‘Who cares about Al King,’ sniffed the woman reporter, ‘it’s Dallas I’m here to see. She’s the star as far as I’m concerned.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed a lanky male photographer. ‘Man – she is the greatest. Hottest TV star of the season. Beeee-utiful! I am glued to my set when she is on – but glued.’
‘So is every other man in America,’ intoned a languid blonde, ‘and who can blame them? I wouldn’t throw her out of my bed – and I’m into guys!’
‘Hey – Marlene – that stud you bin running with a guy – I thought he was a gay!’ interrupted the photographer.
‘Go stick it up your own ass!’ Marlene replied. ‘Since when did you even know what to do with that noodle you’ve got hanging between your legs!’
Linda, walking at the back of the crowd, was only half listening.
Had it really only been six months since Al had come walking out of the jungle? And Dallas… the girl Cristina… and Paul.
It seemed years away. Was it really only months?
She could remember the night she had heard. The phone call to Carlos Baptista. The suspense of waiting to find out who the other three survivors were.
When she had heard that one of them was Paul she had rushed to the airport and boarded the next plane to Rio.
Seeing him lying in bed in the private clinic she had thought that he would die. He looked like a man teetering on the edge of death.
She had sat at his bedside, held his hand, and willed him to get better.
Gradually he had recovered. Gradually he had begun to look human again.
Cody had been in Rio too, and if they happened to bump into each other, they smiled politely and exchanged stilted conversation. They referred to nothing personal. That’s the way she had stated it should be, and Cody had respected her wishes. He was still respecting her wishes. She had neither seen nor heard from him.
So – what happened? She had spent five weeks with Paul before telling him it was all over. Five weeks of having Paul behave towards her the way she had always dreamed about. But it wasn’t working. It just wasn’t there any more as far as she was concerned, and finally she had told him.
He had been shocked and surprised. ‘But this is what you always wanted,’ he had insisted, ‘for us to be together, to get married. There is no Melanie to bug you any more – I’m totally yours.’
Sure he was totally hers. Melanie had publicly humiliated him. Choked when he had turned up alive making her a bigamist, she had rushed to Mexico for a quickie divorce and married Manny Shorto – all over again. The newspapers enjoyed every minute of it.
Al was not pleased when he heard Linda was taking off on baby brother. He had summoned her into his presence and screamed at her a lot. She had told him to go fuck himself – it was none of his business.
So she had left – returned to New York for a few months and worked and played – hard – very hard. But the playthings were not as beautiful as the ones on the coast – the bodies were not as bronzed – the muscles not as taken care of – the faces not facsimiles of Ryan O’Neal and Warren Beatty. I mean, if playthings are going to be your thing – then go for the shiniest toys.
So she had returned to California, rented an apartment in the same building as before – and thought about calling Cody. It was only a thought – she had her pride – if he didn’t care enough to contact her in all these months… Instead she had called Julio – male hooker supreme – and they had made a businesslike appointment.
He had turned up at her apartment – white Ferrari parked rakishly outside, white teeth gleaming like a toothpaste ad in his incredibly good-looking very black face.
‘Hi – I’m Julio,’ he had announced very properly, very politely. Then he had removed his French trousers, silk shirt, Gucci loafers, and come into her life with such energy and expertise that she had been quite breathless.
He had been worth every cent of his exorbitant fee.
But she couldn’t help thinking about Cody. Funny, sweet, kind Cody…
Occasionally she read about him in Variety. He was doing very well businesswise – and sometimes his name would appear in the gossip column linked with this girl or that. She hated them all – whoever they were.
She also read about Paul in the trades. Read that he had returned to England and was concentrating on his management company while the great Al remained in solitary exile with only Dallas for company.
Had Al King retired permanently? That’s what everyone wanted to know. After his miraculous escape from the plane crash and jungle he had given one short press conference on his arrival in Rio. It was a one-liner, ‘I want to thank everyone for their concern…’ And the world waited impatiently for the story of what had really happened.
They waited in vain. No one was talking.
Cristina Maraco was offered fabulous amounts of money to tell her story. Through her father she refused. She had spent a great deal of time in and out of hospital having skin grafts on her damaged arms. In between times she devoted herself to her father – the two were inseparable.
Paul, of course, was not talking.
And Dallas had gone with Al into his self-imposed exile. The two of them had not been seen by anyone except the small group of loyal employees who worked for them. And they had to sign statements that they would not write or give interviews or do anything that would infringe the privacy of their famous employers.
Of course the fact that Al and Dallas were inaccessible made everyone want them all the more. Especially since Dallas was now as big a star as Al – this due to the fact that her six hour-long segments of Man Made Woman had been shown on television – and repeated almost immediately because of public demand. Suddenly she was the hottest lady on television – and nobody could get to her. Lew Margolis was tearing his hair out in frustration.
Sackloads of fan mail arrived at the studio daily. A poster of Dallas wearing nothing but a minuscule leopard-skin bikini and a smile had broken all sale records. It would seem that half the homes in America wanted Dallas on their wall.
