She jumped as a voice growled, ‘Wanna cab?’
‘Yes, please.’ She climbed in and directed the driver to the Fontainebleau.
More memories. She had practically started her career at the Fontainebleau. She shuddered when she realized how many men ago that had been.
‘Al King concert at the Sportatorium tonight,’ the driver remarked, ‘it’s a madhouse over there, big hassle with forged tickets. You here on vacation?’
‘No.’
‘You look familiar, like I know you. You on TV?’
‘No.’
‘Had a girl in the cab last week. An actress – English. She…’
Dallas tuned out as the cab driver droned on. She found herself wondering if her parents were still at the zoo. If her husband was with them. If any of them had ever given her a second thought.
If she had more time she could drive out there. Not of course to go in, but just to see if the zoo was still there…
Bastards. She had been seventeen years old and they had just let her walk out in to the world on her own. A girl so innocent that she had thought the first guy that screwed her was doing her a favour.
The cab pulled up at the Fontainebleau.
‘You sure do look familiar…’ the driver mused.
She ignored the remark, paid him, and walked up the steps into the hotel.
Linda was not there. Paul was not there. But the desk clerk pointed out Bernie Suntan waddling across the lobby on his way out.
Dallas hurried over to him. ‘Mr. Suntan,’ she said quickly, ‘I…’
He continued walking. ‘Sorry. No free tickets, kid. Kaput. All gone. Follow us to Chicago and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I don’t want tickets,’ she said. ‘My name is Dallas, I’m a friend of Linda Cosmo, and I have to get hold of her immediately. It’s most urgent. Can you help me?’
Bernie stopped, stared, let out a whistle. ‘Jeeze, you are one beautiful lady! Saw the TV thing you did with Al. Excuse me for not recognizing you at once but this tour is aging my facilities! For you I gotta ticket.’
‘I don’t want a ticket,’ Dallas explained patiently, ‘I just want to see Linda.’
‘Of course you do,’ agreed Bernie, rubbing sweaty palms together, ‘and we shall share a car to the Sportatorium and we shall find her for you.’
‘Thank you.’
* * *
The cab driver had been right about it being a madhouse at the Sportatorium. Huge crowds roamed around outside surging angrily in different directions. Mass blocks of tickets had been forged, and many genuine ticket holders had been unable to gain entry.
‘If we could catch the rip-off merchants life would be a lot easier,’ Bernie complained as their car edged its way through the crowds. ‘Gonna take you to Al’s dressing-room while I find Linda. She’s a good kid – takes a bitch of a picture. You should see the show.’
‘I did. I saw it in New York.’
‘You did? Wish I’d known, could have done a nice little thing with you and Al. Pictures… old friends. Could have been a nice plug for you.’
‘I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I think Al’s nervous of his wife.’
Bernie burst into raucous laughter. ‘Al? Nervous of his wife? Craperooney, baby – pure craperooney. Al’s screwed everything that moves on this tour. No offence… I mean, what the fuck… everyone knows about Al.’
Dallas agreed. ‘Sure. So if you were a girl, would you want to be photographed with him?’
Bernie laughed some more. ‘If I was a girl, I’d piss my way out of his sight in record time. He treats ’em all like shit.’
‘Him and who else?’ stated Dallas drily.
‘You’re something,’ guffawed Bernie. ‘I like you. When I’m a producer gonna keep you in mind.’
‘How kind of you.’
‘What the fuck… If you can’t help friends in this life, who can you help?’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Dallas briskly. ‘Do you think we can find Linda now?’
* * *
The Promises were on stage belting out ‘Love Power’, shimmering in black sequin boiler suits.
Al was in his dressing-room, drinking hard. He had already demolished a bottle and a half of scotch, and did not feel like doing the show. Fuck the show. Fuck the people. What was he, a puppet?
Evan, in one corner of the dressing room, puffed uneasily on a cigarette.
Luke had rushed off to summon Paul.
Bernie, unaware of any dramas, waddled in with Dallas behind him.
