He seemed to back away, hiding his hands behind him.
Cristina dropped her hand. Stupid boy, no manners, and what a horrible skin. ‘Louis is Carlos Baptista’s son,’ she continued by way of further explanation of her position. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting your father. Where is he?’
‘Don’t know,’ mumbled Evan, highly embarrassed by this strange girl picking him out for conversation.
‘Oh,’ said Cristina, momentarily at a loss for words, then, ‘what’s your name?’
‘Evan,’ he replied.
She smiled, ‘Nice. Want to dance, Evan? You do samba, don’t you?’
* * *
‘Where is the star?’ Evita asked Carlos.
‘My dear Evita, if I knew – he would be here. His brother tells me he is tired and is sleeping. I arrange this party for him. Two hundred of the most interesting people in Rio to honour his arrival in our city,’ Carlos made a gesture of despair, ‘and he is tired. He is sleeping. What can I do?’
Evita smiled sympathetically. ‘You can get me another glass of your delicious champagne.’
Momentarily distracted, Carlos said, ‘You are looking as beautiful as ever, Evita. My God, you are a wonderful-looking woman. Couldn’t we…’
‘Here comes Jorge,’ Evita interrupted lightly. She was used to Carlos’s vaguely erotic suggestions. She laughed them off as she laughed off all the propositions she received. Jorge would never believe how unloyal most of his friends could be when it came to his wife.
Jorge approached, smiling. ‘Where is—’ he began.
‘Please!’ interrupted Carlos. ‘Do not ask. My one prayer now is that he turns up for the concert tomorrow. Two hundred people I can explain to. Two hundred thousand might present me with a problem!’
* * *
Al allowed Dallas to sleep for a couple of hours. He paced the room and wondered what the hell he was doing there. He couldn’t find an answer. He had started off wanting a girl, a body – and now here he was – concerned, for Chrissake.
He drank the coffee which arrived, then stood on the balcony gazing out at the breathtaking array of twinkling lights.
The smell of the sea drifted up, and he thought about the evening he and Dallas had walked along the beach at Malibu, and he had swum and she had sat waiting for him. God – she had seemed like a different girl then. Together, sure of herself, in control. He wondered what had happened to get her going on this destructive drug trip. And it was a destructive trip, any fool could see that. OK – a couple of joints never did anyone any harm if that was your scene – but once you started indiscriminately popping pills at the same time – then you were headed in the wrong direction. She seemed to be striving for total oblivion. Where was that going to get her?
Christ – he knew about total oblivion. He was an expert. But he had always had people around to look after him. Dallas seemed to have no one who really cared.
When he woke her she was subdued like a small child who has done something naughty and been found out. She huddled in his large bathrobe, legs tucked underneath, and regarded him with watchful green eyes.
‘Hungry?’ he questioned.
‘Starving,’ she replied.
He called room service and ordered her some scrambled eggs and himself a steak sandwich.
‘We missed the party,’ she said solemnly.
‘We sure did.’
‘Is it too late? Couldn’t you still go?’
‘I don’t want to go,’ he replied.
‘But it was in your honour…’
‘I know.’
She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know why you stayed with me.’
‘I can’t quite figure it out myself. But I intend to find out. You and I are going to talk – I mean really talk. No bullshit. I want to know what’s happening with you. I started out wanting to get into your body – now it’s your head I’m interested in.’
‘Settle for the body, Al. I think I owe it to you.’
‘With no charge?’
She flushed. ‘What?’
‘When you’re stoned all you can talk about is giving it away for free.’
She turned her head away from him. ‘Take no notice of what I say when I’m stoned.’
He leaned forward, put his hand under her chin, and forcibly turned her face to look at him. ‘I want to know about you, Dallas. I want to know it all. Everything.’
She laughed bitterly. ‘Why not? Why don’t I tell you the whole pretty story.’
‘Yes, why don’t you.’
She shifted uncomfortably. Her head was beginning to ache. Christ – why was he bugging her? What did he want from her? ‘You really want to know?’
