The Predators

by Harold Robbins

  “This is my decision, not hers,” I said. “Don’t forget Plescassier isn’t the only bottled water in France. Evian and Perrier are way in front of them. And I know that they are planning on going into the States. Maybe I can get a job with one of them.”

  “That’s a long shot,” Buddy said.

  “I got nothing to lose,” I said. “Everything’s in the shithouse already.”

  “I can get you seventeen fifty for your Buick,” he said. “You can’t use it over there.”

  I laughed at him. “When I bought it, you told me I could get twenty-five hundred for it.”

  “But that was if you kept it for just a few months.” He smiled. “But you got it almost eight months now. The new-year models will be coming out soon.”

  “Okay, you son of a bitch.” I laughed at him. “But someday, I’ll get even with you.”

  7

  The airlines only went to three cities in Europe from the States: Pan American to London, TWA to Rome, and KLM, the Dutch airlines, to Amsterdam. I decided to go to London. At least they spoke English. We had to take a small Air France plane to Paris.

  In Paris we had a surprise. Paul met us when we arrived at Orly. He gave us a normal French greeting. First he kissed Giselle on both cheeks, then gave an extra kiss for good luck on her right cheek. Then he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, and we shook hands French style.

  He looked at Giselle. “You look more beautiful than ever. Very American.” Then he turned to me. “Don’t you think?”

  I smiled. “She looks French to me.”

  Paul gestured and took my arm. “When the porteur brings your luggage to the car, I will drive you to the nice apartment that I have for you.”

  I looked at him. “I haven’t heard from J. P. at the office in the last two days since we took off for here. I thought that he and his father would at least want to have a meeting with me.”

  Paul looked at us. “You’ve not heard the news?”

  “What news?” I asked.

  “Monsieur Martin est mort,” he said. “That’s why I met you. He told me to tell you that he would see you as soon as the mourning period is over. The family is very religious French Huguenot so they go the whole period. That means J. P. will not do any business for almost a month.”

  Paul had one of the new D.S. 21 Citroëns. It was the largest automobile they built in France. They only made them in black. He told me that now only politicians, the noveaux riches, and the gangsters could afford it. I laughed at him. “And where do you fit into that crowd?”

  He smiled. “I’m a Corsican. We are in a class of our own.”

  Giselle and I sat in the backseat of the car. “I want to take some time to see my family.”

  Paul nodded. “That’s already arranged. Next week you will go to Lyons.”

  “Will my sister be there, too?” she asked.

  “Of course; she will be coming from Brittany with her new husband,” he answered.

  I looked at Giselle. “You didn’t tell me that Therese got married.”

  “I didn’t think it was important for you,” she answered. “Besides, I had so much to learn in the States, I forgot all about it.”

  Paul looked back at us from the front passenger’s seat. It wasn’t until then that I realized the fat man was still chauffeuring for him. I reached over the seat and extended my hand to him. He smiled and looked at Giselle. “Bienvenue, mademoiselle.”

  She laughed and leaned forward and kissed him on his cheek. “Ma cher ami,” she said.

  I sat back and spoke to Paul. “So I’m fucked. I wish I had known about the old man before we took off. Now what the hell am I going to do while I’m waiting here in Paris for a month?”

  “We won’t be staying in Paris.” Paul laughed. “We’ll be going to the film festival in Cannes. It’s beginning on May twelfth and I have to be there a few days ahead.”

  “What the hell do you have to do with a film festival?” I asked.

  “You have not been in touch,” he said. “I am a very important artists’ manager now. Many of my clients are in films that will be shown at Cannes.”

  “So you are a busy man,” I said. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Take the sun.” He smiled. “See some of the interesting films and look at all the beautiful girls on the beaches.”

  Giselle looked over at him. “Jerree is not watching the pretty girls without me being there.”

  “Of course,” Paul said. “And not only that. Jack Cochran, J. P.’s friend, has invited both of you to stay at his villa.”

  8

  Paul owned an apartment building on the George V, across from the famous hotel. His building was almost thirty years old. Paul had bought it when real estate in Paris was at its ebb, just after the war. Before the war ended, the Germans had used the building as officers’ apartment housing. When the Germans had left, the building was completely gutted. The valuable gold-finished faucets and bathroom fixtures were taken; oriental rugs, French tapestries decorating the important entryways and halls, and even copies of French art and sculpture had been stolen. He paid next to nothing for the property, claiming that this was one of the spoils of war. Paul told us that it had taken more than a year to restore the building, but, he said, smiling, he was Corsican and Corsicans knew how to get things done. His building was one of the first ever to be completed.

  He was also very clever. He turned the lower three floors into office space and the nine floors above were apartments. Of course, he kept the penthouse apartment for himself. And, at the same time, he managed to get control of several of the important cabaret theaters. Through the artists he had working in the theaters he began to manage their careers. He found them a great deal of work in the French film industry, which was just recovering from the destruction of war. It was only a short time before he became one of the most important artists’ managers in the film industry. He had the most beautiful girls at his beck and call, culled from his cabarets and clubs, and it didn’t hurt that most of them did their best work on their backs. The male dancers, most of them being gay, were all very bright. They had physical beauty, and they could act. It wasn’t long until he realized that the real opportunities were in the film industry. He still kept his clubs, but he turned them over to his Corsican employees, who he knew could give him a straight count. And on the first floor of the building he opened his offices.

