Lovers and Gamblers

  The operator told him to hold on. He waited impatiently and was surprised at how disappointed he was when he was informed that the number did not answer.

  Shit! What was it about Dallas?

  He folded the piece of paper with the number on it and put it carefully into his pocket. Later, he would call again later.

  * * *

  Edna King peered at herself in the bathroom mirror. Melanie had persuaded her to have her hair cut. She had dragged her to a place called Mr. Capone’s, and a tall, thin, leering Italian had chopped off her shoulder-length mouse, and she had emerged with short blond curls.

  Reluctantly she did have to admit it looked better. Although what Al would say she didn’t know. He would probably be furious. He was always telling her he liked her just the way she was – well, that was what he used to tell her. He hadn’t told her much of anything in the more recent times they had spent together.

  She stood up and admired her new svelte figure. Thanks to Melanie watching her like a hawk she had lost ten pounds. And her make-up was much better since Melanie had taken her to that place where they had taught her to apply things in a more subtle fashion. But what would Al say when he found out how much she had spent on a whole new wardrobe of clothes? He would be furious. ‘Don’t be silly,’ Melanie had argued, ‘he spends more on clothes in a month than you have in your entire married life.’ That was true, but still, he was the star of the family.

  Edna smiled at herself tentatively in the mirror. Melanie had persuaded her to go to the dentist and have her crooked front tooth capped. It still surprised her to smile and see the difference.

  She sighed. She just hoped that Al wouldn’t be too angry.

  Melanie had laughed at her fears. ‘You look wonderful. Younger, prettier, smarter. Al will be knocked out, just you wait and see.’

  And it wouldn’t be that long to wait. Melanie had booked the tickets already which would fly them both to America on a surprise visit.

  Edna rubbed nervously at her subtle brown eye-shadow, blending it in even more. At least Melanie was right about one thing, she did look much better, whether Al approved or not.

  * * *

  Macho was the giant success men’s magazine of the seventies. What Playboy had been to the sixties, and Penthouse to the early seventies, Macho was now. Its enormous sales left all its rivals trailing in its wake. The appeal of the magazine was that it had something for everyone. Month after month it featured beautiful, nearly naked, very famous ladies. Nude men with vibrant hard-ons. Unknown nymphets indulging in near porn. Incredibly elegant fashion lay-outs. A very comprehensive Arts section. Political writers of great esteem. In fact it was the cream of all the top magazines combined into one.

  Van Valda, owner, founder, and editor supreme, had set himself up in a Chicago mansion bigger even than Hefner’s former palace. He lived there in splendid isolation surrounded by an ever-changing procession of Nymphets.

  To be a Nymphet you had to be between fifteen and seventeen, very pretty, and quite dumb. Any job which phased you out at eighteen did not appeal to intelligent girls.

  At the Macho Mansion a huge party was being prepared for Al King, and his reputation had preceded him. Nymphets fluttered back and forth squealing with joy. It wasn’t often that a true life superstud honoured them with his presence. Usually they had to make do with Van – who couldn’t get it up. Or visiting important men who could only just get it up.

  ‘I wonder if he’s as sexy as he sounds,’ breathed one pink and white fifteen-year-old.

  ‘Better!’ assured a more sophisticated sixteen-year-old. ‘I know a girl who knows a girl whose sister has had him! She says…’

  Hot little rumours flitted back and forth all day. And six baby Nymphets crowded onto Van’s giant bed to watch Al’s arrival on Van’s giant-sized television screen.

  Van smiled paternally. He was a thin, undistinguished-looking man of forty, whose one desire in life had been to make a lot of money and surround himself with beautiful and sexy females. The money part had gone without a hitch, but somewhere along the way his hard-on had vanished, and for two years he had been painfully impotent. Painfully, because the desire was still there, but the implement was not.

  He fondled a gorgeous little thing’s right breast, always hopeful. She smiled and encouraged him. He put his hand down the pants of another girl, and she wriggled around.