‘I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.’
Fuck it. She would tell him. Get rid of him once and for all. ‘You asked for it,’ she said roughly, then adopting a singsong voice she began.
‘I was born twenty fun-filled years ago in the house back of a crummy private zoo my dear parents owned in a backwater off the main highway leaving Miami. I was a real event in their lives – something else to study – like the chimps or bears. Only I wasn’t kept in a cage – not a visible one, that is. I had no schooling, no playmates except the animals, no toys, no books.’ Her eyes filled with angry tears. ‘I had fuck-all if you want the truth. I wasn’t even allowed to talk to the paying visitors in case they would corrupt me with stories of the outside world where real people lived. When I was sweet sixteen my father took me into town to pick up the monthly supplies – the first time I was allowed out. Can you believe that? Some guy rode back in the truck with us – kept on giving me fishy looks. It wasn’t until later I found out he’d been picked as a husband for me…’
Talking about it was like a catharsis. She had never told anyone the truth before. Even with Cody she had tailored the story to suit herself. Now it all came pouring out – everything. Bobbie. The old man in the motel. Her months of degradation in Los Angeles. Meeting Ed Kurlnik. Trying to kill Bobbie. Fixing the judges on ‘Miss Coast to Coast’. She didn’t try to hide a thing. If Al wanted the truth that was exactly what he was going to get.
The food arrived and they both ignored it. He poured her some coffee, and she gulped that as her voice wavered and shook and neared tears as she told her story.
When she reached the part about Lew Margolis and his blackmail attempt, Al stood up and walked to the balcony. She told him about Diamond and Linda helping out with the photographs. Then about Bobbie coming back, Doris Andrews, her short marriage to Cody, Bobbie’s death. She didn’t leave out a detail. Finally she told him about Lew’s latest attempt at blackmail, and the steps she had taken to resolve it.
‘That’s it,’ she said at last, her voice blank. ‘You wanted it – you got it. Can you blame me for wanting to get stoned? Can you blame me for not wanting to know myself? Jesus Christ, my parents knew a long time ago I was worth nothing. They never came looking for me – never gave a shit. I’ve been in every newspaper – on the cover of nearly every magazine in the country. They still don’t want to know. They have never attempted to reach me. I’m telling you – they knew right from the beginning. They must have been delighted when I took off. They didn’t lose a daughter – they lost a maid. I guess they hired a replacement the very next day.’
Al hadn’t uttered a word. He stood by the balcony, his face impassive.
‘Why don’t you go?’ asked Dallas brusquely. ‘Piss on off while you’ve still got the chance. You know all about me now. A hooker. A dyke. A murderer. A blackmailer.’ She laughed grimly. ‘Some record!’
He turned slowly. ‘Do you want me to go?’
‘Sure. Go. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. I’ve got a cheque for thirty thousand dollars somewhere – I’ll make it back to LA and I’ll see you around. You know, Al, you and I would never have made it – we’re just too different.’
‘Different!’ he snorted. ‘Different! You’ve got to be kidding! So you were a hooker – you slept wit
h guys for money. Well, I slept with women for free – hundreds, thousands probably. I didn’t like them any more than you liked the guys you went with. But we both had our reasons for doing it.’ He paused to light a cigarette. ‘You’re not a murderer. You didn’t kill Bobbie. And the old guy in Miami had a heart attack. It was an accident. How do you think I feel about the bomb killing two girls at my concert in Chicago? I feel like shit about it – but it was not my fault – I don’t think of myself as a murderer. It was an accident.’ He walked over to her, held her roughly by the shoulders. ‘Blackmail. I blackmail people every day of my life. You do this for me and I’ll do that for you. Only I call it by another name – business. And you want to call yourself a dyke – go ahead. Only a couple of homosexual experiences do not make you into a dyke. We all experiment with sex – when I was a kid I tried it with everything except sheep! What I’m trying to say, Dallas, is don’t pin labels onto yourself. Don’t put yourself down. So you had a rough past – so forget it.’
