‘Don’t they know about the sex change girl?’
‘They will. Tomorrow. Authenticated evidence.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Just stay out of sight until I call you. No lounging round the pool, going to restaurants, shopping. Just fall in love with room service until I call you.’
‘I was going to look for an apartment.’
‘Honey, believe you me, after next week it will be houses you’ll be looking at – big ones with pools and tennis courts.’
Dallas smiled. ‘I guess I have nothing to lose…’
‘And everything to gain. You are a bona fide female, I take it?’
The smile snapped off her face. ‘Mr. Hills. Is part of the deal me proving that to you?’
‘Dallas. I would love to answer yes to that question, but I’ll take your word on it. Besides, silicone doesn’t move the way you move, and I’m late for dinner at my mother’s house. I’m a second-generation Portnoy.’
‘A what?’
‘A nice Jewish boy.’
Later in her hotel room, Dallas thought about Cody Hills. He was the first man who had ever offered her anything without expecting dividends in return. Of course it might all be pie in the sky, but he seemed so enthusiastic, so sure.
She wondered if she should confess to him the fact that she was an ex-hooker. But what good would that do? She decided against it. What was the use of lining up strokes against yourself before you had even begun?
* * *
Two days later Cody called her.
‘Pack a bikini, things are in motion. I’ll be up to fetch you in half an hour.’
He drove a dashing red Mustang. ‘Climb in,’ he instructed. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to inflict my mother on you, but it’s the only place I can think of where you can get a tan in private.’
‘Why a tan?’
‘To make you look even more delectable, delicious, and just a little bit savage.’
‘I’ll be savage if this all ends up as a pile of shit.’
‘Shh… Nice girls with sponsors don’t talk like that.’
‘Fu…’
‘Dallas. Please. Not on the way to my mother’s house!’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Where does your mother live?’
‘The Valley. Nothing extravagant, but for God’s sake don’t touch anything unless you can put it back exactly where it came from! I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you there for the day, and the minute my back is out of there she’ll be after you like the CIA.’
‘Now, look…’
‘Nothing about you. Just about me. How long have you known me? Where did we meet? When are we getting married? The usual Jewish mother questions.’
‘Sounds like fun. What shall I say?’
‘No comment. Act like a star, you may as well get some practice in.’
Cody’s mother was a round, neat little woman. She settled Dallas in a sun lounger, settled herself close by, and revealed the family history.
‘Cody is a good boy, a good son. But show business! The movie business! A meshugenah profession!’
Dallas found out that he had been an agent for five years. Before that he had worked around the studio doing anything he could. The industry was his life. Eventually he wanted to be a producer.
‘He don’t usually bring his girlfriends home,’ Mrs. Hills confessed. ‘But you – well, it’s good to see he has taste.’
‘I’m not a girlfriend, I’m a client,’ Dallas explained patiently for the third time.
‘Of course you are,’ agreed Mrs. Hills with no conviction, ‘but my Cody will make some girl a wonderful husband, a Jewish girl of course. A Jewish actress if that’s what makes him happy. Elizabeth Taylor he won’t get – but a nice girl like Streisand – what a voice! I hear she’s got a hairdresser for a boyfriend. At least she gets her hair done for free…’
Another two days passed before Cody imparted the news that they had an appointment. ‘Lew Margolis himself. Head man at Paradox. One look at you… I know we got it made.’
They decided what Dallas would wear. A white safari suit in the softest cotton, and a white Stetson hat with her hair tucked under it.
They planned every move together. She would enter Lew Margolis’s office with Cody and sit quietly whilst they talked. The first question that Lew directed at her she would slowly remove her tinted shades, and stare directly at him. The second question the hat would come off. After that, the jacket, under which she would be wearing a clinging T-shirt.
‘It will work – by the fourth question we’ll be in. Don’t forget, right now they are desperate – and there just aren’t any girls around with such perfect physical qualifications for the part.’
