Lovers and Gamblers

by Jackie Collins

  ‘Whatcha’ all needin’ to telephone for?’ asked the black.

  ‘I need some help… with a sick friend.’ As she spoke she knew with a feeling of dread that these two men were the ‘they’ that Bobbie had been mumbling about.

  ‘Move on up,’ stated the black firmly. ‘Y’all must be the friend Bobbie said was bringin’ her a present. Gotta admit we di’nt believe her.’

  ‘I’m going to call a doctor,’ Dallas said, trying to keep her voice controlled.

  ‘Y’all goin’ to pay us her little debt first.’

  ‘How much does she owe you?’

  ‘How much you got, foxy? And how come I ain’t nevah seen you around?’ His hand moved like lightning, brushing over her breasts, removing her shoulder bag. He opened it, found the stack of bills, whistled admiringly. ‘Must be over a thou here… Business pretty good, baby?’

  ‘Does she owe you all that?’ Dallas asked coldly.

  ‘Don’ worry that foxy little head ’bout it,’ he smirked. ‘She gotta habit to support, she gotta learn how to support it. Who you work for? Might just pay you a visit – a free visit. Wouldn’t wanna see you all messed up like your friend.’

  ‘You did that to her? Why?’

  He laughed. ‘Why? She wants to know why.’ He cackled some more. ‘’Cos I’m mean, bitch, real fuckin’ mean.’ He reached forward and squeezed her breasts.

  ‘Let’s get outa here,’ said the other man. ‘We got what we came for.’

  ‘You may have got what you came for. I wouldn’t say no to fucking this sweet piece – fucking her good.’

  ‘Another time. We got work to do.’

  ‘Another time. I’ll get your address from Bobbie.’ His hand slid down her body, pushed between her legs. ‘Remember, it’ll be for free.’

  She shoved him away, thankful that she was wearing jeans.

  Cackling he started off down the stairs. ‘Keep it hot for me, foxy. Y’all are in f’a thrill.’

  She bit her lip to stay silent. She knew what men like that were capable of doing. She had seen what they had done to Bobbie. And Bobbie was her prime concern.

  There was a telephone in a bar half a block away. She called emergency and told them to send an ambulance.

  If you were smart – she told herself – you would get the hell out of here and go on home. But how could she leave until she saw that Bobbie was properly looked after? Besides, she wanted to let them know that she would be willing to pay for Bobbie’s treatment, and then a cure. A private nursing home where she would be well looked after.

  She ran back to the seedy apartment house, hurried up the four flights of stairs, pushed open the door.

  Bobbie had dragged herself over to the window, managed to get her heroin, managed to inject herself with the help of an old belt pulled tight to locate a welcoming vein, and a plastic syringe.

  She was slumped on the floor by the window. The belt hung loosely round her arm. The syringe was on the floor beside her.

  She managed to smile at Dallas. ‘Hey – glad you’re here.’ She was groggy and rubbing her eyes. ‘Feel kinda funny – kinda bad. Pills. Booze. Little shot of H. Guess I mighta overdid it, sugar. Like we had some laughs once…’ Her voice turned into a rasping, choking gurgle, and her eyes rolled back for the final time.

  She was dead.

  From the next apartment a woman could be heard screaming in the throes of orgasm. A man laughed, a harsh unkind sound. Rock music drifted up from the second floor. In the distance came the blare of the ambulance.

  Dallas hurried from the room. There was nothing she could do now.

  * * *

  Cody paced angrily around the house, glancing at his watch for the twentieth time. She was late. Very, very late. And he had checked that she had left the studio on time. He had checked with Kiki and Chuck, and she hadn’t gone home with them.

  So where was she?

  She was with another man, that’s where she was. Maybe the black stud with the white Ferrari. Or maybe the little group he had spied her orgying with that night. Or maybe the guy she had flown off to see when she had lied to him she was visiting an aunt.

  He felt sick with jealousy. An emotion he had never felt in his life.

