The Pirate (28 page)

Rick Sullivan had been a film star for many years in what was called the big picture, the kind of spectacle that had been made by C. B. DeMille and more recently by Michael Vincent but was no longer in vogue. Actually Sullivan had played the lead in Michael’s film about Moses and that was the reason for this dinner. The word had gone out in Hollywood that Michael was about to make another big score and Sullivan thought it would not be a bad idea to remind the director that he was still around.

Not that he needed the money. Or the work. For the past five years, he had had one of the most successful series on television. But for his own ego television was not the same as motion pictures.

He did not like large parties so he had kept his guest list to about sixteen. Of course, his agent and his publicity man were there, as well as one of Hollywood’s leading columnists. Other guests were mutual friends of Vincent’s and his, several actors and actresses who were not important enough to threaten his status as the star of the evening.

Sullivan turned from the bar and saw the look of complete boredom on Jordana’s face as she watched the screen. She had not been at all what he had expected.

For some reason, he had expected an older woman. Perhaps it was because he assumed that a man with as much money as her husband was reputed to have should be further along in years. He glanced across the room, looking for the man called Ziad who had come with them. He was sitting next to Vincent on the large couch. At first he’d thought the man might be the woman’s lover but then he dismissed that idea. The man was clearly a homosexual. He had to be a watchdog.

Dinner had been pleasant, the conversation self-serving and filled with mutual flattery. Everybody loved everybody—typical Hollywood table talk. At the end of the meal, he announced that he had obtained a print of Michael Vincent’s great film and was about to screen it for them. Michael was pleased and the guests seemed happy as they went into the living room to take their places in front of the screen.

Rick picked up his drink, walked over to Jordana and sat down in the chair next to hers. He looked up at the screen, then almost immediately turned away. It was one of the early scenes where the young Moses first confronted the Pharaoh. It had been almost twenty years since the film had been made and he hated to look at pictures of himself as a young man. They made him too aware of his age.

He saw her watching him, and smiled ruefully. “I don’t like to watch myself. I think it’s the height of vanity or something.”

“I can imagine that might be a problem,” she said politely.

“You don’t seem too interested in the picture either.”

“I’ve already seen it,” she answered frankly. “It wasn’t my thing at that time either.”

He laughed. “What kind of pictures do you like?”

She thought for a moment. “Modern pictures. You know, the kind of pictures they make today.”

“You don’t mean the X-rated pictures?”

“I’ve never seen an X picture.”

He looked at her for a moment. “Would you like to see one?”

She met his gaze. “I suppose so. But I can’t imagine going into one of those sleazy theaters.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can arrange a screening for you.”

“That might be interesting. When do you think you might be able to do it?”

“How about right now?” he asked. He saw the puzzled expression on her face as she glanced quickly around the room. “In another room, of course.”

“But what about the others?” she asked.

“They won’t miss us. This picture runs another two and a half hours. We’ll be back before then.”

No one even looked up as they left the room. She followed him into the hallway and then to his suite. He closed the door behind him. He gestured casually. “I hope you don’t mind watching it in my bedroom?”

“Not at all,” she said. “But I don’t see a screen.”

He laughed, pressing a button on the wall. There was a whir of machinery and a platform dropped from the ceiling over the foot of the bed. On the platform was a giant television set, angled downward. “I’ve had the films transferred to videotape,” he said. “The only handicap is that you have to watch from the bed.”

“The bed doesn’t look that uncomfortable.”

“I’ll have to put a tape on the machine,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Okay.”

He started for the door, then stopped and gestured toward the night table. “The silver box has cigarettes of the finest Colombian grass; the pink glass bottle with the gold spoons around it holds the best coke in town.”

“Lovely,” she smiled. “Then may I ask you to bring back a bottle of cold white wine. Dope always dehydrates me.”

When he came back, she was lying naked on the bed, holding a joint carefully between her fingers. The film was already in progress.

