‘No,’ replied Edna, already resigned to the bad news they would no doubt contain.
‘I warned you, I told you we should have gone with them.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’ll be right over.’
Edna climbed reluctantly out of bed. She knew what it would be, some item about Al and another woman. There were always items about Al and other women. Ignore them, he had continually told her. Never believe anything you read in the papers. Melanie appeared to take every word as gospel, and she never allowed an item to slip by Edna unnoticed.
The kitchen was already occupied by the maid and Nelson, who were enjoying a bacon and egg breakfast.
The maid, a strapping Italian, asked in her careful English, ‘Something, madam?’
‘Coffee,’ said Edna nervously, ‘for two. In the lounge.’ What she really wanted to say was ‘Get out of my kitchen, my house, my life.’ What she really wanted to do was make herself a hot sweet cup of tea and some thick fattening toast liberally spread with strawberry jam.
She had ordered coffee because it was what Melanie preferred. ‘Tea is for peasants,’ Melanie would sniff.
The newspapers were in a neat pile on the hall table, but Edna purposely left them untouched. Why spoil Melanie’s fun?
She walked in to the lounge and gazed out of the French windows into the garden. It was the start of another beautiful day, and the pool gleamed invitingly. Swimming was good exercise, maybe she should swim more. If only Nelson wasn’t always lurking round the pool. When she put on her bathing suit he seemed to stare at her in a peculiar way, a penetrating way. She would have to ask Al to get rid of him. It really wasn’t fair of Al to tell her not to be silly, it wasn’t him he stared at.
Melanie came striding purposefully across the garden. She was wearing a purple track suit, and without make-up her prettiness faded and was replaced with a petulant, pinched look.
Edna unlocked the French doors and let her in.
‘Take a look at this!’ Melanie thrust a paper at her.
On the front page there was a photograph of Al sitting in an open car smiling at a girl who gazed back at him with a faintly mocking smile. She was a very beautiful girl with long legs propped on the dashboard and a seductively unbuttoned shirt. The caption read ‘Al King Meets His Queen’, and underneath, in smaller print, it said, ‘Al King enjoys a get-together with American beauty queen, Dallas. They will appear together on Al’s forthcoming television spectacular.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Edna explained, placing the newspaper carefully down, ‘just publicity.’
‘Just publicity,’ jeered Melanie, ‘just publicity. Are you blind? Look at the way he’s looking at her.’
‘It’s publicity, Melanie. Al has to do these sort of things. I don’t mind, so I don’t see why you should.’
‘Oh, charming! I’m trying to help you, Edna. If you’re too naive to see what’s going on, I’m not. Al is making a fool of you, and if I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, you should be by his side – otherwise one of these days you’re going to lose him.’
The Italian maid came in with the coffee. ‘Where, madam?’ She smiled knowingly. Had she heard? Edna gestured to the table. Damn Melanie and her loud voice.
‘I can’t stay for coffee,’ Melanie snapped, ‘I have a masseur coming over. Think about what I’ve said. Think about the position you may find yourself in. It’s not too late – yet.’ She flounced out the same way she had come in, leaving Edna in a state of flux.
Lose Al. Impossible. Absolutely impossible. But was she being naive? Was Al making a fool of her? Edna shook her head in disbelief. She trusted him. She always had and she always would. Melanie was just trying to cause trouble for no reason.
Edna gulped down the hot coffee. If only her sister-in-law would leave her alone. If only everyone would leave her alone. If only she could go back to the days when it had just been her and Al… Just the two of them. No money, but what wonderful times they had enjoyed together.
Perhaps before he went off on the American tour they could go away somewhere. Maybe Brighton, where they had spent their honeymoon. What a week that had been. In the last few years Edna had noticed Al’s gradual slackening of interest in sex. At first she had been relieved. In the early days he had wanted it constantly; she shuddered at the memory of his demands. Morning, noon, and night. Day after day. Even when she had been pregnant. Now he seemed content just to lie beside her. It had been months since he last made love to her. Of course she didn’t mind, she knew that his work took a lot out of him. But a week in Brighton would do him good, even just a few days. She resolved to discuss this with him.
