Lovers and Gamblers (37 page)

There were a lot of things Doris didn’t realize.

‘Yes, we are old friends.’

‘Of course you are.’ Doris grinned. ‘You know every beautiful girl in America! He’s such a naughty boy, Dallas, you’ll have to watch him!’

Naughty boy! The man was seventy-three years old!

Dallas smiled weakly and looked around for Cody. He was in deep conversation with Ed and Dee Dee. Oh Christ! This was a nightmare. Lew Margolis must have planned the whole thing.

A waiter hovered with a silver tray. She snatched a glass of champagne and gulped it down.

‘Now that I have found you again,’ Aarron said smugly, ‘escape will not be so easy.’ He leered at her breasts. ‘I have thought about you many times.’

She remembered their last dismal date. Such fun that she had contemplated suicide. She remembered him exposing his withered penis to her, expecting her to immediately get on her knees.

‘I think I had better circulate,’ she said.

‘Why?’ he wanted to know.

‘Because I think I should.’

He shook his head in admiration. ‘I like your spirit. I liked it in New York. You don’t care about my money, do you?’

‘Not particularly.’

‘I like that. Most women will do anything for money.’

‘Really?’ Her sarcasm was lost on him.

‘You’d be surprised,’ he brooded darkly, ‘but you are so different. I knew that at once.’

‘Good for you.’

‘I am in California for only three days. I want you to keep those days free. We shall be together.’

‘I’m working.’

‘Tomorrow is Sunday. We’ll take my plane to Palm Springs.’

‘I don’t want to go to Palm Springs.’

‘We’ll go where you want. I like your fiery spirit. You remind me of my dear departed wife. She was Swedish, you know. We were married for forty-six years. She was an independent woman – like you.’ He coughed, bending over and choking vigorously.

Dallas took the opportunity to escape. She walked out beside the Olympic pool and hoped that Aarron wouldn’t follow her.

So this was a chic Hollywood dinner party. Not quite what she had imagined. Apart from Cody and herself everyone was so old.

She sipped her champagne and marvelled at the mosaic initials embedded on the bottom of the pool. Inside she could see Cody still talking to Ed and Dee Dee. Aarron was looking around wondering what had happened to her.

She recalled the last time she had visited this house. As a hooker. Who would have thought that she would come back in such a different position. Oh come on, Cody – what the hell are you talking to those two old farts about?

Beautifully laid out tables were in position on the huge patio. Six tables, ten places per table. Sixty people. Some small dinner party.

She circled round the tables glancing at the delicate engraved place cards set in their exquisite silver holders. The names read like a Who’s Who of Hollywood. She found her own name positioned between two men she had never heard of. Now if she could only find Cody’s place – a quick switch and no one would be any the wiser. Dallas was still innocent of Hollywood party procedure. Doris Andrews had spent hours sweating over who should sit next to whom.

‘You want some help?’ A waiter who had been hovering on the sidelines approached her.

‘No, it doesn’t matter, thank you.’ She headed back for the house.

Doris Andrews was just emerging. ‘Ah, Dallas, dear. What are you doing out here? Aarron’s looking for you. I think you made quite a hit there. I didn’t even know you two knew each other. He’s such a sweet, sweet man, and so lonely.’

‘And so rich,’ Dallas added drily.

‘But of course. Isn’t everyone?’ Doris touched her lightly on the arm, then hesitating slightly she asked, ‘You do like men, don’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

Doris’s fingers drummed a light pattern on her arm. ‘Sexually.’

‘Sexually?’ Dallas questioned, suddenly at a loss for words.

Doris laughed throatily. ‘Men are such brutes. Big and hairy. Rough. Unthinking. A woman’s touch is so much softer… kinder… Do you know what I mean now?’

‘I think I’m getting the message.’

Christ! Doris Andrews dykesville! Public image – Miss Clean – Husband’s image – Miss Randy. Lew – you are playing the wrong game!

‘Well, dear. Perhaps you and I will take lunch together one day. I can give you the benefit of my experience. Twenty years in this shitty business – you have to know how to handle yourself. I can see you’re going to be someone special…’ She trailed off. ‘Must get dinner organized. You run along and enjoy yourself.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Dallas, still in a state of shock. Doris Andrews. The only screen virgin left in Hollywood!