‘How can I forget it when I’m still forced to do things I hate myself for?’
‘Who’s forcing you?’
‘I have to protect myself…’ she began hesitantly.
‘Tear up the photos of you and Doris – destroy the negatives.’
‘But…’
‘It will be all right. I can promise you that. You’ll still be “Man Made Whatever” if that’s what you really want. Forget about yesterday – start living for today. Hey – are you as hungry as I am?’
Softly she said, ‘Yes.’
He phoned room service, but as it was now four in the morning they had closed down.
‘Well…’ suggested Al, ‘how do you feel about a cold steak sandwich?’
Chapter Sixty-One
The Maracana soccer stadium had been transformed into a vast theatre in the round. In the centre of the pitch a platform had been erected, littered with microphones, amplifiers, and. musical equipment.
Two hundred thousand people chanted and sang patiently. Police guards were stationed all around the inner circle of the stadium a foot apart. Some of them had dogs with them.
Carlos Baptista was justifiably proud of his security arrangements. No star in his care had ever been involved in any kind of riot – he made sure there was always more than adequate protection. That was one of the reasons he was always able to get the biggest stars. That, and the fact that he was always ready to pay top dollar. He was paying Al King one million dollars for two concerts – but he still expected to make money on the deal – what with the entrance fee and the various concessions he had arranged. Television rights alone had fetched in a princely sum. What a stroke of genius it had been on his part to have thought of hiring the fabulous Maracana Stadium as a venue for Al King. Perfect.
The star himself had been charm personified at a meeting that very morning. He had apologized profusely for not turning up at his party, and when Carlos had been introduced to his girlfriend he could understand why. She was the most beautiful, sensual woman he had ever seen. A streaked mass of hair, strong sexual face, burning green eyes, and a body that defied description. Carlos had professed himself honoured to meet her, and he had meant every word of it.
Now she sat next to him at the concert, but alas, on his other side sat his wife – a magnificent seventeen-stone lady.
Carlos sighed, and patted Dallas delicately on the leg. ‘More champagne, my dear?’
She shook her head. Who needed champagne? She was high enough. And without any outside aids. Just Al. He had been so wonderful to her. So understanding and kind.
They had talked until the dawn. Exchanged thoughts and feelings – rapped about themselves until she felt she knew him better than anyone she had ever known. And he certainly knew her. Yet he hadn’t been disgusted. He had listened, and sympathized, consoled, and advised. He had understood.
She had always thought that if she ever told anyone the truth about herself they would back off. Al had stayed. He had given her a feeling of inner strength – a feeling she knew she could begin to build on.
And he had not touched her.
He had proved beyond doubt that he did not want her for her body. And yet they both knew it would happen, and when it did it would be clean and good and everything that she had ever imagined.
A sudden roar went up from the crowd as Al appeared. He stood in the middle of the platform holding both arms aloft in greeting, allowing the audience’s adoration to pour over him.
Suddenly Dallas knew if there was such a thing as love – this was it.
She loved the man giving himself to the crowds. She loved him with her whole being.
* * *
‘I changed my mind. I just don’t want to go – that’s all.’
Louis frowned. ‘I just do not understand you, Cristina. For three weeks I hear nothing else but Al King this, Al King that. When is he coming? Where is he staying? Who is he with? Now comes the big moment – the concert at Maracana Stadium – we are on our way there – and you make me stop the car and tell me you do not wish to go.’
Cristina attempted a gay laugh, although she did not feel at all gay.
‘Louis – you know what I’m like. I get moods, sudden desires. I can’t be conventional.’
He nodded resignedly.
‘What I really feel like doing now is driving to the airport. Does that sound crazy?’
‘The airport.’ Louis was disgusted. ‘Why the airport?’
Cristina shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just feel like it. Maybe we could see Al King’s plane – I heard your father say he has a bedroom in it A bedroom! Can you imagine!’
