‘Why have you upset Glory?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t,’ he protested.
‘You must have.’
‘I woke her up because my mother is here and…’
‘You want us to go,’ finished Plum.
‘I don’t want you to go. But my mother… Well…’ He shrugged helplessly.
‘You’re frightened of her?’
‘Not frightened…’
‘I know, I know. You’ve got some shitty mother hang-up. Think she knows best and all that guff. I had hassles with my mom – old bitch. One day I walked, no more hassles. It was that simple.’
There was a crash from the bathroom.
‘You have upset Glory,’ accused Plum. ‘Why’d you have to do that? It will take me all day to get her together.’
‘I didn’t mean to…’ said Evan miserably. ‘I wouldn’t upset either of you. You’ve both been…’ His eyes filled with tears which he tried unsuccessfully to blink away.
‘Aw, c’mon,’ comforted Plum, ‘don’t you go gettin’ upset. Anyway, I think I got an idea. Whyn’t you go an’ see your ma – try an’ grab some bread from Al, and I’ll talk to Glory, try
and get her to go along with my idea.’
‘What idea?’ Evan asked hopefully.
‘You’ll know. I’ll tell you when y’come back. But it’s a trip – a real head trip f’us all. Now don’t forget – get some money – steal it if you can – he’ll never notice.’
More cheerful now that Plum had taken control, Evan nodded. He was still one of them. Nothing had changed.
* * *
Al did not sleep well at all. It had been some birthday. First the riot, then the drama with Evan. The party, and following orgiastic goings on with Golden Lady, and her friend, and then the sudden appearance of Edna.
It had all been too much.
He had terminated further discussions on his sexual goings on by telling Edna of the riot. She had been suitably sympathetic – in fact in no time at all she was acting as if nothing had happened, but when he mentioned that Evan had been slightly hurt she had gone mad, and he had to forcibly restrain her from dashing down to his room. Somehow, Al thought, she would not take too kindly to the sight of her son and the two queens of freaksville! If indeed they were still with Evan. Certainly a double discovery in one night would not be to anyone’s advantage. Al had persuaded her into bed – purely for sleeping purposes. And he had spent a restless night lying by her side wondering how he could tell her that their marriage was over.
He got up early, while Edna still slept, and crept into the living room to phone Evan.
He then phoned Paul, wondering how he had fared.
‘Paul,’ stated Al tersely, when his brother answered the phone. ‘Two questions. Where was Luke – who according to you never leaves the outside of my door. And how did Edna get my key?’
‘What can I say…’ began Paul, his voice destroyed.
‘Nothing,’ flashed Al. ‘Call me back with some answers.’
‘I have the answers. Do you think I’ve slept? Luke got the shit kicked out of him spiriting you off stage yesterday – he went off duty outside your room after he saw you safely inside from the party, I told him it was all right. Did I know?’
Al snorted, ‘Some fucking security!’
‘The key is another matter. I think we can sue the hotel. The manager has already dumped the night clerk. Have you seen the papers?’
‘The papers? Is the fact that my wife caught me with a couple of hookers in the papers?’
‘No. But it’s not too good. Some joker got a picture of you at the party feeling up that blonde from the cake – the bastards ran it on the front page next to a kid all bashed up from the riot.’
‘Oh, that’s fucking marvellous, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve been on to Bernie. He’s working on killing it already. It’s the kind of spread can go world-wide.’
‘Just what I need.’
‘On the good side “Bad Black Alice” made number one today.’
Al felt the depression lift for a moment. He was number one again. Top single selling record in America.
They had all thought he was past it: They had all labelled him a has-been. But he had shown them – Christ! Had he shown them! The tour was a smash. Now the single was at number one. What the hell had he been worried about anyway?
‘I think,’ Paul was saying, ‘before we leave today you should visit some of the kids in the hospital with Edna. We’ll have photographers there, get it out on the news agencies. Fortunately there were no serious injuries – the worst is a broken arm. The rest seem to be bruises and shock and the aftermath of hysteria.’
‘Arrange it.’
‘I think it’s a good idea.’
‘Don’t give me speeches. I said arrange it.’
‘I thought you’d say yes. Bernie’s already got it in hand.’ Paul paused. ‘Was everything all right with Edna?’
‘Sure,’ answered Al sarcastically, ‘there I was with my cock in some slag’s mouth. Edna was delighted. I said – “Hello, darlin’, come in and join the orgy.” She was thrilled.’
‘As bad as that, huh?’
‘Worse. She’s forgiven me. And what about you?’
‘I’ll tell you later.’
* * *
It didn’t take Paul long to discover that Linda had packed up and checked out. He could hardly claim to be surprised. In fact he was relieved. It would have been an impossible situation if she had stayed, and Melanie had discovered who she was… Christ! What a situation. If he hadn’t been caught in a compromising position he would have given Melanie the bollocking of her life. How dare she take it upon herself to come and surprise them. It certainly can’t have been Edna’s idea – Melanie must have been jollying her up for weeks.