  He stopped both activities. He would sooner watch one of his famous porno home movies. Maybe Al would be interested in seeing one later. He could run the Ramo Kaliffe, always good for a laugh.

  ‘What time will he be here, Daddy?’ burbled a sweet little redhead. ‘Will he fuck us? Will he fuck all of us? Wouldn’t that be fun, girls, wouldn’t that be really boss?’

  They all squealed their agreement.

  Van climbed off the bed. Better get his equipment together, this was one movie he didn’t want to miss.

  * * *

  Mob scenes at the airport heralded Al’s arrival. He stepped from his plane, impeccable and sexual in an all-black outfit. He made a boxer’s salute at his fans, smiled for the cameras. Behind him Paul marvelled at his tenacity. A few hours before he had been a complete wreck, now he was like a new man.

  He handled his press conference beautifully. He combined just the right amount of aggressiveness with a humorous charm, and the ladies and gentlemen of the press loved it, especially the ladies.

  Bernie hovered protectively, ready to combat any difficult questions. But they didn’t come, and everything went off smoothly.

  Paul noticed Evan scowling in a corner, and he went over to him. ‘How’s it going? Enjoying yourself?’

  Evan shrugged and mumbled, ‘’Sall right.’

  Paul felt guilty that he had paid hardly any attention to his nephew. But he didn’t want him finding out about his relationship with Linda. Evan would tell Edna. Edna would tell Melanie. Melanie would go raving mad.

  ‘Spoken to your mum?’ Paul inquired.

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Evan.

  ‘Everything OK at home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A great conversationalist Evan was not.

  ‘I suppose you miss home.’

  ‘No, I don’t miss it. Don’t miss anything.’

  ‘Yes… Well…’ Paul was lost for words. No wonder Evan was driving Al mad. Maybe the best idea was to pack him off home.

  Evan watched his uncle walk away. He must think he was stupid or something. Ignoring him all the time, and now suddenly finding the time to speak to him only because that woman had gone away. Through the glass windows he could see The Promises being ushered into a limousine. A trail of photographers had followed them; he was glad they hadn’t all stayed with his stupid father. Tonight he would talk to Nellie.

  He would say something, anything, he had made up his mind. He would wear his new jeans suit, wash his hair, use some of his father’s make-up to cover his spots. He would do it. Definitely. She had looked at him on the plane today, really stared. He had been surprised that Al hadn’t noticed, he had been sitting right next to him. But of course his father never noticed anything about him. Why should he? The only important thing in his life was himself.

  The press conference was over and everyone was walking out to the cars. Evan trailed behind. If he stayed far enough behind, he would be put in the car after Al. He had learned that little trick in Miami. Who wanted to travel with the star? People peering in the car and making remarks. Ugh!

  Paul was beckoning to him but he pretended not to see. It was easy when you knew how. Head down, shuffle a lot, play deaf.

  When he looked up, the car with Al in it had gone.

  At the hotel there was a long handwritten letter waiting for Al from Van Valda. It welcomed him to the city, wished him every success on his tour, gave him an enthusiastic rundown of the party in his honour, and insisted most profusely that Al check out of his hotel immediately and move into the Macho Mansion. In a childish scrawl Van had written:

&nbs
p; There is plenty of room for you and whoever you care to bring. We are at your service – I have a cook on duty twenty-four hours – a choice of over a thousand movies to run at any time – and any other kind of entertainment you desire. We do hope to welcome you as more than just a party guest.

  Sincere regards,

  Van

  ‘Sounds good,’ commented Al. ‘Why aren’t we staying there?’

  ‘If you remember,’ replied Paul, ‘Bernie checked it out with you in New York and you said no way. You agreed to the party but that was it.’

  ‘Yeah – I think it’s coming back to me. Wants me to do a naughty picture for his rag.’

  ‘Right on. They were willing to pay whatever you wanted.’

  Al laughed, ‘Sure! Me, a hard-on, a suntan and a caption saying King Cock!’

