‘No.’
‘Good. Much better that way. Boyfriends can get very jealous. This title will make a lot of difference to your life. You will be amazed at all the important people you’ll meet. “Miss Coast to Coast” 1966 married a Senator. She was a lovely girl.’
‘Was he?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Joke.’
‘Oh. Well anyway, there are a few things you would do well to remember. You will be in the public eye for a year, and if you conduct your private life discreetly it will be much better for all concerned. A lot of men will be after you, but as far as this title is concerned, morals are most important. My advice to you – and I have been looking after “Miss Coast to Coast” for thirteen years – is to not let it all go to your head. Remember your home and your family. Remember your grass roots.’
Dallas choked back a laugh.
‘I shall be staying at the Plaza with you for a week,’ Mrs. Fields continued. ‘During that time your year’s reign will be planned, and we will find you a suitable place to live, and of course, after that I will accompany you on any out-of-town trips, and I will always be available for help and advice.’
‘Sounds like a heavy schedule.’
‘ “Miss Coast to Coast” 1972 made a hundred thousand dollars. She was dedicated. She worked hard and she never complained.’
Dallas was silent. A hundred thousand dollars was a lot of bread. Not bad. She had entered the contest for a joke, an ego trip. Now perhaps she should look at things more seriously. She would have to ask Ed’s advice. He might not be too thrilled now she had won. She would ask him later at the party.
* * *
Dallas went to live with Bobbie. It was nice to have a proper home again after so many hotel rooms.
‘Twenty dollars a lay!’ Bobbie had scoffed. ‘And all-nighters too! Kid – you bin givin’ it away! From now on you’re with me, and we don’t do nothin’ under a hundred apiece. Stick with me, baby queen, and we will all get rich!’
Bobbie lived in an untidy one-room apartment with mice roaming the kitchen, shabby furniture, and a closet full of kinky outfits. She had connections with most of the hotel clerks and her phone never stopped ringing. Most important, she had television, colour, twenty-eight-inch screen.
She taught Dallas everything she could. At first Dallas was a reluctant learner, but as her body responded to Bobbie she began to enjoy their relationship. Bobbie was the first person to come along that seemed to care about her.
Making love with men had never triggered any response, but with Bobbie it was different, and sex took on new meanings.
Bobbie organized their business engagements. She told Dallas what to do, what to wear. She taught her how to turn men on in exciting, new and inventive ways.
‘You can fuck ’em shitless,’ she advised Dallas, ‘but it’s only a job – keep it businesslike, never let them get to you. I’m the only one that can get to you – right, sugar sweet? Right.’
Dallas agreed. But she didn’t really agree. Deep down she knew that Burt Keyes could have got to her.
Six months went by. Then one night there was a call from a motel on the highway.
‘Shoes. Chocolate sauce on your tits. Raincoat,’ Bobbie instructed. ‘I know this old dude, all he wants to do is lick the sauce off and come in your shoes.’ She giggled. ‘He’s old!’
Bobbie drove them to the motel in her battered Ford. She was laughing and chattering all the way.
Dallas felt strange with the chocolate stickiness on her breasts, and her nakedness sticking to the plastic raincoat.
The man was indeed old. Bobbie had forgotten to mention the fact that he would be wearing pyjamas with his shrunken penis hanging limply out.
‘He must be about ninety!’ Dallas whispered. ‘I don’t think I can stand it.’
Bobbie threw her a stern look. ‘I never back out on a promise. I’ll make it up to you later. Let’s go.’
They took off their raincoats, and the old man’s eyes shone with a long lost desire. He lay down, and Bobbie leaned over him, dangling her chocolate-coated nipple over his mouth. Dallas did the same. The old man licked feebly.
After a few minutes Bobbie took off her shoe and held it over the old man’s slightly aroused penis. ‘Let’s do it for mamma!’ she crooned.
He started to come in great heaves and jerks.
Dallas turned away. Was that the moment she decided that this wasn’t the life for her?
