Lovers and Gamblers (71 page)

She had always thought that if she ever told anyone the truth about herself they would back off. Al had stayed. He had given her a feeling of inner strength – a feeling she knew she could begin to build on.

And he had not touched her.

He had proved beyond doubt that he did not want her for her body. And yet they both knew it would happen, and when it did it would be clean and good and everything that she had ever imagined.

A sudden roar went up from the crowd as Al appeared. He stood in the middle of the platform holding both arms aloft in greeting, allowing the audience’s adoration to pour over him.

Suddenly Dallas knew if there was such a thing as love – this was it.

She loved the man giving himself to the crowds. She loved him with her whole being.

* * *

‘I changed my mind. I just don’t want to go – that’s all.’

Louis frowned. ‘I just do not understand you, Cristina. For three weeks I hear nothing else but Al King this, Al King that. When is he coming? Where is he staying? Who is he with? Now comes the big moment – the concert at Maracana Stadium – we are on our way there – and you make me stop the car and tell me you do not wish to go.’

Cristina attempted a gay laugh, although she did not feel at all gay.

‘Louis – you know what I’m like. I get moods, sudden desires. I can’t be conventional.’

He nodded resignedly.

‘What I really feel like doing now is driving to the airport. Does that sound crazy?’

‘The airport.’ Louis was disgusted. ‘Why the airport?’

Cristina shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I
just feel
like it. Maybe we could see Al King’s plane – I heard your father say he has a
bedroom
in it A bedroom! Can you imagine!’

‘All our friends are at the concert, they will wonder what has happened to us.’

‘Let them wonder. Who cares? We’ll tell them we were making mad passionate love somewhere,’ she moved her hand onto his knee – tiptoeing her fingers up towards his crotch. ‘
That
would make them all envious as anything. They’re jealous of us anyway. Marie Therese is beside herself because
I’ve
got you.’

He let out a strangled groan. ‘Don’t do that, Cristina, you know what it does to me.’

Teasingly she replied, ‘What does it do, Louis? Tell me, please tell me.’ She felt him growing beneath her fingers.

‘Oh God!’

‘I know what, I’ll make a bargain with you. If we can go to the airport I’ll do what you begged me to do the other night. Remember? The mouth thing. Would you like me to do that to you?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed urgently.

‘OK, drive somewhere quiet. Then after, do you promise we can go to the airport?

‘I promise.’

He started the car, and Cristina took a deep breath.
One
hurdle accomplished.

* * *

He was out there for one and a half hours. Alone most of the time, apart from his musicians, and joined on two occasions by Hot Fudge.

The crowds were going mad, screaming for more. Carlos Baptista was beaming from ear to ear. Better than he had expected. A sensation in fact. Al King generated the most excitement he had ever seen.

Bernie was hustling around getting everyone together for the helicopter trip to the airport. Dallas, Evan, Paul, Luke. They would take the plane directly to São Paulo, and it would return for the others, plus all the equipment, in the morning. It was only a short hop.

Bernie assembled everyone while Al was still singing – got them all aboard the orange helicopter – so now all they needed was Al to be rushed straight on with Luke, and they would be away before the crowd stopped cheering.

All it took was a little organization.

* * *

Nino took a bus to the airport. He was early, but he had meant to get there early. Now that the wheels were in motion he felt pretty good. He felt important. He knew he
was
important.

He headed straight for the information desk where he had arranged to meet Juana – a plump girl who worked at the airport as a ground hostess.

She was duly waiting. He greeted her with a kiss, pinched her fat bottom. She gazed at him with adoring eyes. ‘Last night was…’

‘Shhh.’ He quietened her with a kiss. ‘Tonight will be better, my little
carioca
, much, much better. Did you find out what I wanted?’

‘Naturally. I can show you exactly where the plane is, and where Mr. King and his party will be boarding. Nino, tonight…’

‘Later, we’ll talk about it later. Did you get me the uniform?’

‘Yes. Are you sure no one will know I helped you?’

‘Of course not. And so what if they do? I’m only going to interview Al King, not shoot him.’

Juana giggled.