  Paul joined him in his laughter. ‘They have been after you or Warren Beatty since the magazine started.’

  ‘So let them get Warren.’

  ‘You’re kidding. If they are lucky they’ll end up with Woody Allen. I hear rumours that his price is a million and a false nose!’

  They both fell about laughing.

  Later Al was driven over to the television studios and recorded the Irv Kupcinet show. He had done the show before on a previous American trip, and Irv was the perfect host. It all went very well.

  By the time it was over Al was tired and half contemplated cancelling going to the party. But as it was in his honour he could hardly do that. So he went back to the hotel, changed, killed half a bottle of champagne, and set off with Paul, Bernie, Evan, and The Promises for the Macho Mansion.

  Another evening of fun.

  He could have done without it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nervous as she was, Dallas managed to greet Lew Margolis with a dazzling smile. She looked incredible in a black halter top and long silky trousers.

  Linda and Diamond were safely out of sight. Stevie Wonder played softly on the stereo. The champagne was open and waiting.

  Lew seemed delighted by the entire set-up.

  ‘Nice little place,’ he murmured. ‘Private. Cosy, nice. No – I don’t want any champagne – get me a Perrier water.’

  ‘Don’t you drink?’ asked Dallas.

  ‘Bad for me.’

  ‘Oh come on, one glass won’t hurt you.’ She thrust a glass at him and was relieved to see him sip at it.

  He consulted his watch. ‘I can only stay an hour,’ he warned.

  ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t like surprises.’

  She smiled. ‘You’ll like this one.’

  ‘I don’t like any surprises. Get your clothes off.’

  ‘My clothes off? I thought you wanted to play games, I thought we were going to play swimming instructors.’

  Lew scratched his head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think I need to.’

  ‘Don’t need to what?’

  ‘Play games.’ He laughed, pleased with himself. ‘This could be game enough, just having you and knowing what I know.’

  Dallas forced the smile to stay on her face. What a pig!

  ‘Let’s go out to the pool,’ she suggested. ‘It’s such a beautiful night. I have such beautiful plans.’

  ‘I’ve been looking for a cunt like you,’ Lew sneered harshly. ‘Good-looking, ambitious, ready to do anything. You will do anything for me, won’t you? Christ! I can get it up just talking to you. You know what that means?’

  She took him gently by the arm and guided him out to the pool.

  Reclining on the diving board totally naked, apart from silver sequins decorating her nipples, was Diamond.

  Dallas thought how gorgeous the girl looked. When she was lying down you didn’t even notice the short legs or dropped ass. And she had big rounded breasts which were emphasized by the decorative sequins.

  Diamond propped herself up on one elbow. ‘Mr. M,’ she trilled, ‘how good to see you again. How really exciting. Why don’t you just come on over here and play with my hot little pussy while your lady wife goes and prepares herself for her swimming lesson.’

  Lew turned to Dallas. ‘Surprise!’ she said, giving him a little push in Diamond’s direction. ‘Go and have fun, I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  Lew didn’t argue. The sight of Diamond was too appealing, and anyway he probably thought that Diamond was Bobbie, and that they were reliving old times. Even if he realized that they were different girls, he would just think that Dallas had tried to recreate a scene that he had obviously enjoyed.

  With a sigh of relief Dallas watched him limp off towards Diamond. Then she hurried into the house and alerted Linda.

  She drew the drapes halfway across the huge glass windows, turned the lights off.

  Linda knelt down with her cameras. ‘If he looks straight through the window he’ll see me,’ she warned.

  ‘I know, I know. Don’t worry, well keep him much too busy to notice.’ As Dallas spoke she slid out of her trousers and top. Underneath she wore the briefest of bikinis. She gulped quickly from the champagne glass. Oh God! This was the moment she had been dreading. Taking a deep breath and holding her head high, she went back outside.

  * * *

  Dinner at his mother’s house was the usual bringdown. She was a nice old lady but she nagged the shit out of him.

