Chances

by Jackie Collins

  “What’s the bastard’s name? I’ll have him put away, fuckin’ out of the race—you know what I’m saying?”

  Costa knew only too well. “I think she loves him,” he said swiftly.

  “Oh.” It was as though all the breath had been smashed out of Gino. “You sure?”

  Costa nodded nervously.

  “Yeh, well… I guess if she loves him…” His voice turned harsh again. “Why didn’t she write an’ tell me? Why didn’t you?”

  Costa shrugged. “I had no idea what was going on.”

  Glumly Gino thought of the last letter he had received. How long ago had it arrived? Seven, eight weeks—something like that. Her usual letter—nothing personal—but he was used to that; her letters had always been girlish and hollow—yeh, hollow. It had never bothered him, because he knew only too well that if he hadn’t had old Mr. Pulaski to write his letters for him, they would have been the same. “I guess,” he said slowly, “there’s nothin’ I can do.”

  Costa gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry….”

  “She know you was comin’ to see me? Did she send me any message?”

  Costa shook his head. No point in passing on the message she had sent.

  “I just don’t know what to do.” Gino’s voice was muffled. “I guess it’s gonna take time to sink in. Y’see, I was buildin’ my life ’round Leonora. You gotta understand that everything I bin doin’ was for her. Every dumb fuckin’ thing.”

  Costa nodded understandingly.

  Gino paced agitatedly round the room. “I ain’t had any kinda life to be proud of, but then I didn’t exactly get all the breaks to start off with.” He pulled up his shirt and exhibited his chest, crisscrossed with various gouges and scars. “Each one of those marks got a history. Y’know that?” He pointed out a patch of ridged and discolored skin. “I was six years old when my old man kicked my ribs in. This scar here was from another beatin’—an’ here, an’ here. If I hadn’t bin a tough little bastard I’d never have made it. My old man got his kicks from beatin’ up on me, and when I was too old he started on his women.” He laughed bitterly. “I had a ringside seat. He fucked ’em—then he beat the shit outa them. I’ll tell y’somethin’, Costa, that’s when I decided my life was gonna be different from his.” He sighed. “I don’t know if y’can understand it—but Leonora was gonna be my life. I knew it the first time I saw her.” He paused, then suddenly became embarrassed. “Jeeze! How does that grab you for sloppy bullshit? An’ what the hell am I tellin’ you for anyway?”

  Costa reached out and touched him on the arm. “Because I’m your friend,” he said quietly, “and it always helps to talk things out of your system.”

  “Let’s get the hell outa here,” Gino decided. “I’m gettin’ square eyeballs pacin’ around this room.”

  “Where to?”

  “I don’t know. Play some pool—catch a movie. Let’s just get out.” He pulled on his shirt. “Gotta funeral this afternoon. Maybe y’can come along.”

  “Who died?”

  “A friend of mine. An old man who used to do me a lotta favors.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Yeh. But that’s the way it goes, ain’t it?” He stared blankly for a minute, thinking of Mr. Pulaski and Leonora. They were both dead as far as he was concerned. “One minute you’re here, the next you’re gone.” He shrugged. “An’ not too many people give a shit. C’mon, kid, let’s go.”

  Gino got through the day. Somehow. He shut Leonora out of his mind and concentrated on other things.

  Playing pool was good: total concentration, then winning as usual.

  Eating. That wasn’t so successful. He tried a doughnut and coffee. But the coffee passed through him like salts, and the doughnut lay like a lead tire in his stomach.

  Conversation. Finding out what Costa had been up to. Pretty boring. The kid seemed to do nothing but study.

  Mr. Pulaski’s funeral. Depressing. Just him and Costa and a lousy bunch of flowers he had bought off a street cart.

  Finally a movie, The Thief of Bagdad. An oldie. He had seen it four times before, but he liked Douglas Fairbanks.

  Costa had left halfway through. “I have to get back, Gino. Mrs. Lanza will kill me.”

  So then he was on his own. And he watched the rest of the movie before throwing up the doughnut in the men’s room.

  Leonora. He was going to have to think about her, there was no avoiding it.

