Lovers and Gamblers (8 page)

It was a year of gradual hardening for Dallas. The only way she could face the things she did for money was to shut everything out. They could have her face, her body, but they could never get into her mind. She became as good and as practised at her job as Bobbie. And like the black girl who had been a hooker since was was thirteen, she became hard, cynical, tough and unfeeling. Unlike Bobbie, she wanted no other comforts, she didn’t turn to women for a relationship, she cut that side of her life out completely. Sex was her profession, and that was all.

Bobbie and she lived together increasingly uneasily.

They did not resume any personal relationship, and Bobbie, who had always been into smoking pot, started on other little habits. By the end of the year she was into heroin, and Dallas knew she had to get away.

She waited for the right opportunity, and as soon as she set eyes on Ed Kurlnik she knew that this was a chance she mustn’t blow.

* * *

Mrs. Fields accompanied Dallas around Saks.

‘I want this – this – and this.’ Dallas snatched dresses off the racks. ‘Oh and the black evening gown from the window, and does it come in any other colours? Great, I’ll take it in every colour.’

‘Your money won’t last long at this rate,’ Mrs. Fields said warningly.

‘I know,’ laughed Dallas. But oh, the thrill of spending her own money. She had a charge at Saks that Ed had opened for her, but buying this way was much more satisfying. She managed to spend three thousand dollars in half an hour, and she was giddy with excitement. She breezed through lunch with the wool firm representatives full of charm and laughter. They wanted her to sign to an advertising and promotion contract immediately. Mrs. Fields was impressed. ‘They usually take weeks to make up their minds.’

‘I want double the amount they have paid before.’

‘They’ll never pay more.’

‘Wanna bet, baby!’ Dallas laughed. ‘They’ll pay and be pleased to.’

‘I’ll tell the office,’ said Mrs. Fields, tight-lipped.

‘By the way,’ inquired Dallas, ‘what’s the fee I’m getting for opening the supermarket this afternoon?’

‘I don’t really know.’

‘Find out, ’cos if it’s not enough I’m not doing it.’

Mrs. Field nodded. She had been right, this one was going to be difficult.

* * *

Ed Kurlnik and Dallas Lunde were side by side in their respective cars at the traffic lights. Dallas recognized him immediately, she had seen him on television only three days previously.

Ed Kurlnik. Head of the Kurlnik Motor dynasty. One of the richest men in America. Married. Two children. Sixty-one years old.

And here he was, driving a Kurlnik Leopard, completely alone. Dallas couldn’t believe her luck.

The traffic lights changed, and his Leopard sprang away with surprising speed. Without hesitation Dallas slid into the lane behind him. She knew exactly what she would do.

He stopped at the next red light, and Dallas, in her battered old Buick, careered into the back of him. It wasn’t a bad smash, but it was enough to dent her fender and break one of his rear lights. She slumped forward over her wheel and waited.

It was that easy.

He was concerned. He took her to his hotel for coffee.

‘I must have fainted,’ she explained.

He was kindly, fatherly. He asked her out for dinner. She told him she was a student. He took her out again. She told him she was a virgin. Another date. She became an orphan.

When he suggested the apartment in New York, she hesitated at first. When he insisted, she finally agreed. But what to do about Bobbie? She would never let her go, and if she did manage to get away, Bobbie would come looking for her, and then Ed would find out the truth and that would be that.

Dallas puzzled over what to do. This was her chance and she didn’t want to blow it.

The answer when it came to her was incredibly simple – she would kill Bobbie.

* * *

‘Not enough,’ Dallas stated. ‘If you want me to open supermarkets I get a thousand dollars.’

‘They won’t pay that.’

‘Then I won’t open them. It’s that simple. Now I’m taking the afternoon off and I’ll see you back at the hotel later. Don’t worry, I’ll be there in plenty of time for the première.’

She left Mrs. Fields sitting rigid-faced in the offices of Beauty Incorporated Co. – the outfit that organized the ‘Miss Coast to Coast’ contest.

If they thought they had hold of another dumb girl to hustle and promote for a year, they were on the wrong track. She had her own idea of the way things should be, and that way was her way.

She took a cab over to the apartment in the hope that Ed would be there, but he wasn’t. Probably pissed off about the previous evening. She phoned him on his private number at his New York office. He
was
pissed off.