  PAUL RENARD—ARTISTS’ AGENCY AND REPRESENTATION

  The apartment he gave us to stay in was a very comfortably decorated living room, bedroom, and kitchen with the newest appliances found in France. Giselle loved it. She smiled at me. “I could live here forever,” she said.

  “It’s kind of tight,” I said.

  “An apartment like this would cost much more than the larger apartment we had in New York,” she said. “This would cost us two thousand dollars a month, compared with the five fifty we were paying there.”

  I stared at her. “But I thought it would be cheaper for us in France than in the States.”

  “Avenue George V is like Fifth Avenue or Park Avenue in New York,” she said. “I’ve checked apartments there and I know. If we had an apartment on one of those streets in New York it would be just as expensive as here.”

  “I don’t know how we are going to live here, in that case,” I said.

  “Don’t be stupid.” She laughed. “Who says we have to live like this?”

  * * *

  Jack Cochran called me at the apartment the second day that we were there. “Hi, Jerry,” he said. “Everything okay? Is Giselle happy?”

  “We’re all good, Jack,” I said. “Thank you for calling.”

  “I thought that we could have dinner this evening,” he said.

  “Is J. P. in Paris?” I asked.

  “No,” Jack answered. “He’s staying in the original family home in Plescassier. He’s going to stay there for a month. It’s a family custom.”

  “Then where are you, Jack?” I asked. “I t
hought you would be in Cannes.”

  He laughed. “I’m right across the street from you in the hotel. I thought we all could have a few laughs and some fun after dinner.”

  “I have Giselle with me,” I said.

  “I know,” he said. “She’s coming with us. I’m also bringing one of my friends with me. He’s an English comedian and he’s also done a few French movies. You’ll both like him.”

  “Sounds great to me,” I said. “I just have to check with Paul. I want to make sure he doesn’t have anything planned.”

  “I already checked with him,” he answered. “It’s okay.”

  “Then it’s okay. Thank you,” I said. “Just one word. What about J. P.? I know that he was close with his father. Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Jack replied. “He also sends his regards to you and Giselle. Let’s meet in the bar at the hotel at eight.”

  “Eight o’clock,” I said. “See you then.”

  9

  “Dark suit,” Giselle admonished me. “This is Paris.”

  “At least I don’t have to wear a tux,” I said.

  She laughed. “That depends. If you were going to dinner at Maxim’s and you didn’t wear a tuxedo, they might not let you in, or if they did, you would be seated next to the kitchen.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said. “And I remember that during the war we were happy to dress any way that we wanted and we were happy to eat horse meat.”

  “The world has changed a lot in the ten years since the war,” she said. She looked at me. “And we’ve grown older, too.”

  “Not you,” I said. “You still look like the kid I first met. But I’m beginning to lose a little of my hair.”

  “You look fine,” she said. “Maybe if you went gray then you’d look distinguished. You are very handsome. You have nothing to worry about.”

  We did not go to Maxim’s for dinner. We went to a great restaurant I had never even heard about and we didn’t get seated anywhere near the kitchen. Everyone in the restaurant knew Jack. Monsieur Cochran was known by everyone. The doorman, the hatcheck girl, the bartender, the maître d’, and the sommelier. Even the patron came to the table to greet him.

  Jack ordered the wine; I had my usual beer. Jack looked at us. “I know the menu,” he said. “Would you like for me to order the dinner?”

  “Fine, Jack,” Giselle answered, glancing at me.

  I nodded. “Great,” I said.

  Even Archie, Jack’s English friend, went along with all of us. And Jack wasn’t stupid. He had great taste and it was a superb dinner. I looked at him. Gay or not, he knew the finer things in life.

  It was almost midnight by the time we finished dinner. Then Jack piled us into his silver Rolls and ordered the chauffeur to take us to the most exclusive cabaret in town. The word was that even the president of France could not get in because he was not gay and would not appear in public with any of the gay men who worked in the government.

  It was the Folies Bergère transvestites of the year. I couldn’t believe it after we sat down for the show. I looked at Giselle and she smiled at me. “Aren’t they more beautiful than any line of showgirls or actresses you’ve ever seen?”

  “But they don’t have any pussies!” I whispered into her ear.

  “Some of them do,” she whispered back to me. “They’ve gone to Denmark and had the operation.”

  I turned back to watch the show. I still couldn’t believe it. But they were really good. Apparently they all knew the Englishman. “Archie! Archie!” they called him up to the stage.

  He ran up on stage with them. First he joined the chorus line as they all kicked up with their legs as if they were the Radio City Music Hall Rockettes in New York. Then they let him do a turn on his own. He was taller than most of them and spoke perfect French. He began talking and the audience fell apart laughing. I didn’t understand most of it even though Giselle tried to catch me up to what was being said. Then he stood silently in the spotlight. Quickly, with one hand he took out his four front teeth and with the other hand brought a large dildo from his back pocket and began sucking it. Everybody screamed.