Al didn’t see her. He scowled at Bernie in the mirror and said, ‘Where you been, Bernie? Out water skiing? Or maybe Disneyland took your fancy? Don’t know why you took the trouble to come here at all. Why do any of you bother? I do the work, the rest of you should stay away, just pick up the money. You shitass. Here’s a nice little item for you. Al King will not appear tonight. Al King is all fucked out and just wants to sleep. You like it? Does it grab you by the balls?’
‘Al!’ protested Bernie. ‘Baby! what’s the matter? I just got off the phone to Chicago setting everything up. I would have been here sooner if…’
Dallas backed quietly out of the room as Bernie spoke. She did not need this whole bit. Al King was obviously every bit as impossible as she had thought he would be.
Paul was striding towards her. ‘What’s going on?’ he snapped in an irritable fashion. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Question one – I don’t know. Question two – looking for Linda. Is she here?’
‘She’s photographing The Promises.’
‘Thanks, I’ll find her.’
‘Did you see Al?’
‘Some other time, I think.’
Paul nodded, and went into the dressing-room.
Dallas located Linda at the side of the stage. She watched as Linda went about her business, not disturbing her until she stopped to change film. Then she stepped forward and Linda nearly dropped her camera in surprise.
‘I have to talk to you. Can we go somewhere?’ Dallas asked.
‘Sure, I’m about finished. Why are you here?’
‘It’s a long story, and I need your help. That’s why I’m here.’
‘We’ll take one of the cars back to the hotel,’ Linda decided. ‘I don’t think tonight’s the night I’m going to miss the shot of the century. Hey, Larry,’ she called to one of the roadies, ‘tell Paul I had to go – catch him later.’
Dallas had thought long and carefully about how much she should tell Linda, and in the end she had decided that only the truth would help. Of course, certain things she would leave out – such as the old man dying and her attempt to drown Bobbie. But apart from that, she had planned to be quite open about everything. Linda was too smart to fall for any phony story. To acquire her help she had to be honest, and that meant the whole messy story. If Linda was the friend she hoped she was, she would help out.
They sat in Linda’s hotel room, ordered drinks from room service, and Dallas began her story. She talked for two hours, with only occasional nods from Linda to encourage her. And when she was finished she was surprised to find that she was crying.
Linda handed her a Kleenex, and Dallas said, embarrassed, ‘I haven’t cried since I was a kid.’
‘It’s a sad story,’ commented Linda. ‘God, Dallas, I never knew any of this. I mean I never thought you were the virgin type, I knew you’d been around – haven’t we all. But this… Jesus!’
‘It’s funny, y’know, talking about it and all, it seems so remote. Like half the things happened to someone else. I can’t really believe I did all those things, screwed all those men. I can’t believe it was me. And now this sonofabitch wants me to go through it all again. He’ll make me a star but I’ll be his paid whore.’
‘I’ll help you,’ said Linda quickly. ‘I’ll take the pictures. But you haven’t thought it out clearly. If you’re in the pictures with him, he can turn the whole thing around. You can’t be in the photos, we’ll ha
ve to hire a professional.’
‘He won’t go for that.’
Linda lit a cigarette. ‘He will if you’re in it too. We’ll get hold of a black girl – someone that will remind him of Bobbie. You’ll be there – involved, but I’ll make sure the only photos I get are with him and the other girl.’
‘It’s a marvellous idea. But I am not exactly in a position to come up with a black hooker between now and tomorrow night.’
Linda frowned. ‘LA must be crawling with them. Bernie might be able to help out there – he knows everyone.’
‘But you promised not to tell anyone.’
‘Of course not. Is asking him for a girl telling him anything? I’ll make up some story. I’ll have to for Paul anyway – he is not going to be thrilled to discover I’m off to LA for the day.’
‘Listen,’ said Dallas seriously, ‘anytime, anything. One of these days I hope I can pay you back.’
