‘I happen to enjoy their company. There’s nothing wrong with being older, you know. I’m learning a lot.’
‘Like what?’
She sighed. ‘Odile. Get on with your own life and leave me alone.’
‘My life is going back to England soon,’ Odile replied, determined to get her point across. ‘I’m worried about you. You’re just drifting along. You and Jon Jon should come with us. This place is fabulous for a few years, but surely you miss Europe?’
Yes. She did miss London arid Paris and the South of France and her mother and stepfather and their big house in the country, and the horses she used to love to ride. But how could she leave Rio? If she left there was no way she would ever see Luiz again. While she stayed there was always a chance . . .
* * *
Carnival took place in February, and the entire city went crazy, getting ready for the few days of frantic pleasure with overwhelming zeal. Carnival time in Rio was the culmination of months of preparation. There were amazing flower-bedecked floats for the incredible parade, out-of-this-world costumes, and a glut of wild parties. For once the poor felt rich and the rich felt richer, and out on the streets there was a wild tangle of semi-clothed cariocas, handsome young men, fat mamas, sparkling transvestites, hustlers, pimps, con-men, hookers, tourists, and a general assortment of outrageous characters. The streets were alive with the samba beat, the sweet smell of flowers, and a swaying, singing, celebrating mass of people.
Parties were an everyday affair, starting early and going on all day and all night. Odile and Rupert threw a fancy-dress farewell celebration the night before the big parade. In two weeks they were moving back to England. The thought depressed Rafealla, for they were her family, and she knew she was going to miss them terribly. It couldn’t be helped, she would just have to learn to manage without them.
For the party she dressed as Nefertiti, the Egyptian queen, and Jorge, with much persuasion, dressed up as a Roman general. They took little Jon Jon, clad as a Yankee baseball hero. He had the greatest time, and didn’t want to go home. When they finally persuaded him into the chauffeur-drive Mercedes, he fell asleep across both their knees.
This was her family, she suddenly realized. Why wait any longer? She would marry Jorge and give Jon Jon a real father.
* * *
‘Congratulations, darling!’
‘Wonderful news!’
‘How wise of you to wait. Now you’re really sure.’
‘When is the wedding?’
Jorge had wasted no time in presenting her with the most magnificent solitaire diamond ring. The moment she’d said yes, he’d produced it from the safe, proudly telling her he’d bought it the day she moved in. Now she wore it to the big parade, where she was safely cloistered in a special box overlooking the route, with a dozen or so of Jorge’s friends and business acquaintances who had flown in especially for the evening of festivities. Special boxes were erected to watch the parade, enabling the rich to see and be seen without ever really becoming involved.
Looking around, she was quite surprised to spot Marcus Citroen, the American record magnate, with his wife, Nova, an elegant, cold woman. She hadn’t seen him since that fateful night in London at Annabel’s, which he obviously didn’t remember, for when they were introduced by one of Jorge’s friends he showed not a flicker of recognition.
That’s twice he hasn’t remembered me, she thought, her mind quickly darting back to their first encounter at Odile’s stepfather’s house in the South of France when he’d flashed her in the swimming pool.
He was a dirty old man then, and nothing had changed. As they were introduced his hooded eyes lasciviously stripped off the gypsy outfit she wore, checking out every inch of her body.
When Odile arrived she didn’t wait for an introduction. ‘Mr Citroen,’ she exclaimed, winking at Rafealla, with a certain amount of wickedness. ‘I bet you don’t remember me.’
Turning, he acknowledged Odile’s blonde prettiness with a perfunctory nod. ‘You’ll have to assist my memory, my dear.’
Isabella and Claudio Franconini’s daughter, Odile. You came to stay at our chateau in France one summer. Don’t worry if you’ve forgotten, it was a long time ago.’
‘Indeed I do remember. What a pleasure to see you again. Tell me, are your parents well?’
‘Very well.’ Unable to resist, gamely stifling a giggle, she added, ‘And surely you remember my best friend, Rafealla? She was staying with us at the time.’
Rafealla could have kicked her grinning sister-in-law.