Suddenly there was a strange, groaning, rattling noise, then silence.
‘Oh Holy God!’ exclaimed Bobbie suddenly. ‘The old bastard died on us. He died!’
Dallas turned slowly round. Surely Bobbie was making one of her usual jokes? But when she saw the old man lying there, she knew that he was dead.
Bobbie slapped him on the face. ‘Wake up!’ she commanded. ‘Wake up!’
‘If he’s dead,’ stated Dallas blankly, ‘what are we going to do?
Bobbie gathered her raincoat up. ‘Get the hell out of here, that’s what we’ll do.’
‘But what about the police? They’ll know we were here, the desk clerk called you, he’ll tell them.’
‘We didn’t kill him.’
‘I don’t want to see the police.’
‘I’m with you, sister. We’ll get the hell out. Nobody will find him till the morning, we can be in LA by then.’
‘Have we got enough money?’
‘Sure and he hasn’t paid us.’ Bobbie looked for his bankroll, found it, started to peel off two hundred-dollar bills, thought better of it and pocketed the lot. ‘Let’s go, sugar baby. Let’s get our asses out of here.’
* * *
Dallas was the star of the party, and she positively glowed in the limelight. Everyone wanted to talk to her, men and women alike.
Ed Kurlnik hovered nearby. He had to be cool, couldn’t be obvious. Ramo Kaliffe flashed Arab white teeth in her direction. Lucy Mabel Mann smiled sweetly and invited her to lunch.
‘Miami Beach has gone off to meet Al King,’ Miss Boston volunteered. ‘Isn’t she the lucky one.’
Dallas smiled, and vaguely recalled some photographer offering her the chance of a night with Al King. Who needed that scene? Stars were boring. Boring people. Boring fucks. All they did was talk about themselves and break a leg to reach the mirror first.
‘I think I’ll stay at the apartment tonight,’ Ed managed to inform her.
‘I thought you always had to go home on Saturdays?’
‘Tonight will be an exception.’
She had only won a matter of hours earlier, and already Ed was prepared to make exceptions. ‘I have to stay at the Plaza for a week.’
Ed raised his eyebrows, ‘You don’t have to.’
‘But I think I will.’
Ed frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Why not? I’ve always wanted to stay at the Plaza.’
‘Why didn’t you say so before? We could have done so any time.’
‘Any time, Ed?’ He was scared to even walk down the street with her. If wifey ever knew she would clamp down on his seventy million dollars like a vice.
‘If you like,’ Dallas offered slyly, ‘you could come and see me at the hotel later.’ The thought of Ed Kurlnik sneaking into the Plaza to visit her brought tears of laughter.
‘I can’t do that,’ replied Ed, outraged. ‘You know I can’t do that.’
They were interrupted by a photographer snapping random shots, and Ed nipped smartly out of the picture.
Dallas yawned. It had been a tiring day and she was exhausted. But so what? She was a somebody. She was ‘Miss Coast to Coast’, and she couldn’t flake out on her night of triumph.
This was her night and she was determined to enjoy it.
Chapter Six
Al woke late with a feeling of apprehension. He didn’t feel that good, in fact he felt dreadful.
He lay in bed, opened his eyes, and did not feel like getting up at all.
He knew why he felt bad. It
was fear, plain honest-to-goodness fucking nerves.
The forthcoming tour was bugging the hell out of him.
Why was he so nervous? He had tried to figure it out. It wasn’t like he had never been on the road before; he had done many successful tours. But the last one had been two years previously, and two years was a long time between gigs. OK, so there had been the cabaret dates, the television spectaculars, the records. But basically what Al liked, what he wanted, was that contact with a huge live audience. Going out there and doing your thing was what it was all about. The ultimate high.
He had made so much money in the last few years. If he wanted to pack it in and never work again he would be more than set. So the records weren’t selling so well – they tried to keep it from him, but he was well aware of every happening in his career. So what did the tour really mean to him?