‘Think of the money I will get for an exclusive interview,’ Nino reminded, ‘and think of who will benefit from it.’

Juana giggled again. ‘Me?’ she suggested coyly.

‘Yes, you. Now quickly, where is the uniform? Where can I change?’

* * *

In the helicopter Al held Dallas by the hand.

‘You really did it!’ she said.

‘My inspiration was in the audience,’ he replied, squeezing her hand hard.

Sitting behind them Evan couldn’t help eavesdropping. Horrible woman. How he hated her, taking up all his father’s attention. Why, Al was virtually ignoring him now
she
was around. He hadn’t even asked him how he liked the show, and he always did that.

Evan picked viciously at a spot and glared out of the window. He didn’t even know what was supposed to be happening after South America. Were they going back to England? No one had bothered to tell him. He didn’t matter.
He
was only Al’s son – not his stupid girlfriend.

* * *

‘I’ve got a confession,’ Cristina said nervously, ‘I promised someone I would do them a favour.’

‘What favour?’ asked Louis easily.

They stood in front of the newspaper and magazine stand at the airport.

‘Remember Nino?’ Cristina asked.

‘That rat bag,’ replied Louis dismissively, ‘why do you mention
him
?’

She bit deeply into the side of her lip. ‘He’s not so bad.’

‘
You
hardly know him.’

Desperately she thought of what lie would make everything all right. ‘I know his sister,’ she stammered.

‘How do you know his sister?’ he asked curiously. ‘I didn’t even know he had one.’

‘She works at the hairdresser I go to,’ Cristina lied. ‘My mother likes her – feels sorry for her. Sometimes she comes to the house.’

‘Look, why don’t we buy some magazines and go on home,’ said Louis, suddenly bored by the whole thing. ‘They have American
Vogue
, and look – a new edition of
Motor Sport
.’ He took out his wallet. ‘Anything else you want?’

‘I’m doing this favour for my mother,’ Cristina said quickly, ‘
she
asked me to help Nino’s sister.’

‘What
are
you talking about?’

‘Nino’s going to meet us here. I promised we would help him see Al King’s plane.’

Louis stared at her. ‘Are you mad? How would that help his sister?’

‘It’s a long story, very complicated.
Please
help me, Louis. Honestly, it’s
very important
. I
promised
my mother we would help, I
promised.
’ She was near to genuine tears.

‘This is crazy,’ he said, completely bewildered.

‘If you love me you’ll help me.’

‘But, Cristina…’

‘Oh look, here comes Nino now.
Please
, Louis,
please
. I’ll explain it all to you later, but
please
don’t ask questions now.’

* * *

There were no press at the airport. Al’s departure had been kept a secret. They were able to transfer from the helicopter to the plane with no fuss at all.

Holding Dallas’s hand he strode through the jet to his private bedroom at the back, barely pausing to nod at his two stewardesses.

Bernie greeted them with his usual dirty jokes, and they laughed and asked about the show.

Paul sat down, opened up a table and laid out some contracts that he wanted to go over.

Evan strapped himself into an isolated window seat and continued putting work in on the spot he was attacking.

Two key journalists had been invited along for the trip. They sat up near the front, hopeful that Al would eventually emerge.

‘Is that everyone, Mr. Suntan?’ stewardess Cathy inquired.

‘That’s it,’ replied Bernie. ‘We’re empty this trip.’

‘We’ll close up then.’

As she spoke, Cristina Maraco came running along the ramp leading onto the plane. She was flushed and breathless.

‘Oh!’ she gasped, ‘we made it!’

The two journalists looked at her in surprise. Bernie waddled over. ‘What do
you
want, girlie?’ he asked, thinking she was a fan. ‘And how the heck did you get on here?’

‘The man at the desk let me through. He said it was all right. I’m Cristina Maraco – remember – we met at the airport when you arrived – and at the party last night. I’m Louis Baptista’s fiancée. Louis, Carlos Baptista’s son. Didn’t Señor Baptista telephone you?’

‘Should he have?’

‘Oh yes – he said he would. You see he wants you to take us to São Paulo with you – he wants Louis to be there early to organize some things to do with the concert tomorrow.’