Now – finally – the two of them had agreed to have a press conference. Public interest was to be sated at last.
Linda could not resist attending. Why not? She was press. She was entitled.
She trailed behind the others and wondered what it was they were coming out of exile to say.
* * *
Cody Hills had arrived at the Bel Air house an hour earlier. The guard at the gate had greeted him in a friendly fashion and waved him through in his car. The car was comparatively new – a sleek silver Mercedes – not rented – bought and paid for. His mother had had a fit when she had seen it – ‘A German car!’ she had exclaimed. ‘I always knew you would let the family down!’
‘The war was a long time ago,’ Cody had patiently pointed out. He spent a lot of his time patiently pointing things out to his mother.
‘So?’ she replied sarcastically. ‘Tell your Uncle Stanley that. He remembers like it was yesterday!’
Cody drove right up to the main house – a sprawling building of Tudor design. He rang the front doorbell, and a thin girl, in owl-like glasses and a man’s business suit, answered.
‘Hi, Tilly,’ Cody said. ‘Are we all set?’
‘Getting there, I think,’ Tilly replied in clipped tones. She was the English secretary that Paul had sent over with all of Al’s papers, and she had stayed on to work exclusively for Al. Paul no longer managed Al’s affairs. Mutually they had agreed that it would be better for Paul to concentrate on doing his own thing. Besides which he wanted to stay in England to be with his children, and his health was not what it was – although he was better, the doctors said he could get a recurrence of fever at any time.
Al had chosen Cody to represent him. If Dallas liked and trusted him, that was good enough recommendation.
Not that there had been anything to do as yet – except get out of contracts and free Al from every commitment.
Cody found himself in the position
of having the two most wanted clients in show business – and not – until now – being able to set up one deal for them.
They had both wanted to do exactly nothing. They were happy just to lounge around their huge house – swimming, watching television, playing tennis, reading, listening to music – and most of all laughing, giggling, and making love.
Cody thought he had never seen two people so happy in each other’s company. They glowed when they were together. They were insular – they needed no one else. He was about the only friend they allowed into their lives.
It had not been easy for Al after the crash. The newspapers had made much of the fact that his wife Edna had sold their house and all of his personal possessions and moved in with some nobody – all within weeks of his supposed death. She had even got rid of his clothes! It was a shock. But he had never made one public comment about it. He had made a short private trip to London to talk to Edna about Evan – tell her what had really happened and how proud she could be of her son.
Throughout their meeting she had clung nervously onto her friend John’s arm, and she had refused to look Al in the eye. It was almost as if she wished he had died. She was not enjoying him intruding into her life again – she had found what she wanted and now she just desired to be left alone.
Al wasn’t bitter. She had put up with a lot throughout the years. He had wished her luck, and shortly after, a divorce had been arranged, and Edna had since married John.
‘Can I fix you a drink?’ Tilly was asking.
‘Not at this time of day – I never indulge until after dark.’
‘How about a coffee then?’
‘That would be nice.’
Tilly went off to get his coffee, and Cody wandered into the huge comfortable living room.
The press conference had been his idea. It had taken him weeks to talk them into it. It had taken him even longer to talk them into doing a film together.
Lew Margolis and every other major producer in Hollywood had been bugging him to try and put a deal together. They were offering the earth. Name it. Have it. Dallas and Al King together would be the dynamite package of all time. It was too good an opportunity for both of them to blow.
‘You can do whatever you want,’ Cody had told them. ‘Brief the best screenwriter in town to do what you like. Choose your own director. You will have complete control – plus a sizeable chunk of the action.’
At first they hadn’t even bothered to listen to him. Then Dallas’s phenomenal success on the television series fired her ambitious streak. ‘Why not?’ she began to ask Al. ‘It would be fun – we would be together.’
‘Because…’Al had replied, ‘this business stinks. It’s a grinding cut-throat bag of shit.’
‘I know that – I didn’t just get off the bus, you know. But, Al… to do something together… anything we want… It is a great opportunity.’
Eventually she had talked him into it. She was young, excited by her success, she had no idea what real fame was all about…
If that was what she wanted, Al wasn’t about to stand in her way. But he wondered if she realized how soul-destroying becoming public property was… You gained a lot. You also sacrificed your right to privacy.
Of course he could protect her. He had taken the trip before.
Against his better judgement he gave Cody the go-ahead.
Dallas was ecstatic. ‘It will be wonderful!’ she enthused. ‘I love you, Al. I love you – love you – love you!’
He was glad it made her happy – but he was wondering what the cost would be for both of them.
The six months alone together – away from people – pressures – hassles. It had been the happiest time of his life.
Shortly after returning from Rio he handed Dallas an envelope. It was a private investigator’s report on her family in Miami. Her mother, father, husband… Al knew that one of her main hangups was the fact that her family had never come looking for her when she had run away. It had made her feel worthless and unwanted. Secretly Al had decided to find out why they had never looked for their daughter – even when she was on magazine covers all over the country they had never stepped forward. And that was unusual – even the husband had never come sniffing around.
The reason was in the envelope.
