better do what your – uh – friend says.’

‘You goddamn right she better do it!’ snapped Bobbie, tossing her wig impatiently, and tapping green-taloned nails on the table.

‘Are you asking me to go?’ Dallas inquired of the writer.

‘Well – er – yes: I didn’t realize that you were – that you had a – uh – well, permanent sort of – er – friend.’

He was deeply embarrassed and would not look her in the eyes.

‘I don’t
have
to go,’ Dallas stated flatly.

‘Oh yes you do, sugar sweets,’ interrupted Bobbie quickly. ‘I got things to say to you that you ain’t gonna want no one to hear.’

Dallas packed. One suitcase of possessions was the sum total of her belongings.

‘Goodbye,’ she said to the man she had lived with for five weeks.

‘Bye,’ he mumbled, redfaced. God knows what Bobbie had told him.

‘See ya!’ yelled Bobbie cheerily. ‘Any time you wanna free one give me a call.’ Under her breath she muttered, ‘No balls. You sure picked a loser, kid.’

Outside in the car Bobbie said: ‘I bail ya outa the shit in Miami, give you a home, clothes, work my black ass off fuckin’ pigs so that you can take it easy, and what happens? What the frig happens? Soon as I turn my back you all hightail it outa my life for what you think will be forever. Well, sugar baby, life just ain’t that simple. I
knew
I’d find you, and I did.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘Shoulda bin a friggin’ detective.’

‘What do you want? I didn’t take anything.’

‘I didn’t take anything!’ mimicked Bobbie sarcastically. ‘Kid, you are green all the way up. You an me are together, a team. We know too much about each other to split up. You dig what I mean, baby doll? Cast your mind back to a certain motel and a certain old dude, a very old dude. You get it?’

‘I get it.’

‘Good girl. I knew you would understand once I explained it to you real simple like. Now we can get to work – you an’ me. I think it’s about time ya got used to the Hollywood way of life. Shit, baby – I am through protectin’ you – from now on it’s togetherness – all the way. You dig?’

* * *

The photo call was fun. Sitting upright in bed, low-cut nightie, crown on the head, and fifteen guys struggling to get the best picture. Smile. Flash. Laugh. Flash. Sexy look. Flash.

Mrs. Fields allowed them an hour, and then it was up and dressed and over to the offices of the organizers to sign some contracts.

Dallas wouldn’t sign. ‘I have a friend who I’d like to check them out with first,’ she explained sweetly.

‘Sure,’ they agreed, but they were all pissed off.

‘By the way,’ Mrs. Fields said, ‘Al King, the singer, would like to take you to lunch. We could arrange it as a nice little publicity thing.’

‘I thought I was supposed to be having lunch with some wool firm?’

‘We could postpone that.’

‘Don’t. The more things I do as “Miss Coast to Coast” the more I’ll like it.’ Offhandedly she added, ‘Let’s face it, Al King’s probably only looking to get laid and really, I’m not that sort of a girl.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Mrs. Fields, and she sighed, because suddenly she realized that it was not going to be an easy week.

‘Now,’ said Dallas brightly, ‘have I got time to spend some money before lunch? I’ve always wanted to go into Saks and spend
my
money.’

* * *

Life with Bobbie was no longer the same. The black girl’s easygoing friendliness was gone. Instead she was tough, flip, and businesslike. She spelled it out to Dallas in no uncertain terms. They had killed a guy, together, and because of that simple fact they were stuck with each other.

‘You had better get used to it, kid,’ Bobbie warned, ‘’cos if you run off again I’ll find you, and next time I ain’t gonna let you off so easy.’

So began a year of complete and utter degradation for Dallas. She had not believed that people with such devious and perverted tastes existed. Bobbie made sure that she came across every one of them.

‘They’re clients,’ Bobbie would explain, straightfaced. ‘It’s just another job.’