Satisfied with her decision she finished her coffee and then drank Melanie’s. It wouldn’t do to waste it. Anyway, it went well with the packet of Bourbon Cream biscuits that the maid had thoughtfully provided.
* * *
Upstairs in his bed Evan stealthily inspected his collection of magazines. He found studying them a diverting pastime. He had his favourite girls and would quickly turn to the relevant pages and study the female of his choice. There was Bertha. Blonde. Eighteen. Hobby – breeding horses. She liked big dominant men who knew what they were doing. She wore pearls, and see-through nylon knickers, and appeared in a variety of poses with her legs apart.
Then there was Maralyn. A big girl, Maralyn, with enormous jutting breasts which she seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in playing with.
He really could fancy a night with Bertha or Maralyn. Oh yes. Actually he could fancy a night with anyone. Sixteen and still a virgin. It was ridiculous. None of the other boys at his school were in that position. They had all had ‘experiences’. Evan had heard them discussing various aspects of what appeared to be highly exciting sex lives.
He brooded about his lack of female companionship, and anxiously perused his magazines, of which Nelson seemed to have a never-ending supply. He often thought of Nelson offering him the ‘real thing’. How much would it cost? Would he know what to do? Where would it take place?
He had at last decided to ask Nelson to arrange it.
Meanwhile there remained Bertha and Maralyn. He just had time for one of them before school.
He chose Bertha with her nylon knickers, and clutching her firmly under his arm he made his way to the bathroom.
Chapter Thirteen
He wanted her, and he was pushing. Gradually it dawned on Dallas that the only reason she was on the Al King television spectacular was because Al King himself had ordained it. It all fell into place. The offer of a drink on the night she had won the contest. The lunch she had never attended in New York. The request for her to join him in his caravan. And now a dinner invitation – which she had turned down.
‘I wish you would change your mind,’ Paul had said tightly at her refusal.
‘I’m busy,’ Dallas had replied. ‘Anyway, I don’t go out with married men.’ Lies. Lies. Lies. What about Ed Kurlnik jetting in the very next day? Nobody was more married than Ed.
‘Al is just extending his friendship,’ Paul explained. More like his cock, Dallas thought, and I am not for sale any more.
During the afternoon they taped the beginning of Al’s song in the car. Dallas just had to sit there gazing at him. He was good-looking. Too good-looking. Arrogant, with an assurance that came from getting everything he wanted. Well, he wasn’t going to get her. She wondered if his brother had told him yet.
Photographers buzzed around snapping numerous shots. She smiled at him, licked her lips, and threw her head back.
‘You love it, don’t you?’ said Al.
‘It’s fun,’ she replied carefully.
‘I like your tits.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Why don’t you want to have dinner?’
‘I’m not in the mood for getting chased around a table.’
‘What table? What are you talking about?’
‘Oh, come on. You know what I mean.’
�
��Don’t flatter yourself, kid. Girls like you are fallin’ off the trees to get me.’
‘So go find a tree.’
The afternoon passed quickly, and shortly before they finished for the day, Nicky came over and in an embarrassed voice told her that he wouldn’t be able to take her out after all. Poor kid, somebody had warned him off. Probably the brother. Well, screw all of them. So she wouldn’t see the sights. She would go to bed.
‘Dinner, darling?’ the director inquired.
‘I’m too tired,’ she excused herself.
‘See you in the morning then.’
* * *
‘I don’t believe it!’ Al exclaimed. ‘She’s a dyke, must be.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Paul, although privately he thought nothing could be further from the truth.
‘She’s sharp too. Answers back. Maybe I could convert her.’
‘Why not just forget her. She’s a headache.’
‘I’ll fuck her, I’ll forget her. It’s that easy.’
‘And if you don’t fuck her?’
‘Ah, boyo, that’s the problem. You know me when I don’t get what I want.’