Fortunately Jorge appeared at that moment, putting a possessive arm around her shoulders as he said, ‘So Marcus, you’ve met my soon-to-be-bride, the most beautiful woman in Rio.’
‘Child bride,’ murmured Marcus, gazing at her reflectively, with a haven’t I seen you somewhere before look in his eyes.
Rafealla shifted uncomfortably. There was something about Marcus Citroen that filled her with dread.
* * *
The gaiety and wildness of the night excited everyone. It was impossible not to get caught up in the delirious goings on. Carnival fever was catching – what with the noise and the smells and the insistent music. Pulsating bodies and decadent faces were everywhere. A heavy sexual feeling pervaded the air as Rio forgot about the rest of the world and surrendered to Carnival. Odile was in an adventurous mood. Several glasses of champagne always made her a little crazy, and combined with the heady atmosphere of the evening, an earlier fight with Rupert, and the fact that she would soon be leaving Rio, she was ready to do the forbidden.
The forbidden was leaving the rarefied atmosphere of the box where the rich people experienced Carnival without getting too close.
‘Why don’t we skip out of here?’ she whispered. ‘I can’t stand being confined like this.’
‘No,’ Rafealla whispered back. ‘Jorge said it’s dangerous.’
‘Please! Now you’re beginning to sound like him. What happened to the girl who wanted to be free? This is a holiday – a festival. Let’s go have fun for ten minutes. Nobody’ll miss us, they’ll think we’re in the loo.’
To dance in the streets was a tempting prospect. Being a spectator wasn’t the same as participating. Why the hell shouldn’t they?
Sneaking from the box they hit the street like two naughty schoolgirls, falling in with a swaying group of half-naked bodies, snaking along the side of the parade, giggling with the sheer energy and exhilaration of it all.
‘We’ll just go a couple of blocks and then back,’ Odile promised.
‘Sure,’ Rafealla laughed, as a masked stranger grabbed her arm, propelling her along.
The crowds were dense and unruly. It took only moments for the two girls to get separated and lose sight of each other, but neither really cared, they were having too enjoyable a time. The music was loud and sensual. Inhibitions were left behind as they joined the swaying, laughing throng.
It wasn’t until Rafealla began to lose her breath that she realized they should go back. When she looked around for Odile, she couldn’t find her.
‘Damn!’ she muttered, knowing there was no way she could return without her, Rupert would be furious.
Now she tried to ignore the samba beat and the oscillating mass of bodies as her eyes began to search for Odile. An impossible task. Should she turn around? Continue forward?
Oh God! What to do?
A creature in an orange satin bikini, a trailing ruffled skirt, and exaggerated makeup pounced upon her. ‘Dahling!’ the creature shrieked in a distinctly male voice, even though it had jutting breasts. ‘Dahling! Dahling! Dahling!’
Breaking away she tripped and almost fell. The creature pursued her.
‘Go away!’ she yelled.
‘Be . . . ooo . . . tiful! Sooo be . . . oo . . . tiful.’
She didn’t feel beautiful, she felt nervous. Suddenly all of Jorge’s warnings came back to her.
The Carnival is dangerous . . .
Murders . . .
/> Assaults . . .
Pickpockets everywhere . . .
The thieves wait all year for these few days . . .
And most chilling of all – Lepers walk the streets during Carnival . . .
With a sudden shiver she twisted the huge diamond on her finger so it didn’t show, clenching her hand shut.
The creature waved gaily and danced off. Was she being paranoid? How could anything happen to her with all these people around? Resolutely she pressed on, furious with Odile for getting lost, and just as furious with herself for allowing it to happen.
An hour later she had no idea where she was. All she could do was wander the crowded streets like a zombie, hot, tired, despairing. If only she could get a cab, she would throw herself in it and go home. Odile had probably found her way back to the box ages ago, and Jorge – no doubt – had bodyguards combing the city for her. She felt like a fool as all around her the big street party went on, getting louder and wilder and more out of control.
Men were hitting on her from all sides, she was hearing everything from obscenely suggestive whispers to outright, bold come-ons.
