Jackie Collins
LOVERS
and
GAMBLERS
Praise for Jackie Collins
‘Sex, power and intrigue – no one does it better than Jackie’
heat
‘A tantalising novel packed with power struggles, greed and sex. This is Collins at her finest’
Closer
‘Bold, brash, whiplash fast – with a cast of venal rich kids, this is classic Jackie Collins’
Marie Claire
‘Sex, money, power, murder, betrayal, true love – it’s all here in vintage Collins style. Collins’s plots are always a fabulously involved, intricate affair, and this does not disappoint’
Daily Mail
‘Her style is pure escapism, her heroine’s strong and ambitious and her men, well, like the book, they’ll keep you up all night!’
Company
‘A generation of women have learnt more about how to handle their men from Jackie’s books than from any kind of manual… Jackie is very much her own person:a total one off’
Daily Mail
‘Jackie is still the queen of sexy stories. Perfect’
OK!
‘Cancel all engagements, take the phone off the hook and indulge yourself’
Mirror
The 30 Best-Selling Novels
of
Jackie Collins
The Lucky Santangelo Cookbook (2014)
Confessions of a Wild Child (2013)
The Power Trip (2012)
Goddess of Vengeance (2011)
Poor Little Bitch Girl (2009)
Married Lovers (2008)
Drop Dead Beautiful (2007)
Lovers & Players (2006)
Hollywood Divorces (2003)
Deadly Embrace (2002)
Hollywood Wives: The New Generation (2001)
Lethal Seduction (2000)
Dangerous Kiss (1999)
L.A. Connections: Power, Obsession, Murder, Revenge (1999)
Thrill! (1998)
Vendetta: Lucky’s Revenge (1997)
Hollywood Kids (1994)
American Star (1993)
Lady Boss (1990)
Rock Star (1988)
Hollywood Husbands (1986)
Lucky (1985)
Hollywood Wives (1983)
Chances (1981)
The Bitch (1979)
Lovers & Gamblers (1975)
The World is Full of Divorced Women (1975)
The Love Killers (1974)
Sinners (1971)
The Stud (1969)
The World is Full of Married Men (1968)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
LOVERS AND GAMBLERS. Copyright © 1977, 2014 Chances, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or part, in any form.
The right of Jackie Collins to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
ISBN 978-0-9898900-4-5 (eBook)
Cover design by Kim Koehler; [email protected]
eBook editions by eBooks By Barb for booknook.biz
Visit Jackie at her website http://jackiecollins.com and follow her on:
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Contents
A Note from Jackie
Praise for Jackie Collins
The 30 Best-Selling Novels of Jackie Collins
Dedication
BOOK ONE
BOOK TWO
BOOK THREE
Six Months Later
About the Author
Jackie's Newest!
The Lucky Santangelo Cookbook
More from Jackie Collins
For all the Lovers and Gamblers I have known
Especially Oscar
Book One
Chapter One
Al King slammed and locked the bathroom door. He ran the shower until it was pleasantly warm, then let the water cascade on his body for at least five minutes. He soaped himself vigorously, turning the shower onto ice cold and marvelling at the sudden shrinkage of his cock. Amazing. Never failed.
He climbed out of the shower and studied his nakedness in the full-length mirror. A week at a health farm had done him the world of good. The slight paunch he had suspected was gone, his stomach was flat as a pancake. Forty push-ups a day helped there. He turned sideways. Pretty good. The body was in fine shape. Lean, tanned, hairy, masculine. Al allowed himself a pleased smile, and leaned forward to study his face. Everything seemed in order except for an incipient blackhead lurking on his chin. He squeezed it carefully.
Yes, he still looked pretty goddamn good.
In fact he looked better than ever. The recent operation to remove the bags under his eyes had been an unqualified success, and the new teeth-capping job was excellent.
Physically he was in perfect shape for his forthcoming tour across America, an event he was looking forward to with mixed feelings. It was two years since he had been on the road, and although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone he was worried that he could keep up the pace. Jesus Christ – so many cities – and every one of them would expect a peak performance. His voice was in pretty good shape, but the tour promised a gruelling schedule – and the press, the critics, would be the first to pounce if he wasn’t up to his previous standard.
He opened the bathroom door carefully. The redhead and the blonde were both waiting, lolling on the bed in an advanced state of nakedness. He headed towards them. Time to play. Time to get it on.
An hour later his enthusiasm was turning to boredom.
‘Al!’ exclaimed the blonde for the tenth time. ‘You are the greatest!’ She smiled a vacant pretty smile and concentrated once more on pleasuring him. Earlier in the day, when they had first met, she had promised him in a heavy southern drawl, ‘I am gonna pleasure you, honey, like you ain’t never been pleasured before!’
He was still waiting.
‘Al!’ mumbled the redhead, mouth full. ‘You are too much! Just too too much!’
