Lovers and Gamblers (74 page)

* * *

Linda peered at herself in the mirror. Here she was, thirty-two years old, living in California, and going out on a date, for Chrissakes. She hadn’t been on a date since she couldn’t remember when. Her relationships had fallen into either the Paul or Rik categories. A commitment or a screw. Who went on dates any more?

She looked good. Black hair, clean and shining. Make-up not over-emphasized. Figure, slim and enticing in a beige pants suit and matching shirt.

She decided she looked exactly what she was. A no-nonsense career girl who was prepared to meet anyone on equal terms. For a brief moment she wanted to kick her cool, together image. Why couldn’t she look wild and sensual like Dallas? Why couldn’t she have a ripe luscious body that drove men to distraction?

She laughed softly at her thoughts. Might be all right for a night, but to be saddled with that kind of image? Forget it. Anyway, in her own quiet way she hadn’t done too badly.

The afternoon she had spent indulging herself on a soothing shopping trip around Beverly Hills – purchasing the suit and shirt, some boots, a slew of make-up, six new hardback books, and a new lens for one of her cameras. Pure extravagance. But she had enjoyed every minute of it. Anything to get her mind off that asshole Paul and the number he was giving her. Christ – but he must think she was an idiot. And that was the most insulting thing of all – to think that she would believe his crappy lies – with Melanie King and Manny Shorto plastered over every fucking paper in town.

She had stormed back to her apartment after her therapeutic shopping trip, still fuming. She had contemplated phoning Julio and making a quick appointment. But why waste him on a quickie? If he was as good as he was supposed to be – why rush?

So now she was hanging around waiting for her date to pick her up. She should have arranged to meet him at the restaurant – much better idea. Now she would have to offer him a drink, and make idle, stilted chit-chat.
He
would probably want to talk about nothing but Dallas, and
she
would be bored stiff. She just wanted to forget about Dallas and that whole scene for a while. Images of Doris Andrews – wholesome idol of the American screen – kept on floating around her head. Doris naked. Doris kissing, biting, sucking…

She wondered if it was too late to phone Cody and cancel. Who needed a date? She needed a session with her parking boy or some such faceless male.

The doorbell buzzed, and ended
that
escape route.

Cody stood there, washed and clean and nice-looking. He had brushed his sandy hair forward and wore a well-cut jeans suit. And he carried – Oh no! A box of ribbon-wrapped candy!

‘You make me feel like I’m back in high school,’ Linda grinned, accepting the box from him and dumping it on the small bar which divided the kitchen and living areas.

‘This is nice,’ said Cody, looking around.

‘It’s cheap, and I don’t know how long I plan to make it home.’

‘Why didn’t you stay on with Dallas then?’

One minute and she was already a part of the conversation. ‘I like my privacy. Can I fix you a drink?’

‘Vodka would be fine – on the rocks.’

He prowled round the room. Perfect set-up for a bachelor girl who planned to move on. Nothing cutesy. Nothing personal. ‘You got a place in New York?’

‘A sleazy apartment which I love.’ Why was she lying to him? She hated it. Paul hated it. It was a dump. It was in a lousy neighbourhood – but it had been home for quite a few years.

‘Anyone living there while you’re away?’

‘Why? You want to borrow it?’

‘No – I just, er, wondered.’

‘Like you want to know if I live with a man – right?’

He looked embarrassed. ‘No… I…’

‘I have had an on/off relationship with Paul King – Al’s brother, manager, general wet nurse and pimp – for one and a half
very
long years. At the moment – for reasons I wouldn’t dream of boring you with – it’s very definitely off. Apart from him, my other attachments are only momentary. How about you?’

‘I told you about myself and Dallas…’

She handed him a vodka, swirling the ice cubes with her fingers. ‘Yes. You told me.’ Please don’t tell me again, Cody. If you do, I’ll scream! She was not in the mood to listen to stories about other women.

‘Since then I’ve spent a little time with Carol Cameron.’

‘Carol
who
?’

‘Cameron. She’s an actress.’

‘In this town they all seem to be actresses,’ Linda remarked drily. ‘In New York they are models. In Hollywood – actresses. I think those two phrases encompass a huge spectrum of professions!’

Cody laughed. ‘You’re a bright lady.’

‘Am I supposed to curtsey and say thank you, kind sir?’