Hands reached out to touch as she hurried by.
Stay calm, she told herself. Don’t panic.
Two men slammed into her, pushing her up against a wall as their rough hands roamed her body.
‘Leave me alone,’ she shouted, bringing her knee up and kicking out as hard as she could.
Right on target. One of the men howled with pain as the other snatched the gold beads from around her neck and dragged off her gold hoop earrings.
The man she had kicked suddenly went crazy, his ugly face contorted with rage. ‘Amerikain feelth!’ he roared, just before smashing her in the face with his beringed fist.
She slid to the ground, unconscious.
Bobby Mondella
1983
Hiya, Bobby.’
‘Hey, Sharleen baby, you are lookin’ great!’
His words were strictly automatic. She looked terrible, overweight with bloated features.
Touching her hair she laughed self-consciously. ‘Never bullshit a bullshitter. I know what I look like – an’ Diana Ross it ain’t. I gotta lose a pound or two.’
‘Hey – she’s nothin’ but a skinny little thing,’ he joked, trying to warm her up. ‘I like a woman with some flesh on her bones.’
‘I heard you just like women – period.’
‘That’s my lifestyle, baby.’
‘I also heard you like one special woman a whole lot. An’ honey, I am here to tell you, it ain’t exactly peachy for your health.’
They faced each other in his suite at the Helmsley Palace Hotel in New York. Sharleen had called and asked if she could come over. He hadn’t seen her for two years, and since she was an old friend he’d said yes. Usually it wasn’t that easy to get an audience with Bobby Mondella.
‘How about some champagne?’ he asked, cradling his glass of bourbon – the constant soothing companion.
‘Why not?’ she said, throwing off her fur coat.
With a gesture he summoned one of his bodyguards lurking at the back of the large living room.
‘Champagne for Sharleen.’
An impassive nod.
‘And I’ll have another bourbon.’
‘Bobby, Bobby, Bobby,’ she sing-songed. ‘You really made it, didn’t you?’
‘That’s kind of an old story,’ he remarked. There was nothing he hated more than being reminded of his humble beginnings. Nichols was always trying to pull that garbage, until one day he’d told him if he ever mentioned the Chainsaw and how he was a men’s room attendant one more time, he would seriously think about switching record companies again.
‘You don’t wanna discuss old times?’ she asked, smoothing her dress down over generous curves.
‘I don’t get off on that. Do you?’
‘When I’m feelin’ blue I can get a real kick goin’ back over it. Y’know, thinkin’ ’bout how I’d change things, maybe do it differently.’
The bodyguard handed her a glass of champagne and she began to sip the cold bubbly liquid. Bobby noticed her hand was shaking. Ever so slightly, but it was still a shake. He’d heard her marriage had broken up and she was still involved with drugs.
Funny, once Sharleen had been the most important person in the world to him, and he would have done anything for her. Now she was just another face from his past – and who needed to be reminded?
‘So . . .’ he said, hoping she wouldn’t stay too long. ‘And what can I do for you, pretty lady?’
Glancing at the two bodyguards stationed at the back of the room she said, ‘Can we talk . . . privately?’
He gestured to the guards. ‘Come back in ten minutes.’
The two burly men left.
‘Wow!’ she exclaimed sarcastically. ‘Ten whole minutes. I’m honoured.’
Ignoring her sarcasm he said, ‘Gotta get a lot done before I fly back to L.A.’
Glancing around the luxurious suite she said, ‘They’re sure travellin’ you in style.’
‘Better than Blue Cadillac ever did.’
‘Blue Cadillac made you the star you are today.’
‘I could have done it without them,’ he replied evenly.
‘You really think that, huh? I guess you’re forgetting that after strugglin’ with Soul On Soul for all those years, you were still just another black singer. Marcus Citroen put you where you are today. He made you. Surely you gotta, admit that?’
‘What is this?’ he asked restlessly. ‘A pitch to get me back with Blue Cadillac?’
