Lovers and Gamblers

  ‘Who, me?’ protested Cody. ‘Me and you? The princess and the frog?’

  ‘Frog? Are you stupid? You’re a very attractive man.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘You am.’

  ‘I’ll probably kick myself black and blue in the night, but right now I don’t think we should complicate our warm and businesslike relationship with things that go grope in the night.’

  ‘Are you saying no?’

  ‘I am saying that you ask me again when things are not as bright as they are now. When you’re tired, and fed up with being at the studio six a.m. five days a week, and pissed with your vacation time because it’s not long enough, and sick of posing for publicity stills, and…’

  ‘Are you…?’

  ‘I am not a fag,’ he interrupted, ‘and if we slept together my mother would find out and expect us to get married or something sloppy like that. Let’s put it this way – something special is worth waiting for. So, please, can you wait…’

  ‘Funny!’ She laughed until tears swelled her eyes. And she understood he wanted more than sex, and he wanted her to know that.

  ‘Now that we’re nearly rich,’ he said, deftly changing the subject, ‘how do you think I’d look with a hair transplant?’

  ‘Horrible!’ laughed Dallas, ‘I like you just the way you are.’

  * * *

  A week after the contract was signed Lew Margolis summoned her into his office. He smiled warmly, asked her to sit down, offered her a drink. Then, from the floor behind his desk he picked up a bundle of women’s clothes and flung them at her.

  ‘Put these on, million-dollar cunt,’ he said, still smiling.

  She should have known when she walked into his office. The photo frames on the marble table were all turned face down.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  What would happen if he died out in the middle of the Atlantic ocean? Drowned, whilst two stoned little rich girls rocked and rolled on their private speedboat, unconcerned about his fate.

  What would Paul say when they arrived back without him? What would Edna say? And the newspapers of course would have a marvellous time.

  Grimly he swam on, the pain in his side getting stronger and stronger. But fortunately the wind seemed to have dropped a bit, and he did appear to be making some progress towards the boat. He could hear his own voice echoing raunchily from the tape recorder. ‘Random Love’ again. His first big hit. How long ago that all seemed. Must be ten years. His first television appearance on a pop show to promote the record. A live audience of randy groupies. They had stormed the stage and tried to rip his clothes off.

  Girls. Girls. Girls. From that moment on there had been a constant supply. What was it about fame that attracted women? He didn’t flatter himself that it just happened to him. He had seen a wizened old comedian who could command the instant attention and availability of the most beautiful of girls. He had seen a very famous politician, fat and grotesque, who regularly bedded every female in his path.

  It wasn’t flattering to be aware of the fact that you could have any one you chose only because you were famous. If he was Al King, road digger, he would hardly be out here, drowning, with the fabulously rich Kurlnik twins. And he would not have been invited back to Marjorie Carter’s body. Oh no. That type of woman wouldn’t second glance him, however good-looking he was. And he was thirty-seven years old. According to all the books he had read on the subject he was past his sexual prime.

  The hell he was.

  He had reached the boat, and he hung onto the side, too exhausted to haul himself aboard. The cramp gradually subsided, and wearily he pushed himself up the ladder and into the boat.

  The Kurlnik twins were on the mattresses at the back, their bodies entwined. Oblivious to all else they were making love to each other.

  Al stared in disgust. He could have drowned, and all they cared about was each other.

  Angrily he slid into the driver’s seat and gunned the Riva into action. It shot off, nearly dislodging the girls on the back.

  Cara crawled to the front of the boat, her eyes blazing. ‘You stupid bastard!’ she yelled. ‘You could have drowned us!’

  They left Fire Island later that afternoon.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Linda complained, ‘I thought we were staying the night. What’s the problem?’

  Paul shrugged. ‘I’ve given up asking Al for reasons. Something must have happened while they were out skiing. He’s burning, just leave him alone.’

  ‘Don’t I always?’

  ‘You know what I mean. Stay out of his way. No photos.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  They returned to New York and Al closeted himself in his hotel suite. ‘No calls, no birds, no games. I just want some peace.’