  So he did. He walked over to the park, sat in the dusk, and gazed off into space. He didn’t know how many hours he sat there. How could she do this to him? How could she make him suffer like this? Didn’t she have any feelings?

  Leonora. Pale blond hair. Soft blue eyes. Full ripe body.

  Leonora. Heartless bitch. Unfaithful bitch.

  Maybe he cried again, maybe he didn’t. He wasn’t sure. But he was sure that it would be a long long time before he ever allowed himself to feel this way again. If ever. Women were not to be trusted, not even women like Leonora. In the future there would be no promises. No love.

  Something prodded him on the leg and a gruff Irish voice said, “What’re ye doin’ here? Ye’d better move off or I’ll arrest ye for vagrancy.”

  He jumped and glared at the cop. “Vagrancy? Are you kiddin?”

  “No, I’m not.” The cop swung his nightstick menacingly.

  Gino got up. Fuckin’ cops. Crooked bunch of suckers. The Santangelo gang had a regular list of payoffs.

  He moved off through the park anyway. Who needed trouble?

  Pinky Banana was drunk. He clutched at Cindy on the tiny dance floor and sang out of tune in her ear.

  “Pinky!” she complained, trying to shove him away.

  “Bitch!” he replied, pulling her even closer and squeezing her ass with his hands.

  She squirmed uncomfortably and glanced at the door, ever hopeful of spotting Gino.

  “Let’s go home,” Pinky slurred, “an’ I can do the things you’re always beggin’ me t’do.”

  “I don’t beg for nothing,” she retorted sharply.

  “Oh, no?” he sneered. “Jest clothes an jewels an’ furs.”

  “Well, I ain’t got no jewels an’ furs yet, have I?” she stated shrewishly.

  “Play it right, doll, play it right.” He staggered and almost fell.

  Cindy snorted in disgust. “I’m sittin’ down.” She pushed her way off the tiny dance floor and returned to the table crowded with Pinky’s so-called friends. She hated every one of them.

  Pinky Banana followed her. She hated him worst of all. Tears filled her mascaraed eyes. She was caught in a trap of her own making, and the only one who could get her out was Gino Santangelo. And he hadn’t even bothered to turn up.

  Pinky placed a sweaty hand on her knee. She quickly crossed her legs so that the sweaty hand couldn’t do any traveling. She knew his charming ways. He would think nothing of sticking his hand up between her legs in full view of his friends. She was property. His.

  “Look who’s here,” Pinky Banana yelled noisily, “friggin’ Gino himself.”

  Gino nodded around the table easily. The punks Pinky hung out with were bad news.

  “S’what’s new?” Pinky burped loudly. “When’s our next trip?”

  Gino glared. Pinky’s mouth was getting too big for comfort. Cindy shot him a quick grateful look that said a silent thanks for coming.

  “I don’t know what your next trip is, Pinky,” he said, “but keep shootin’ your mouth off an’ it could be all the way to the can.”

  Pinky laughed and looked around at his cronies. “My boss, y’know. Big man. Lives in a shithole an’ likes ta throw his weight around. But he wouldn’t know what the frig t’do with a shooter if ya shoved it under his nose.”

  Gino smiled thinly. Enough. Pinky Banana was out. He stood up.

  “Where ya goin’?” sneered Pinky. “Home t’jack off over a letter?”

  Gino’s eyes were bleak and hard but his tone was mild. “You know someth
in’? You’ll choke on that big mouth of yours one day.”

  Cindy’s eyes darted between the two of them. She slid out of her chair. “Just goin’ to the little girls’ room, hon.”

  Pinky ignored her as she slipped off. “Yeah?” He glared.

  “Yeh,” replied Gino.

  They locked eyes, and there was a moment of total hatred between them. Then Pinky laughed uneasily. “Only kiddin’ around, pal.” Something in Gino’s eyes always made him back down.

  “Sure you are.” Gino smiled.

  “Stay. Have a drink,” insisted Pinky.

  “Naw. I just come by lookin’ for Aldo.”

  “Ain’t seen him.”

  Gino’s black eyes flicked around the table. Garbage. And Pinky Banana was one of them. “S’long,” he said.

