Lovers and Gamblers (15 page)

Paul signalled for the bill. The conversation was progressing in decidedly the wrong direction.

Edna brooded on Melanie’s remarks, and when they were in bed she said to Al, ‘Have you ever been unfaithful?’

He yawned. ‘What kind of a crappy question is that? It’s one o’clock in the morning, go to sleep.’

‘I know you must be exposed to temptation. I know it can’t be easy for you. What about that Dallas?’

‘Edna, be a good girl. Stop listening to your cunty sister-in-law and go to sleep.’

‘You know it’s not easy for me to talk about things like this. You haven’t made love to me for months. Is there someone else?’

‘Jesus, Edna. Are you complaining? There are other things on my mind besides sex.’

‘I’ve never refused you.’

He knew that. She lay on her back, parted her legs, and expected him to do all the work. Well, he just couldn’t fancy that scene any more. ‘I know, I’m just off sex, that’s all.’

‘I could…’ She hesitated. ‘…well, you know, I could put you in my mouth like you always wanted me to.’ She could feel the blush sting her face.

Al sighed. Oh no, Edna. It’s too late, Edna. Oh Jesus! ‘I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow.’ He turned his back. As far as he was concerned his marriage was over. The only problem was telling her.

Thank Christ for the tour. A chance to get away, think things out. He drifted into sleep, lurched into a nightmare. He was on stage. He was fat, and he was old, and when he opened his mouth to sing nothing came out. In his sleep he moved into the comfort and security of Edna.

The Tour

Bernie Suntan was sweating. What the fuck? Whoever sweated in London? Who knew it was a razzle dazzle heat wave, for chrissakes?

His blue and white striped cotton trousers stuck uncomfortably to his thighs. His red T-shirt emblazoned with AL IS KING was damp with perspiration. His feet flopped damply in his stars and stripes sneakers.

Paul King, beside him, was the picture of cool. Pale beige Yves Saint Laurent lightweight suit. Striped shirt. Dark shades.

They were at London Airport waiting for the star. Everyone else was aboard.

The plane, sleek and black, loaded with champagne, caviar, and liberal supplies of scotch and coke, waited patiently on the tarmac. AL IS KING decorated each side in bold gold lettering. From within, speakers roared out with the sound of Al’s latest album.

An elite group of press waited on the tarmac, sipping iced Daiquiri cocktails, and nibbling small smoked salmon delicacies handed round by a bikini-clad hostess.

‘What the fuck,’ expanded Bernie, ‘nothing but the best for the press.’ And he winked at a lady interviewer of great power and said, ‘I never knew you had such insane legs!’

She blushed, taken aback for the first time in years.

Al’s arrival was heralded by the white Rolls gliding over the tarmac and stopping nose to nose with the plane. The photographers jumped forward. On cue Al climbed out.

He was as thin and fit as possible. White trousers clung. A gold belt. White shirt open to the waist. Several gold medallions.

He grinned, strolled over, kissed the girls, posed for photos, answered questions.

‘I must say, you do look marvellous, Al,’ enthused the lady reporter.

‘Thank you, darling.’ Bitch. Cunt. It was she that had written in her column only a few months previously that if Al King had anything else lifted, the whole lot would collapse. He kissed her on the cheek for a photo and nearly recoiled at the aroma of BO.

‘Is this the start of a tax exile?’ inquired one over-zealous reporter.

‘No way,’ replied Al, ‘I’d miss my wife’s cooking too much!’

‘What about the former “Miss Coast to Coast”? Will you be seeing her?’ asked Bitch. ‘I understand you two were quite cosy on that television special you did together.’

Al smiled calmly. ‘My wife might see her. As I’ve said before, they’re old mates. Perhaps if Edna joins me we will all get together.’

‘What fun!’ Bitch sneered unbelievingly. She needed a good seeing-to, that was her problem. ‘And will Edna be joining you?’

‘I hope so.’ No way.

‘How about having the girls out for a picture with Al?’ suggested Bernie.

Everyone agreed it was a good idea, and The Promises were called from the plane.

They were three stunning black girls. Rosa, at twenty-three, the eldest. Tall and reed-slim, with straight long hair and Chinese eyes. Sutch, twenty, curvy body and afro red hair. Nellie, small and slight, seventeen years old, delicately pretty. They wore identical outfits of white hot pants, thigh-length white boots, and AL IS KING red T-shirts. They grouped round Al, and the cameras clicked.