‘I meant it as a compliment.’

‘Why? What’s complimentary about calling someone bright? How would you like it if I gave you a look of amazement and said – hey – you’re really quite intelligent.’

He gulped his vodka. ‘Point taken.’

‘I’m not in a very good mood,’ she confided. ‘In fact I’m pissed off at the world. Maybe we should just forget about tonight.’

‘I’m not in a very good mood either. What do you say to going out and getting good and plastered?’

‘Man to man?’

‘Whichever way you want it.’

‘I’m on.’

* * *

They had a good time. They started off with a bottle of wine over dinner, then Irish coffees, then lethal tequilas at a jazz bar Cody knew, and finally Brandy Alexanders at a high-class strip joint.

‘I’m having a
marvellous
time,’ Linda revelled. ‘Hey – Cody. Don’t they have any
guys
in this place?’

‘What do you want – a sex show?’

She patted him on the shoulder, her voice attempting to register an even keel. ‘No, buddy. No sex show. I mean jus’ guys. I mean we got tits every way you look – tits over there – an’ there – an’ there.’ She pointed out two topless cocktail waitresses, and a stripper, then unexpectedly she stood on her chair, rocking dangerously. ‘How about a few dicks?’ she yelled. ‘How about it, fellas? Show us what you got!’

‘Get down,’ laughed Cody, ‘you’ll get us thrown out of here.’

‘Equality!’ Linda yelled. ‘I want to see some great big joints!’

A few females sitting round about joined noisily in. ‘Yeah!’ ‘Get ’em off, fellas!’ ‘Let’s see the great white wonder!’

The cocktail waitresses looked at each other and sniggered. The waiters, all three of them, backed warily towards the bar.

With a drunken leap Linda left the chair. ‘Ladies united. Let’s debag ’em.’

‘Jesus… Linda… stop…’

Cody was choking with laughter.

Linda advanced on a waiter reaching for his fly. He socked her straight on the jaw. Because she was so drunk she fell with a delicate easy grace.

She woke up five minutes later in Cody’s car.

‘We got thrown out,’ he solemnly informed her, ‘but I screwed ’em. I refused to pay the bill!’

‘I’ll sue that sonofabitch for assault,’ she wailed. ‘My jaw feels like a side of beef!’

‘I’ll take you home and put an ice pack on it.’

‘
Your
home – not mine.’

‘I thought this was a man to man evening?’

‘I’m a bright girl – I can change my mind, can’t I?’

* * *

Evita watched the Al King concert at the Maracana Stadium. She even enjoyed it in a detached sort of way. And after, at a small dinner for twenty-five people that Carlos Baptista had arranged, she danced and chatted and admired the exotic cabaret of eight voluptuous samba dancers.

But all the while her thoughts were elsewhere. Her thoughts were concentrated on the following morning when Doris Andrews was due to arrive.

How should she treat her? Should she be cool, warm, enthusiastic, distant?

Should she
say
anything? Or just try to pretend their sexual dalliance had never occurred?

Jorge was enthusiastic about the party he had insisted she should plan. It was to be on Sunday and everything was arranged. She had even purchased a new dress for the occasion, and requested Jorge to collect her emerald and diamond jewellery from the safety deposit box at the bank.

In one way she was dreading Doris’s arrival. But in another way it had excited her to fever pitch.

She was dancing with Carlos. The portly, rotund man reeked of cigar fumes.

‘A magnificent evening – heh – heh? What did you think of my American star – heh – heh?’

‘I thought he was English.’

‘He is, he is. But you know what I mean. He is an
international
great. They loved him, didn’t they? Did you hear them scream?’

‘My ears are still ringing.’

He gave her an intimate squeeze and wistfully sighed. ‘If only Jorge and I weren’t such friends…’

‘Yes?’ she teased. ‘And what would you do, Carlos?’

‘I would…
Merda
!’ He was being summoned to the phone.

Evita drifted quietly back to the table where Jorge was involved in an animated discussion of politics.

She watched him, her handsome, distinguished husband, and wondered why he wasn’t enough. Wondered why the need had been there for Doris Andrews to find and take advantage of.

‘Where do
you
think the children could have got to?’ Carlos’s wife, Chara, was asking – interrupting Evita’s thoughts.

