They went to stay with a friend of Bobbie’s who was white, miserable, and addicted to heroin.
‘I can’t stand it here!’ Dallas insisted after a few days. ‘Aren’t we going to get a place of our own?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we gotta get back in action.’
So she found them an apartment off the Strip and renewed her connections.
Things in Hollywood were different. No longer out-of-town schmucks set on getting laid. Instead, sophisticated, jaded people, who required much more than a simple fuck. Dallas started to complain immediately.
‘Shit, man!’ exclaimed Bobbie. ‘Just shut your eyes an’ think of nothin’. Their money is just the same.’
‘No,’ insisted Dallas, ‘I won’t do it.’
‘OK,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we’ll only book you out to the straights.’
So Dallas found herself alone most of the time. She cleaned the apartment and did the cooking; it kept her busy while Bobbie was out working. She also learned to drive – an essential for California living.
But it wasn’t long before she started to feel a revulsion at Bobbie’s advances. At first it had been something new, but now, with Bobbie coming home from a twenty-handed orgy, it began to pall when she wanted to make love.
‘You got yourself another girlfriend?’ Bobbie asked accusingly.
‘No, I’m just tired.’
The more she resisted Bobbie, the more the black girl started to do for her. She bought her presents and flowers and chocolates. She became like an attentive suitor.
One day Dallas packed her things and left. She was fed up with the whole situation. She moved into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel with an impotent writer who liked her to walk around naked. That was all he required of her, and he was quite friendly and nice. He didn’t pay her, but she had free board and lodging at one of the best hotels in town, and the use of his Cadillac. It was a convenient arrangement, and occasionally Dallas would pull a trick on the side and make some extra money. There was one man who came to the hotel pool every day and offered her a thousand dollars to star in a porno film. Dallas declined. ‘Why?’ he had questioned, affronted. ‘Ain’t ya ever heard of Linda Lovelace?’
She had heard of her, but it wasn’t the kind of stardom she wanted. In her mind she knew there was a better life for her somewhere. Television had shown her the American dream, and she saw no reason why there shouldn’t be a piece of it for her.
Bobbie found her five weeks later. She was waiting when Dallas returned from a shopping trip. ‘Get your ass packed and out of here!’ she snapped.
Dallas stopped in amazement. How had Bobbie found her?
The writer, somewhat nervous, but smiling bravely, said: ‘I think that you had better do what your – uh – friend says.’
‘You goddamn right she better do it!’ snapped Bobbie, tossing her wig impatiently, and tapping green-taloned nails on the table.
‘Are you asking me to go?’ Dallas inquired of the writer.
‘Well – er – yes: I didn’t realize that you were – that you had a – uh – well, permanent sort of – er – friend.’
He was deeply embarrassed and would not look her in the eyes.
‘I don’t have to go,’ Dallas stated flatly.
‘Oh yes you do, sugar sweets,’ interrupted Bobbie quickly. ‘I got things to say to you that you ain’t gonna want no one to hear.’
Dallas packed. One suitcase of possessions was the sum total of her belongings.
‘Goodbye,’ she said to the man she had lived with for five weeks.
‘Bye,’ he mumbled, redfaced. God knows what Bobbie had told him.
‘See ya!’ yelled Bobbie cheerily. ‘Any time you wanna free one give me a call.’ Under her breath she muttered, ‘No balls. You sure picked a loser, kid.’
Outside in the car Bobbie said: ‘I bail ya outa the shit in Miami, give you a home, clothes, work my black ass off fuckin’ pigs so that you can take it easy, and what happens? What the frig happens? Soon as I turn my back you all hightail it outa my life for what you think will be forever. Well, sugar baby, life just ain’t that simple. I knew I’d find you, and I did.’ She smiled triumphantly. ‘Shoulda bin a friggin’ detective.’
‘What do you want? I didn’t take anything.’
‘I didn’t take anything!’ mimicked Bobbie sarcastically. ‘Kid, you are green all the way up. You an me are together, a team. We know too much about each other to split up. You dig what I mean, baby doll? Cast your mind back to a certain motel and a certain old dude, a very old dude. You get it?’
