Out front Linda took photographs and marvelled at the magic Al created on stage. It was almost as if he lifted the audience up and took them with him on his own private trip. She watched a girl shaken by her own tears. Another who simply could not look at him. Row upon row they were under his spell, wriggling, squirming, trying to keep the excitement under control but not succeeding. Then suddenly screaming, storming the stage, clawing at the security guards.
And Al, under the spotlight, singing, moving, thrusting, tempting them in his black satin, stretched tight over what appeared to be a giant cock.
You wanna make it tonight
You wanna shake it tonight
We’re gonna do it together
The way that we should
We’re gonna love together.
Like I knew we would
A thin, pale girl fainted, and was passed casually over people’s heads and taken outside. By now everyone was standing, caught in his spell, rocking, swaying.
Al was caught up in his own spell. This was it. This was the ultimate. This was the orgasm. He could use his voice to far more effect than ever he did his cock. And his voice was ready, his whole body was ready.
He was making love to fifteen thousand people simultaneously and it was the absolute high. He never had got involved in the whole drug scene, and the reason was patently clear. Could a sniff of coke, a shot of H, a handful of mescalin even begin to compare with this? No way. No fuckin’ way.
He was singing with his everything. His heart. His soul. His guts. And they knew it, and they loved him for it. And he was a part of them and vice versa.
When it was over he was drained, in a state of shock. Paul and Luke bundled him under towels and raced him to a waiting car, and he was spirited away before the audience realized he was gone.
If the people had got hold of him they would have torn him to loving pieces.
He came out of it slowly. Back to reality, back to ground level. A shower. A massage. Gargle with the warm harshness of brandy.
‘Incredible,’ Paul told him, ‘goddamn incredible.’
And he knew it was true. He never kidded himself on the quality of a performance. Relief flooded through him, and the tensions and insecurities of the previous few months were gradually exorcised. He had done it. He was better than ever. They had loved him. And this was only the first stop.
‘Let’s party,’ he told Paul. ‘Let’s have us a time.’
* * *
Linda made her own way back to the hotel. She had no choice; by the time she got backstage Paul had vanished. Not that she expected him to be waiting for her, but he could have told her. She called his room, but there was no reply. She contemplated phoning him at Al’s but decided against it.
She went downstairs to the lobby and bumped into Bernie. She had yet to prove her worth as a photographer and Bernie regarded her with a certain amount of suspicion. However, who wouldn’t feel expansive after Al’s performance? ‘What the fuck,’ said Bernie, ‘you comin’ to the party?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it. Where?’
‘The Dragon suite. Go on down.’
She made her way to the lower level of the hotel and located the party.
Al and Paul were not there. It was full of newspaper reporters and Toronto personalities. The Promises were flitting about being charming.
She took a glass of wine and looked around for someone she knew. There were enough people connected with the tour, but no one she had really talked to. She sighed. Wow – this was really going to be fun.
‘Hello.’
She turned to confront the speaker.
He was a middle-aged man in a plaid suit with baggy eyes and a crew cut. ‘Lonely?’ he questioned.
‘Not particularly,’ she replied.
‘I didn’t think you were, I just thought you might be.’
‘Thanks anyway, but I’m not.’
‘The name’s Hank Mason. Newscasts are my game – Mason’s the name.’
Linda looked desperately around for Paul.
‘How’s about us splitting from here, and I could take you to a nice cosy little place I know?’
‘Thank you, but I’ll pass.’
‘Don’t be like that. You looked lonely.’ He belched discreetly. ‘You’re a pretty girl, don’t get uppity with me for trying.’
‘Look Mr. er…’
‘Mason.’
‘Mason. I am not lonely. I appreciate your offer, now please leave me alone.’
He leered. ‘I like ’em difficult.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake – go away.’
‘I bet you like ’em rough. A smack round the bottom – you like that, don’t you?’
‘Fuck off.’