Linda laughed. ‘Wait until the job is done before you thank me. It won’t be that easy – but with a little luck we’ll make it. Now come on, let’s take ourselves over to Paul’s suite – they should be back soon, and I’ll give him the news of my impending absence. Probably do him good – maybe he’ll miss me. Only maybe, mind you – but it’s a chance!’
* * *
Paul persuaded Al to do the show. He finished the bottle of scotch, reeled on stage, and the audience screamed. He did a lousy show but the only person who knew about it was him. The screaming never let up for a minute, so who could possibly hear that his voice was slurred and not up to par. He even inserted the word fuck in place of love on several occasions, and no one was any the wiser.
‘Morons!’ he mumbled as he was bundled into his car and sped back to his hotel. He wanted to party but passed out instead, and Paul left him on his bed with Luke watching over him and strict instructions to contact him when he awoke.
It was time to forget about their fight, Paul decided. He had not realized that Al was heading into one of his states, he had thought he was flying high. Thank God he hadn’t left the tour in a fit of ego. Al really needed him, and he would be there.
When Linda told him that she had to go to Los Angeles for a couple of days with Dallas, he didn’t mind a bit. It was a relief in fact, giving him absolute free time with Al – a fact that Linda would have bitched about.
Linda noticed his attitude, and she smiled coldly, saying, ‘It might even be longer than a couple of days.’
‘Take as long as you need,’ Paul replied absently.
Sonofabitch. What did he care? If only she could summon the strength, she wouldn’t come back at all.
* * *
They arrived in Los Angeles early the next morning and drove straight to the house. Linda prowled around inspecting the facilities she would have for her photography.
Bernie had come up with the phone number of a black call girl. As Linda had thought, he had a special little book with a listing for every preference. His eyes had bugged out as to why Linda wanted the number of a black hooker in LA. But she had just smiled and said, ‘Everyone to their own, Bernie sweetheart,’ and left it at that.
The girl – exotically entitled Diamond – answered the phone on the second ring in a lazy Southern drawl. Linda said they had a proposition, and could they talk. Diamond agreed, noted the address, and said she would be with them in an hour.
She turned up two hours later, a dazzlingly pretty girl in her early twenties with an abundance of long black hair and a Diana Ross smile. Her only problem appeared to be short legs and a dropped ass. Apart from that she was a knockout.
Linda fed her some story about a married man whose wife needed pictures of him in action.
Just as Diamond was objecting, Linda mentioned a fee of five hundred dollars, and the deal was clinched.
Diamond left in a cloud of Hermès perfume, promising to return later.
‘We’re all set,’ Linda announced. ‘Do you think you had better call Lew and make sure he’ll be here?’
‘He’ll be here,’ said Dallas bitterly. ‘I just hope I can go through with it.’
‘Come on!’ chided Linda. ‘Just think of the outcome… Think of the time when you can screw him.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Dallas, ‘I can just imagine his face when I show him the photos. It would never occur to him that I’d have the brains to work this out. He thinks I fucked my brains out when I was a working girl.’
‘Listen, kid, I hate to say it, but they all credit women with minimal thinking capacity. Hey – you know what I think? I think a few drinks around here would not go amiss. And how about a little grass – you got any?’
‘In a red box under the fridge. Linda, isn’t it ridiculous – I’m nervous.’
Linda smiled. ‘Aren’t we all? But forget about it, relax. Tonight we’re going to win for a change, I just know it.’
Chapter Thirty
Al awoke with one of the worst hangovers he could remember. His head pounded in a series of drumbeats, his eyes hurt, even his teeth ached.
He tried to remember… Jesus, the show. What had happened with the show? Had he appeared? He honestly couldn’t remember.
He lay very still, trying to ignore the fact that he had to piss, trying to concentrate.
He remembered going to some lousy afternoon party. Some gathering full of snobbish English exiles. Miami-based chinless wonders. Tinkly-voiced, horse-faced girls who regarded him as some kind of freak. It had somehow brought back every bad memory of the days before the fame.
He had left the party abruptly and gone to a whorehouse. The man least likely to have to pay for it had selected a jolly little Cuban girl and spent three hours getting boozed in her pathetic little room.