Paul wasn’t worried about Linda’s sudden departure. She knew the way things were. She understood. She was just being discreet. God, but she was a wonderful woman, as soon as he had time he would call her. She was probably a little mad, well, disappointed really. But he would find a way to make it up to her. As soon as he could pack Melanie off, Linda would be back by his side.
It was his turn to work on Edna now to get her the hell out of America and back home safely to England.
With Al’s support – which he had no doubt would be forthcoming – it shouldn’t be too difficult.
* * *
Edna was shocked when she saw Evan. In a way it was worse than seeing Al with those two terrible women.
Evan was thinner than ever, battered and bruised, tired-looking, and filthy. His hair hung in lank, greasy strands. His acne formed a pattern of angry relief against his dull pallor. His clothes – certainly not an outfit she had bought him – looked like he had slept in them for a week.
She stepped forward to hug him. He pushed her away, mumbling about his arm.
For the first time since leaving England she was glad that she had come. God, in his infinite wisdom, had sent her to fetch her son. Rescue him might be a better word.
Al obviously noted nothing amiss. ‘How’s it going, Evan?’ he asked in an amiable fashion. ‘Arm OK?’
Anger formed in Edna’s breast. An anger she had never known existed before.
‘When did he last eat?’ she snapped at Al.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t follow him around with a tray.’
‘I can see that. He looks half starved. Evan! When did you last eat?’
Evan scratched at a spot, ‘I dunno… I’m not hungry.’
Edna shook her head bitterly, ‘What does he look like?’
She turned to Al, her voice unnaturally sharp. ‘I thought you were going to look after him. I thought I could trust you. Why, he’s not even in the same room as you,’ her voice rose, ‘and thank goodness for that. Has he seen a doctor?’
‘He was at the hospital yesterday.’
‘Did you speak to the doctor?’
‘No, I…’
‘I want a d
octor for him now. I want him properly examined. I want his arm X-rayed. I want him to get the sort of treatment you expect for yourself
Al was amazed. Edna had never spoken to him like that in her life. She was positively bristling with anger. She even looked different.
He wanted a divorce. All Edna cared about was Evan, she had now made that painfully obvious.
‘I’ll get him a doctor,’ he said dully. ‘I’ll get him what the fuck you want.’
Evan wiped his nose with the back of his hand and regarded his parents blankly. All he wanted to do was to get out of there and back to his friends.
‘Don’t swear in front of him,’ hissed Edna. ‘I don’t want him to learn your gutter language.’
‘Can I go?’ mumbled Evan. ‘I feel like lying down.’
‘You can lie down here,’ replied Edna. ‘You can also have a bath and put on some clean clothes. Give me your key and I’ll fetch your things.’
‘Oh no,’ squeaked Evan, flushing, ‘I’ll get them.’
As Edna started to object, Al interrupted, ‘Let him go. We have to ride over to the hospital for the photographs now, then the airport. Go get packed, Evan. You’ll come to the airport with Paul.’
‘But…’ began Edna.
Al silenced her again. ‘He’s all yours in Tucson. You can bathe him and feed him and get him all the doctors you want. Right now turn a little of your attention in my direction.’
Edna, appeased with promises, was meek again. ‘Yes, Al,’ she said, ‘but after Tucson I think it would be best if I took Evan home.’
‘I think you’re right,’ agreed Al, relief flooding through him.
And neither of them noticed the look of panic that swept across Evan’s face.
* * *
Bleary-eyed Bernie jostled amongst the photographers and reporters at the hospital. He winked and joked and laughed while they all marked time waiting for the star.
He personally felt like shit. What the fuck… Why was it always him that got all the flak? Was the riot his fault? Was security his bag? How about brother Paul stepping forward for a little of the blame. It was Paul who put the ceiling on what they were going to pay for security – and if he hadn’t been so busy with foxy Linda he would have realized that as the tour gained momentum so the crowds got wilder. Jesus Christ – if he – Bernie – was in charge, things would be different. He could go nuts just thinking of the way it would be.
He had a monster hangover. After Al’s party he had taken himself off to a very famous New Orleans cat house. A place that hadn’t changed a thing – except the girls – in fifty years! The madam was seventy-three years old. A character of gigantic proportions in a curly red wig and New Frontier dress.
Bernie had chosen himself a genuine French girl who had known all the tricks of the trade and used them in an expert fashion. It had been a pleasing experience, far different from the grubby little groupies he had used on the trip.
What the fuck… In Los Angeles girls queued up to be seen in his company. Beautiful girls.
Bernie Suntan. In Los Angeles he was a celebrity himself.
Al arrived at the hospital. There was a buzz amongst the photographers. Bernie noted how good he looked. Nothing seemed to phase Al.
‘Put your arm around Edna,’ Bernie reminded.
Al obliged, smiling, turning on the famous King charm.
Bernie handed him a stack of record albums, and watched as he walked around the ward talking to the kids in their beds and signing records for them.
The cameras flashed, recording every moment. With any luck these pictures would be syndicated, wiping out the nasty taste of the riot and Al with the naked Golden Lady.
The public would love it. He was leading a life they all envied. The wife. The hospital visit. That was the good image. On the other hand everyone suspected he was a great lover and had a wild side.
Perfect combination. The good and the bad.
Al had it down to a fine art.