‘Listen, sweetie,’ she cooed, ‘it’s just all been so exciting. I’m sorry about last night. Were you lonely? Why don’t you come over now and I’ll surprise you.’

He wasn’t hard to persuade.

She took a quick shower and then surveyed her closet of Ed’s favourite outfits. What would surprise him today? Something subservient, something apologetic.

She finally hit it. Martha the Maid.

Humming softly to herself she slid into the short black dress with the white starched collar and cuffs, the sheer black stockings, the neat black shoes, and as a final touch a small adornment of white lace ribbon in her hair.

One thing about Ed, he loved surprises.

The stewardess smiled winningly. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked for the twentieth time.

Al ignored her.

‘Perfect,’ replied Paul, returning her smile.

‘More champagne?’

‘I think we’re well topped up.’

‘If you need anything just give me a buzz.’

‘Wouldn’t hesitate.’

She smiled and lingered. ‘Mr. King,’ she said directly to Al, ‘I
loved
your last record, I just had to tell you.’

Al looked her over. She was sleek and blonde with a well-developed bosom straining at the confines of her regulation blouse. ‘Do you fuck?’ he asked crudely.

She didn’t even blush. ‘It depends.’ Leaning forward slightly she added, ‘Are you offering?’

Paul wished that he was somewhere else. Al was impossible when he was in one of his ‘I hate women’ moods, and that was the mood he had been in all day.

‘When?’ inquired Al.

‘Tonight, tomorrow.’

‘Screw tonight, tomorrow. I want it now.’

She laughed. ‘I’m on duty.’

‘All I want is a little service.’

Paul got up. He was not enjoying being in the crossfire of their conversation. He wandered over to the magazine rack.

A few minutes passed and then Al got up and vanished into one of the toilets, followed shortly by the stewardess.

Paul went back to his seat. Casual sex had never appealed to him, it gave him bad vibes. It always reminded him of the way animals went at it. Sniff sniff – I fancy you. He preferred to get into a woman’s head first, her body second.

He thought about Linda. She was all the woman he had ever wanted. Intelligent, attractive, independent. If he wasn’t married to Melanie… But he was and somewhere along the way, she had changed. She had become one of life’s grabbers. Gimme… Gimme… Gimme. Bigger house, bigger pool, bigger car. She demanded the best of everything and nagged the hell out of him if she didn’t get it. If it wasn’t for the children… married man’s lament, and he knew it. But they were both so young and vulnerable, and they needed him.

Al returned to his seat, strapped himself in, and resumed gazing out of the window.

‘Only another two hours,’ remarked Paul.

Al nodded. He had become completely uncommunicative ever since Paul had been unable to arrange lunch with Dallas. It was his way of showing disapproval.

He was a star, for Chrissakes. If he wanted something, he should have it
immediately
.

* * *

Melanie King went to the airport in Al’s white Rolls Royce to meet them. She enjoyed being the centre of attention, and some of the airport photographers took her photo.

Al and Paul came walking through from customs, and the photographers sprang into action.

Melanie darted forward and kissed Al. She followed this up with a quick peck for Paul, then hanging firmly onto Al’s arm she walked with them both to the car.

‘Edna’s cooking dinner,’ she volunteered, ‘steak and kidney pud. She slung the cook out and she’s having a ball.’

‘She hasn’t fired the cook, has she?’ asked Al, alarmed.

‘Oh no, just got rid of her for the night. The maid too. I don’t know how she manages.’

‘She enjoys it,’ sighed Al. ‘My wife the worker!’

Melanie squeezed his arm. ‘Tell me about the trip, I want to hear all about it. I hope you two didn’t get up to anything naughty.’ She giggled. ‘Bet you did, Al. It’s all right, I won’t tell Edna.’

* * *

Edna opened the oven and prodded the sizzling potatoes with a fork. They were just the way Al liked them, cut into thin slices and covered with onions and herbs. The steak and kidney pudding simmered on the cooker, and all she had left to do was to whip the cream that would accompany the baked jam roll dessert.

