A puzzled look crossed his face. “What did you say?”
“Nothing. I haven’t made any plans.”
“Are you going back to France?”
“What about you?” she asked. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea if you saw the children. You’ve been gone all summer and they miss you.”
“I can’t,” he said flatly. “There’s just too much to do right now. Besides, I plan to spend some time with them in Beirut this fall. I will be there at least six weeks.”
“A few days would mean a lot to them.”
His voice grew edgy. “I said I can’t spare the time.” He crossed to the dresser and took out a shirt. “I may have to leave for Japan immediately.”
“I’ve never been to Japan. I hear it’s fascinating.”
He was buttoning his shirt. “Tokyo’s a madhouse,” he said noncommittally. “Traffic is awful and everything is so crowded that you can’t breathe.”
She gave up. He didn’t want her with him. He had no use for her there. “I think I may stay in LA a few days. I’ll see some friends and then maybe go up to San Francisco to visit my family.”
He slipped into his trousers. “That’s not a bad idea. But arrange to be back in France by the beginning of next week. I don’t want the boys to be left alone too long.”
“I’ll arrange that,” she said. With four servants, two bodyguards, and the nanny, the children weren’t exactly alone.
The telephone rang and he picked it up. He listened for a moment, then nodded, pleased. “Good, Dick,” he said. “Call the plane and tell them we’ll leave as soon as I get to the LA airport.”
He put down the telephone. “I’m leaving for Tokyo right away,” he said. “You can use my bungalow at the hotel if you like.”
“That would be nice.”
“Youssef is there in the hotel meeting with Vincent. If there’s anything you need, you can call on him.”
“Thank you.”
He slipped into his shoes and walked to the door. “How long do you think it will take you to get ready to leave here?”
“Not long.”
He nodded and left the room. For a moment, she sat without moving. Then she ground out the cigarette and got out of bed. She stood in front of the mirror, let her gown drop to the floor and looked at her naked body.
Physically, she was still the same. Perhaps her breasts had become slightly fuller since the birth of the children but they were firm and her body had the muscle tone of her youth. She should have been pleased. But she wasn’t. The abundance of wealth and the comforts it brought were just not enough. There had to be more to life than standing by and waiting to be used.
***
The telephone in Youssef’s bedroom began to ring. He didn’t move, hoping it would stop. He was exhausted. The young American man he had met in After Dark last night had worn him out. He had been insatiable. Finally, when he could scarcely move, Youssef had given him fifty dollars and sent him away.
The man had looked at the fifty-dollar bill, then back at him. “Do you want me to call you?”
“I won’t be here. I’m leaving in the morning.”
“I’d like to see you again.”
Youssef knew exactly what he wanted to see. Another fifty-dollar bill. “I’ll let you know when I get back to town.”
“I don’t have a telephone, but you can leave a message for me with the bartender.”
“Okay,” Youssef said.
The man left and Youssef sank into the sleep of the dead. Now the damned telephone would not stop ringing. If Baydr were still in town, he would have leapt for the phone, but Baydr had left for Japan last night.
The phone in the bedroom stopped ringing, but started up in the living room. Youssef pulled one of the pillows over his head and tried to get back to sleep, but a moment later the bedroom phone began again.
Cursing, Youssef reached for it. “Hello,” he growled hoarsely.
The words were spoken in French but with a heavy Arabic accent. “Monsieur Ziad?”
Automatically Youssef answered in Arabic. “Yes.”
The voice switched to their native language. “We have not met in person but we have spoken over the telephone. And we were at the same party aboard the Al Fay yacht, the night of Madame Al Fay’s birthday. My name is Ali Yasfir.”
“Ahlan wa Sahlan,” Youssef said, now wide awake. He knew of Ali Yasfir.
“Ahlan fik,” Yasfir replied formally.
“How may I serve you?” Youssef asked politely.
“If you can arrange the time, I would like to meet with you on matters of important mutual interest.”
“Where are you?”
“Here in Los Angeles. Perhaps we might take lunch together?”
“It can be arranged. Where would you like to meet?”
“Anywhere. At your convenience.”
“One o’clock. In the Polo Lounge, here in the hotel.”
He put down the telephone. He knew the results of Baydr’s last meeting with Yasfir. He was also sure that Yasfir knew that he knew. Still, something big had to be under way for Yasfir to contact him. Yasfir usually went right to the top.
He reached for the telephone again. “Good morning, Mr. Ziad,” the operator said cheerfully.
“Would you ring Mr. Vincent’s room for me.” There was no way he could have two lunches at the same time. Vincent would have to be put off.
***
In accordance with Arab custom, Ali Yasfir did not come to the point of the meeting until their coffee had been placed before them. “I understand your importing company is beginning to bring many things from abroad into the United States.”
Youssef nodded. “That is true. It is amazing to discover how many things we can have manufactured in the Middle East that Americans will buy.”
“I also understand that it is your responsibility to discover the small factories in the Middle East whose products you think can be marketed in America.”
Youssef nodded.