Al wasn’t really listening. He lay naked and relaxed in the shuttered hotel room, his arms casually behind his head. With his eyes half-closed he endured the attentions of the two women. He had no plans for getting involved or of even participating. Why should he? Let them do all the work. After all he was a star, wasn’t he? They were lucky to be in his bed, his room, his life.
Al King was a rock-soul superstar. A singer who drove women mad the world over with his low throaty growl and his sexual gyrations. At thirty-seven he had reached the peak of his success. He had everything.
Money. Plenty of that. Off-shore investments, and lots of ready cash for the useful little things in life like a two hundred thousand pound house in London. A new red Ferrari, plus matching Rolls and Bentley.
Love. Well, he had a wife of sixteen years standing, a fair-haired sensible woman called Edna, who stayed out of the way because that was how Al wanted it. For more exciting sex there was always a selection of ready and able ladies. Any shape, size or specification.
‘Al,’ suggested the blonde, shifting so that her well-developed mammaries hung invitingly over his mouth, ‘Al, baby, why don’t we fuck?’
The redhead paused at what she was doing and expressed great interest in the blonde’s suggestion.
Al grunted. Stick it into these two. They must be kidding.
‘Just keep at it.’ He pushed the redhead back into position.
Women had never been a problem. Always plenty to go around, even before he was famous. With the fame came the classy bits. Falling over themselves for a piece of Al King cock. And what ravers!
He could feel no sign of an orgasm. The trouble was that he just couldn’t be bothered to make it with the casual pick-ups that crowded his bedroom. He started off thinking, yeah – great. And he ended up thinking – why bother? Lately it had to be a very special girl – and how many of those were there around?
It was four o’clock in New York. It was the middle of July, and hot. Of course the room was air-conditioned, but still it was a strange sort of coolness.
Al said, ‘Get dressed, girls, I’ve had enough.’
They both chorused their disappointment. He hadn’t even touched them.
‘I could make you come,’ the blonde said, ‘if we got rid of her.’ Scornfully she indicated the redhead.
Al got off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Whatever gave her the impression he would want to come with her? ‘Dressed and out in five minutes,’ he snapped.
‘Hey…’ objected the redhead.
Al took another shower; you couldn’t be too careful. This time when he emerged from the bathroom the girls had gone. Good. Sometimes they stayed to argue. He pulled up the window shades, flooding the bedroom with sunlight.
He contemplated phoning his brother Paul, but he was with Linda, and she wouldn’t be too pleased. Linda wasn’t bad: too strong for Paul though, it wouldn’t last. Anyway, she wouldn’t stand a chance against Paul’s wife, Melanie. Now she was a real little toughie. She liked the money, the big house, and all the perks of being Al King’s sister-in-law. She would never stand for another woman in Paul’s life.
Al yawned. Now his wife was another proposition. Sweet, faithful Edna. He had met her when she was sixteen, knocked her up, done the right thing and married her. Well, her father had been very persuasive, he had given Al two thousand pounds to set him up in a record shop. However, being shut up in a shop did not appeal to Al. What he really wanted to do was sing. He was well known locally. Whenever there was a wedding or an event people would say ‘Get Al to give us a few songs.’ He made the odd five pounds here and there, but he would have done it for nothing.
Paul was the brains of the King family. He had just finished a course of business accountancy and was working for a chartered accountant. Al had persuaded him to leave his job and open up the shop with him. ‘After all, it’s just the two of us now,’ he had said. Their parents had recently died within months of each other.
Soon the shop became the local musicians’ hang-out, and a group called Rabble invited Al to sing with them. Paul took over their management, and within two years it was ‘Al King and Rabble’. Within four years it was just Al King, and the ride to superstardom had really begun.
Edna had never complained. They had started married life in one room. Al was out all day working, and then, when he joined Rabble, he was out all night too. Edna looked after the baby, helped out in the shop, cooked, cleaned, struggled to make ends meet. She had been a softly pretty girl when Al had met her. Now, at thirty-three, she was plump and matronly, and she stayed very much in the background of her husband’s starry life.
Al’s family was important to him. His sixteen-year-old son, Evan, received everything he wanted, although to Al’s chagrin he never seemed to appreciate anything. He was a skinny, sulky boy with acned skin and greasy hair. ‘You’re Al King’s son?’ people would question in disbelief when they first met him. He was a poor scholar and hated school. Al had promised that at the end of the present term he could leave and perhaps accompany him on his tour. Evan had shown unheard-of enthusiasm. Al had decided it would do the boy good to get away from his mother. Edna fussed around him too much, the boy was stifled.
As a boy Al had never been stifled. He had engaged in sexual relations at the ripe old age of thirteen with one of the local hookers. Evan, at the ripe old age of sixteen, never seemed to notice girls, let alone screw them.
Al had plans to change all of that. Get the boy away from his mother, show him what it was all about. Yes, it was about time he gave some of his attention to Evan. Get rid of those spots. Put some weight on the boy. Get him royally laid. Yes.
The hell with it, Paul should be at his disposal – not Linda’s. He picked up the phone. ‘Hey, Paul baby, you want to shift your ass up here and discuss more important things than getting your rocks off?’