  It was all so wrong – he should never have gotten involved. Never. She was playing him for a sucker… She was his wife. His wife. And she was out screwing another man.

  It was to have been such a great evening. A celebration. He had completed a terrific deal that afternoon for his English comedy actor to star in a top movie. It proved to him that his magic touch wasn’t confined to Dallas.

  He had booked a table at the Bistro to celebrate. And he had planned to tell Dallas about the house he had rented in Acapulco, and also that he was delighted with the fact that she wanted to have a baby, and having thought about it, decided that they could definitely slot it into their schedule.

  So where was she?

  She was impulsive. Maybe she had just moved out. They hadn’t argued, but he was only too painfully aware that she wasn’t happy.

  Maybe she had had an accident. But she was a good driver.

  He was getting dumped sooner than he had thought.

  He heard her car in the drive and sat down trying to compose himself. Stay cool. Stay calm. See what she had to say.

  She entered the house, flopped down in a chair, and stared into space She seemed almost unaware of his existence.

  ‘You’re home,’ he stated, rather unnecessarily in the circumstances.

  She looked dishevelled. Her long hair mussed, her face tired and drawn. Some fuck, he thought, some good fuck. He didn’t want to think it, but the thought was there and refused to go.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, although if he knew her at all he knew he should leave her alone.

  She glanced at him with indifference. ‘Out,’ she replied.

  ‘Where?’ he asked pointedly.

  ‘Driving.’

  ‘Driving where?’

  ‘Why don’t you leave me alone?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me where you were?’

  ‘Why don’t you fuck off?’

  He stood up. ‘I guess it’s no use my asking who he is.’

  She didn’t reply, just looked at him coldly.

  He shrugged, trying to conceal the hurt he felt. ‘You wouldn’t listen to me. I told you this would happen. I knew it…’

  She sighed. ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘I’ll do whatever you want. But let’s get out of it now – with dignity – without the screaming and accusations. Without the shit I want to throw at you.’

  ‘Whatever you want, Cody.’

  ‘I don’t want to call you names…’

  ‘So don’t.’

  Her apparent indifference infuriated him. He walked slowly, stiffly, to the door. ‘I’ll stay at a hotel tonight.’

  She didn’t stop him. She sat in the chair and stared into space, and he left before the tears slid silently down her face.

  * * *

  Once in his car Cody immediately regretted leaving. Hasty – much too hasty. So anxious to get out before she said things he didn’t want to hear. Anxious to preserve his dignity – sanity.

  So she had been with another man – so big deal. It was him she had come back to. But he didn’t want to be in that position. The jealous husband, the schmuck waiting at home for the crumbs of her company.

  He would get out now. Immediately. A quickie divorce. And then, things could go back to the way they were. Friendship. Business. So he wouldn’t have her body, but he wouldn’t get torn to shreds every time someone else did. Or would he?

  He drove furiously along the strip. Maybe he should have listened to what she had to say. Who was he kidding? She had had nothing to say. She acted as if he didn’t exist, didn’t matter. He had tried to forget about her past – what little she had told him of it. So she had been a whore – but that was a long time ago. And she had stopped being a whore. Whore – what a beautiful ol
d-fashioned word – probably one of his mother’s favourites. But could he ever forget?

  Why the hell had she ever told him? He slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator.

  He had nowhere to go. He had given up his apartment. Going to his mother’s was out. A hotel was too depressing a thought.

  Feeling sorry for himself he headed in the direction of Connie’s apartment. A little sympathy was the order of the day.

  * * *

  Dallas remembered the good times.

  The beginning of her relationship with Bobbie. The fun. The laughs. Of course hooking wasn’t everyone’s idea of having a terrific time – but in Miami with Bobbie it hadn’t been bad. Just another way to make some bread. And they had had each other. The first real relationship Dallas had ever experienced. The first person who gave a shit.

  Bobbie had taught her to cook, dance, fuck, laugh. Bobbie had taught her how to look after herself, protect herself, get herself through the day.