It meant finding out how the people felt. Were the same fans who had been out there two years ago still going to be around? Were they still going to react with the same degree of enthusiasm? Was he still the tops? Or was he, at thirty-seven, a little too old for the adulation and hysteria? Would he now be regarded as just another establishment star?
He still looked great. He still sounded the same. Was that good or bad? Would they expect him to have changed?
And would his voice still be up to it? Would it survive the strain of God knows how many performances in vast stadiums?
Al coughed nervously. He wished the goddamn tour would start already. Every morning he woke up to the same fears and it was getting him down. He couldn’t even discuss his thoughts with Paul, he didn’t want to give voice to his doubts. Maybe when he got home he would tell Edna, but knowing her she would probably suggest that he cancel the whole tour and stay at home. Her secret dream was that they would lose all their money and move back into one room.
Edna was still the same sweet, simple girl that he had married. She hadn’t changed with his success. She hadn’t grown.
In a way Al was grateful, but in another way he resented her. Why didn’t she read more? Entertain? Wear beautiful clothes? Improve herself?
He had changed, and he was glad of it. When he had started in the business he had been very rough, a right layabout. Now he could go anywhere, meet anyone, and feel perfectly at ease.
Edna was more like a mother than a wife. Always there. Always uncomplaining. Hot meals. Clean shirts. She was the one who took his cock out to massage his balls because his stage trousers were too tight. That was about the only time she took it out too. He sighed. Every day the bridge seemed to get wider.
Of course he should never have got married. But then he would not have had Evan, and it was wonderful to have a son, even if the boy did need taking in hand.
How many happy marriages did he know of? How many that lasted longer than five years? In the world he moved in now – not many. At least he could trust Edna. She would never think of looking at another man. And she loved him for himself, the whole Al King bit meant nothing to her.
He sighed again. Then he remembered Paul was supposed to be arranging lunch for him with – what was her name the beauty contest winner – Dallas. Yeah. Al grinned. Not a bad bit of crumpet.
He consulted his digital watch to discover it was eleven-thirty. He hauled himself out of bed, and launched into thirty push-ups. Christ, but they got more difficult every day.
Lunch with a girl called Dallas. What would she be like?
Like the rest. Pretty but dumb. Either posing in front of a mirror all the time or allowing him to scrawl his autograph across her ripe and ready breasts. Women – they were all the same.
Disgust built in Al’s gut. Disgust at himself for using women, and contempt for the women for allowing themselves to be used just because he was a star.
Fuck it. To hell with a girl called Dallas. He picked up the phone and dialled Paul’s room.
* * *
Paul had not spent the perfect morning.
He had left Linda’s place at six a.m. while she still slept. She had woken at seven and phoned to inform him that she was not pleased.
He was not pleased either. He had fought off a stoned mugger and been unable to find a cab for ten blocks.
Mental note. Get Linda an apartment on the better side of town.
Now he was going through one big hassle trying to arrange a lunch date for Al with ‘Miss Coast to Coast’. He had finally convinced the organizers what a great coup it would be, but apparently Dallas felt otherwise.
Paul wondered who or what would placate Al. Turn-downs were rare, in fact Paul could not recall the last one.
The phone rang. It was Al.
‘Ah,’ said Paul cheerily, ‘how we feeling today?’
‘In good shape. What’s new?’
‘Mention of the tour in all the columns. Bitch item in Reporter. Nothing heavy.’ Paul was damned if he was going to mention the lunch. Maybe Al had forgotten.
‘About that lunch I wanted you to arrange…’
‘Oh, yes. Well, it’s like this, she…’
‘Cancel it.’
‘Cancel it?’
‘You heard me. Who needs it?’
‘You’re right. I’ll wipe it out immediately.’ Paul hung up relieved. He was off the hook. Now Al would never know he had been turned down.