She wandered back into the house to be pounced on immediately by Aarron demanding to know where she had been.

‘I went for a walk,’ she replied, annoyed at being questioned. Then she saw Cody free from the Kurlniks at last, and beckoned him over.

He came on the trot, eager and delighted by the entire party. Before she could introduce him he was pumping Aarron by the hand and saying, ‘Mr. Mack. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. My name is Cody Hills. I am Dallas’s agent and manager.’

‘Good,’ wheezed Aarron, ‘then you can instruct her to come to Palm Springs with me.’

Cody laughed with just the right amount of deference. ‘Mr. Mack, unfortunately I can’t instruct Dallas to do anything. A very headstrong young lady is Dallas.’

They both regarded her with patronizing smiles.

She was furious. Headstrong indeed!

‘Mr. Mack, I know why you are in Los Angeles,’ Cody continued. ‘It’s the big search, isn’t it? You are looking for the new Mack girl. Well, has it ever occurred to you that Dallas is just the girl you’re looking for?’

‘Is she not signed for a television series?’

‘Yes, she is. And that could be just the tie-in to make the new Mack girl really exciting.
Man Made Woman
as your Mack girl – wearing your cosmetics – your perfumes. Think of the excitement that would generate. Of course… she doesn’t come cheap.’

Aarron was impressed with the idea. His small eyes gleamed.

‘What do you think, Mr. Mack? Is this a great idea or is it a great idea?’

Dallas walked away. Neither man noticed her go. Cody would have made a great Coca Cola salesman. She had never seen anyone so turned on by his own ideas. Maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t the man for her. She was seeing a side of him that she wasn’t sure she could stomach. Mr. Kiss-your-ass. She had kissed too many asses in her life to go through that scene again.

‘Dallas!’ Ed Kurlnik had stationed himself behind a potted palm and was hissing her name.

She marched over to him. ‘How dare you stand me up in New York!’ she said loudly.

‘Sshh!’ he mumbled.

‘Don’t sshh me. I waited at Essex House all night. You never came.’

‘I did,’ he whispered.

‘Your wife’s coming over. Are you going to introduce us?’

‘What?’ he jumped. ‘Dallas, I…’

She strolled away feeling good.

Two of the richest men in the world grovelling for her favours.

Wow – if this was a taste of being a star – she liked it.

‘Look out the window,’ said Paul.

Al, emerging from the bathroom, went to the window, and saw, eighteen storeys below, crowds of girls blocking the street outside. They held a giant banner aloft – ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AL – YOU ARE KING.’

‘I think you should make an appearance,’ Paul said. ‘They’ve been there all day.’

‘How’s the security?’ snapped Al. He was starting to get slightly paranoiac about his personal safety.

‘There are cops all round the hotel. The management suggested you give ’em a wave from a first-storey balcony. Then we can smuggle you out to City Park through a back entrance.’

‘OK. Fine with me. That flight knocked me out this morning. I guess I’ve slept the day away.’

‘It’s your birthday – do what you want.’

I thought I always did anyway.’

‘Yeah – every day’s a birthday for you, Al.’

‘Right on, baby brother – right on!’

‘You get yourself together then. I’ll let them know you’ll be out on the balcony in an hour. Does that give you enough time?’

‘Yeah.’

Paul left. Al switched on the television. It would take him five minutes to dress. Idly he switched channels until he found a Western. Christ! Paul Newman looked young. An unlined, un-lived-in face. Must be a really old movie. Of course Newman still looked terrific – but you knew he was just another old guy that looked terrific. What was it that aged a person?

Al rushed to the mirror and studied his own image. A thirty-eight-year-old superstar. Thirty-eight. Wasn’t that nearing middle age? Al King middle-aged – never. The thought filled him with dread. His life was speeding along and leaving him behind. Dreary days – only the nights, lit up with champagne, and cigars, and women, offered any diversions. And was it worth the hangovers?

Of course the hours on stage were still magic. A level of communication he could reach nowhere else in his life. But suddenly it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. More what? He didn’t really know, if he did he would buy it.

He lit a cigar, too soon after waking for a smoke, but what the hell. Maybe cancer would save him from ever being senile. He smiled grimly. As it happened he didn’t feel too good, nothing specific, just a sort of draggy feeling that he couldn’t put a name to.