Paul frowned. Indeed he did know.
‘Violette Victor is in town. She’s having dinner with us.’ Violette Victor was a young French movie actress in current vogue.
Al’s interest perked slightly. ‘Have you met her?’
‘I met her agent this afternoon. She’s looking forward to meeting you.’
* * *
Later, on the Carlton terrace, they met with Violette and her agent. She was tall and skinny, with straggly brown hair and luminous almond-shaped grey eyes. Wide-mouthed, she smiled a warm greeting and clutched Al firmly by the hand.
Paul breathed a sigh of relief. If she didn’t take Al’s mind off Dallas nobody would. She was a star, and her reputation as a nymphomaniac was well known.
The four of them had dinner up in the hills, and then Al and Violette vanished up to her suite at the Carlton, and neither was seen again until morning.
Al arrived an hour late at the location.
‘You look like you haven’t slept for a week,’ stated Dallas.
‘Are you a lesbian?’
‘What a sweet old-fashioned question. If I was, it would be none of your goddamn business.’
‘So you are.’
‘No, I am not.’ Why had she answered him? He had no right to know either way. She thought of her relationship with Bobbie and shuddered. Those were scenes better forgotten. No, she was definitely not a lesbian.
‘Let’s have dinner tonight.’
‘I don’t want dinner with you.’
‘Why not?’
‘You’re too – I don’t know – you’re just too…’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘If you don’t know let’s have dinner and find out.’
‘You’re too obvious.’
‘Obvious?’ He burst out laughing, ‘Obvious! You can talk, with your tits hanging out from here to kingdom come!’
‘You want to get laid.’
‘I just got laid. Tonight I’d like dinner with you. We could talk, like get to know each other.’
‘Why?’
‘Why not?’
‘Anyway I can’t. My boyfriend—’ She stammered over boyfriend, realizing she had picked the wrong word. ‘Is coming to town.’
‘Who’s your boyfriend?’
‘Just a friend.’
‘We could all have dinner.’
‘No, thanks.’
The director had lined up the shot and was calling for action. Al started to sing, and Dallas did the full adoring gaze. Idly she wondered who he had been with the night before, and then suddenly, for no reason, she felt a sexual excitement grip her, a feeling she had only ever experienced with Burt Keyes and at the beginning of her affair with Bobbie. She wanted to close her eyes and hang on, it was such a good feeling, and in spite of the life she had led, such an unusual feeling. She didn’t understand it. What had caused it?
The sound machine boomed Al’s voice over loud and clear. Oh Christ! Not feelings for this creep in tight trousers.
She could feel her nipples hardening, and she saw Al notice. Then the bulge in his trousers started to grow. He stared at her, casually slipping the clothes from her with his eyes. Bastard. He knew what was happening.
‘Cut!’ the director called. ‘That was sensational, no retakes. Coming in for close-ups. Everything OK, Al?’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ and he winked at her. ‘Could it?’
She turned away and let the make-up woman attend to her face. What had happened? And why? She couldn’t think straight. Thank Christ Ed would be with her soon. If only she could manufacture that special feeling for Ed. If only…
* * *
‘How was last night?’ Paul asked.
‘Not bad.’
‘Not bad. I hear she’s a killer.’
‘Boney.’
‘One of the biggest movie stars in France and all you can say is boney.’
‘Do you love Linda, Paul?’
‘That’s a hell of a question.’ They had never really discussed it before. ‘Why?’
‘Does it kick you in the gut when you see her? Like – pow. Know what I mean?’
‘I know what you mean. Yes, I love her.’
‘And Melanie?’
Paul shook his head. ‘It’s difficult. Melanie’s my wife, mother of my kids. What’s with the questions?’
‘Just thinking.’
Violette Victor arrived for lunch and the photographers had a field day. She was not averse to publicity and posed moodily in a faded denim jumpsuit.
Dallas was suddenly ignored, and she felt sharp pangs of jealousy at the switch of attention.
Al and Violette Victor. She imagined them in bed together.
