‘He’ll have to know,’ stated Lew blandly. ‘If I drop your contract, he’ll have to know.’
‘Why?’
‘He seems like a smart young man. I’m sure the moral implications will put him off suing.’
‘You’ve worked it all out, haven’t you? Either way I get screwed.’
She wanted to scream and shout and hurl abuse at him. She wanted to claw his filthy little eyes out, kick him where it hurt, smash his mouth in. Instead she managed to smile coolly while she gathered up the clothes he had thrown at her and placed them in a neat pile on his desk. Then she leaned over the desk, selected a cigarette from his silver Dunhill box, lit it, leaned back, and said, ‘OK, Mr. Margolis. You win, and why shouldn’t you – you’re holding all the cards. But not now, not while you only have fifteen minutes.’
‘But…’
‘No buts. It’s my turn to take control. You want me to be in control, don’t you? We can have more fun that way, lots and lots of fun…’ How easily the hooker dialogue returned. The stern bantering that most men loved. ‘Now you be a good boy and do things my way. I promise you a trip, sugar, that will blow your little mind.’
‘When?’ he asked eagerly.
‘Tomorrow. Not here, but at my house.’
‘I can’t be seen going to your house.’
‘Who will see you? The virgin queen doesn’t have you followed, does she?’
‘No… but…’
‘We can play swimming instructors, wouldn’t that be wild? Do you swim?’
‘I used to…’
‘And you will again.’ She smiled, blew him a kiss with her fingers. ‘I’ll be Mrs. Margolis – you can be Mark Spitz if you like. She would like him, wouldn’t she? Young, strong… Can you play the part?’
He nodded, a pleased expression covering his features. ‘You know what I want, don’t you? You’re a smart girl. I knew you’d see things my way. There’s no reason we can’t both enjoy it.’
The smile was stuck on her face like a mask. ‘No reason at all.’
She left the studio in a controlled state of fury. She drove her rented car to her rented house in the Hills.
She walked around, stripping her clothes off as she went, then naked, she dived into the kidney-shaped pool, only letting her tears come when the water hit her.
She swam up and down the pool, powerful strokes cutting through the bland blue water. And she cried herself out. Exhausted herself, until at last she clambered out of the pool, flopped down on the grass, and lay spreadeagled to the sun, thinking.
Blackmail. Pure and simple blackmail.
You pull my schlong and I’ll pull the strings for you to be a big and beautiful star.
But what if she was a star already? What could Lew do then? Man Made Woman would make her a star. It wouldn’t take that long. How many visits from Lew Margolis would she have to endure? The thought of even one made her flesh creep. Once a hooker always a hooker was bullshit. She would sooner wait tables than go back to that life.
There had to be an answer.
At first, staring at Lew as he sat smugly behind his fine marble desk spelling out the way it was, she had wanted to kill him. That’s why she had suggested the swimming bit. But of course it hadn’t worked with Bobbie, so why should it with him? But oh, the satisfaction of dragging him under, feeling him squirm, seeing his fear when she let him up.
It was just a dream. She was incapable of murder – indeed the thought disgusted her – just as Lew Margolis disgusted her.
She was often haunted in dreams by the corpse of the old man so long ago in that Miami hotel. She would wake sweating, her legs shaking, her heart pounding.
If only she could turn to Cody for help. But he would be so disappointed in her, and even more disappointed as he saw their million-dollar deal go flying out the window. She wondered if he would be shocked. Were people shocked by things any more? He would be hurt, that was worse. She would have let him down, and no way did she want to do that.
She rolled onto her front. What to do? Lew Margolis was blackmailing her, there must be a way she could turn the tables on him.
It came to her in a series of thought waves, piece by piece. Photographs. Everyone believed photographs. Lew and she. One time. Repugnant thought. But if she could get photographs.
How?
She had never held a camera in her life. But if she could hire someone… Silly thought, it would only lead to more blackmail…
But it was the answer. The living room and bedroom overlooked the pool. Huge glass windows, an unimpaired view. How did she find a photographer? How did she trust anyone? Linda.