He slouched in front of the television, not really watching it at all. He was worried about Evan, worried at the company he was keeping.

At first it had been a joke – Evan and the two freaks. Al had thought it would have been a five-minute relationship. But Evan let them attach themselves to him with a vengeance. He even asked if he could bring them with him on the plane from Houston. Reluctantly Al had said yes. Against his better judgement, but Christ Almighty it was the first time the kid had made friends, and he didn’t want to come the heavy father bit. He had tried to discuss the girls with his son, but Evan refused to carry on conversations – he just mumbled inaudible yes’s and no’s.

What they had, Al finally realized, was a communication problem. And sod it – it wasn’t
his
fault – he had given the boy everything that money could buy. Evan just didn’t appreciate things.

The whole problem was Edna’s fault. Christ! She would have a blue fit if she saw him now.

Al sighed. He would let it go. Let Evan get them out of his system. After all, he too had banged a few stags in his time.

* * *

Linda bumped into Paul in the lobby.

‘I got some great shots!’ she enthused.

‘I think he’s depressed.’

‘Who?’

‘Who! Only you would ask who.’

‘So-rrry.’

‘Did you manage to wrap everything yet?’

Linda mock saluted. ‘Naturally, I have not forgotten it is Big White Master’s Birthday.’

Paul glanced at his watch. ‘Listen, I’ve got to move. Be sure to get everything organized.’

‘You betcha ass, black eyes. See you later.’

He kissed her cheek. ‘Later.’

Linda watched him walk across the lobby. Sentimental bum. He was making as much fuss about Al’s birthday as if it were for a child. Rather sweet, really. But then that’s what had hooked her on Paul in the first place – his inherent niceness.

She observed Evan enter the lobby, his two bizarre companions flanking him as usual. She wished that Paul had not put the block on her photographing them – because wow – what a picture
that
trio would make.

‘Hello,’ she said, as they passed on by.

Evan’s glazed eyes flicked briefly in her direction. She wondered if Al knew that these two freaky girls had got his son flying on some drug or other. Probably not.

She wondered if she should be the one to tell him. Probably not. She sighed. Some birthday present.

* * *

As the lights dimmed, the audience roared its approval. Their patience was stretched to the limit, even The Promises had had trouble holding them. They wanted Al. They didn’t want to wait.

As the total darkness swept over the audience the sound of drums started slowly, to be joined by tambourines, then the guitar and congas.

The opening bars of ‘Random Love’.

Suddenly Al standing centre stage bathed in brilliant spotlights.

The audience was on its feet as one, screaming their appreciation.

The waves flooded over him. He assaulted them rhythmically – swaying, moving, bending, leaning – until they were almost a part of him. Total fucking.

The spotlights tracked his every move, following him like relentless slaves. He swigged from the champagne bottle waiting on top of one of the amplifiers, and the mob screamed ‘Happy Birthday Al’ and surged dangerously near to crushing the mass of security guards in front of the stage.

He decided against doing his usual set and switched into a rasping parody of Jagger’s ‘Satisfaction’ – then Stewart’s ‘Maggie May’ and his own ‘All Night Stand’. The crowd went mad.

‘S’good to be in New Orleans,’ he told them. They screamed. He did some very funky, very beautiful Bobby Bland hits. Then he rasped into a medley from his new album which was to be released any day. And then ‘Bad Black Alice’, his current single, which was racing up the charts.

He was halfway through that when the crowds broke through security and came clambering up on stage like small mad locusts. He felt panic and terror as he saw the mob descending. He was paralysed with fear. He just couldn’t move.

A girl grabbed him round the neck before he even realized what was happening. She was thrown bodily off him by Luke who appeared miraculously quickly. Another girl gripped him round the legs, her hands clawing and strange little grunts emitting from her throat as she too was pulled off him.

It was like a bad dream. One moment music and harmony – the next the dark eruption of violence as Luke and Marvin half-dragged him from the stage kicking and shoving the locusts out of their way. His feet hardly touched the ground. That’s how fast they got him out to the car.

‘Holy shit!’ he exclaimed as the car raced off. ‘What the fuck happened?’

I told ’em they didn’t have enough guys out front,’ Luke said stoically. ‘I told Bernie they’d break through.’