Quickly, he stripped and sat down on the bed beside her. He reached for the coke bottle and a spoon. “How about a hit?” he asked. “This stuff will blow your mind.”

“Sounds good.”

He took a heavy snort up each nostril, then held the spoon for her. He could see her eyes brighten as the dope hit her. “How is it?” he asked.

“Couldn’t be better.” She reached for him. “You are a big man.”

“I used to think so, until I saw that little man up there on the screen. He’s really big.”

She giggled. “I don’t believe it. He’s got to be a freak.” She stared at the screen fascinated. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “That girl can’t take it all in her mouth. It has to be a trick.”

“It’s no trick,” he said. “Since this picture has come out, she’s made a fortune teaching Beverly Hills ladies how to do it. It’s all in the way you relax your throat, she says.”

She leaned over, her tongue delicately licking at him. “I’ll be happy if I can take half of yours.”

He laughed aloud and she looked up at him questioningly. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were a very straight lady.”

“I am a very straight lady.” She smiled demurely. “I’ve never watched a fuck movie before.” Then she went down on him.

“Beautiful,” he said, watching her as he reached down the side of the bed to press the invisible button that would start the videotape recorder. He didn’t tell her that the only pictures he liked to watch of himself were those taken in this bed by a hidden camera. “Just beautiful.”

***

After a while Youssef grew tired. It seemed the movie would never come to an end. Idly he glanced around the room. Suddenly the picture was forgotten. Jordana was gone. And so was the host. He was angry with himself. He had not seen them leave.

He rose from his seat. Vincent looked at him. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he explained in a whisper. He tiptoed silently from the room and stood in the corridor.

It was a large house. They could be in any one of a half-dozen rooms. He tried the study, the dining room, the breakfast room, the patio, but they were nowhere to be found.

Annoyed, he went into the bathroom and washed his face and hands with cold water. He was stupid. He should have known she would be off with him. He was a big man, attractive and, most of all, a movie star. He was nothing like the gigolos she found on the Riviera.

He came out of the bathroom and walked down the hall toward the living room. It was then that he noticed the whir of machinery coming from behind the closed door. He paused, thinking it might be the air-conditioning unit. The Americans had a way of installing that kind of equipment in closets. But then he heard the faint hum of what sounded like voices coming from a speaker. He reached for the knob. The door wouldn’t open. It was locked.

He looked around quickly to make sure the corridor was empty. Youssef had learned many tricks, including the use of plastic credit cards.

A moment later the closet door was open and Youssef was staring in surprise at the small monitor of a videotape recorder. The sound volume was depressed but the picture was in color and bright as day. Jordana was naked, on her back, her face contorted in the throes of orgasm. She seemed to be staring directly up into the camera as her legs gripped tightly around the waist of the man who was bucking like a bronco rider. The faint echo of her gasp whined in the speaker as the man began to spend himself inside her. Then slowly he rolled over on his side and came out of her, damp and already softening. He turned toward Jordana and smiled, his hand dropping to the side of the bed. Youssef had just enough time to recognize the face of their host before the screen went black.

He was frozen for a moment, then moved quickly. He knew the machine. Baydr had the same system installed on the boat, but only the playback units, not the recorder. Youssef depressed the key which released the videotape cartridge and took it from the machine. Placing it under his jacket, he stepped back into the corridor. He closed the door and heard the lock click.

He walked down the hall to the foyer. A servant rose from a seat near the front door, and he opened it as Youssef approached.

“Is the gentleman leaving?” he asked.

“No. I just thought I could use a moment of fresh air.”

“Very good, sir,” the servant said, closing the door behind him.

Youssef walked to his car. The chauffeur came out of the front seat. “Is my attaché case still in the trunk?” Youssef asked.

“Yes, sir.” The chauffeur went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. He took out the case and gave it to Youssef. Quickly, Youssef placed the video cassette inside and locked it. He gave it to the chauffeur. “Remind me to take it when we go back to the hotel tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Youssef watched the man replace it in the trunk, then went back into the house. He could feel his heart pounding. This was even more than he had planned, more than he had hoped for. Now it was simply a matter of deciding when it should be used.