Nicky came over to complain about being told he couldn’t take her out the previous evening. She brushed him aside, and watched as Al and Violette disappeared inside his caravan. A lunchtime fuck. Charming.
Stupid, conceited star.
In the afternoon they shot the second half of Al’s song. They had to leave the car and run from the beach into the sea. Dallas had to throw off her dress, underneath which she was wearing a white bikini.
‘You look absolutely marvellous, darling,’ exclaimed the director. ‘You remind me of Ursula Andress in that Bond film.’
‘Who?’ questioned Dallas.
The director raised an irate eyebrow. ‘Are you kidding, dear?’
Violette Victor had departed and Al seemed in good humour.
‘You’re happy,’ remarked Dallas.
‘I had a good lunch, know what I mean?’
She knew what he meant, and then before she could help herself she said, ‘Get your cock sucked, did you?’ She could have kicked herself as soon as she had said it.
Al started to laugh. ‘Oh, boy! Little Miss America. What naughty words you come out with. Yes, as a matter of fact I did.’
Why had she said it? What did she care? It made it look like she did care. It made her sound like a really tough broad. Which of course she was, but that was supposed to be her secret. Oh shit, why had she said it?
‘Good for you.’ And for some inexplicable reason her eyes filled with tears.
‘Changed your mind about dinner?’
‘I told you, I’m busy.’
‘Pity. I can see that you and I would get along really well.’
‘Don’t count on it.’
Al grinned. ‘I’m counting on it. Anyway, if you can’t make dinner come to the Casino in Monte Carlo later, bring me some luck.’
‘Doesn’t Violette Victor bring you luck?’
‘Violette Victor doesn’t fill a bikini like you.’
‘But she sucks good cock, right?’
‘Right.’
Oh God, not again. What was she trying to do? She was carrying on like she was jealous or something ridiculous like that. Miss
Toughie. Shut up, Dallas, you’re behaving like a cunt.
‘I think you and I could have one helluva good time together,’ Al said seriously. ‘Why don’t you dump the boyfriend, whoever he is?’
Was he kidding? Dump Ed Kurlnik. Never.
‘Not possible. Anyway I don’t want to.’ Her eyes dropped to his impossibly filled swim shorts. ‘Besides, he has more to offer me than you do.’
Now what a lie that was.
* * *
Ed arrived in a black chauffered Kurlnik Supreme, looking dapper in a dark blue suit.
He had ordered adjoining suites in the Hotel de Paris, and he kissed Dallas chastely on the cheek and booked an immediate phone call to Mrs. Dee Dee Kurlnik on Fire Island.
So the immaculate Dee Dee was holding the fort at their holiday mansion. With or without the lovely twins? Dallas wondered viciously if she was screwing any of the local talent. Maybe she would dip her immaculate toes in the ocean and get eaten by a shark.
‘How’s it going?’ Ed asked, as he waited for his phone call.
‘Terrific,’ replied Dallas, kneeling to unzip his trousers.
He turned away. ‘Not while I’m on the phone.’
‘Why not? I’ve missed you.’
Flattered, he turned back to her. ‘Make it quick while I’m waiting for the call to come through.’
What other way was there but quick with Ed?
* * *
Al didn’t fancy her. Movie star or not, she was just not his scene. Skinny body. Hairy armpits. Grating accent.
He had performed the night before, but that was it.
Lunchtime she had serviced him. Now she expected the compliment returned.
‘We’ll have dinner first,’ he suggested. ‘Paul’s meeting us at The African Queen. You like pizza?’
Disappointed, she slipped into a dress. ‘Later, then,’ she said, as if to reassure herself.
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’
He drove the Cadillac at his usual erratic pace. He wondered if Dallas would turn up at the Casino. God, she was beautiful. And that body. Quite unbelievable. And he liked her style. She wasn’t prepared to take the shit he dished out to everyone else. It was a pleasure to find a woman who answered back. He had known she would be different. He had sensed it. And he had to have her. Had to.
Lovers and Gamblers Page 9