Cody’s confidence was catching, and Dallas found herself almost sure of the fact that the part would be hers. What a wonderful start to a new life.
The night before the interview Cody took her to the Aware Inn for an early dinner. They talked about general things, almost scared to trade the strong excitement they both felt. When he dropped her off at the hotel he kissed her chastely on the cheek.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said firmly. ‘Think positive.’
‘I will,’ she replied, grateful that he wasn’t trying to rush her into the nearest bed, although she sensed that he wanted to.
‘Pick you up at eleven.’
‘I’ll be ready.’
‘Goodnight, star.’
‘Goodnight, producer.’
‘How did you know…’
‘Your mother.’
‘I guess you know all about my circumcision too.’
‘Intimately.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow.’ She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips before walking into the hotel.
The morning was bright with very little smog. Dallas breakfasted on figs and orange juice. Did her exercises in front of the open window. Made up and dressed with painstaking care.
Cody picked her up exactly on time. She noticed he had washed and plastered his hair down more carefully than ever. He wore a suit, Californian lightweight, but still a suit.
They drove in silence to the studios. A large sign proclaimed ‘Paradox Television. The Greatest.’
Lew Margolis sat behind an Italian marble desk littered with various silver and gold awards. Framed photos of his family took pride of place on a marble side table. The floor was marble, the walls were marble.
Dallas didn’t really notice any of this. She didn’t notice because she was too busy remembering.
Lew Margolis had been the mystery client whose house Dallas had gone to with Bobbie on her last and final orgy.
Lew Margolis would know instantly and irrevocably that she was a paid whore.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rave reviews on the Madison Square concert brought only a thin smile to Paul’s lips. He was so furious at what he considered Al’s irresponsible behaviour that it eclipsed all else.
Linda had never seen him so angry, and in a curious way the fact that he was ranting and raving about Al brought them closer together.
‘Death threats here, mobbings there. Kidnapping and everything else, and he runs off with a woman I wouldn’t even look at twice and takes a stroll back to the hotel.’
‘He’s a big boy.’ Linda pointed out.
‘Let him be a big boy on his own time. This is business, and if anything happened to him. Jesus, Linda, you should see the crank mail he receives. There’s a lot of husbands running wild who would be only too happy to take a slice off his balls.’
‘I’m sure he can look after himself.’
‘On the New York streets, at night, Muhammad Ali can’t look after himself.’
‘I should have offered to fix him up with Dallas. That would have kept him off the streets.’
‘Do it. Tonight.’
‘I don’t know if she’ll still want to.’
‘Try.’
Al, for his part, awoke
strangely refreshed. He blocked out the bad vibes of the previous evening and remembered only the fact that he had been able to screw and come. A rare achievement these days.
He lay in bed, ordered champagne, and read and re-read his rave reviews.
Dana Kurlnik phoned him at three o’clock. ‘This weekend,’ she said in imperious tones. ‘What time shall the helicopter collect you?’
‘I didn’t say I’d come.’
‘You didn’t say you wouldn’t. I’d like you to meet my twin. We’re identical, you know. Don’t you think that’s fascinating?’
‘Absolutely. Do you fuck together?’
‘Absolutely. What time did you say you wanted the helicopter?’
‘Twelve in the morning. Tomorrow. There’ll be three of us.’
‘Can’t wait.’
‘We’ll only be staying the night.’
‘Don’t bet on it.’
American girls, they didn’t half come across strong. Al yawned, got up, inspected himself in the mirror. He didn’t like the bags that appeared to be forming yet again beneath his eyes. Something would have to be done about them.
He buzzed Paul. Linda answered.
‘He’s gone out,’ she informed him. ‘Back in about an hour.’
‘Why don’t you come up? Want to talk to you.’
‘Are you out of bed?’
‘You’re perfectly safe. I don’t jump on my brother’s girl. Not unless she asks me to.’
‘Ha ha. Can I bring my cameras?’
‘If it’s candid shots you’re after, I look like shit.’