  ‘I’ll hang around,’ Paul volunteered.

  ‘No way, baby brother. I want to be alone.’

  ‘What happened out there?’ asked Paul, as curious as Linda.

  ‘Nothing important,’ stated Al blankly, ‘that’s the whole goddamn trouble – nothing important.’

  ‘They seemed like nice girls…’

  ‘Piss off, Paul. I don’t need conversation.’

  ‘I’ll be around if you need me.’

  ‘I don’t. I’m going to sleep. Wake me an hour before we have to leave tomorrow.’

  ‘If you’re sure… Luke will be outside if you want anything.’

  ‘I know that.’

  Reluctantly Paul left. This was a mood of Al’s he had never encountered before. Al wanting to spend a night by himself – unheard of. Especially at the peak of his success.

  When Al was alone he phoned Edna. He hadn’t spoken to her since Canada. Suddenly he missed his home, his son, even his wife.

  ‘Hello,’ she was anxious as always, ‘is everything all right, Al?’

  ‘Of course if s all right. Hasn’t there been anything in the papers there?’

  ‘Oh yes, the newspapers are full of you. Pictures, write-ups. I’m sticking them in the scrapbook.’

  ‘That’s nice. Evan around?’

  ‘He’s upstairs. I’m worried about him. He never wants to do anything or go anywhere. He spends all his time alone. And I found some magazines in his room…’

  ‘Yeah? It’s just a problem age. Tell you what, now that things seem to be moving so smoothly I thought I’d have him with me sooner. We go to Philadelphia Monday – he can join us there.’

  There was silence from Edna’s end of the phone, then in a small voice she protested, ‘But, Al, I’ll be alone in the house. You know I get nervous when I’m alone.’

  ‘That’s crap, Edna. You’ve got a maid, a cook, Nelson. And goddamn Melanie right next door.’

  ‘I know, but…’

  ‘But nothing. He was joining us in Nashville anyway, so he’ll come a week sooner – big deal. You said he’s stuck in his room all day, this will give him a chance to see a bit of life.’

  ‘Melanie says we should come too…’

  ‘Melanie is a pain in the butt. Do I have to keep on reminding you how you hate these tours?’

  ‘I know. You’re right. Al, the shower is broken in our bathroom and…’

  ‘What are you telling me for? Since when did I last mend showers? Tell Nelson, he’ll fix it, what do you think I pay him for.’

  ‘I still don’t like Nelson.’

  Al sighed. ‘Jesus, Edna, I’m not asking you to jump into bed with him…’

  ‘Al!’

  ‘Have him mend the shower, and anything else that needs doing.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Call Evan. I’ll tell him the news.’

  There was a five-minute wait until a surly Evan came on the line.

  ‘You’re joining us Monday,’ Al enthused, ‘so get yourself together.’

  ‘I haven’t got any decent clothes,’ Evan complained.

  ‘Don’t worry, you can get it bigger and better here.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got
to say – yes? This will be the trip of your life, boyo, I’ll see to that.’

  Al hung up the phone.

  * * *

  As each day passed the thought of divorce grew stronger and stronger. For a moment he had thought he missed Edna, but speaking to her on the phone, listening to her whiney voice, well, he knew it was finally over.

  It would be difficult to tell her. He could imagine the scenes and tears, but it had to be done.

  He climbed into bed, took a couple of sleeping pills, and fell asleep watching Johnny Carson on television.

  * * *

  The show at the Spectrum, Philadelphia, was another smash.

  As the tour progressed, so momentum picked up, and Al and The Promises just got better and better.

  ‘Beautiful show tonight, babee,’ cooed Rosa, her dark skin agleam with sweat. She had said goodbye to her mafioso boyfriend in New York and was once more available.

  ‘Not bad,’ agreed Al.

  Bernie was throwing a small party in his suite at the hotel, just a private gathering for people connected with the tour.

  ‘I hear you’re bringing your boy out,’ said Rosa, licking full red lips. ‘Your wife comin’ too?’

  Al shook his head, looked around for Paul.