“I, too, represent certain manufacturers who are desirous of expediting shipment of their products to the United States. At the moment we deal with the European exporters and we are having many problems with them.”
Youssef was silent. He knew of the problems. Too many shipments had been intercepted by the Federal Bureau of Narcotics. There were rumors in the Middle East that certain important people were very disappointed in Yasfir’s performance. “I had understood that you were moving a great portion of your operation to South America,” he said.
“That is true”—Yasfir nodded—“but that is part of our expansion program. The demand for our other products is as great as ever.”
“I wish I could be of service to you,” Youssef said smoothly. “But Mr. Al Fay has already formed our policy and I doubt whether he would change his mind on my advice.”
“I’m sure that Mr. Al Fay does not concern himself with the details of each item that you import. I’m sure that is left in your more than capable hands.”
That was true. Baydr did not have to know. Thousands of dollars’ worth of small items were shipped, and without his knowing what they were.
“A most lucrative arrangement would be made for you if we find a way to work together.” Ali Yasfir smiled. “You know the prices our merchandise brings. Sometimes as much as a million dollars for a shipment that takes no more space than a crate of dolls from Egypt. You could enjoy a bonus of ten percent merely for your good offices. There would be no risk involved.”
Youssef looked at him. It was a lot of money. Reluctantly, he shook his head. He hated to let it pass. But despite what Yasfir said, it was too risky. Sooner or later, there would be a leak. And then, it would all be over. “I’m sorry,” he said. “At this time we do not have the facilities. Our operation is just beginning. Perhaps, later, when we are bigger and better equipped.”
Ali Yasfir nodded. He was satisfied. Sooner or later, Youssef would agree. It was simply a question of raising the stakes until it reached th
e point where he couldn’t resist. “You think about it. We will talk again when you return to Paris.”
“Yes,” Youssef said. “Perhaps by then the situation will change.”
Ali Yasfir raised his coffee cup. “Mr. Al Fay is on his way to Japan?”
Youssef nodded. He had never realized that they kept such a close watch on Baydr’s movement.
“His negotiation with the Japanese is very enterprising,” Ali Yasfir said.
“I know very little about it,” Youssef said quickly.
Yasfir smiled. “Even more important than the little business we discussed would be an association with him. He is very highly regarded by us.”
“By everyone,” Youssef added.
“Still, we feel that he could be more influential in our cause,” Yasfir said. “If he were to become more assertive, perhaps it would have a greater influence on those who, like him, hold more conservative views.”
Youssef didn’t speak. Yasfir was right. This was a great deal more important than the transshipment of narcotics.
“If you could find a way to influence him to support our cause,” Yasfir said, “you would spend the rest of your days in luxury and Allah would shower His blessings on you for the help given to His oppressed people.”
“Mr. Al Fay is not a man who is easily influenced.”
“He is human,” Yasfir answered. “A way will be found. Sooner or later.”
Youssef signaled for the check and signed it. On their way out of the Polo Lounge, they ran into Jordana.
“I thought Mr. Vincent was joining you for lunch,” she said, “and I just was going to stop by and tell him that I would be happy to attend the party tonight.”
“I will tell him,” Youssef said. “Perhaps we can go together.”
She noticed Ali Yasfir standing nearby. He bowed. “Madame Al Fay,” he said. “So nice to see you again.”
Youssef saw the puzzled look on her face. “You remember Mr. Yasfir,” he said quickly. “He was at your birthday party on the boat.”
“Of course,” she said. “How are you, Mr. Yasfir?”
He bowed again. “I am fine, and you are even more beautiful than I remembered. But I must apologize. I am already late for an appointment.”
She watched him hurry down the lobby then turned back to Youssef. “I hope Baydr does not have any business with that man,” she said.
Youssef was surprised. It was the first time he had ever heard her say anything about Baydr’s business associates. “I don’t think so,” he answered. Then his curiosity overcame him. “What makes you say that?”
A veil seemed to drop over her eyes. “I don’t know,” she answered. “Maybe it’s woman’s intuition. But I sense something dangerous in him.”
CHAPTER 15
Jordana glanced around the large darkened living room and reached for her glass of wine. The other guests sat on couches and chairs around the room, staring in absorption at the big motion picture screen at the far end. It was not the fun kind of Hollywood party she had expected. It had all been rather solemn and dull.
She looked toward the back of the room where the host sat by himself at the bar, his back to the screen. It seemed that the moment the picture had begun he had lost all interest in his guests. Maybe that was what was called the star’s privilege.
Rick Sullivan had been a film star for many years in what was called the big picture, the kind of spectacle that had been made by C. B. DeMille and more recently by Michael Vincent but was no longer in vogue. Actually Sullivan had played the lead in Michael’s film about Moses and that was the reason for this dinner. The word had gone out in Hollywood that Michael was about to make another big score and Sullivan thought it would not be a bad idea to remind the director that he was still around.
Not that he needed the money. Or the work. For the past five years, he had had one of the most successful series on television. But for his own ego television was not the same as motion pictures.