‘No, honey. It’s a pitch to get you to stop leanin’ on Marcus’s wife. He doesn’t like it an’, Bobby, I’m warnin’ you, you’d better quit, otherwise you’re in real trouble.’
Was she serious? How dare she come to him with this. ‘Still keepin’ the old man warm at night, huh?’ he asked with a mirthless laugh. ‘You haven’t had a hit in two years. I would’ve thought he’d dumped you by now. But I guess he figures he can still use you to run his dirty errands, huh?’
Carefully she placed her glass of champagne on the table, and reached for her fur coat. ‘I knew you’d be too stubborn to listen.’
‘You can tell your fine friend Mr C,’ Bobby said angrily, ‘to take his warnings an’ choke on ’em. You can tell your mother-fuckin’ friend to dance at his own funeral. Because I DON’T CARE. One of these days Nova’s goin’ to leave him. An’ when she does, I’ll be waitin’. An’ all the threats in the world ain’t gonna change that. So, woman, shift out of here with your man’s messages. I don’t like bein’ threatened. Especially by you.’
Brown eyes flashing angrily she said, ‘Thank you, Bobby. What a Prince! Only thing is – Marcus never sent me, I came on my own, because once, a very long time ago, we were friends, an’ I felt I owed you. But, honey, you are one changed person, an’ I don’t like what I see.’
‘Shove some more coke up your nose an’ tell me what you don’t like,’ he said harshly.
‘Hey, man, last night I shoved it all over your girlfriend’s pussy while Marcus eyeballed me licking it off. How does that grab you?’
‘You’re a lying bitch!’
‘No, I’m not. I may be a doper, but baby, I don’t make things up. Nova plays games with people. It’s her kick. You’d better remember that’s all you are to her – another kick. A big black stud she can control. So don’t go gettin’ no ideas ’bout how she loves you – ’cos, baby, you are on the wrong track. She’ll never leave Marcus, you can bet on it. Only I’m here to tell you – you’re pissin’ him off, man. So I’ve warned you, an’ that’s all I can do.’
She slammed her way from the suite.
Goddamn her! Why was she coming to him with her filthy lies?
Maybe Marcus forced her to do it. Yes. That was it. Marcus wanted to make Nova look bad, and what better way than to say she was rolling on the bed making out with Nova.
Angrily he picked up the phone and called
Nova on her private line.
‘Hello.’ She sounded guarded.
‘It’s me,’ he said.
Her voice was brisk and to the point. ‘I can’t talk now. My dressmaker is here.’
‘One question.’
A testy ‘Yes?’
‘What did you do last night?’
‘I told you yesterday. We had a business dinner at Le Cirque.’
‘Who with?’
‘Several people.’
‘Was Sharleen one of them?’
A pause. ‘I think so.’
‘You think so. Either she was there or she wasn’t.’
‘Yes, she was there.’
Was she licking your pussy while Marcus watched? He didn’t believe it. Not for a moment.
‘Why?’ Nova asked curiously.
‘Hey – it’s not important. I’ll see you at our usual place.’
‘Five o’clock?’
‘You got it.’
Hanging up the phone he wondered how he could ever have doubted her. Sure Sharleen was there. Why not? She was still a Blue Cadillac star – even if a slightly tarnished one.
As soon as the moment was right, Nova had promised she was going to leave Marcus. ‘Don’t force me into a corner,’ she’d said. ‘You have to let me do it my way.’
True, he was still waiting after giving her an ultimatum two years ago, but what choice did he have other than giving her up, and he couldn’t do that.
They still saw each other as often as possible. In Los Angeles they met at the secret beach house, and in New York at a small apartment he’d rented under an assumed name in a discreet building off Madison Avenue.
Arriving at the apartment ten minutes before five, he was there before her. Time to fix himself a drink, and put on some music. Today he chose Teddy Pendergrass.
Nova appeared promptly at five o’clock, wearing a belted mink coat, dark glasses and a headscarf.
‘I wish you wouldn’t call me at home,’ was her opening line. ‘Staff gossip, you know. I can’t trust anyone.’
He hadn’t seen her in six weeks – her greeting could have been warmer.