‘I get it.’
‘Good girl. I knew you would understand once I explained it to you real simple like. Now we can get to work – you an’ me. I think it’s about time ya got used to the Hollywood way of life. Shit, baby – I am through protectin’ you – from now on it’s togetherness – all the way. You dig?’
* * *
The photo call was fun. Sitting upright in bed, low-cut nightie, crown on the head, and fifteen guys struggling to get the best picture. Smile. Flash. Laugh. Flash. Sexy look. Flash.
Mrs. Fields allowed them an hour, and then it was up and dressed and over to the offices of the organizers to sign some contracts.
Dallas wouldn’t sign. ‘I have a friend who I’d like to check them out with first,’ she explained sweetly.
‘Sure,’ they agreed, but they were all pissed off.
‘By the way,’ Mrs. Fields said, ‘Al King, the singer, would like to take you to lunch. We could arrange it as a nice little publicity thing.’
‘I thought I was supposed to be having lunch with some wool firm?’
‘We could postpone that.’
‘Don’t. The more things I do as “Miss Coast to Coast” the more I’ll like it.’ Offhandedly she added, ‘Let’s face it, Al King’s probably only looking to get laid and really, I’m not that sort of a girl.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Mrs. Fields, and she sighed, because suddenly she realized that it was not going to be an easy week.
‘Now,’ said Dallas brightly, ‘have I got time to spend some money before lunch? I’ve always wanted to go into Saks and spend my money.’
* * *
Life with Bobbie was no longer the same. The black girl’s easygoing friendliness was gone. Instead she was tough, flip, and businesslike. She spelled it out to Dallas in no uncertain terms. They had killed a guy, together, and because of that simple fact they were stuck with each other.
‘You had better get used to it, kid,’ Bobbie warned, ‘’cos if you run off again I’ll find you, and next time I ain’t gonna let you off so easy.’
So began a year of complete and utter degradation for Dallas. She had not believed that people with such devious and perverted tastes existed. Bobbie made sure that she came across every one of them.
‘They’re clients,’ Bobbie would explain, straightfaced. ‘It’s just another job.’
It was a year of gradual hardening for Dallas. The only way she could face the things she did for money was to shut everything out. They could have her face, her body, but they could never get into her mind. She became as good and as practised at her job as Bobbie. And like the black girl who had been a hooker since was was thirteen, she became hard, cynical, tough and unfeeling. Unlike Bobbie, she wanted no other comforts, she didn’t turn to women for a relationship, she cut that side of her life out completely. Sex was her profession, and that was all.
Bobbie and she lived together increasingly uneasily.
They did not resume any personal relationship, and Bobbie, who had always been into smoking pot, started on other little habits. By the end of the year she was into heroin, and Dallas knew she had to get away.
She waited for the right opportunity, and as soon as she set eyes on Ed Kurlnik she knew that this was a chance she mustn’t blow.
* * *
Mrs. Fields accompanied Dallas around Saks.
‘I want this – this – and this.’ Dallas snatched
dresses off the racks. ‘Oh and the black evening gown from the window, and does it come in any other colours? Great, I’ll take it in every colour.’
‘Your money won’t last long at this rate,’ Mrs. Fields said warningly.
‘I know,’ laughed Dallas. But oh, the thrill of spending her own money. She had a charge at Saks that Ed had opened for her, but buying this way was much more satisfying. She managed to spend three thousand dollars in half an hour, and she was giddy with excitement. She breezed through lunch with the wool firm representatives full of charm and laughter. They wanted her to sign to an advertising and promotion contract immediately. Mrs. Fields was impressed. ‘They usually take weeks to make up their minds.’
‘I want double the amount they have paid before.’
‘They’ll never pay more.’
‘Wanna bet, baby!’ Dallas laughed. ‘They’ll pay and be pleased to.’
‘I’ll tell the office,’ said Mrs. Fields, tight-lipped.