  “See ya tomorra.” Pinky was now eager to please.

  “Yeh.” Gino nodded. “Tomorra.” He made his way out of the room. Cindy was waiting anxiously outside. “I got your money,” he said.

  “I’m so frightened.” She clutched desperately onto his arm.

  “Tomorra you’ll be able to get on a train an’ be outa here.”

  “Tomorrow might be too late.” Her voice trembled. “He threatened to kill me again. He really means it.”

  “Why’d he wanna kill you?”

  “Because he thinks I sleep around.”

  “Yeh. An’ do you?”

  “Of course not. Oh, Gino!” She threw her arms around him. “Please, I beg you, get me away now.” Her body, pressed tightly against him, shook with sobs.

  He could feel the warmth of her thighs and breasts and his reaction was inevitable. He wanted a woman. He needed a woman. And there was no Leonora to stop him now.

  The ache in his groin was almost painful in its intensity.

  She felt him grow hard and pressed herself even closer to him. “Take me home with you,” she whispered. “Look after me and I’ll look after you. Tomorrow I can get a train to California. Tonight I need you.”

  He made his decision. “Let’s get the hell out of here before he comes lookin’ for you.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” she breathed.

  She was warm and soft and sugary and sweet. And all the things he had dreamed about.

  She was wet, her pussy covered in a fine triangle of blond hair, and she purred like a kitten.

  She had perfect breasts and pointed milky-tasting nipples and sharp teeth that teased his cock when he put it in her mouth.

  She did not object to anything he wanted to do—and he wanted to do everything.

  He had been with many women, but she was the sweetest yet. When he peaked he knew it lasted a good full two minutes—or so it seemed. The come flowed out of him in long satisfying bursts and filled her totally.

  She gasped and moaned her pleasure. And when he put his head between her legs and sucked out his own juices, she could not keep herself from screaming aloud.

  She brought him up and over her so that she could tease his cock with her hot tongue. He squatted above her, pumping in and out of her mouth with his hardness. Then he came a second time, and she accepted and swallowed every drop as if it were some rich precious nectar.

  He lay still for a while and thought about how long it had been; then he took her breasts in his mouth and put his fingers between her legs, while she lay quietly savoring every moment until she started to climax in long quivering spasms.

  He wasn’t fully satisfied. He needed more. She didn’t object. He turned her over and entered her from behind and rode her like they were two dogs in the street. They were both in a frenzy when the third orgasm hit them. It was short, hot, and wild. Only then did Gino feel at peace. He rolled away from her and lay on his back. All the tension seemed to have flowed from his body.

  He thought of Leonora with a certain deep sadness, then reached over and touched Cindy’s hair. “You’re really somethin’,” he said.

  She laughed a small wicked laugh. “I told you, didn’t I?”

  “Told me what?”

  “That you wouldn’t be sorry.”

  Carrie

  1928

  Opium. It beat marijuana any day. It took you higher and higher and then left you to rest on a peaceful cloud way above everything and everyone.

  Carrie had never been happier in her life. Whitejack introduced her to it, as he had introduced her to marijuana. “Your reward, sweet baby,” he murmured, the night they attended a party in the heart of Chinatown.

  At first she was frightened: the strange pipe and bowl over fire with several people crouched around it. “I don’t think I want to,” she whispered.

  “Come on, woman. You had a hard night. This’ll help you remember only the good times. Trust me….”

  So she had trusted him and drawn on the pipe, once… twice…. Everything had become soft and luxurious, only good memories and thoughts flowing through her body.

  What had happened to her dream of getting control? Love.

  With a pimp.

  And what was he to her now? He was still her man, wasn’t he? He took care of business and fed her the drugs she was learning to crave. But the craving was beginning to frighten her. Drugs were her love now. Nothing mattered when she was high.

  Only some mornings she woke up straight and thought about suicide, as she had thought about it intermittently over the years. Whitejack sensed those mornings, and his answer was to feed her more drugs.

  Then it was so easy to forget the bad times and just drift. So many smiling faces…. So many people who cared for her….

  And Whitejack, of course. Her man. Tall and sharp and powerful. She would do anything for that man. And did.