He did not like large parties so he had kept his guest list to about sixteen. Of course, his agent and his publicity man were there, as well as one of Hollywood’s leading columnists. Other guests were mutual friends of Vincent’s and his, several actors and actresses who were not important enough to threaten his status as the star of the evening.
Sullivan turned from the bar and saw the look of complete boredom on Jordana’s face as she watched the screen. She had not been at all what he had expected.
For some reason, he had expected an older woman. Perhaps it was because he assumed that a man with as much money as her husband was reputed to have should be further along in years. He glanced across the room, looking for the man called Ziad who had come with them. He was sitting next to Vincent on the large couch. At first he’d thought the man might be the woman’s lover but then he dismissed that idea. The man was clearly a homosexual. He had to be a watchdog.
Dinner had been pleasant, the conversation self-serving and filled with mutual flattery. Everybody loved everybody—typical Hollywood table talk. At the end of the meal, he announced that he had obtained a print of Michael Vincent’s great film and was about to screen it for them. Michael was pleased and the guests seemed happy as they went into the living room to take their places in front of the screen.
Rick picked up his drink, walked over to Jordana and sat down in the chair next to hers. He looked up at the screen, then almost immediately turned away. It was one of the early scenes where the young Moses first confronted the Pharaoh. It had been almost twenty years since the film had been made and he hated to look at pictures of himself as a young man. They made him too aware of his age.
He saw her watching him, and smiled ruefully. “I don’t like to watch myself. I think it’s the height of vanity or something.”
“I can imagine that might be a problem,” she said politely.
“You don’t seem too interested in the picture either.”
“I’ve already seen it,” she answered frankly. “It wasn’t my thing at that time either.”
He laughed. “What kind of pictures do you like?”
She thought for a moment. “Modern pictures. You know, the kind of pictures they make today.”
“You don’t mean the X-rated pictures?”
“I’ve never seen an X picture.”
He looked at her for a moment. “Would you like to see one?”
She met his gaze. “I suppose so. But I can’t imagine going into one of those sleazy theaters.”
“You don’t have to do that. I can arrange a screening for you.”
“That might be interesting. When do you think you might be able to do it?”
“How about right now?” he asked. He saw the puzzled expression on her face as she glanced quickly around the room. “In another room, of course.”
“But what about the others?” she asked.
“They won’t miss us. This picture runs another two and a half hours. We’ll be back before then.”
No one even looked up as they left the room. She followed him into the hallway and then to his suite. He closed the door behind him. He gestured casually. “I hope you don’t mind watching it in my bedroom?”
“Not at all,” she said. “But I don’t see a screen.”
He laughed, pressing a button on the wall. There was a whir of machinery and a platform dropped from the ceiling over the foot of the bed. On the platform was a giant television set, angled downward. “I’ve had the films transferred to videotape,” he said. “The only handicap is that you have to watch from the bed.”
“The bed doesn’t look that uncomfortable.”
“I’ll have to put a tape on the machine,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
“Okay.”
He started for the door, then stopped and gestured toward the night table. “The silver box has cigarettes of the finest Colombian grass; the pink glass bottle with the gold spoons around it holds the best coke in town.”
“Lovely,” she smiled. “Then ma
y I ask you to bring back a bottle of cold white wine. Dope always dehydrates me.”
When he came back, she was lying naked on the bed, holding a joint carefully between her fingers. The film was already in progress.
Quickly, he stripped and sat down on the bed beside her. He reached for the coke bottle and a spoon. “How about a hit?” he asked. “This stuff will blow your mind.”
“Sounds good.”
He took a heavy snort up each nostril, then held the spoon for her. He could see her eyes brighten as the dope hit her. “How is it?” he asked.
“Couldn’t be better.” She reached for him. “You are a big man.”
“I used to think so, until I saw that little man up there on the screen. He’s really big.”
She giggled. “I don’t believe it. He’s got to be a freak.” She stared at the screen fascinated. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “That girl can’t take it all in her mouth. It has to be a trick.”
“It’s no trick,” he said. “Since this picture has come out, she’s made a fortune teaching Beverly Hills ladies how to do it. It’s all in the way you relax your throat, she says.”
She leaned over, her tongue delicately licking at him. “I’ll be happy if I can take half of yours.”
He laughed aloud and she looked up at him questioningly. “You know, when I first met you, I thought you were a very straight lady.”
“I am a very straight lady.” She smiled demurely. “I’ve never watched a fuck movie before.” Then she went down on him.
“Beautiful,” he said, watching her as he reached down the side of the bed to press the invisible button that would start the videotape recorder. He didn’t tell her that the only pictures he liked to watch of himself were those taken in this bed by a hidden camera. “Just beautiful.”
***
After a while Youssef grew tired. It seemed the movie would never come to an end. Idly he glanced around the room. Suddenly the picture was forgotten. Jordana was gone. And so was the host. He was angry with himself. He had not seen them leave.
He rose from his seat. Vincent looked at him. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he explained in a whisper. He tiptoed silently from the room and stood in the corridor.
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