  And then had come the old man in the motel, the trip to LA, and the sudden disintegration of everything that was fun.

  And the drugs. Bobbie had been fairly straight until LA. Tinsel city had scored again. Shit! It could have been her that had gotten hooked on drugs. There but for the grace of Ed Kurlnik…

  Dallas shuddered, hugged her knees to her chest.

  She thought of Bobbie’s skinny pathetic body lying on the floor of the shabby room. The two animals who had beaten her up. They should be in jail… But there was no one to put the finger on them – only her – and she knew enough not to get involved. Forget that scene.

  It was funny – she should be glad that Bobbie was dead. She should be out celebrating – after all, it was the perfect solution. And yet she could only feel sorrow. A sense of loss. Ridiculous, really – but that’s the way it was.

  Vaguely she remembered Cody walking out. Poor Cody – he thought she had been with another man. If only he knew… If only she could have confided in him…

  But it was better this way. Much better.

  She was a loner, she didn’t need anyone. Better that Cody should realize this. Besides, his opinion of her was the lowest. He had immediately assumed she had been with another man… Screw him… Tomorrow she would give him the good news that they weren’t really married anyway. She had pretended to forget, but she had known all along that she still had a husband in Miami.

  * * *

  ‘What in heck do you think you want?’ questioned Connie, keeping Cody firmly in place by way of a chain lock on the door.

  ‘Let me in and I’ll tell you,’ he replied, feeling like an unwelcome door-to-door salesman.

  Connie stood her ground. ‘Our mutual shrink tells me that you treat me like dirt. He says that you are a user and that I should throw you out of my life. Period.’

  ‘Did you tell him my name?’ asked Cody, alarmed at losing face with his analyst.

  ‘Certainly not. You – better than anyone – should know we deal only with initials. And by the way, why haven’t you been to see him for three weeks?’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I just know… You should go see him, you’ve got problems. Any man who treats women as sexual objects needs help.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. How do you think you’ve treated me?’

  A woman emerged from the apartment opposite and stared.

  ‘Let me in, Connie,’ whispered Cody urgently.

  ‘No. I’m sorry – but I’m a person. A human being. I am not here for your sexual convenience.’ She started to close the door.

  ‘But I don’t want sex!’

  Connie gave him a superior smile. ‘Of course you don’t,’ she said understandingly, and slammed the door shut.

  The woman opposite cackled and darted back into her apartment before Cody could think of a suitable remark to throw in her direction.

  He had been seeing Connie on and off for two years. Why the sudden cold shoulder? Didn’t she know he was going to be rich and powerful? Didn’t she care?

  He knew who would care. Her name sprung to mind immediately. Carol Cameron would not close any doors in his face. She would throw everything open – everything.

  He drove to the nearest bar – looked her up in the phone book – somehow he had known she would be listed – and drove right over to her address.

  She answered the door of her small house after a long pause. Clad in shorts and a T-shirt over very obviously nothing, she looked younger than she had in his office. She was not wearing make-up, that was why. And her hair was more tousled and natural-looking, not teased into lacquered curls.

  ‘Cody!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you call? I look a mess.’

  ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘I’m accepting your offer of a drink.’

  ‘That’s marvellous. Just come in, settle yourself down. I’ve just got to take care of a few things.’ She led him into a pink living room strewn with fluffy toy animals. ‘What can I fix you?’

  ‘Vodka.’ He glanced around. Pictures of Carol lined the walls. A nude portrait had place of honour.

  ‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said. ‘Just make yourself comfortable.’

  ‘I’m not interrupting anything?’

  She giggled. ‘Nothing I can’t finish at another time.’

  She left the room and he could hear a whispered conversation, then a few minutes later a door slammed. Goodbye, boyfriend. Don’t kid yourself it’s on account of your irresistible sex appeal, Cody, my boy. The fact is most girls are career girls – and career comes first.

  He flipped through some magazines. They were full of pictures of Carol in various forms of undress.