‘So what else is new?’
* * *
Al’s suite was on the floor above so Linda walked up, said hello to Luke stationed outside, and went in.
Al greeted her in a towelling bathrobe. ‘Seen the reviews?’ was his first question.
‘Of course. Sensational, naturally.’
‘Where’s Paul?’
‘He’s not in a very good mood. He’s gone to double check security for tonight’s concert.’
‘Is he pissed off at me?’
‘It wasn’t a terribly smart move, was it? And why walk home? Anything could have happened.’
Al shrugged. ‘I don’t know, love. Felt like it. Listen – you, me, and Paul have been invited to the Kurlnik place for the weekend. I said we’d go, might be a giggle.’
‘I wouldn’t mind. When?’
‘Tomorrow. We’ll just stay the one night. Then on to Philadelphia for the show on Monday.’
‘Sounds good to me, as long as Paul says yes.’
‘He’ll say yes. He always does what I want – you should know that by now.’
Linda sighed. ‘Thanks a lot. You certainly know how to make a person feel good.’
‘You want me to be honest, don’t you?’
Linda lit a cigarette. Al always made her smoke more than usual. ‘Not particularly, but if it makes you happy. By the way, nothing definite, but how would you feel about seeing Dallas after tonight’s show?’
‘Is she here?’ Al asked. ‘Jesus – that wasn’t her at the party last night, was it?’
‘The very same.’
‘Why didn’t anyone tell me? I’d like to see her, sure I would. Can you fix it?’
‘I think so. She’s staying with me. I’ve been trying to call her but she must have gone out.’
‘Why don’t you go on home, wait for her. Bring her to the concert. We’ll go somewhere nice for dinner.’
‘You’re very anxious.’
‘I like her. Is there anything strange about that?’
‘Oh, sweet! Our superstar has feelings too.’
‘Jesus, Linda, you are some smart ass.’
Linda smiled. She felt she had scored a minor victory. ‘I’ll go home, then.’
‘Do that. And call me. Better still have Dallas call me.’
‘I’ll try. She might be busy.’
‘Fuck you, Linda. You enjoy every minute of me not getting what I want. You could have told me she was staying with you before this.’
So Paul hadn’t told him. Bad Paul. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
Al shrugged. ‘I don’t care. Like she’s all right, we’ll have some laughs. I don’t care.’
‘OK. OK. I’ll call you later.’
If only he had been sure it was her at the party. He could have dumped Marjorie Carter easily enough. He had thought about Dallas so many times since the South of France. He had run and re-run the videotape of their television show on numerous occasions. He had read about her fiancé dying. He had seen the occasional photo of her in the gossip columns. She looked gorgeous. She always looked gorgeous.
He wasn’t sure if she would still be talking to him. After the incident in the South of France he had frozen her out. Business relationship only. Screw the newspapers and all that publicity. It had petered out now. Even Edna had believed him when he swore there was nothing in it. And there was nothing in it. He had never touched the girl. Perhaps that’s what was bugging him.
Anyway, that would all change soon. After the concert. Maybe before the concert if Linda got hold of her in time. He watched a bad quiz show on television, impatiently waiting to hear from Linda.
Finally she rang, terse and to the point. ‘Our little bird has flown, jetted off to good old LA.’
‘Oh shit!’ said Al, and he was surprised at how disappointed he suddenly felt.
* * *
Fire Island was enveloped in a sea mist, but it didn’t alter the sultry humidity. The Kurlnik estate jutted out towards the sea. It had its own private beach, indoor and outdoor swimming pools, tennis courts, and a mini golf course.
Dana Kurlnik was there to greet them. She was tall and bronzed, coolly groomed in tennis whites.
‘My mother’s away,’ she informed them, ‘and Daddy is quite busy in the city. So it’s just myself and Cara. Come, I’ll show you the house.’
It was quite impressive. Picassos nestled next to Hockneys on the walls. Priceless antique furniture mixed unashamedly with ultra-modern.