  ‘I left my man in New York. Won’t see him until LA. Sure gets lonely at night.’

  ‘You, lonely? Can’t believe that.’

  She pouted. ‘Hey, Al. What’s the matter? We had good times before, why not now?’

  ‘I can’t get involved, Rosa.’

  ‘Hey man – involvement is the last thing in this little girl’s head. Just a few good times, a few laughs. How about it, sport?’

  ‘Not this trip.’

  ‘I thought we were pretty good together.’

  ‘So let’s hang onto our memories.’

  Rosa smiled. ‘Sure. No hassle.’ Her eyes drifted over to Luke stationed motionless by the door. ‘You ever give that hunk time off?’

  ‘You want him, he’s yours.’

  ‘He’s a big mother! Real big and mean. Think I’ll just hustle on over and hear the story of his life. By the way – you hear Magno Records all set to sign us to a fantastic contract? New billing – “Rosa and the Promises”. Next year it will be me can use a bodyguard!’

  ‘I heard. It’s great news. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks to you having us with you on the tour. We were almost there, but this pushed the button.’

  She undulated over to Luke, thin, black and beautiful. Al could remember the desire the first time he had seen her. He had been there, the desire was no longer present.

  He finally caught Paul’s eye and beckoned him over. ‘I’m going to bed…’

  ‘It’s early,’ protested Paul. ‘I thought you might want a gin game.’

  ‘No. I want to be at the airport in the morning, meet Evan myself.’

  ‘You feel OK?’

  ‘I feel great. Why?’

  ‘No girls tonight. The blonde in the corner is hot at the sound of your name…’

  ‘So why don’t you fuck her? Why does it always have to be me?’

  ‘Huh?’ stuttered Paul, confused. ‘I thought…’

  ‘Goodnight, Paul.’

  * * *

  Bernie Suntan wiped the sweat from his brow with a large cotton handkerchief. He was too fat, that was the trouble, too goddamn fat. What the fuck was he doing running around airports in this unbelievable heat. He should be sitting in an air-conditioned office arranging deals – that was his forte in life. And with any luck, when this tour was over, that’s just what he would be doing.

  A ground hostess approached him, she was fresh and smiling. ‘Your flight is just clearing customs, Mr. Suntan. Our man will bring young Mr. King right through.’

  ‘Thanks, babe. You’ve been a big help.’

  ‘Anything to help out Al King,’ her eyes sparkled, ‘I don’t suppose there is any chance of getting tickets for tonight’s concert?’

  Bernie reached in his pocket. ‘You just gotta mention it, babe, just gotta mention it.’ He handed her two complimentary tickets, scribbling a number on the back. ‘Give me a call later, there may be a party after. And bring a girlfriend – a pretty one.’

  ‘I will! Is it possible that we might get to meet Mr. King?’

  Bernie regarded her through narrowed eyes. She was pretty. ‘If you’re lucky, babe, you may get to do more than meet him!’

  She giggled and blushed.

  ‘No shit,’ continued Bernie, warming to his theme, ‘Al’s a wow with pretty little things like you.’ He patted her reassuringly on the bottom ‘Wear something sexy. What’s your name anyway?’

  ‘Betty-Ann-Joe.’

  ‘Well, Betty-Ann-Joe, tonight just might be your lucky night.’

  She was positively glowing. ‘Really? You think so?’

  ‘Shit, babe, I know so.’ He gave her a little hug, ‘don’t forget to call.’

  ‘Oh, I won’t.’

  Outside the airport building, in a long Cadillac with black-tinted windows, Al waited impatiently.

  Luke sat impassively in the front next to the chauffeur.

  ‘Hey – here comes my boy.’ Al jumped out of the car. ‘Evan! You look great! How was the trip?’

  ‘I feel sick,’ complained Evan.

  ‘Get in the car, you’ll be all right. Hey, Bernie – they take good care of him?’

  ‘The best. Al, say hello to Betty-Ann-Joe, she saw Evan got through customs with no hassle.’

  Al hardly glanced at her.