‘Or maybe you like girlies. Is that your kick?’
‘Am I being too polite for your pin-sized brain? Go fuck yourself, buster.’
Before he could reply she saw Paul and hurried over.
‘Hi, sweetheart.’ He kissed her absently. ‘What are you doing down here?’
‘Waiting for you.’
‘You’re in the wrong place.’
‘How am I supposed to know that?’
‘If you had waited in your room I would have told you. Wasn’t Al sensational?’
She nodded. Maybe coming on the tour hadn’t been such a good idea. Or maybe it had been a terrific idea. She was seeing a whole new Paul.
‘Run upstairs and fetch your cameras. The party’s in Al’s suite.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’ve got to sort out some people here. I’ll see you up there.’
So he hadn’t even come looking for her. She frowned, but Paul was already drifting off. They were all shits, Dallas was right. They had become quite friendly in New York. Dallas was a toughie, but honest with it, and Linda had found that to be a surprisingly refreshing quality in a woman.
OK, Paul. I can be tough too. You want to play the casual bit, I can play too.
* * *
Al basked in it. He sat back and accepted the compliments. Christ, but he felt he deserved them. He had starved his ass off to be in prime physical shape, and rehearsed non-stop for what seemed like months.
And it had all been worth it. God, the feeling he had now could not be beat. He was exhausted but elated. He felt like an athlete who has beaten every possible record.
The room was crowded with people anxious to join in his triumph. His musicians, a few select groupies, and a mixture of freaks who had talked their way in.
Three girls hovered nervously near him, ready for a wink, a nod, anything. They would slit each other’s throats to get near him first should he give a signal.
He didn’t bother. He felt perfectly satisfied. Anyway, he had sent Paul off to look for some real local talent. Groupies gave him no charge. Beneath their bland young faces lay sharp little brains armed with tape measures and plaster casts.
He knew that he should call Edna. She would be waiting by the phone anxious to hear what had happened. But goddamn it, she had wanted him to fail, she had wanted him to stay home. She wouldn’t be ecstatic about his success.
The Promises came flitting in. He had screwed Rosa that time they had been in Vegas. Once or twice between shows, it had been nice. But she had been involved with some gangster – and Al had decided the risk was not worth the prize. He wondered if he should renew old acquaintances. But getting involved with someone on the tour could turn out to be a drag. Whoever said never mix pleasure with business was a genius.
Rosa was coming over anyway. She kissed him. ‘Babee, you were the best – you hear me – the best!’
He hugged her.
‘We gonna have good times this trip, huh?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Al. ‘Oh yeah.’
Chapter Nineteen
Dallas stood perfectly still. The arm that enclosed her from behind was steel-strong across her back. Fear shoved the alcohol out of her system, and she could feel the heavy, panic-stricken beating of her heart.
/> ‘Don’t scream,’ the voice warned again, ‘and don’t turn around.’
She recognized the smell. It was the strong aroma of pot hanging heavily in the air. Whoever it was in her apartment must have been there for some time. In the gloom she made out two suitcases stacked near the door, and her television set standing alongside them. She breathed a little easier. A robbery.
‘Take the things and go,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t do anything, I won’t call the police.’
‘Shut up.’ The arm tightened round her neck, and the front door was kicked shut.
She could not see her assailant, but from the sound of his voice he was youngish. She could feel his body up against her. He was tall and skinny.
They stood silently in the darkness, then suddenly, inexplicably, he started to rub himself against her.
Oh God! She felt the vomit rise in her throat. He was going to rape her.
She was wearing a long silk jersey dress with nothing underneath, and his free hand roughly plunged into the top of it and released her breasts.
He giggled, a high-pitched maniacal laugh. ‘Better than the grandma I had last week,’ he boasted. ‘She had tits on her like hangin’ onions!’
She started to shake, shivers racking her body.