Paul was very protective towards his brother. He liked things to go smoothly for Al, he always had. Even at the beginning Paul had only told Al the good things that happened. He never mentioned the recording companies and theatre managers who had not wanted to know… He spoke only with glowing enthusiasm of Al’s future career, and he pushed and pushed until he made a crack big enough to send Al into orbit.
He had willed Al’s success, and he had also worked his ass off to make it happen.
There was a knock on the door. ‘Morning,’ Linda said brightly, ‘I was a bitch on the phone and I’m sorry.’ She put her arms round his neck and stretched on tiptoe to kiss him.
The phone rang, and Paul went to answer it.
Linda lit a cigarette and wandered over to the window. She felt the usual tight feeling that she always got when Paul was leaving. He came into her life. He went out of her life. He was like the goddamn sea. It was most unsettling. She was just his New York girlfriend, someone to hump while he was away from his wife. She had made up her mind though that something would have to be settled on the tour, or that would be it.
‘Trying to get hold of Bernie is impossible,’ Paul complained, hanging up the phone.
Linda laughed. ‘What about “Miss Coast to Coast”? Did you line her up for lunch?’
‘Funny thing, she turned us down flat. Can you believe that? First time that happened in—’ He was interrupted by the phone jangling. It was Bernie Suntan. He launched into a business conversation.
Linda was just lighting another cigarette when Al came in. He swooped down on her with a kiss and a hug. Standard Al King greeting, but it made her uncomfortable. He had a habit of thrusting a knee intimately between her legs. She had learned to automatically back away, but this time she was not quick enough.
‘You smoke too much,’ Al admonished.
‘It’s my cancer,’ Linda replied defensively.
‘Funny. Hope you’re not laughing all the way to the grave.’
‘So “Miss Coast to Coast” was still not available,’ Linda snapped. ‘Hate to say I told you so!’
‘What do you mean? I was the one who cancelled out on the lunch.’
‘Oh, come on, Paul told me she turned you down flat.’
Al’s smile faded. ‘Paul – what is this shit?’
Paul waved vaguely. He was busy on the phone and had not heard their conversation.
‘He’s talking to Bernie,’ Linda explained.
‘Fuck Bernie. When I want to talk to baby brother, I talk.’ Al walked over and cut off the connection with a vicious slam of his hand.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ complained Paul. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Bernie
all morning.’
‘Did you fix up that beauty queen bitch for lunch or did you not?’
‘You said you didn’t want to have lunch with her.’
‘I know that. But was she coming?’
‘I don’t really know – I was—’
‘Cut the shit… She said no. Right? As your girlfriend so nicely put it, she turned me down flat. Right?’
Paul glared at Linda. ‘What does it matter? You didn’t want to have lunch anyway.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. Get her.’ Al slammed his way out of the room.
‘What can I say?’ mumbled Linda.
‘I think you’ve said enough. You know what he’s like. Why couldn’t you just keep quiet?’
‘I guess I’ll go home.’
‘I guess you should.’
Once again Al had come between them. Well, screw him, she wasn’t going to creep out. ‘If you like,’ she ventured, ‘I’ll see if I can fix something. I have some pictures I could drop by the hotel – maybe I could talk to Dallas.’
‘Anything would help.’ He softened. ‘Look, I know it’s not really your fault. I should have told you not to say anything.’ He kissed her. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call. Do what you can.’
Chapter Seven
Her photograph adorned the front page of the newspapers, and she studied it intently. It was a thrill, a great big crazy thrill. On the same page there was an article about the President, and there was a picture of him also, a small picture, much smaller than the one of her. Suddenly she was somebody, no longer a faceless hooker, but a person whose photograph was larger than the President’s!
She was staying at the Plaza Hotel and she didn’t have to fuck anybody. She was a free agent. She had a cheque for ten thousand dollars, and she hadn’t lain on her back to earn it.
She felt incredibly elated. She leapt out of bed, threw open the window, and admired the view.
* * *
‘Check out the view, sugar baby!’ Bobbie insisted when they flew into Los Angeles. ‘Mind blowing!’
Lovers and Gamblers Page 5