‘By the way,’ inquired Dallas, ‘what’s the fee I’m getting for opening the supermarket this afternoon?’
‘I don’t really know.’
‘Find out, ’cos if it’s not enough I’m not doing it.’
Mrs. Field nodded. She had been right, this one was going to be difficult.
* * *
Ed Kurlnik and Dallas Lunde were side by side in their respective cars at the traffic lights. Dallas recognized him immediately, she had seen him on television only three days previously.
Ed Kurlnik. Head of the Kurlnik Motor dynasty. One of the richest men in America. Married. Two children. Sixty-one years old.
And here he was, driving a Kurlnik Leopard, completely alone. Dallas couldn’t believe her luck.
The traffic lights changed, and his Leopard sprang away with surprising speed. Without hesitation Dallas slid into the lane behind him. She knew exactly what she would do.
He stopped at the next red light, and Dallas, in her battered old Buick, careered into the back of him. It wasn’t a bad smash, but it was enough to dent her fender and break one of his rear lights. She slumped forward over her wheel and waited.
It was that easy.
He was concerned. He took her to his hotel for coffee.
‘I must have fainted,’ she explained.
He was kindly, fatherly. He asked her out for dinner. She told him she was a student. He took her out again. She told him she was a virgin. Another date. She became an orphan.
When he suggested the apartment in New York, she hesitated at first. When he insisted, she finally agreed. But what to do about Bobbie? She would never let her go, and if she did manage to get away, Bobbie would come looking for her, and then Ed would find out the truth and that would be that.
Dallas puzzled over what to do. This was her chance and she didn’t want to blow it.
The answer when it came to her was incredibly simple – she would kill Bobbie.
* * *
‘Not enough,’ Dallas stated. ‘If you want me to open supermarkets I get a thousand dollars.’
‘They won’t pay that.’
‘Then I won’t open them. It’s that simple. Now I’m taking the afternoon off and I’ll see you back at the hotel later. Don’t worry, I’ll be there in plenty of time for the première.’
She left Mrs. Fields sitting rigid-faced in the offices of Beauty Incorporated Co. – the outfit that organized the ‘Miss Coast to Coast’ contest.
If they thought they had hold of another dumb girl to hustle and promote for a year, they were on the wrong track. She had her own idea of the way things should be, and that way was her way.
She took a cab over to the apartment in the hope that Ed would be there, but he wasn’t. Probably pissed off about the previous evening. She phoned him on his private number at his New York office. He was pissed off.
‘Listen, sweetie,’ she cooed, ‘it’s just all been so exciting. I’m sorry about last night. Were you lonely? Why don’t you come over now and I’ll surprise you.’
He wasn’t hard to persuade.
She took a quick shower and then surveyed her closet of Ed’s favourite outfits. What would surprise him today? Something subservient, something apologetic.
She finally hit it. Martha the Maid.
Humming softly to herself she slid into the short black dress with the white starched collar and cuffs, the sheer black stockings, the neat black shoes, and as a final touch a small adornment of white lace ribbon in her hair.
One thing about Ed, he loved surprises.
Chapter Eight
The stewardess smiled winningly. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked for the twentieth time.
Al ignored her.
‘Perfect,’ replied Paul, returning her smile.
‘More champagne?’
‘I think we’re well topped up.’
‘If you need anything just give me a buzz.’
‘Wouldn’t hesitate.’
She smiled and lingered. ‘Mr. King,’ she said directly to Al, ‘I loved your last record, I just had to tell you.’
Al looked her over. She was sleek and blonde with a well-developed bosom straining at the confines of her regulation blouse. ‘Do you fuck?’ he asked crudely.
She didn’t even blush. ‘It depends.’ Leaning forward slightly she added, ‘Are you offering?’
Paul wished that he was somewhere else. Al was impossible when he was in one of his ‘I hate women’ moods, and that was the mood he had been in all day.
‘When?’ inquired Al.
‘Tonight, tomorrow.’
‘Screw tonight, tomorrow. I want it now.’
She laughed. ‘I’m on duty.’
‘All I want is a little service.’