She spotted Evan and waved. ‘Hi – good to see you again. Oh and there’s Señor King’s brother,’ she called out desperately. ‘Hello – remember me?’

Paul hardly glanced up.

Bernie scratched his head. ‘So where is Louis?’ He remembered him, a nicely-spoken boy, and he vaguely remembered her. Hadn’t she spent quite a time dancing with Evan the previous evening?

‘He’s just coming, it is all right then?’

‘I don’t see why not. Let me just check it.’

He walked over to Paul, who plainly did not want to be bothered.

‘Carlos Baptista wants his son and fiancée to come with us. Is that OK?’

‘If Carlos says so.’

‘So I’ll tell them it’s fine?’

‘Yes. I suppose so.’ Paul returned to studying the contracts.

Bernie waddled back to Cristina.

‘Yes?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Yeah. Only hurry your boyfriend up, we’re waiting to go.’

Cristina rushed off the plane to where Louis and Nino stood waiting in the tunnel which joined the embarkation point to the plane.

‘It’s OK,’ she said.

Nino and Louis moved forward, Nino walking slightly behind Louis in his mechanic’s uniform. In one hand he carried a shabby airline bag. The other hand was buried deep in his overall pocket clutching onto a gun which was pointing straight at Louis’s back.

Van Howard glanced at his co-pilot and raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘Five minutes,’ Harry Booker assured him, removing his radio head set. ‘The runway’s clearing now.’

‘Good.’ Van was tired, and was looking forward to finishing off the short hop to São Paulo and getting some sleep. He had not slept at all the previous evening. Truth to tell he had had a lousy evening. The problem was Cathy, his wife.

At first the idea of captaining Al King’s private jet across America – with the opportunity of taking Cathy along in a professional capacity – had just seemed heaven-sent. He had recently quit his job of seventeen years with a commercial airline, and he had been looking around wondering what to do, when a friend had mentioned the Al King job.

Van had attended two interviews and been hired over eight other equally experienced applicants. Cathy being chief stewardess had been part of the deal.

What an opportunity it had seemed. The money was great, and it would get them out of the ten-year rut their marriage seemed to have become stuck in.

Everything had started off all right, but gradually Van noticed Cathy changing. He had married her when she was seventeen, and as far as he knew had been her only boyfriend.

Their marriage had seemed quite stable – the only black spot being the fact that they seemed unable to produce children. Privately Van knew it was her fault. At forty-seven years of age he had had more than his share of girlfriends with unwanted pregnancies. However, they had both subjected themselves to various undignified tests, and although there seemed to be nothing clinically wrong, still it had not happened.

Van had hoped that this trip might do the trick. Different environments. Different places to make love. But as they progressed across America Cathy became more and more withdrawn.

She had finally told him the previous evening. Told him after drinking a bottle of wine to give herself dutch courage.

She had fallen in love with one of the musicians on the tour. A twenty-four-year-old long-haired freak who made his living strumming a guitar.

‘Are you mad?’ Van had asked her.

‘I’m leaving you,’ she had replied. ‘As soon as the tour is finished I’m leaving you.’

‘All set, chief,’ Harry Booker interrupted his thoughts, ‘we just got clearance. Seems we’ve taken on three extra passengers. Shall I inform control?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ Van shook his head. It was impossible to keep a proper passenger list on these flights. People popped on and off from city to city. Journalists, photographers, groupies. Van never knew who was aboard. He glanced round at the navigator and flight engineer, men he had been allowed to pick personally.

‘Are we ready?’ he asked. A question he always asked before turning on the power.

Their nods were affirmative.

* * *

In his custom-built flying bedroom Al tossed Dallas a bathrobe.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he suggested. ‘I’m going to.’

She looked around her. ‘This is unbelievable!’ she exclaimed.

‘You like it?’ he asked proudly.

‘It looks like something out of
Macho
magazine! Even a hick like me can see it’s in the worst taste possible! It’s nothing but a travelling knocking shop!’

‘I’ll have you know I’ve caught up on a lot of sleep in this room.’

‘I’ll bet!’ She shook her head in amazement at the circular bed covered in black silk sheets, the fake leopard padded walls, the thick pile carpet.