Lovers and Gamblers (13 page)

She sipped her Pernod on the rocks and exchanged stares across the table with Al.

Women kept coming up to him, whispering little messages, giggling, slipping him notes.

‘Doesn’t it drive him mad?’ Dallas asked Paul.

He shrugged. ‘He’s used to it, it’s part of the game. Did anyone show you the papers today?’

‘No… Why?’

‘You and Al are all over them.’

‘I’d love to see them.’

‘I’ll see you get copies.’

‘Thanks.’ Was he being nice to her now that he had discovered Ed Kurlnik was her man? No longer was she being treated as just another little ding-a-ling to lure to Al’s caravan for a quick one.

Al removed a faded blonde from his left shoulder and stood up. ‘Dance?’ he questioned Dallas.

She glanced at Ed, deep in conversation, and stood up also. ‘I guess there’s nothing better to do around here.’

The record was Ben E. King’s ‘Supernatural Thing’ and Al started to gyrate his hips in the way he had made famous all over the world.

‘You move like a stud waiting for some action,’ laughed Dallas.

‘That’s just the way it is. Want some?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘OK, big eyes. Just don’t come begging later.’

‘I promise I won’t.’

‘Promises are made to be broken.’

They danced silently, enjoying the feeling of togetherness the beat gave them.

Bobbie had taught Dallas how to dance. ‘You gotta let it all hang loose,’ she had instructed. ‘Pretend you’re balling a really
fantastic
guy – just let go – ya dig?’

Dallas had understood exactly what she meant but had never put it into practice until now.

‘Supernatural Thing’ faded away, and Aretha came on at her best, singing ‘You’ll Never Get to Heaven’. Al pulled her close, very close, and they rocked silently together on the crowded dance floor. Like a roller coaster the feeling hit Dallas again. Great waves of sexual excitement.

She could feel him grow hard against her thigh, and she pressed towards him shutting her eyes.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he murmured.

‘Let’s not,’ she whispered back, but her voice was shaky and she had to struggle for control.

‘You mean to tell me you’re really tight with the old guy?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Let’s sit down.’

‘Let’s wait till I’m in suitable shape to sit down.’

She drew away from him. ‘Can I get you a glass of cold water?’

‘Only if you personally throw it over my cock!’

She couldn’t help smiling. A man who gave her incredible sexual waves
and
made her smile. Impossible. If things had been different maybe she would have done something about it. But no. She was too smart. She had been around. Stars. They were all the same. Wham bam. Thank you, Ma’am. Then on to the next little pushover.

Back at the table Ed was getting restless, ‘I’ll drop you at your hotel,’ he told Dallas, fooling no one. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Hotel de Paris,’ she replied demurely.

‘See you tomorrow,’ said Al, ‘bright and early.’

‘Goodnight,’ said Ed, and to Violette, ‘don’t forget to write me the details.’

As they were leaving Dallas clung tightly onto Ed’s arm. ‘What was
that
all about?’ she asked.

‘She needs backers for her new film.’

‘Ooh – backers, huh? And what would she give you in return?’

‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Stupid I’m not. You fancy her, don’t you? Come on, tell me the truth, I don’t mind. Come on, daddy…’ Half laughing she threw her arms around him. And that was the precise moment when the camera flashed, and Ed Kurlnik and Dallas had their first photograph taken together.

The scandal affected all three of them. The newspapers pounced on the situation with glee, and the photographs of Al and Dallas taken at the location were used in conjunction with the one of her and Ed leaving the nightclub so that it looked like she was conducting two different love affairs at the same time.

Denials came thick and fast.

After threatening to sue the photographer, Ed Kurlnik stated that Dallas was merely a casual acquaintance who had happened to be leaving the nightclub at the same time as him.

Wasn’t it strange, replied the newspapers, that Mr Kurlnik happened to have been a judge on the ‘Miss Coast to Coast’ competition. And by further coincidence, was he aware of the fact that he and Dallas happened to have adjoining suites at the Hotel de Paris? They had been wanting to get something on Ed Kurlnik for years and this was the perfect opportunity.

Al made a formal statement to the effect that he and Dallas were merely professional colleagues, and he couldn’t understand the fuss, as everyone knew he had been happily married for sixteen years.