Paul got up. He was not enjoying being in the crossfire of their conversation. He wandered over to the magazine rack.
A few minutes passed and then Al got up and vanished into one of the toilets, followed shortly by the stewardess.
Paul went back to his seat. Casual sex had never appealed to him, it gave him bad vibes. It always reminded him of the way animals went at it. Sniff sniff – I fancy you. He preferred to get into a woman’s head first, her body second.
He thought about Linda. She was all the woman he had ever wanted. Intelligent, attractive, independent. If he wasn’t married to Melanie… But he was and somewhere along the way, she had changed. She had become one of life’s grabbers. Gimme… Gimme… Gimme. Bigger house, bigger pool, bigger car. She demanded the best of everything and nagged the hell out of him if she didn’t get it. If it wasn’t for the children… married man’s lament, and he knew it. But they were both so young and vulnerable, and they needed him.
Al returned to his seat, strapped himself in, and resumed gazing out of the window.
‘Only another two hours,’ remarked Paul.
Al nodded. He had become completely uncommunicative ever since Paul had been unable to arrange lunch with Dallas. It was his way of showing disapproval.
He was a star, for Chrissakes. If he wanted something, he should have it immediately.
* * *
Melanie King went to the airport in Al’s white Rolls Royce to meet them. She enjoyed being the centre of attention, and some of the airport photographers took her photo.
Al and Paul came walking through from customs, and the photographers sprang into action.
Melanie darted forward and kissed Al. She followed this up with a quick peck for Paul, then hanging firmly onto Al’s arm she walked with them both to the car.
‘Edna’s cooking dinner,’ she volunteered, ‘steak and kidney pud. She slung the cook out and she’s having a ball.’
‘She hasn’t fired the cook, has she?’ asked Al, alarmed.
‘Oh no, just got rid of her for the night. The maid too. I don’t know how she manages.’
‘She enjoys it,’ sighed Al. ‘My wife the worker!’
Melanie squeezed his arm. ‘Tell me about the trip, I want to hear all about it. I hope you two
didn’t get up to anything naughty.’ She giggled. ‘Bet you did, Al. It’s all right, I won’t tell Edna.’
* * *
Edna opened the oven and prodded the sizzling potatoes with a fork. They were just the way Al liked them, cut into thin slices and covered with onions and herbs. The steak and kidney pudding simmered on the cooker, and all she had left to do was to whip the cream that would accompany the baked jam roll dessert.
All Al’s favourite things, and yet she couldn’t remember the last time they had eaten such delicious food. Al usually instructed the cook on what they would have for dinner, and it varied between steak, plain chicken or fish, always with a salad. Al insisted that he had to watch his diet. ‘Cholesterol,’ he would mention ominously if Edna suggested so much as a cottage pie. In the old days they had lived on cottage pie, sausages, mashed potatoes, and chips. In the old days Al had loved his food, and for once Edna wanted to be sure that he got something he enjoyed.
She hummed softly as she busied herself in the kitchen. It seemed such a long time since Al had been home, although in point of fact it was only a couple of weeks. New York, and before that the health farm.
Everything in the kitchen seemed in order, so Edna went upstairs and changed out of her pinafore dress into a long plum-coloured shirtwaister. She powdered her face, added lipstick, too much rouge, and blue eyeshadow which immediately streaked. She had never been much good with make-up, but Al liked her to try. She dabbed on some perfume, and brushed her short mousey brown hair. As she was surveying herself in the mirror Evan slouched in.
‘What are you all dressed up for?’ he asked sneeringly.
‘I want to look nice for your father.’
‘Well, you look awful. All that stuff on your face doesn’t suit you. It looks stupid. I don’t know why you bother, he knows what you look like.’
Edna frowned. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she did look ridiculous. But it was too late to do anything about it; she could hear a car pulling up on the gravel outside, and excitedly she ran downstairs.
* * *
Al got out of the car and Paul pulled Melanie back and snapped, ‘Do we have to stay for dinner?’
Lovers and Gamblers Page 6