He slipped back into the seat beside Vincent and looked up at the screen. Vincent turned to him and whispered, “Rick made a fantastic Moses, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Youssef answered. “How did you know he’d be so good in the part?”

Vincent turned to him with a smile. “I couldn’t go wrong,” he said. “Sullivan changed his name from Solomon when he went into pictures. How could a Solomon be bad at playing Moses?”

Youssef stared at the closeup of Moses that filled the entire screen. Of course. He wondered why he had not seen it before. The man had the face of a Jew.

There was a sound at the back of the room. Jordana and Rick were back. From the corner of his eye he watched them cross to the bar and sit there. He saw Rick glance over his shoulder at the screen and say something to her. She laughed and picked up the fresh glass of wine the barman had placed before her.

Youssef felt a rush of hatred. “Laugh, you bitch!” he thought savagely. “That’s it. Laugh, you Jew-fucking bitch!”

He knew not exactly what he was going to do with the tapes. Baydr would be eternally grateful to him for protecting his name by keeping from the world the knowledge that his wife had betrayed him with a Jew.

CHAPTER 16

Leila looked across the room at her mother. “I told you, Mother, many times. Hamid is just a friend, that’s all. I am not serious about him. I do not intend to marry him. He’s just a friend.”

Maryam sighed heavily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. He’s just an ordinary Syrian, not even from a good family. I can’t imagine what you see in him.”

Leila lit a cigarette. “I have to talk to someone.”

“There are many nice boys you can talk to. My father said the industrialist Fawaz spoke to him. His son is of the marrying age and they are interested in you.”

“Who?” Leila asked sarcastically. “Fawaz or his son?”

“Don’t be disrespectful. Grandfather means nothing but the best for you.”

“Like he did for you?” Leila asked pointedly.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Maryam said defensively. “None of us knew then what your father was like. We did everything correctly. No one can point a finger at us.”

“I don’t see anyone pointing a finger at my father either,” Leila said. “Apparently nobody cares what you do as long as you have enough money.”

Maryam shook her head in exasperation. “It’s just as I’ve always said, you take after your father more than you do me. You only see things the way you want to see them. I should never have allowed you to go away to school in Switzerland. The only thing they taught you was how to talk back to your mother. Your sister doesn’t act like that.”

“My sister is stupid!” Leila snapped. “All she cares about is her home and her children and her problems with servants.”

“That’s all a woman has to care about,” Maryam said. “What else is there?”

Leila gestured toward the window. “There’s a whole world out there, Mother. Can’t you see it? For too many years we’ve been oppressed, our people have been ridiculed and enslaved. Our brothers cry under the yoke of the Jews in Palestine. And you ask what else there is.”

“Those are the problems that men must solve,” Maryam said. “We should attend to our own affairs.”

“There’s no use,” Leila said in disgust. She walked to the door. “I’m going out.”

“Where are you going?” To meet that Hamid again?”

“No. Just out. That’s all.”

“What’s the hurry then? It’s almost dinnertime.”

“I’m not hungry. Don’t wait for me.”

Maryam watched the door close behind her. A few minutes later she heard the car start up in front of the house. She got out of her chair and walked to the window just in time to see the small Mercedes convertible turn into the street.

Leila was like her father. There was no one who could talk to her. She thought about the day last month when she had shown up at the front door with her friend the Syrian, Hamid. They were so ragged and dirty that at first the servant, who was new to the house, would not let them in. Finally, reluctantly, she had called her mistress.

Maryam was shocked at the way her daughter looked. Her skin was dark and leathery as if she had spent days in the desert sun, and there wasn’t a curve on her body. She was as thin and straight as a boy.

“What happened?” she cried.

“Nothing, Mother,” Leila replied calmly.