Dallas safely said ‘No comment’ as she had been advised to do in a sharp phone call from Beauty Incorporated.

Ed had flown immediately back to the safety of Dee Dee and Fire Island. ‘We’ll discuss it next week,’ he had tersely told Dallas, ‘just don’t admit anything.’

She had finished the taping of the television special. There had only been half a day’s work left, and an attentive Nicky had taken her to the airport. Al had been friendly but cool; he made no more mention of personal matters. End of the affair that never was.

Back in New York she received a lecture from Beauty Incorporated on the morals of being ‘Miss Coast to Coast’, and they hinted that if there were any further scandals they would have to think seriously of asking for her resignation.

Her phone never stopped ringing. Chat shows. Interviews. Playboys around town. She waited for the call from Bobbie, but it never came. That was
one
good thing.

She enjoyed all the attention she was receiving, so much so that she took no notice of the fact that there was no word from Ed. He would be scared to appear in her life again too soon. He would want a little time for things to simmer down. In the meantime she could enjoy her notoriety. Although she didn’t feel she could go as far as accepting any dates. If she went out with anyone it was bound to be publicized, and Ed wouldn’t like that. Or would he? It might be good to be seen out. She could always tell Ed it was to protect him.

She didn’t quite know what to do until Ed solved the problem. He waited a week, and then a male secretary appeared at the apartment and packed up all his personal belongings. Dallas watched the secretary numbly. When he was finished he handed her a typed envelope and inside was the lease for the apartment in her name, and a cheque for ten thousand dollars. Bastard! Who did Ed Kurlnik think he was?

She could not believe that he would treat her in this way. She tried to contact him, but he had changed his private office number. For a while she was in a state of shock. Ed had been her passport to a whole new life. With him behind her she had felt completely protected. And now what did she have? Some ratty title and a bit of half-assed fame. The thought had always hovered at the back of her mind that one day the immaculate Dee Dee would be divorced and that she – Dallas – would become Mrs. Ed Kurlnik.

Ten thousand dollars. What a paltry pay-off
that
was from a man of his wealth. Why, goddamn it, he was treating her like some little hooker. The irony of that was not lost on her.

She went out on the town with anyone who asked, drank too much, and was photographed everywhere. Let Ed Kurlnik see how much he mattered to her. Let him eat his heart out – senile old fool.

Beauty Incorporated called her in for yet another lecture on morals. She had certain standards to keep up. The unseemly publicity would have to stop.

She made a half-hearted effort. Stayed home two nights in a row, stopped drinking. Then the contract with the wool firm fell through just when she was on the point of signing. Not quite the right public image, she was told. Screw that.

Beauty Incorporated wanted her to go on a field trip to entertain troops abroad with Manny Shorto, a randy old comedian. ‘How much?’ she asked.

‘The publicity is enough’ was their answer.

Screw
that
. ‘I want to make some money,’ she told them, ‘
real
money.’

‘You’re very uncooperative,’ they replied. ‘Frankly, the best thing would be if you resigned.’

No way.

Days later Beauty Incorporated fired her, and Miss Miami Beach stepped simperingly into her shoes. The newspapers went to town on that one.

Dallas didn’t care. She had a movie test to do, and a lucrative contract for a suntan commercial which she had arranged herself. She had also met Kip Rey, nineteen-year-old heir to the family shoe fortune. He was tall and blond, and the ex-fiancé of Ed’s lovely daughter Dana. Somehow it seemed like poetic justice.

They had met at a party. She had gone to use the john, and Kip was already in occupation, throwing up.

‘Hey – you all right?’ she asked.

‘If I was all right I wouldn’t be spewing up the godawful food they served at dinner. You drive?’

‘Yes.’

‘Take me home.’

She had been at the party with a faceless man that she couldn’t care less about. She didn’t mind dumping him.

‘Sure,’ she agreed.

He had a Maserati parked in the street, and she had some trouble with the gearshift, but he instructed her, and she soon got it together.

They ended up driving down to Coney Island and paddling in the sea. They snared a few joints, and he made her laugh. He didn’t want anything from her, so she started to see him every night.