  When was he going to get married? Buy a new car? A house? Have children? Go to the dentist? Stop going to the analyst?

  Cody pulled his car up at a stop light, glanced at a girl in the neighbouring Pontiac. He thought she smiled at him, but she had driven off before he could definitely decide. He felt depressed, although for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. He was on the threshold of having everything go the way he had planned it would. He was on the brink of recognition and success. People who had formerly ignored him on the street would now start accepting his phone calls.

  Hollywood. What a town. You could live and work there all your life as he had done, and unless you made waves nobody knew that you even existed.

  He was about to make waves. Big ones.

  He was the man that had discovered Dallas.

  He was the man who had negotiated her a million-dollar contract. And soon the whole town would know about it, and schmucky little nothing agent Cody Hills would suddenly be a big man. An in-demand man. The personal manager and agent they would all want.

  In short, he would be hot.

  Of course he had planned the way things would be. And when Dallas had first arrived in Hollywood to do the screen test he had known that somehow she was going to be his big chance. He saw in the wild-haired, sensuous girl more than just a great body. He sensed the smell of stardom. Sure, the test stunk. Why not? The cameraman should have been retired, the director was someone-in-authority’s brother, and the actor they tested her with was a fag. Testing beauty queens was a routine job that talented people wouldn’t touch.

  Cody always made it his business to be around when they were shooting those tests. You never knew when someone would come along. Someone special. Someone like Dallas.

  He had watched her, and waited patiently for an opportunity to use her. Man Made Woman turned out to be just such an opportunity. The girl they had originally signed had been big, blonde and beautiful. Too big, too blonde, and with a deep husky voice that didn’t quite match.

  Cody had done some private investigation and come up with facts that surprised even him. He knew that when the truth was revealed no way could the studio use her.

  But he took his time. First he wired Dallas, and when she called him and was already in Los Angeles, he was delighted. He quit his job at the agency – they had never appreciated him, but they soon would. And he concentrated all his efforts on getting Dallas the job. He never wavered. He named the terms he wanted for her and would not budge. Sharp instinct told him the terms would be met. They were.

  Everything had gone according to plan. Well, almost everything.

 
He pulled into a gas station and stared morosely out of the window. What he hadn’t planned on. What had come as a complete shock – was the fact that he had fallen – corny as it was – yes, fallen straight in the deep end love with his client. How un-smart could you get? Cody Hills caught in a trap he had so deftly always managed to avoid.

  Living in Hollywood, being an agent – successful or not, being a male, meant there was never a shortage of female company.

  He had had girls. Oh, had he had girls!

  Irene, short and dark, who used to knit him socks and try out the Kama Sutra with him.

  Evelyn, who shared a mutual difficult relationship with her mother.

  Connie, who shared his analyst.

  None of them beauties, true. But they were warm and female and loving.

  ‘You are not Paul Newman,’ his mother had announced to him recently, a slight note of surprise in her voice as if secretly she had half expected he was. ‘You’ll soon be thirty. What about marriage?’ She made it sound like an offer! Marriage did not feature in his future plans. Irene, Evelyn, Connie, they would all make wonderful wives for someone. But not him, no way him.

  So where did that leave Dallas? Right up front, that’s where. But God! A woman like her. It would be an insult to even approach her in the way he wanted to. And of course she was the gateway to the main chance, and he couldn’t even think of jeopardizing their business relationship.

  But it was not going to be easy. Oh God, no.

  She had gone away for one day and he was a seething mass of nerves. Where was she? Who was she with?

  She had phoned him from New York, she said, but when he checked with the operator he had found the call had come from Miami. Why was she lying to him? Well, why not, she probably had a boyfriend that she didn’t want him to know about.

  Miserably Cody paid for the gas, consulted his watch. It was only nine o’clock, too early to go home, too late to call Irene, Evelyn, or Connie.

  What he would do, he decided, was drive up to Dallas’s house, check it out, see everything was all right.