‘All our friends are at the concert, they will wonder what has happened to us.’
‘Let them wonder. Who cares? We’ll tell them we were making mad passionate love somewhere,’ she moved her hand onto his knee – tiptoeing her fingers up towards his crotch. ‘That would make them all envious as anything. They’re jealous of us anyway. Marie Therese is beside herself because I’ve got you.’
He let out a strangled groan. ‘Don’t do that, Cristina, you know what it does to me.’
Teasingly she replied, ‘What does it do, Louis? Tell me, please tell me.’ She felt him growing beneath her fingers.
‘Oh God!’
‘I know what, I’ll make a bargain with you. If we can go to the airport I’ll do what you begged me to do the other night. Remember? The mouth thing. Would you like me to do that to you?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed urgently.
‘OK, drive somewhere quiet. Then after, do you promise we can go to the airport?
‘I promise.’
He started the car, and Cristina took a deep breath. One hurdle accomplished.
* * *
He was out there for one and a half hours. Alone most of the time, apart from his musicians, and joined on two occasions by Hot Fudge.
The crowds were going mad, screaming for more. Carlos Baptista was beaming from ear to ear. Better than he had expected. A sensation in fact. Al King generated the most excitement he had ever seen.
Bernie was hustling around getting everyone together for the helicopter trip to the airport. Dallas, Evan, Paul, Luke. They would take the plane directly to São Paulo, and it would return for the others, plus all the equipment, in the morning. It was only a short hop.
Bernie assembled everyone while Al was still singing – got them all aboard the orange helicopter – so now all they needed was Al to be rushed straight on with Luke, and they would be away before the crowd stopped cheering.
All it took was a little organization.
* * *
Nino took a bus to the airport. He was early, but he had meant to get there early. Now that the wheels were in motion he felt pretty good. He felt important. He knew he was important.
He headed straight for the information desk where he had arranged to meet Juana – a plump girl who worked at the airport as a ground hostess.
She was duly waiting. He greeted her with a ki
ss, pinched her fat bottom. She gazed at him with adoring eyes. ‘Last night was…’
‘Shhh.’ He quietened her with a kiss. ‘Tonight will be better, my little carioca, much, much better. Did you find out what I wanted?’
‘Naturally. I can show you exactly where the plane is, and where Mr. King and his party will be boarding. Nino, tonight…’
‘Later, we’ll talk about it later. Did you get me the uniform?’
‘Yes. Are you sure no one will know I helped you?’
‘Of course not. And so what if they do? I’m only going to interview Al King, not shoot him.’
Juana giggled.
‘Think of the money I will get for an exclusive interview,’ Nino reminded, ‘and think of who will benefit from it.’
Juana giggled again. ‘Me?’ she suggested coyly.
‘Yes, you. Now quickly, where is the uniform? Where can I change?’
* * *
In the helicopter Al held Dallas by the hand.
‘You really did it!’ she said.
‘My inspiration was in the audience,’ he replied, squeezing her hand hard.
Sitting behind them Evan couldn’t help eavesdropping. Horrible woman. How he hated her, taking up all his father’s attention. Why, Al was virtually ignoring him now she was around. He hadn’t even asked him how he liked the show, and he always did that.
Evan picked viciously at a spot and glared out of the window. He didn’t even know what was supposed to be happening after South America. Were they going back to England? No one had bothered to tell him. He didn’t matter. He was only Al’s son – not his stupid girlfriend.
* * *
‘I’ve got a confession,’ Cristina said nervously, ‘I promised someone I would do them a favour.’
‘What favour?’ asked Louis easily.
They stood in front of the newspaper and magazine stand at the airport.
‘Remember Nino?’ Cristina asked.
‘That rat bag,’ replied Louis dismissively, ‘why do you mention him?’
She bit deeply into the side of her lip. ‘He’s not so bad.’
‘You hardly know him.’
Lovers and Gamblers Page 56