Paul glanced at his watch. Time to go. He gave Bernie the word. Linda was meeting the plane in Canada, he didn’t want to keep her waiting.

It took another half hour before everyone was safely aboard and the plane was finally taxiing down the runway.

Al went right back to his private bedroom, an elaborate room – featuring a circular bed, leopard print padded walls, and thick pile carpet. A small bathroom led off to one side reached through a concealed door. He stripped off his clothes, put on a towelling dressing gown and picked up the glass of iced champagne waiting for him. Forget the scotch and coke for a while, too fattening. He smoked a cigar. This was it. This was the beginning, and he could feel a mounting excitement that nothing else compared with. Not even sex. And when had
that
last been exciting.

Maybe he should see a doctor. Hey doc, I’ve got this slight problem – too many beautiful girls, can’t seem to be bothered any more. Can’t seem to make the effort.

Paul came through. ‘Everything all right?’

‘Fine. Terrific.’

‘Voice OK?’

‘Never better.’

‘Great, kid. You’ll kill ’em!’

‘Don’t I always?’

* * *

Girls screamed when Al disembarked at Toronto. There was a healthy crowd. Banners proclaiming ‘WE LOVE AL’. Policemen to protect him, hustle him to his limousine, ride him to his hotel.

His elation was building. Adrenalin flowing.

At the hotel there were flowers, fruit, booze, telegrams. A young girl smuggled her way in with room service and begged to suck his cock. When he declined she offered to suck Bernie’s because he was ‘close’ to Al. Security removed her.

‘Things ain’t changed,’ shrugged Al. ‘Christ, but it’s good to be back!’

‘What the fuck,’ agreed Bernie. ‘This is one scene that splits your head open more ways than one. We’ll have a time, Al baby. Anything you want, just yell.’

Should he yell for Dallas, or should he put her out of his mind where she belonged? If he could forget about her that would be the best thing. Just another body, and he would be falling over them on this trip. He would not yell. He did not want her
that
badly. He would survey the available action and put Dallas away once and for all.

‘You get some sleep,’ suggested Bernie, ‘Luke gonna put in time outside the door. He’s a tight guy, be beside you all the way – but
nobody
gets past him. I tell you he’s the bionic man. Anyway I’m goin’ over to check out the Gardens. Pick you up for the television interview in a coupla hours.’

Bernie waddled off. Al opened the door and checked out Luke, who was to be his bodyguard on the trip. The bionic man was right. Luke was six foot four, black, and mean-looking. His muscles rippled before he even moved.

‘Hey there, man,’ greeted Al, ‘want a beer or something?’

Luke shook his head.

Al went back in his room. Time to shower. Order a steak. More champagne. Gargle. So where was Paul?

Should he call Edna? He had promised he would. But he didn’t feel like listening to her moans. He had promised Evan he could join the tour in Nashville and Edna had wanted to come too. No way. No, thank you. After sixteen years Edna was nagging her way right out of his life.

* * *

‘I’ve missed you,’ confessed Paul.

Linda hugged him, ‘I’ve missed
you
, twice as much.’

‘Only twice as much?’

‘Well…’ she laughed softly, ‘maybe more. How was London?’

‘The same. Work, work, and more work.’

‘But you love it.’

‘I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t love it.’

‘Shall we stand here making small talk or shall I slide you out of your lovely suit and have my way with you before big brother calls?’

‘I wish you’d have your way with me. I don’t think I can wait much longer.’

She grinned. ‘You really have been missing me.’

‘I really have.’

They started to undress each other, fumbling and pulling at belts and zippers.

‘Oh my goodness, Paul, you’ve been saving up!’

‘Just for you. I hope you appreciate what you’re getting.’

They were silent for a while, delighting in each other, moving slowly, quietly. Then the phone rang. Paul groaned.

‘Don’t answer it,’ begged Linda, ‘at least not for a minute.’

The phone continued to jangle. ‘I’ve lost my concentration,’ Paul grumbled, reaching for the phone.

‘That’s not all you’ve lost.’

‘Yeah, who is it?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Paul, boyo, where are you?’

‘I’ll be right there, Al. I was just coming.’

‘Oh yes!’ whispered Linda.