* * *
Linda was back in New York by lunchtime.
She took a cab straight to her apartment, where she shut herself in the tiny kitchen, and smashed every dish she possessed.
It was a very satisfactory relief of tensions. One that a psychiatrist had taught her in her early days of analysis.
Afterwards she swept up the mess, dumped it in the hallway garbage chute, and made herself a strong cup of black coffee.
The tiny apartment did not please her. It had a musty smell, the furniture looked tacky. Originally she had furnished it from junk shops, and at the time it had been fun, not to mention cheap. Now, eight years later, it was an unsatisfactory dump. She had known that for a while, but somehow she had imagined Paul would leave his wife, and then would be the time for changes.
‘Dumb schmuck!’ she muttered to herself. Taken in by the oldest line in the world. He loved her – but… And the but was bigger than both of them.
Enough was enough. And she had definitely had enough.
She called her agency to let them know she was back. Her Al King pictures were selling all over the world, and she was gratified to learn how much money she was making.
She was tired, but after a shower she picked up the phone and called her actor friend, Rik. He was distinctly unfriendly because she had not contacted him as promised.
‘I tried,’ she lied, ‘but your number is always busy. Can I come over?’
‘You always do this,’ he complained.
‘I’ve been working,’ she explained. ‘You’re the first person I’ve called since I got back, which is approximately one hour ago.’
‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’ he asked petulantly.
‘Aren’t you?’ she cajoled.
‘Hmmmn,’ he was ready to forgive her. ‘Did you miss me?’
‘Of course I missed you. I thought about you lots.’
‘I think I might have a job,’ his voice perked up. ‘Only off Broadway, but…’
‘That’s great!’ she interrupted, ‘I’m on my way over – OK?’
‘I suppose so,’ he relented.
She hung up. God Almighty – what you had to go through to get a good fuck these days!
* * *
The hospital visit was a success. Al was in good spirits again. On the way to the airport he formed some plans in his head. Edna sat silently by his side forming plans of her own. She was shocked at the condition of Evan, and she wanted to get him home as soon as possible. Never mind about what Melanie wanted to do – she was going home.
Al was thinking that it wasn’t such a bad thing Edna turning up the way she had. In fact it was a good thing. She had caught him in action, and that could be his lever for a divorce. Edna, I’m just not good enough for you. You’ve seen the truth at last. I can’t go on doing this to you. I refuse to hurt you any more. The perfect solution. How could she argue with him? He was doing it for her.
And he could handle the whole thing long distance. Too ashamed to face her and all that shit. Of course he would see she had everything she wanted. The house in England, plenty of money. In fact in a way he was doing it for her. She had been a loyal wife. He did treat her badly. She deserved some nice un-famous schmuck – which with all the money she would have would be no problem. He would have to make sure no con men came sniffing around. He would work something out with his lawyer to take care of everything.
It was a very satisfactory decision. He would put it into motion as soon as she left.
Another bonus was the fact that she would also be taking Evan off his hands. The responsibility of having the boy along was too much. In the meantime he would go out of his way to give them both a good time in Tucson. A last family fling.
More photographers waited at the airport, and Al waved and laughed, one arm around Edna, as he boarded his plane. Fuck it. He was a superstar. He was number one. How could he have ever doubted himself?
Paul was waiting on board with Melanie. He looked uptight about something. Probably she had b
een giving him a hard time.
Al grinned, thumped him on the shoulder. ‘Hey – baby brother. We should be celebrating – what’s the long face for? Let’s get the champagne in action, let’s…’
‘We can’t find Evan,’ Paul said tightly. ‘He’s gone. Vanished.’
‘Huh?’ Al could not believe what he was hearing.
‘He’s done a split with those two freaks. Here’s the note that was left for you.’ Paul handed Al a grubby bit of paper.
It was written in Plum’s untidy scrawl – TAKIN’ EVAN ON TRIP. DON’T WORRY. SEE YOU IN L.A.
Al read it through twice, unwilling to digest the information.
Edna would go apeshit.
There went his plans.
‘Jesus!’ he said at last, ‘Jesus H. Christ! The kid’s a worse fuckin’ moron than I thought he was!’
Paul nodded. ‘I hope that’s all it is. I just hope. But don’t blow out the possibility that they may have kidnapped him.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Cody impressed upon Dallas the importance of keeping their marriage a secret.
It would be bad for her career.
Lew Margolis wouldn’t like it.
Her future fans would feel cheated.
Aarron Mack wouldn’t like it.
The main reason, he kept quiet about. His mother. Bad enough that Dallas wasn’t Jewish – but an actress too! He would have to break it to his mother gently.
It was no hardship keeping the event a secret. They had flown to Las Vegas late at night, instructing the pilot to be ready to fly back to LA within the hour. They had taken a cab along the neon-lit gaudy strip, and finally chosen a ‘Little Chapel of the West’ advertised in flashing lights as a twenty-four-hour wedding parlour.
The preacher had slipped a creased suit over his pyjamas. His wife, with rollers in her hair and a cigarette dangling from jammy lips, had served lukewarm white wine in glasses advertising a nearby gambling salon.
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