The name sprung into her mind. Linda would help her if she told her the truth. If she agreed, it was the perfect solution. Perfect.
Dallas relaxed at last, giving herself to the sun, and deciding the best way to ask Linda. She certainly couldn’t tell her over the phone, maybe there would just be time to find out where she was, get on a plane, and if Linda cooperated, they could fly back together and get everything organized for Lew Margolis’s visit the next evening.
She was about to get up when she heard footsteps approaching, then Cody’s voice, ‘Hey, lady, your slip is showing, but don’t panic, my eyes are covered and I can only see what I let myself.’
She rolled over, stood up, and wrapped a towel around herself sarong style. ‘You can look now.’
‘God, you’re a tease!’ He uncovered his eyes and grinned. ‘You promised to call me the second you got back. What did he want?’
She shook her head, playing for time, wondering what the hell to tell him. ‘I don’t really know,’ she said at last. ‘Sort of a pep talk about morals, I guess.’
Cody nodded. ‘I thought it would be something like that. He’s running scared after his he/she shock. Are you all right? Your eyes are red. Have you been…?’
‘Cody, I got a call from my aunt. Remember I told you I had this aunt back East that I lived with until I was sixteen?’
‘You told me she was bad news…’
‘I know I told you that, but she still brought me up. If it hadn’t been for her, after my parents were killed, well…’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘She needs me. A personal problem. I’m going to see her.’
‘You can’t go. Are you mad? You start shooting in three days. You’re supposed to be resting, getting a tan, studying your lines.’
‘I can study my lines on the plane. Look – I’ve got it all arranged, flight booked, everything. I’ll be back day after tomorrow, I promise you. Back in time to get twelve hours’ sleep before the big day.’
Cody frowned. ‘The studio will never allow it.’
‘The studio doesn’t have to know.’
‘It’s a stupid move.’
‘It’s one I have to make.’ She clasped his hand, squeezed it. ‘I wouldn’t let you down, surely you know that much about me?’
He nodded in resignation. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ Then more vigorously, ‘So get packed and dressed and I’ll drive you to the airport for my sins.’
‘Your sins you can keep. I’ll take my own car to the airport, leave it there, it will be simpler that way.’
‘I could meet you tomorrow.’
‘Cody, I want a producer, not a chauffeur.’
‘I could come with you…’
She feigned annoyance. ‘I don’t think you trust me.’
‘Of course I trust you.’
‘Then please, be a sweetheart and haul your ass out of here so I can get ready. I’ll call you the moment I arrive. I promise.’
He was reluctant to leave but she finally got rid of him.
Poor Cody. What a pack of lies she had fed him. But it couldn’t be helped, it was all in a good cause.
Some good cause, saving her own ass.
She located Linda in Miami. It would have to be Miami.
She was on a plane there within the hour.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The push-ups were tiring Al out. ‘Forty-sev
en, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.’ He collapsed on the floor gasping for breath. ‘Your turn, Evan, boyo.’
Evan watched his father through narrowed eyes. No way was he going to compete with him. ‘I don’t feel like it, Dad.’
‘Give it a try,’ commanded Al. ‘You want to stay scrawny all your life?’
Reluctantly Evan squatted down on the floor, but fortunately the phone rang before he was forced to humiliate himself.
Al picked it up. ‘Yes?’ he questioned. Pause. Then – ‘Oh, Edna, it’s you again.’ Pause. Then – ‘I told you yesterday he was fine. There’s no need for you to keep phoning.’
When he hung up he was in a filthy mood. Edna hadn’t bothered to call him once, but now that her precious little Evan was around she was on the phone every day. He had been right to get the boy away from her. Evan was a mummy’s boy, frightened if anyone so much as farted. And his spots were as bad as ever. He still looked skinny and a misfit in spite of all the new gear.
Al would have liked to have discussed the boy with Paul, but since their argument there had been a certain coolness between them. A coolness that Al now regretted.
Being a star meant never having to say you were sorry. But he was sorry, although he didn’t know how to say so.