‘I like ’em young,’ the voice continued, rubbing the palm of his hand roughly across her breasts, ‘young an’ juicy with big tits. You like big cocks? I got a big one, ma’am. You are gonna see a whopper.’ He released his arm from around her neck, and both hands grabbed her breasts. ‘Shall I give it to you up the ass?’ he asked conversationally. ‘I did that to a girl the other day, she screamed and hollered. You wouldn’t do that, would you? I had to cut her a little to make her stop, real little cut across her throat.’ He laughed again. ‘Man, she sure was screamin’. I…’
Dallas spun suddenly round, arms crossed over her exposed breasts, eyes blazing with fury.
She was right. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. He had no knife, and he stepped back in surprise.
‘Well?’ blazed Dallas. ‘Where’s your big cock then? I thought it would be ready for me. I like ’em big. Big and juicy. You got a juicy one, sonny? Want to show it to me?’
He looked alarmed.
‘Come on,’ insisted Dallas. ‘Don’t tell me you’re all talk?’ She took her hands away from her breasts. ‘Nice, huh? Big, huh? Just the way you like ’em.’
‘What are you?’ he muttered nervously. ‘Some kind of nut, some freak…’ He was backing towards the door.
‘Don’t go,’ said Dallas. ‘Thought we were going to have a little rape here. Come on, sonny, show me what you got. I like it up the ass, do you? Come on, sweetie. Or can you only get it up when you have some scared shitless woman on the floor? Well? Is that it?’ Her voice became taunting, ‘Only get it up then, sonny, is that right?’
‘Jesus!’ He opened the door. ‘You’re mad, you know that? You’re some kind of freaky person. Jesus…’
He ran off towards the elevator, and she slammed the door, slid the chain on, and then started to shake. She sat on the floor, huddled her arms around her knees, and rocked back and forth. To hell with fear. To hell with standing there and just letting it happen. Fuck him, whoever he was. Because he was stronger than her, because he was a man she was supposed to stand there and let him do and say what he wanted. And after, when he left, when she was lying there, when the police came. What then? Did you know him? Were you a virgin? Oh well, how many men have you had then? Open your legs for the police gyno, and don’t mind the policeman standing at the back of the room, he’s used to it.
Fuck that.
But what if he had a knife? What if he hadn’t been such a kid? Every day you read about murders. She shut her eyes. The shock started to hit her. She forced herself into the living room and swigged from a brandy bottle. The room was a wreck. He had shit on the carpet, thrown garbage round the room. In her bedroom and bathroom he had scribbled obscenities in lipstick all over the walls. Sick kid. He had probably copied it from some movie.
She knew she should call the police, but she also knew the publicity it would entail. Who needed that? After all he hadn’t gotten away with anything. She had frightened him off empty-handed.
Meanwhile she couldn’t stay there. No way. Never again.
Methodically she cleared up. By eight in the morning she had packed everything she wanted to keep. She called her only friend in New York, Linda Cosmo, and the telephone message service gave her an out-of-town number where she could be contacted.
She phoned, and a sleepy Linda instructed her to move into her apartment. ‘I’ll be back in a few days,’ she explained, ‘then we’ll sort something out.’
Dallas called for a cab, picked up Linda’s key from the janitor, and moved in.
She stocked up with food, double-locked all the doors, and stayed there until Linda got back.
Chapter Twenty
The show at the Civic Centre Arena, Ottawa, was the same razzle dazzle smash hit as Toronto. Even better, perhaps, as Al gained full confidence.
Rave reviews filled the newspapers, and the tour’s slogan –‘AL IS KING’ was widely used. The concerts were a sellout across America. A side rip-off industry sprang up amongst people lucky enough to have purchased blocks of seats. Soon tickets were going at five or six times the original price. A limit was set on people only being allowed two tickets per person, but the hustlers soon got round that.
Linda took an incredible photo of Al on stage. Like a god he stood before the masses. She had captured him in a moment of stillness above a sea of female hysteria. The picture was used world-wide to illustrate his triumph.