‘I really don’t know,’ Evita replied politely. She didn’t really like the fat, gossipy Chara.

‘So impolite,’ Chara complained. ‘Carlos is furious. Louis will be in trouble when
he
gets home. Wasting expensive tickets – two empty seats for everyone to see. I can assure you
Louis
will be in trouble.’ She waited for Evita to assure her that Cristina would also be in trouble, but Evita just smiled, nodded, and looked around for someone to rescue her.

‘The young people today have no manners,’ Chara continued, ‘no discipline. Why – when I was a girl I wasn’t allowed out of the house without a proper chaperone.’ She waved fat bejewelled fingers in the air. ‘Today all they have is freedom – freedom – and no respect.’

Idly Evita wondered why both Chara and Carlos used words in double sequence.

‘Of course I blame the parents,’ Chara continued, getting in a dig at Evita. ‘We have always been very strict with Louis – very strict.’ She stuffed a candied grape into her mouth. ‘He is a good boy—’ she sighed regretfully, ‘but easily influenced by others… Tell me, why does Cristina wear such funny clothes?’

Evita smiled sweetly. ‘It’s her style. Personally I think at seventeen it doesn’t matter what you wear. As long as you are young and pretty… Chara, do please excuse me, but I’ve been meaning to ask you – does obesity run in your family?’

* * *

Linda woke up with a bearable hangover. It was a long time since she had been so drunk – in fact hadn’t the last time been over some sort of job crisis?

She reached over and touched Cody who was still sleeping. She had broken one of her golden rules – stayed overnight. But who had been able to summon the strength to drive home? Anyway – come to think of it – who had wanted to?

Cody Hills as a lover had been a delightful unexpected surprise. They had started the evening as mates and ended up as lovers – and she didn’t have one single regret. In fact the whole situation reminded her of the first time with Paul. But of course Cody had none of the complications. He wasn’t married. He didn’t have children. He lived in America. He didn’t work for his brother – indeed he didn’t even
have
a brother. What a plus
that
was.

She laughed softly to herself, and climbed out of bed.

Cody started to wake, stretched out his arms to her.

She blew him a kiss. ‘Coffee for two,’ she said. ‘Black, extremely strong and I’ll bring it to bed so stay right where you are.’ She turned at the door. ‘Oh, and do you take sugar?’

‘Three spoons. What’s your name?’

She treated him to a rude gesture. ‘Get lost!’ and exited.

Cody bounded from the bed. He felt marvellous. He went into the bathroom, scrubbed his teeth, took a piss, and climbed expectantly back into bed.

Linda was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was
very
attractive, witty, intelligent, warm, funny. She was
everything
he had ever wanted in a woman. And in bed she did not make him feel inadequate – she made him feel like a giant! She wasn’t Dallas – lying limply there, suffering his advances. She wasn’t Carol Cameron waxing false enthusiasms over his every move and exclaiming like a hooker at a convention. ‘Ohhh Marvie!!!’ ‘You can’t go near me with that huge thing!!!’ ‘You’re soooo fan-tas-tic –
really
you are!’

He couldn’t wipe the wide smile off his face. To find a woman like Linda so soon after the debacle with Dallas. It was wonderful.
She
was wonderful. Of course he still loved Dallas – but it was a protective love – a brotherly love – an
agent’s
love.

Linda walked back into the room carrying a tray with two steaming cups of coffee, and the papers which she had picked up from outside the front door. How many girls would think of doing
that?

‘Can you cook?’ he asked.

‘No – but I open a mean can!’

‘In that case, what do you say about moving in?’

‘I say let’s give it some time. OK?’

‘If I can have an option on your evenings.’

‘I’ll talk it over with my agent.’

* * *

Carlos Baptista didn’t want to break up the party. He puffed on a giant Havana cigar and wondered what to do.

His wife was talking to Evita. The rest of his guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. What to do? Tell them? Tell them what? That he had just had a report that Al King’s plane had failed to turn up in São Paulo. That all radio contact had been terminated shortly after the plane left Rio.

What had happened? No one seemed to know. The weather between São Paulo and Rio was good. It was a bright, clear night. The whole thing was a mystery.

Carlos was an optimist. He had every confidence that the plane would turn up; after all it couldn’t just vanish.

He decided anyway to keep the news to himself. No point in breaking up a good party.