The tour was taking on a certain sameness. Philadelphia a smash. New Jersey the same. Kansas City ditto. And now Miami – gateway to the retired sun-seekers of the world.
Installed in a suite at the Fontainebleau, Al could not even venture out. To do so meant instant mobbing from droves of beehive-hairstyled ladies in town on a hairdressing convention.
He had discovered that Evan was not the ideal travelling companion. The boy was a permanent fixture, not allowing Al the freedom he needed. Somehow he had thought that underneath all the whiney crap Evan would be just like him. Misguidedly he had thought that if he stuck a cigar in his mouth, plied him with champagne, and turned him on to pussy, the boy would miraculously change.
No such luck. Evan remained his usual surly self. Refusing champagne, choking on cigars, and backing away in a panic if a member of the female sex hovered anywhere near.
Al walked over and stared out of the window at the crowded swimming pool many storeys below.
‘Bullsheeet!’ he said slowly, ‘Bullsheet, you fuckers!’ He was bored. Horribly, restlessly bored.
‘What are we going to do this afternoon?’ ventured Evan.
Al throttled back a vicious reply. He had become a fucking entertainments director!
What he would like to do, what he needed to do was spend the afternoon in bed with a dumb blonde. A really dumb blonde who wouldn’t bother him with any talking.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe Bernie can take you somewhere. I’m tired, thought I might go back to kip.’
‘Oh.’ The boy’s voice was disappointed. ‘But you promised we could go scuba diving.’
‘How can we do that?’ asked Al, exasperated. ‘When you can’t even swim?’
‘I can watch from the boat.’
‘Tell you what.’ Al had a sudden idea. ‘You can have a swimming lesson. I’ll call down and arrange it.’ That would give him at least an hour free.
‘I’ll never learn,’ complained Evan. ‘I’ve had lessons for years.’
‘Can’t give up on it,’ insisted Al, ‘it’s only a matter of time, then pow – it’s like fuc… dancing – you never forget.’
‘I can’t dance.’
What can you do? Al felt like asking. I’ve lavished everything that money can buy on you and you still can’t do a fucking thing. Thank you, Edna. Before my very eyes you have raised a pain in the ass.
Ignoring Evan he picked up the phone and called the desk. A swimming lesson was arranged instantly. As soon as he got rid of the boy he hoped that a blonde could be arranged equally instantly.
Actually all he had to do was saunter out of his room and take his pick, but who needed that trip?
He called Paul but someone at the desk informed him that Mr. Paul King had gone out on a yacht for the day with Miss Cosmo.
What the fuck did they think this was – a vacation? He hoped in a moment of malice that Melanie called and got the same message.
Evan had changed into swimming shorts.
‘Take your socks off, for Christ’s sake!’ snapped Al. ‘You look like a walking advertisement for the English abroad.’
Grimly Evan peeled off his socks. What a rotten trip this was turning out to be. His father either completely ignored him or went out of his way to embarrass him. Al King’s son. What a cross that was to bear.
He allowed his mind to linger fleetingly on Nellie. She was so pretty, and sweet and nice. He could admire her from afar, it was better that way. If only it had been she that his father had arranged for him. That would have been wonderful, instead of that monstrous big Susie girl. And the embarrassment of facing Nellie after that evening. But she had been sweet about it. Hadn’t mentioned it. In fact there had been no chance for him to talk to her since then. She seemed to go out of her way to avoid Al. Maybe she didn’t like him, and Evan could understand that. However, Evan enjoyed the fact that sometimes he felt her eyes in his direction, but he was too shy to stare back.
He wished he could be more like his father towards women.
He wished he looked like his father. He wished he was famous and rich and everyone jumped when he spoke.
He wished his father was dead.
* * *
Finally rid of Evan, Al decided to take off for the afternoon. He was sick and tired of playing nursemaid. Fuck it. He was a star. A superstar. He should be the one out for the day on a yacht, not Paul.
He rifled through the piles of invitations littered around the suite. Parties, receptions. Mostly from people he didn’t know and didn’t even want to know.