‘Who are you with? Is Linda there?’

‘Yes, she’s here.’

‘Bring her with you. Come on up, boyo. I’m fidgety, feel like a little company. Check out the lobby and see if there’s anything worth giving one to.’

‘What do you want, the groupie clap?’

‘Shit. You’re right. Who has numbers for Toronto? Find out and get me a piece. I need something before the show.’

‘I’ll try.’ Paul shifted his body away from Linda.

‘Do that.’

Linda sat, up and reached for a cigarette. ‘What did he want?’ she asked tightly.

‘To get laid.’

‘Does he never stop?’

‘I thought he had, but the urge is once again upon him. Pardon me while I make a few calls.’

‘I didn’t know you pimped for him too.’

‘On tour I do everything for him. You had better get used to it.’

‘Oh – that’s great. Are we finished then? Shall I get dressed?’

Absently Paul replied, ‘Yes.’ He picked up the phone and called the desk.

Angrily Linda marched into the bathroom. One minute they had been making love – and now it seemed the furthest thing from Paul’s mind. Well, he would have to beg for another chance. If this was a taste of Paul on tour, he could shove it.

She dressed, brushed her hair, and touched up her make-up.

Paul came into the bathroom and nuzzled her from behind. ‘All fixed,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Oh, good.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. ‘Should there be?’

‘Come on, Linda. You promised you would understand. We’ll have plenty of time together later.’

She forced a smile. ‘I understand.’

‘Good girl. Come on, let’s go, he’s waiting.’

Where had all the money gone?

Dallas shook herself awake from a massive hangover and surveyed the pile of bills that had just dropped through the mailbox.

She was spending faster than she was making. Ed Kurlnik’s paltry pay-off she had blown on jewellery and furs. The money from the commercial she had frittered away. Clothes, clothes, clothes.

She squeezed orange juice and sipped it slowly. What time had she arrived home? She could hardly remember, but she did remember with a smile fighting off Aarron Mack in his chauffeured limo.
The
Aarron Mack, Swedish czar of Mack Cosmetics. Friend of Ed Kurlnik. Old fart.

He could not believe that they were not going to end the evening in her bed. She had been giving him a strong come-on all night. From the moment they had met at a party she had set him firmly in her sights. A friend of Ed Kurlnik’s was far too good an opportunity to miss, even if he was somewhat older than Ed. He was in his early seventies, but well preserved, with a strong bullet head and a fine set of white sparkly false teeth. Short, though, barely five seven, and she towered over him in her Walter Steiger shoes. It didn’t seem to put him off, he seemed to love it.

‘Why not?’ he had demanded when she wouldn’t allow him to come up to her apartment.

‘We’ve only just met,’ she demurred.

‘Are you an old-fashioned girl?’ he had asked, grabbing for her breasts.

‘No, but I like a little time to get to know a person.’

‘You want money?’

‘Please don’t insult me.’

His hands were all over her. ‘What
do
you want?’

She moved his hands. ‘Time.’

‘Dinner tomorrow?’

‘I’m busy tomorrow.’

‘The day after?’

‘If you like.’

He squeezed her breast triumphantly, and she elbowed him sharply away. If she played her cards right Aarron Mack was a very viable proposition. His wife had recently died, and he was equally as rich as Ed Kurlnik.

Old rich men with hard-ons. It seemed to be her destiny. Kip Rey might have been her salvation; he had been fun to be with, but always so stoned, and sexually there had been the usual void. Absolutely no turn-on. She had cried at his death, but more at her loss than at his.

Since he had died she had slept with no one. There had been no reason to do so. She had thrown herself into the New York social scene. Getting fired had made her a celebrity, and she was invited to all the openings and parties. She enjoyed having her photo taken, and all the attention she received. She also enjoyed turning down countless sexual propositions. That was the real kick.

Men didn’t understand her. She was young and beautiful, why wasn’t she out fucking her brains out?

The doorbell rang. It was three dozen yellow roses and a box from Carriers. She opened the box; it contained a diamond flower-shaped brooch. She tossed it to one side; might come in useful to sell one day.

Aarron Mack took her to dinner at The Four Seasons. She ordered caviar and steak Diane, then left it all. She drank wine, and brandy, and Pernod on the rocks. Nowadays it took a lot of booze to get her where she wanted to be.