  Jack leaned toward me, his eyes tearing with laughter. “That’s what he always does. He always says he’s the best cocksucker in the world because he can fit any cock, no matter how big, in between his teeth.”

  I looked at him. “Jesus!” I said.

  Jack laughed. “You tell anybody in the States about this. They won’t believe you.”

  When we got back to the apartment, I looked at Giselle. “What do you think about all of that?”

  “Jerree,” she said. “That’s their world!”

  10

  It was the weekend when I put Giselle on the train to Lyons to see her family. I hadn’t paid any attention at the time, but she had brought three valises from the States. Only one of them contained her things. The other two were gifts and clothing for Therese and their parents that were half the cost of what they would be in France.

  I followed the porteur with her baggage to a small private cabin on the train. I tipped the porteur and watched her sit down. She smiled at me. “This is not expensive. I even have my own bidet and washroom.”

  “I’m not complaining.” I looked at her. “It’s just that they never had anything like this in the subways.”

  “Neither do they have in the Paris Metro.” She patted the small couch beside her. “Sit. We’ll have a coupe of champagne before the train leaves.” She pressed a button and immediately a waiter came to the door.

  He was experienced. We did not have to order anything. He already had a bottle of champagne and glasses in front of us. He spoke to Giselle in French, but it was too fast for me to understand. As I paid for the drinks and the tip, he had already opened the bottle and filled our glasses. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

  We clinked our glasses. “Have a happy trip,” I said.

  “I wish you were coming with me,” she said wistfully.

  “I think they will be happier that you came alone,” I said. We sipped our champagne. We both knew how they felt about foreigners. “Besides, it will be only two weeks and you’ll be with me in Cannes.”

  “I’m just worried that one of the homos will seduce you,” she said. “I know how they work. Drink. Hashish. Ginseng.”

  I started to laugh. “They don’t have a chance. I’m a beer and Lucky Strike man.”

  “Then there will be starlets that will flock to the film festival,” she said. “They’re just looking for an American to—”

  I interrupted her. “You’re being stupid. Nobody will give a damn. I’m not in the entertainment business. For them I’m just a guy who is hanging out with the gays.”

  She leaned toward me and kissed me. “Promise?” she asked.

  “Promise,” I answered. Then the waiter came back to the door. It was time to go. We kissed again and I stepped off the train.

  * * *

  Jack was waiting at Paul’s office when I returned from the train station. Through the window on the ground-floor offices he saw me get out of the car after the fat man opened the door. We met in the entrance hall. “Giselle leave to see her parents already?” he said as a greeting.

  “Jack,” I said. “That’s right.”

  “What are you planning to do? With nothing to do for two weeks?” he asked.

  “I haven’t really thought about it. I’m waiting for Paul. He said he has to be in Cannes early. He says he’ll have work to do before everyone arrives,” I said.

  “He’ll be staying here for another week. I know that he is going to Cannes only a week before the festival,” he said.

  “I thought I’d probably go down with him,” I said.

  “He told you that you and Giselle will be staying at my place in Cannes? I’m taking the Rolls with Archie and I thought you might like to join us. We’ll have some fun down there before the crowds get too big,” he said. “Anyway, J. P. thought that you’d go down with us. Paul’s got not
hing to do here but work.”

  “I’ll talk to Paul,” I said. “I don’t know whether he was expecting me to go with him.”

  “I spoke to Paul already,” Jack replied. “Paul said that it’s your call, he has nothing for you to do.”

  “Okay, Jack,” I said. “Thanks. When are you planning to drive down?”

  “Monday,” he said. “After the weekend traffic rush.”

  “You got a deal.” I laughed.

  “There’s just one thing you will need down there,” he said. “In many films that will be shown you must wear a tuxedo.”

  “Shit!” I said. “I haven’t had a tuxedo on since I left France. I never needed any in the States.”

  “Do you still have it?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I lost it a long time ago.”

  “We’ll check with Paul,” he said. “I’m sure he has a tailor who works fast. They need them in Paul’s world.”

  He was right. Paul sent me right over to a tailor and he had an almost-finished tuxedo that he could send over the next morning. I found evening shirts in white and blue Egyptian cotton and black bow ties at Sulka down the street on George V.

  I called Giselle at her parents’ house and told her what I was planning to do. Then suddenly she began to cry into the telephone. “I knew it! I knew it!” she said. “The minute I turned my back they were planning to go up yours.”

  “My God!” I said. “Giselle, what’s goin’ on with you? Do you really think those assholes control the world? If they do, they don’t control me. I’m straight and if you don’t know it by now, you’ll never know.”

  “But we never try to make a baby!” she wailed.

  “What do you think we are doing when we are fucking? Playing solitaire?” I asked.

  She went silent for a moment. Then she spoke. “I’m sorry. I never wanted a baby before and maybe I still don’t want one.” She took a deep breath. “It’s just that I found out that Therese is having a baby; maybe I was a little jealous.”

  “Don’t be jealous,” I said. “We’re still young and we have all the time in the world that we need to have babies.”