  ‘Mr. King,’ enthused Betty-Ann-Joe, ‘I have all your records, every single one. It’s been a real pleasure to help you out.’

  ‘Sure,’ agreed Al absently, climbing back in the car. ‘Come on, Bernie, let’s get this act together.’

  * * *

  Of course it was a mistake. Nothing Al said or did brought a smile to Evan’s pinched and spotty face. He remained unimpressed. The truth of the matter was that being in his father’s presence made him more insecure than ever.

  He knew that people expected Al King’s son to be something special, and when they were confronted with him, it was all they could do to keep the surprise off their faces.

  But anything was better than being stuck at home with his mother. And Nelson – slimy, horrible slob. He had expressed great surprise at the fact that the girl he had arranged for Evan had never turned up. ‘Little scruff, knew I shouldn’t trust her.’ But he had said nothing about returning Evan his five pounds, and when Evan had mentioned it days later, he had assumed a hurt expression and said, ‘I haven’t got your money, I gave it to the girl.’ The subject had not come up again. And Evan had been reduced to the cold comfort of his magazines. That was until his rotten mother found a stack of them and burned them in a ritual heap at the bottom of the garden.

  ‘What’s been happening?’ asked Al. ‘Everything in good shape at the house?’

  ‘There’s a drought,’ mumbled Evan. ‘They’ve banned using hosepipes. Your grass has all burned up – looks like straw. Your apple tree’s full of worms.’

  ‘Any more good news?’ asked Al ruefully. Evan knew how he loved his garden.

  ‘Nothing much. Auntie Melanie scratched up her car. I think the swimming pool’s cracking.’

  ‘Terrific. Apart from that everything’s fine, though?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘He thinks so!’ Al shook his head. ‘We’d better get you some clothes. Tonight you’ll watch the show, then after we’ll have a party for you. How does that grab you?’

  ‘All right.’

  * * *

  Later Al had a private conference with Paul. ‘The kid needs to get laid,’ he informed his brother. ‘Those spots are signalling a desperate message. We’ve got to find him a girl for tonight. A young hooker who knows her job. He mustn’t guess. Can you arrange it?’

  ‘Al, for you we all pimp. But for Evan too? I think you’re asking too much.’

  ‘So have Ber
nie arrange it. I didn’t mean you personally.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself? It’s not like it’s part of his job… he’s already taken the kid shopping.’

  ‘Fuck his job,’ snapped Al suddenly. ‘Do I have to beg to get a favour done around here? Isn’t it enough I sweat my guts out on stage every night so that everyone around me can get fat? Even you, Paul. Where would you be without me?’

  ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that,’ replied Paul with tight-lipped control. ‘Who the fuck do you think got you where you are today?’

  ‘You helped, but I’d have made it anyway.’

  ‘And so would I. I’ve got artists in London waiting for me to stop tagging along tucking you in nights and concentrate on their careers. And they’ll be stars – the bloody lot of ’em, when I give them some time.’

  ‘So why don’t you go then? Fuck off. I can manage without you.’

  Paul was white-faced. ‘I think I will.’

  Al stalked off into the bathroom and slammed the door. He felt incredibly tense and uptight. He needed a woman to vent his fury on.

  Bernie had taken Evan out shopping, they wouldn’t be back for a while. He picked up the phone and asked for The Promises’ suite.

  A soft voice answered.

  ‘Rosa?’ Al questioned.

  ‘Rosa’s out, this is Nellie.’

  It flashed across Al’s mind that she was only seventeen. But it was only a flash. ‘Why don’t you come up for a drink,’ he suggested.

  The hell with it. He needed a woman, anyone would do.

  * * *

  Paul nursed a large scotch. ‘I have had it. Up to here. I’m not some frigging little gofer he can spit on when the mood takes him.’

  ‘Calm down,’ soothed Linda. ‘I’m sure Al didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Ha!’ snorted Paul. ‘You’re sure Al didn’t mean it. There’s a twist. You’re the one that’s always telling me what a cunt I am to cater to him the way I do. And you’re right. That’s what I am. A grade-A cunt.’