What to do? He had to get out. To stay meant the imminent return of Evan, and even if he was locked safely in the bedroom with a blonde, it wouldn’t be the same.
He picked up an invitation to attend a luncheon party for the English Ambassador, got dressed quickly, had Luke summon his limousine, and they were away.
* * *
‘This is nice,’ Linda murmured. She lay in a sun chair, sipping a Banana Daiquiri, and observing the frenetic activities of the other guests on the yacht as they scurried from group to group frightened of missing something or someone.
‘Not bad,’ agreed Paul. But he was frowning, and he couldn’t help wondering if Al was all right. Since the argument they had maintained a cool business relationship, or at least Paul had. Al, in his way, would have been quite happy to pretend the whole incident had never happened. But Paul was deeply hurt, and childish though it was, he wanted an apology, and he was determined to hold out until he got one.
Linda was delighted that she suddenly had Paul all to herself. He attended to business, saw that the shows went smoothly, and then he was all hers. No hanging around to see what Al wanted to do. No hand holding, ass kissing, pimping. It was a refreshing change.
When Paul seemed to weaken, she reminded him that Al had Evan with him anyway, and Bernie and Luke were in constant attendance to see to his every need.
That was fine, reasoned Paul, but he could see Al becoming more and more restless as the tour progressed, and he thought to himself – fuck you – stubborn bastard – apologize for Chrissake and I’ll be there to smooth things over – look after Evan – find you prime pussy – whatever you want.
‘I like the rich life,’ Linda remarked. ‘Why don’t we buy a yacht and just take off where no one can find us. You’ve got enough money, haven’t you?’
Paul grimaced mockingly. ‘So! It’s my money you’re after.’
‘Never! It’s your body, it’s always been your body… Come here, you sex machine. Come here, you big…’
‘Stop it! Hands off, someone will see.’
‘Don’t be so English.’
‘Don’t be so American. And get your hands off my…’
‘All right. All right!’ Linda stretched languorously and laughed. ‘Am I getting brown?’
‘Not bad. You like lazing around in the sun, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I could see myself living this kind of life. You know, I don’t see why we can’t—’ she began, then stopped abruptly, her mood changing mid-sentence. She knew why they couldn’t buy a yacht and take off. She knew why they couldn’t be together. She reached into her purse, produced a cigarette, lit it, drew deeply, stared at Paul. ‘I hate the fact that you’re married,’ she stated flatly. ‘I really hate it.’
‘Why are you bringing that up? I never tried to hide it,’ he defended.
‘Nope,’ Linda laughed in a brittle fashion, ‘I guess you never did.’ She thought of the unknown enemy, the wife, and for the thousandth time wondered what she was like – even more important, what Paul was like when he was with her. Did they make love? Well, of course they must do. Was it good? Linda bit deeply into her lip. She wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t going to behave like the other woman. She was just going to cool it, like she always had. And in the end – where the hell did it get her? Nowhere fast, that’s where it got her. If she was smart she would cast her eyes around for someone new, someone free.
She sighed, shivered slightly, drained her drink and said: ‘Let’s circulate, Paul. Let’s see who else is on this floating piece of ostentation.’
Maybe she should start to play games. Maybe that was the way to get through to him. But oh Christ, who needed all that game-playing crap, not at her age, that was stuff for teenagers.
‘Do we have to?’ Paul groaned.
‘Yes,’ insisted Linda. ‘I thought I saw Ramo Kaliffe a minute ago, and I’d love to meet him.’
‘Lead the way,’ said Paul resignedly. And he wondered what Al was doing.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Arriving at Miami Airport hit Dallas like a giant shock wave. It brought back every bad memory. Was it really only two years ago that she and Bobbie had fled the city like a couple of thieves?
She remembered the night in detail… The old man dying on them. Bobbie pocketing his bankroll. The mad dash to their crummy apartment where they packed up in record time. And then the airport where Dallas had felt that at any moment a hand would descend on her shoulder and she would be arrested…
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