Bernie accepted her as an integral part of the tour from that moment on. Paul, however, didn’t. He seemed offhand and uninterested. He was annoyed because she had apparently insulted a Toronto newscaster called Hank Mason, who had been the only person to knock Al in print.
‘So what?’ Linda had questioned. ‘He was rude to me first.’
‘Never insult the press,’ Paul had warned. ‘They can make or break us.’
Linda had considered the whole incident ridiculous. Al was an undeniable smash hit, how could one little newscaster affect that? Anyway Al hadn’t insulted him, she had.
‘He knows you’re with the tour, that’s why he knocked Al,’ Paul had said. ‘Try and be nice to everyone.’
‘Oh, sorry. Maybe I should have gone home with him and let him smack my bottom. Should I have?’
Paul had not bothered to reply.
Linda could not understand what had happened to them. They had waited and longed to be together, and now that they were it was an anti-climax. Paul seemed to spend his entire time finding girls for Al. One after the other they were paraded up to the Master’s suite for his inspection, but so far not one appeared to have passed muster.
Find ’em – fuck ’em – forget ’em – had once been Al’s motto. Now it seemed to be find ’em – forget ’em. He couldn’t even be bothered to try. They were boring, all of them. He wondered if age had finally caught up with him. But it wasn’t that, he knew it. No problem getting it up, but it had to be for something better than a parade of dumbells looking to screw a star.
He tried it with Rosa and it was good, but not good enough to try again.
He didn’t need it anyway. The moments on stage were enough. The power orgasm. The joy of thousands of women having you at once. The mass fuck.
He looked forward to New York. That was the real start of the tour as far as he was concerned. His insecurities had swept away. His voice was better than ever. The fans were still there, still loved him, still wanted him. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Christ – to have failed, or only achieved moderate success. What would he have done then? Retired? He could never retire, singing was his life. But it couldn’t go on forever, and if he did go it had to be at a peak.
He had finally phoned Edna.
‘What’s the weather like?’ had b
een her first question.
What the fuck did the weather matter? He wanted her praise. He spoke to Evan.
‘When can I come?’ the boy had asked truculently.
What a family! Didn’t they read the newspapers? Didn’t they know that Al was King again?
He allowed a stoned blonde to give him a mediocre blow job before going to bed. She was delighted at the honour. He thought about Dallas, once, briefly, and wondered where she was and who she was with. Now there was a girl who would never do anything in a mediocre fashion.
He slept, and in his sleep he was surrounded by applause and warm bodies, and he slept well.
* * *
Linda said, ‘I had a call from Dallas.’
Paul was reading Variety. ‘Who?’
‘Dallas. She had some kind of bad experience. I lent her my apartment.’
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Because she needed a place to go.’
‘I didn’t realize you were that friendly.’
Linda gazed out of the airplane window. ‘What’s the matter, Paul? What’s happening with us?’
It was the first chance they seemed to have been alone together. Four days in Canada, and every night a party.
‘Nothing’s the matter. I told you what I’m like on tour.’
‘Do you wish I wasn’t along?’
He folded his Variety and stared at her. ‘Do you?’
‘I asked you first.’
‘I don’t know. I thought it was a good idea, it seemed like a good idea. But Al has to come first, and I know that bugs you.’
‘OK, so he comes first. Understood. But I’m not even running a poor second. Since that first day you haven’t even touched me…’
‘There hasn’t been time. You know Al likes me to stay with him after a show. He can’t sleep, he needs to talk, play cards, just relax. And when I do get to your room you’re asleep and I’m bushed.’
‘Wow! We sound like a couple of real swingers!’
‘New York will be different. He’ll probably find a girl he likes, then I can be with you.’
‘What about Dallas? He likes her, doesn’t he?’
‘It’s not mutual. She gave him a hard time. He doesn’t need that whole bit.’
Lovers and Gamblers Page 13