‘You must be hungry. We’ll lunch on the terrace. Fifteen minutes all right with everyone?’
‘Fine with me,’ agreed Al. ‘It doesn’t take me fifteen minutes to take a piss.’
Paul and Linda exchanged looks. Dana appeared not to have heard.
‘What a house!’ exclaimed Linda.
‘Yes,’ said Paul wistfully, ‘makes my place in England look like a shack.’
They were given a room with an old oak four-poster bed and a sea view.
‘This is lovely,’ enthused Linda, ‘veree romantic – you think so?’
‘I think,’ said Paul slowly, ‘that we are the beards and that Al knew all along old man Kurlnik wouldn’t be here.’
‘I did want to meet him. Dallas never mentions him. I think she was more upset than everyone supposes.’
Paul grinned. ‘I think Al wants to get his own back through the daughters.’
Linda started to undress. ‘Judging from the one we’ve seen, I think she would welcome any getting his own back Al cares to give her.’
‘Linda, why are you almost naked?’
‘All the better to make love to you. After all, we have got fifteen minutes before lunch. Why waste them?’
* * *
Cara Kurlnik appeared for lunch. Blonde, like her sister, and equally cool.
Linda couldn’t help reflecting how old they both seemed to be. Not in looks, they were certainly good-looking enough. It was just their demeanour, sort of a weary, glacial, seen-it-all, done-it-all attitude. And of course they probably had. Being the daughters of one of the richest men in America probably did not lead to a quiet and sheltered life. Their conversation was peppered with famous names and places.
Lunch was delicious. A mixture of seafoods and salads laid out invitingly on silver dishes.
Al gorged himself, swigging back the champagne the girls had thoughtfully provided. For dessert there were bowls of strawberries wit
h thick cream ladled on top.
‘Here goes my diet,’ remarked Al.
‘Do you have to diet?’ questioned Cara. ‘How boring.’
‘Only when I’m working,’ said Al quickly, ‘I like to keep in shape, like a boxer.’
‘Oh, you mean training. I would have thought it was only your voice you had to worry about.’ Dana stared at him as she spoke. A cold, grey-eyed stare.
‘Al uses a great deal of physical energy,’ Paul joined in. ‘He’s like a wet rag when he comes off that stage.’
‘Does training include no sex?’ inquired Cara.
‘Are you kidding?’ laughed Al.
Linda had been fiddling with her cameras. ‘Anyone mind if I take some photographs?’ she asked.
‘Go right ahead,’ replied Dana. ‘Would you like us to pose for you?’
‘That won’t be necessary – I don’t work like that. Just carry on doing whatever you’re doing.’
‘I thought we might go skiing,’ said Cara. ‘The boat’s all ready. You do ski, don’t you, Al?’
‘Yeah, I ski.’ He had learned in the South of France, his first holiday after success had started to creep up on him. He had known it would come in useful one day. Edna had never learned. She had sat on the beach and complained that it was a dangerous, stupid sport. She had been quite surprised when after three abortive attempts he was up up and away. Perhaps if Edna had been the kind of woman who had learned to water-ski their marriage might not be on the rocks today. And it was on the rocks. He knew there was no going home after this trip.
With all his success he had nothing, no one. Plenty of everything. But what did that mean when you were alone in bed at night. And whoever it was that shared his bed, he still ended up alone.
He envied Paul. He had Linda. A strong, ballsy woman who obviously loved him very much. And what did Al get? He got the stags, didn’t he? The star fucks and groupies. The ball-breakers like Marjorie Carter and the nymphos like the Kurlnik twins. He could smell a nympho a mile off, however much money she had. And he would accommodate them, if he was able. And he would probably enjoy it, on a momentary basis. And they would say – ‘Wow – what a stud Al King is.’ And that was his life. Superstud. Superfuck. There must be something better somewhere.
‘Are you going to change?’ asked Dana.
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