He hadn’t screwed her, merely humiliated her. And after, he felt like a real shit, and had continued on his drinking jag all the way to the concert.
He remembered vaguely Evan joining him somewhere along the way. And Bernie, and Paul arguing with him. But had he gone on? He truly couldn’t remember.
The desire to piss was too strong to resist, and by the time he came out of the bathroom Paul was sitting on his bed. They regarded each other warily. Neither quite sure what terms they were on.
‘Fuck the push-ups this morning,’ mumbled Al. ‘What I really need is a couple of gallons of orange juice and a new head.’
Paul picked up the phone and requested a jug of fresh orange juice from room service. ‘Food?’ he questioned. Al made a face.
‘So,’ said Paul, hanging up, ‘what’s the problem?’
‘No problem. Just felt like cutting loose.’
Luke had filled Paul in on Al’s activities of the previous day. ‘What made you go to that party?’
‘What did you want me to do? Sit here and play footsie with Evan? You’d all pissed off – I couldn’t even find Bernie.’ He hesitated. ‘How did the show go?’
‘You staggered around a lot. Insulted the crowd. Fortunately there was so much screaming you could have stripped off and sung Bollocks and no one would have noticed. At least we got you on.’
‘Where’s Evan?’
‘I sent him down to the coffee shop.’
Al held his head. ‘The kid is driving me nuts, gotta get him off my back. Gotta send him home. You’ll have to tell him, I can’t.’
‘Thanks a lot. The boy idolizes you. If you send him home it’s going to be an A-one rejection – he’ll become even worse. I think you should give him another chance.’
‘Another chance at what? He won’t drink, smoke, or screw. Watches me like a hawk – I can’t take it, makes me nervous.’
Paul opened the door for room service, and poured Al a hefty glass of orange juice. ‘Just leave him alone. Stop worrying about him. First of all, it’s wrong to have him in your suite – we’ll get him his own room in future. Don’t have him follow you everywhere – let him make his own friends.’
‘I wish he would.’
‘Leave him alone and he will. I’ll have Linda take
a friendly interest in him when she gets back.’
‘Where’s she gone?’
‘To Los Angeles with Dallas – she has some problem – Linda’s helping out.’
Al’s interest perked. ‘What problem?’
Paul shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Dallas flew in, grabbed a hold of Linda, and they flew off this morning. I think that…’
‘Dallas was here?’
‘Last night.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I just did.’
‘That’s great, isn’t it. He tells me when she’s gone.’
‘You were gone last night. You were lucky to do the show. You were…’
‘Do me a favour, Paul. Piss off. Your voice is pounding into my head and I can’t take any more.’
‘Sure. Plane leaves in two hours. Press reception and television interview arranged to take place at O’Hara Airport upon arrival. Kup show to be recorded this afternoon. Party in your honour tonight at the Macho Mansion.’
Al groaned. ‘If I’m not dead by that time…’
Paul smiled thinly. There had been two calls that there was a bomb secreted on Al’s plane, and at this very moment the plane was being thoroughly searched. ‘You’ll make it.’
Al grinned. ‘Sure I will. Sauna. Massage. Stomach pump. By the way – you got a phone number for Linda?’
‘I didn’t know you cared.’
‘I do. She’s lovely but taken. Do you mind if I phone Dallas?’
Paul wrote a number on a piece of paper. ‘Be my guest.’
After Paul left, Al felt relief. Things were back to normal between them. It made him feel a lot better. God almighty, if Paul couldn’t understand his moods by now…
He poured himself some more orange juice, gulped down several Bufferin. Forced himself to take a cold shower, then decided he couldn’t miss doing his push-ups and got through half of them before collapsing.
Only then did he pick up the telephone and ask for the number Paul had given him. He didn’t know what he was going to say if Dallas answered, but he wanted to talk to her, just say hello again. Of course she would have to fly into Miami the night he was pissed out of his mind. It seemed to be fate that they kept on missing each other.
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