The day Dallas had left the zoo there had been a fire. Arson was suspected, but nothing proved. Her mother, father, husband… all dead. And the police were looking – or had been at the time according to the press report – for a young black couple.
‘After you ran off there must have been some kind of fight,’ Al explained. ‘The black stud you told me about must have burned the place down. Now you know why they never came looking for you.’
Dallas was numb with shock. But when the shock wore off she began to understand that perhaps after all she hadn’t been abandoned – perhaps if they had been alive her parents would have come looking for her.
‘You’re not a married lady any more,’ Al had joked later.
‘Oh, yes, I am… Cody…’
A discreet annulment was arranged. Cody was just as shocked as she was. He still loved Dallas – but as a sister. Somehow it was Linda he couldn’t get out of his head…
Tilly came back in the room carrying a cup of coffee. ‘Here you go.’
Cody took it. ‘Thanks. What are they doing?’
‘Dallas is fiddling around with her hair, and Al’s watching her. Do I have to tell you what they’re like? Togetherness at all times. If it wasn’t so sincere it would be positively sick-making!’
‘Yeah.’ Cody grinned. He knew what she meant. It made anyone else in the room feel like an outsider.
He thought with satisfaction of his recent conversation with Lew Margolis. Rumour had flown all over town as soon as he had put out the word that Al and Dallas were looking for the right property.
Lew Margolis had phoned him.
‘So the cunt finally came around to my way of thinking,’ he had bragged. ‘Knew she would – and that sonofabitch she’s shacking up with. You want to come over and talk terms. I can get the contracts up this week. How long before they choose a property? I’d like to start shooting as soon as possible.’
I bet you would – thought Cody. Lew had recently had a monster flop with a film on lesbianism starring his wife. ‘Doris Andrews a dyke,’ one of the reviews had hooted, ‘it’s like casting Warren Beatty as a fag!’
‘They’ve found the property they want,’ Cody said evenly.
‘Great!’ enthused Lew. ‘It can be the biggest piece of crap in the world. What do I care – with them in it we’re going to clean up – friggin’ clean up! Get your ass over here, Cody – let’s hear what the cunt wants.’
Cody took a deep breath. It wasn’t in his own interests to screw a man like Lew Margolis – but Jesus – if anyone deserved it… ‘Sorry, Lew,’ he said smoothly, ‘but “the cunt” decided to go elsewhere. Jordan Minthoff’s producing.’
He hung up on Lew’s explosion. It was a satisfying moment.
* * *
Linda was impressed by the house. It was big and lavish – but at the same time lived-in. There was no sign of any plastic interior decorator here. They were led through the living room out to a large tented area beside the pool. A long table was set out as a bar with two virile young bartenders. Maybe later… Then she saw Cody. He was suntanned, his sandy hair bleached lighter and combed carefully across his forehead to hide his balding hairline. He was wearing white slacks and a blue blazer with bold brass buttons; the obligatory Hollywood tinted shades covered his eyes. He was smiling and talking to a busty blonde strung with too many cameras.
Linda hung back. She didn’t want him to see her… and yet… Oh shit – they could be friends, couldn’t they?
She moved nearer to him – was going to change her mind and back off – but then he saw her. He left the blonde mid-sentence and was by her side. ‘Good to see you.’
‘You too.’ They grinned foolishly at each other. r />
‘So… what are you doing here?’
‘I’m a photographer, aren’t I? Thought I’d see what all the excitement was about.’
‘I thought you were in New York.’
‘I was.’
‘When did you get back?’
‘Few weeks ago.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked anxiously, leading her towards the bar.
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘You look fine. I mean you look terrific.’
She laughed self-consciously. ‘I cut my hair.’
‘Looks nice, really nice.’ He paused, at a loss for words. ‘Well…’
‘Well…’
‘I keep on seeing your work in every magazine I pick up.’
‘And I keep on reading about you – this gossip column – that gossip column – you’ve really been getting around.’
‘Gotta fill my time.’
‘Oh sure.’
‘You mean you sit home?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘I didn’t think so.’
They were both suddenly serious, staring at each other.
‘I am here to tell you I have really missed you,’ Cody volunteered, ‘like really.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes.’ He fumbled for a cigarette, dropping the pack and picking it up quickly. ‘I’m not nervous – really I’m not.’
She laughed softly.
‘I heard about you and Paul.’
‘Al was furious. You would think it was him I was walking out on. I don’t know how he’ll feel about me being here today.’
‘I’m sure he’s forgotten all about it. Paul’s doing very nicely in London – I hear he’s got himself a girlfriend.’
She didn’t feel at all jealous. ‘That’s nice.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ Cody asked intently.
‘Call you? Why didn’t you call me?
‘You told me not to.’
‘Screw what I told you. Oh, Cody – the trouble with you is you’re too goddamn nice.’
‘You wouldn’t have said that if you’d heard me on the phone to Lew Margolis the other day. I shafted him right between the goolies. It felt good.’
Linda laughed. ‘You don’t have to defend yourself for being nice. I love you for it!’