He was a young man with a lot of problems. He hated his rich family, didn’t want to work in the family business, and used drugs like they were going out of style.

‘Bad news,’ Linda Cosmo informed her on one of their lunches.

‘But I can relax with him,’ protested Dallas. ‘He doesn’t hassle me.’

She and Linda met regularly. They got along exceptionally well, and Linda took incredible photos of her. They had already had five magazine covers.

‘How did you and Al make out?’ Linda had enquired upon her return from Europe.

‘We didn’t’ had been Dallas’s somewhat terse reply.

‘Good,’ Linda had announced firmly – and that had been that.

Dallas did find herself thinking about him sometimes. His black eyes and hard body. Al King. SuperCock. Yes. She had made the right decision. Who needed to be just another one of the girls?

Kip took her to Puerto Rico for the weekend, and they stayed at a friend’s house and spent the entire three days bombed out of their minds on a variety of goodies that Kip supplied. They slept together for the first time.

Dallas felt nothing. His tall blond body did nothing for her. No waves. No jolts. Just plain professional fucking. No charge, kind sir, I am out of the business now. I don’t even have to fake orgasms. I can be my good old-fashioned self.

‘Don’t you enjoy it?’ he would mumble, too stoned to really care.

She would stare at him and not reply. What was there to enjoy when your body was anesthetized?

They played James Taylor and Dylan records, ate chocolate, went riding and swimming.

The night before they returned to New York he broke down and cried. ‘I’m no good,’ he confided. ‘I’m a weak sonofabitch. I don’t even know how you can stand to be with me.’

Dallas shrugged. ‘I like you, it’s that simple.’ But if she was truthful she would admit that the only reason she liked him was because he made no demands on her.

‘I’m rich,’ he told her, ‘goddamn rich. When I’m twenty-one I get over three million dollars, then the bastards can’t touch me. Let’s get married, Dallas.’

She agreed. It seemed like a wonderful idea. Only she knew his family would never allow it, and it was two years before he was twenty-one.

They announced their engagement. Once more she made headlines.

Kip was whisked back to the family compound in New York to explain matters.

Dallas had to fly to Los Angeles to shoot the suntan commercial and do the screen test.

Kip assured her everything would be all right. They would meet again in a week’s time in New York and discuss their plans.

Going back to Los Angeles made her nervous. So many bad memories. However, everyone connected with the commercial couldn’t have been nicer. She worked hard all day and collapsed exhausted into bed at night. Kip didn’t call, but then she didn’t expect him to.

She had a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel and remembered the writer she had lived with there. Where was he now? Would he remember her? Out of curiosity she called the desk to inquire of his whereabouts, but they knew nothing of him.

When the commercial was finished she made her screen test. All the time she was there she half expected Bobbie to appear, but she never did. Maybe she had died – trashed out on one of her drug trips. What a relief that would be.

On the day that she was due to fly back to New York, Kip Rey was found dead of a drug overdose.

Brighton was sunny, hot and crowded with day trippers. It was a mistake.

Al and Edna arrived at lunchtime, checked into the hotel, and by four o’clock they were on their way home.

‘I don’t know why I listen to you,’ Al ranted. ‘Paul said it was a ridiculous idea. Brighton, for chrissakes!’

‘I thought it would be nice,’ ventured Edna timidly.

‘Nice!’ roared Al, ‘With me getting pawed by every little old lady in sight. I’ve bought you a beautiful home where we have absolute privacy. What’s with the Brighton bit?’

‘We spent our honeymoon there.’

‘That’s because I couldn’t afford anywhere else. Grow up, Edna, don’t go chasing the past.’

‘Slow down, Al, you drive too fast.’

‘Don’t nag. You’re becoming a prize nagger lately.’

Her eyes filled with tears. How could she nag him when she hardly ever saw him?

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she ventured.

He grunted.

‘I’ve been thinking it would be a good idea for me to come with you on the tour. Not all the time, just when Evan is with you.’

‘What the hell for?’ he snapped. ‘You don’t even want
me
to go, you’ve made
that
clear. And anyway, you hate the whole bit – photos, questions. No, Edna, you stay at home. I’ll feel happier that way.’