  One day Lucille woke her roughly. “Carrie. You know I love you an’ Whitejack. But that man is destroying you. You’d better get over to the hospital—have yourself cured.”

  Carrie was half asleep. “Cured? What you talkin’ about?”

  “I’m talkin’ about your life.”

  Carrie began to giggle, but the giggling soon turned to tears.

  Lucille held her close while she sobbed. “I’m gettin’ you out of here,” she decided. “Get dressed quickly. Whitejack an’ Dolly still asleep. Believe me, hon, you’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Yeah?” Whitejack stood in the doorway. “She ain’t goin’ anywhere. She walk on me an’ I put the cops on her. They send her back to the island I tell them what I know.”

  “I need something,” Carrie wheedled. “Don’t feel so good….”

  Whitejack glared at Lucille. “Get out,” he snarled.

  She moved fast, scurrying past him like a disturbed rat.

  “Now, what’s goin’ on here?” he asked smoothly. “Somethin’ happen to upset my sweet little girl?”

  Carrie frowned. Something had been going on, she couldn’t quite remember what. Hospital…. Lucille wanted to go to the hospital. Yeah, Lucille must be sick….

  “I got somethin’ for you,” he was saying soothingly, “somethin’ real good. Now you just give me that sweet sweet arm, an’ I’m gonna take you all the way to heaven.”

  She sighed. Heaven. That sounded good. She extended her arm toward Whitejack. He took it and wrapped a silk scarf around it tightly, causing the veins to bulge out. From the pocket of his robe he produced a hypodermic syringe. Heroin. No more running down to Chinatown every time she felt the opium kick, or paying out too much money for the rich man’s magic white powder, cocaine. Heroin was the perfect drug for her. He could control it, and that way he could continue to control her.

  Besides which, he was doing her a favor, wasn’t he? Transporting her to never-never land where everyone had a good time.

  Carrie smiled at Whitejack and held open her arms. She was nude. Normally this might have attracted him, but they had just returned from a party where he had watched her dance, and strip, and make love to Lucille—then a man from the audience—then Dolly—then all four of them in a tangle. If he approached her now and gave her what she ca
lled good lovin’, she wouldn’t know the difference.

  Dolly walked into the room and stood surveying the scene. “You comin’ to bed, black man?” she demanded.

  His eyes flickered between the two of them. No choice, really. He liked strong women, and Dolly was strong enough for the two of them.

  Carrie watched them go in a haze. She was tired but she still felt like company. Slowly she got off her bed and wandered over to the window. It was open, so it was no trouble to climb outside onto the iron fire escape. The cold wind raised goose bumps on her naked body but it didn’t bother her. She staggered slightly and almost fell. Giggling aloud, she groped her way carefully down three flights of stairs to the back alley. She stepped on a piece of glass and her bare foot gushed blood. It made her giggle even louder.

  A drunk was huddled between two garbage cans, clutching his precious bottle of bootleg. He watched the naked girl stagger past and decided the booze was finally getting to him.

  She emerged from the alley onto the street and started to do a little dance, a bump-and-grind routine.

  Two boys slouching in a doorway stood to rigid attention. “Holy crap!” one of them exclaimed. “Do you see what I see?”

  “Sure do.”

  They glanced quickly at each other, then checked out the street. It was deserted. “Looks like it’s for free. Let’s go get it.”

  They emerged from the doorway and moved in on either side of her.

  “Hiya, fellas!” She giggled.

  They pushed her back in the alley and shoved her to the ground, then the elder boy unbuttoned his pants and went to work.

  Carrie sighed. “You’re so beaut… i… ful,” she crooned, “so beaut… i… ful.”

  The younger boy was frightened. He was used to girls fighting and clawing—then saying yes.

  The older boy grunted and finished. “Your turn, Terry.”

  “I don’t want to, Jake.”

  “Aw, c’mon. It’s free an’ she’s hot.”

  Reluctantly Terry undid his pants. He wasn’t hard, but he tried not to let his friend see. He squatted over the girl and pretended to do it.

  “Finished?” Jacob asked, after a minute.