  She was taking a long time. He glanced at his watch.

  Why had he come here anyway?

  A little company, a little warmth. Who was he kidding? He wanted to get laid. He wanted to feed his bruised ego.

  ‘Hello,’ said a childish voice. Carol stood in the doorway, posing. Her face was a mask of make-up. Her hair (or was it a wig?) carefully curled.

  She wore very high-heeled furry pink mules, pink frilly panties with a strategic open heart on the front revealing bleached pubic hair. And a frilled pink bra with an open heart dead centre both sides allowing amazing nipples to point threateningly at him.

  ‘You are going to handle me, aren’t you?’ she lisped. ‘Baby wants to be handled by you.’

  Yes. He was going to handle her. But not in the way she expected.

  Oh God, if his mother could see him now!

  He stood up. Decadent Hollywood, here I come!!

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The rest did Al more good than Paul could have hoped for. They went to ground in an Arizona ranch house that did not even have television. There was just Al, himself, Luke, and a Mexican couple who looked after the house.

  Al spent his days soaking up the sun by the swimming pool and occasionally going riding. There was tennis and squash, billiards and table tennis. The house was completely cut off, with only one telephone for emergencies. Paul had borrowed it from a millionaire who occasionally liked to get back to the simple life. It wasn’t that simple, but it was completely isolated.

  Edna had flown back to England along with a reluctant Evan.

  Melanie had been a problem, but Paul had solved that by allowing her a two-week vacation in New York by herself before flying home. ‘It will be too boring for you to stay here,’ he had explained. She hadn’t argued.

  Bernie had flown on to Los Angeles to set everything up. Al would now do two concerts there – then a special charity event in Las Vegas – and then they would take the plane on to South America where Al was getting a million dollars for just two concerts. It had been an offer that Paul could not refuse. And it would more than compensate for the lost revenue of the cancelled shows.

  So Al was drying out. No booze. No drugs. No women.

  Sun. Exercise. Healthy food. Rest.

 
He had lost weight, gained a suntan, and looked and felt good.

  Meanwhile ‘Bad Black Alice’ remained at number one with a bullet. And the album – AL IS KING – was fighting it out for the number one spot with Rod Stewart.

  A new group had been hired to replace The Promises. Three black girls who called themselves Hot Fudge. Paul had flown to Los Angeles to see them, and signed them on the spot. They were sisters and their mother travelled with them so Paul foresaw no big problem there. They were also sensational on stage – dynamic, fresh and sexy.

  Everyone had been upset by Nellie’s death. Al more than anyone. He had told Paul about that fateful afternoon. ‘I never knew she cared,’ he explained. ‘If I had known, I’d never have gone near her. I thought she just wanted some laughs.’

  ‘Sure,’ Paul agreed. But privately he thought how anyone with half an eye could see that Nellie was besotted. The fact was that Al never noticed anyone’s feelings except his own.

  Paul had called Linda the very moment that Melanie was on a plane. But she never seemed to answer her phone. All he could get was the answering service, and after five calls where he left his name and number, it occurred to him that she had no intention of calling him back. At first he was angry – what right did she have to do this to him? But gradually he realized that she had every right. There were no ties between them. She was a free agent.

  He suffered in silence. Brooding about what she was doing, who she was seeing, who she was sleeping with…

  Al didn’t even bother to ask where she was. But then Al didn’t even begin to understand what a real relationship was all about.

  After three weeks they were ready to move on. Paul had never seen his brother look so good – which was just as well because Bernie had lined up a gruelling schedule of television appearances, press interviews, and parties.

  It was back to the grind. The glare of the spotlight.

  Was Al ready?

  He was as ready as he’d ever be.

  * * *

  ‘Got a cigarette?’ asked Linda.

  She was in Rik’s depressing small apartment, in Rik’s lumpy bed, having just eaten Rik’s over-active and engorged penis.

  ‘No smoking, honey, you promised.’ He lay on his back, arms propped behind his head, a pleased smile on his face.