All Al’s favourite things, and yet she couldn’t remember the last time they had eaten such delicious food. Al usually instructed the cook on what they would have for dinner, and it varied between steak, plain chicken or fish, always with a salad. Al insisted that he had to watch his diet. ‘Cholesterol,’ he would mention ominously if Edna suggested so much as a cottage pie. In the old days they had lived on cottage pie, sausages, mashed potatoes, and chips. In the old days Al had loved his food, and for once Edna wanted to be sure that he got something he enjoyed.

She hummed softly as she busied herself in the kitchen. It seemed such a long time since Al had been home, although in point of fact it was only a couple of weeks. New York, and before that the health farm.

Everything in the kitchen seemed in order, so Edna went upstairs and changed out of her pinafore dress into a long plum-coloured shirtwaister. She powdered her face, added lipstick, too much rouge, and blue eyeshadow which immediately streaked. She had never been much good with make-up, but Al liked her to try. She dabbed on some perfume, and brushed her short mousey brown hair. As she was surveying herself in the mirror Evan slouched in.

‘What are
you
all dressed up for?’ he asked sneeringly.

‘I want to look nice for your father.’

‘Well, you look awful. All that stuff on your face doesn’t suit you. It looks stupid. I don’t know why you bother, he
knows
what you look like.’

Edna frowned. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she did look ridiculous. But it was too late to do anything about it; she could hear a car pulling up on the gravel outside, and excitedly she ran downstairs.

* * *

Al got out of the car and Paul pulled Melanie back and snapped, ‘Do we
have
to stay for dinner?’

‘Yes,’ snapped back Melanie, ‘Edna’s prepared it specially.’

‘I wanted to see the children.’

‘Nobody’s stopping you. Pop over, kiss them goodnight, and come right back. I’ll go in and make some martinis. I shouldn’t think Edna could cope with that.’

‘All right,’ agreed Paul. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

Al and Paul had adjoining houses. They had acquired the land at a reasonable price some seven years previously, and they had divided it neatly down the middle and built respective mansions. Al’s was ranch style, Paul’s white and modern. They both had swimming pools, garages large enough for four cars, billiard rooms, and saunas. Paul often thought it was stupid and nouveau riche to have both build swimming pools, but Melanie had
insisted.
‘I don’t want to feel like a poor relation,’ she had complained when he had suggested they didn’t need one.

His children were sitting up in bed washed and scrubbed, and Nanny was reading them a story.

‘Hey, kids!’ exclaimed Paul. ‘Did you miss Daddy?’

They leapt excitedly out of bed and threw themselves at him until he was a tangle of arms and legs and kisses. It was a good feeling. Love. Pure and unblemished. The only true kind.

Nanny got them off him and settled them back in bed.

‘Mustn’t get too excited,’ she admonished, ‘otherwise we won’t sleep, will we?’

Paul knew when he wasn’t wanted. Nanny hated having her routine screwed up. And Melanie bent over backwards to please Nanny. ‘Do you realize,’ she had once informed Paul, her pretty face grimacing with horror, ‘if Nanny ever left us I’d have to look after the children myself!’

On impulse Paul went downstairs to his study, locked himself in, and direct dialled Linda’s number in New York. She was there.

‘I miss you,’ he said.

‘I love you,’ she replied.

He wondered very seriously what Melanie would say if he asked for a divorce.

* * *

‘Hello there, fatso!’ Al walloped Edna on the behind. ‘All tarted up. Are we going out?’

Edna blushed. He
had
noticed.

Melanie hung onto Al’s arm. ‘How about a delicious cold martini? Shall I fix us some?’ She led Al into the living room and called over her shoulder, ‘Ice, Edna.’

‘Where’s Evan?’ Al demanded. ‘Funny kid, you’d think he’d be here to greet me.’ He went to the foot of the stairs and screamed out, ‘Evan!!’

The boy appeared at the top of the stairs, white-faced and pasty.

‘Don’t I get any sort of greeting?’ demanded Al. ‘Come down here.’

Evan walked slowly down the stairs and Al grabbed hold of him in a bearhug.

‘How’s it going, boyo?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Still the randiest little bugger at school?’ He winked at Melanie. ‘Just like his dad. I thought about nothing but girls when I was his age.’

‘Have things changed?’ giggled Melanie.

Al burst out laughing. Evan scowled.

Edna came bustling in with the ice. ‘Where’s Paul? Dinner’s nearly ready.’

‘He’ll be right back, he just popped over to see the kids.’ Melanie busied herself behind the bar.