‘What’s up, Al? Can’t it wait?’
‘No. I need company.’
‘Give me a few minutes.’
Al switched on the television.
Wrapped in a black towelling bathrobe he poured himself a bourbon and coke – fattening but favourite – and settled down on the bed.
He clicked the remote control dial. Quiz game. Western. Cookery. Chat show. He stopped there.
‘Well,’ said the interviewer, ‘who shall we pick out to talk to next amongst this bevy of beauties?’
The camera switched to a group of about fifteen girls in swimsuits clustered together at the front of the audience. ‘Miss Philadelphia,’ continued the interviewer, ‘would you like to step up here, dear?’
Miss Philadelphia was a skinny, nervous girl with long legs and freckles. She smiled jumpily.
‘Gee, honey,’ said the interviewer, leering at his audience, ‘I’m not going to eat you. What do you think your chances are of winning the “Miss Coast to Coast” title tonight?’
‘I’d like to,’ she replied breathily.
‘What would you do if you did?’
‘I want to travel. Then I guess I’d just like to settle down and be a good wife and mother.’
‘Wonderful. Isn’t that wonderful, everyone?’ The audience obediently clapped.
‘Bullshit!’ exclaimed Al, and he was just about to change the channel when Miss Los Angeles stepped forward. She was wearing a black shiny bikini, and she had a body that stopped even Al in his tracks. Big bosom, long legs, finely muscled stomach, small waist. He dragged his eyes up to her face and it was not a disappointment. She was great looking, with a wide luscious mouth and long streaked blondish hair which fell past her shoulders in soft waves.
‘Not bad!’ exclaimed Al out loud, and he felt himself slightly aroused, which was a good sign.
He would have her. He would get his brother to arrange it.
For Al King nothing was impossible. He could have any woman he wanted, and he usually did.
* * *
‘Why do you always have to run whenever he calls?’ demanded Linda.
‘Because,’ explained Paul King patiently, ‘that’s why Al and I have such a good relationship, and that is why we are still together.’
‘Christ!’ exclaimed Linda crossly. ‘You make the two of you sound like an old married couple.’
‘That’s right,’ agreed Paul. ‘A manager and his star have a very sensitive relationship. It is sort of like a marriage, and Al and I have a good one.’
‘God! You and your bloody marriages! It’s not only your wife I have to contend with, Al is a lot more demanding than any woman.’ Linda Cosmo climbed out of bed. She was a thin woman in her early thirties with Elizabeth Taylor eyes and straight black hair. She was strikingly attractive.
‘Come back here,’ demanded Paul.
‘Why? For a quick one? You know I don’t appreciate quick ones. Anyway, I thought you said he would be busy this afternoon – all afternoon. It’s only just past four.’
‘I expect he got bored, you know Al.’
‘Yes. I know Al. He’s a pain in the ass. I really don’t know why you stay with him – you have plenty of money, you don’t need Al King any more.’
‘Cool it, Linda.’ Paul followed her out of bed. ‘You should understand.’
‘Oh sure, I do understand. I understand about Al, and about your wife, and about your kids. What time does that leave for me? How of
ten are we alone together?’ She locked her hands behind Paul’s neck. ‘You know I love you,’ she continued softly, ‘but love needs attention too.’
He kissed her, running his hands down her naked body. She was right, he did neglect her. But what could he do? He had so many other commitments.
‘How would you like to come on the tour?’ He had blurted it out before really thinking about it.
She looked at him suspiciously. ‘I’d love it – you know that. But how?’
‘Officially, that’s how. I’m appointing you tour photographer.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘I’m serious. Only stop giving me a hard time about Al.’
‘You really mean it?’ She wrapped her arms around him, kissing him long and hard. ‘We can be together, and it’s a terrific challenge. I always did get turned on by a challenge.’
She kissed him again and he pushed her away, laughing. ‘If I’d known I was going to get this good a reaction I’d have given you a job sooner! I feel like a Hollywood producer!’
She grinned. ‘I’ll join you on the casting couch later.’ Then seriously she added: ‘I won’t let you down, I promise you that.’
‘On the casting couch?’
‘On the tour, you fool!’
‘I know you won’t let me down, you never do.’
He guided her back to the bed. ‘Why don’t we put the casting couch into action now?’
She laughed softly. ‘Why not indeed? There’s nothing I like better than screwing the man with the most beautiful cock in the world…’
As usual it was the best for him. Linda Cosmo was the only woman that he genuinely liked making love to.
He had met her a year previously. New York. Opening night in cabaret for Al. Noise. People. Booze. Food. She had been sent by a magazine to photograph the event. Paul had seen her, fancied her, moved in before Al. He usually gave Al first crack, but that time it had been different.
They had been together on and off ever since. The on was when he was in America. The off was when he was in England.
He was pleased with the idea of bringing Linda on the tour. She was an excellent photographer, and they would be able to be seen together.
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