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!’
They went to stay with a friend of Bobbie’s who was white, miserable, and addicted to heroin.
‘I can’t stand it here!’ Dallas insisted after a few days. ‘Aren’t we going to get a place of our own?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we gotta get back in action.’
So she found them an apartment off the Strip and renewed her connections.
Things in Hollywood were different. No longer out-of-town schmucks set on getting laid. Instead, sophisticated, jaded people, who required much more than a simple fuck. Dallas started to complain immediately.
‘Shit, man!’ exclaimed Bobbie. ‘Just shut your eyes an’ think of nothin’. Their money is just the same.’
‘No,’ insisted Dallas, ‘I won’t do it.’
‘OK,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we’ll only book you out to the straights.’
So Dallas found herself alone most of the time. She cleaned the apartment and did the cooking; it kept her busy while Bobbie was out working. She also learned to drive – an essential for California living.
But it wasn’t long before she started to feel a revulsion at Bobbie’s advances. At first it had been something new, but now, with Bobbie coming home from a twenty-handed orgy, it began to pall when she wanted to make love.
‘You got yourself another girlfriend?’ Bobbie asked accusingly.
‘No, I’m just tired.’
The more she resisted Bobbie, the more the black girl started to do for her. She bought her presents and flowers and chocolates. She became like an attentive suitor.
One day Dallas packed her things and left. She was fed up with the whole situation. She moved into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel with an impotent writer who liked her to walk around naked. That was all he required
‘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!’
They went to stay with a friend of Bobbie’s who was white, miserable, and addicted to heroin.
‘I can’t stand it here!’ Dallas insisted after a few days. ‘Aren’t we going to get a place of our own?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we gotta get back in action.’
So she found them an apartment off the Strip and renewed her connections.
Things in Hollywood were different. No longer out-of-town schmucks set on getting laid. Instead, sophisticated, jaded people, who required much more than a simple fuck. Dallas started to complain immediately.
‘Shit, man!’ exclaimed Bobbie. ‘Just shut your eyes an’ think of nothin’. Their money is just the same.’
‘No,’ insisted Dallas, ‘I won’t do it.’
‘OK,’ agreed Bobbie, ‘we’ll only book you out to the straights.’
So Dallas found herself alone most of the time. She cleaned the apartment and did the cooking; it kept her busy while Bobbie was out working. She also learned to drive – an essential for California living.
But it wasn’t long before she started to feel a revulsion at Bobbie’s advances. At first it had been something new, but now, with Bobbie coming home from a twenty-handed orgy, it began to pall when she wanted to make love.
‘You got yourself another girlfriend?’ Bobbie asked accusingly.
‘No, I’m just tired.’
The more she resisted Bobbie, the more the black girl started to do for her. She bought her presents and flowers and chocolates. She became like an attentive suitor.
One day Dallas packed her things and left. She was fed up with the whole situation. She moved into a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel with an impotent writer who liked her to walk around naked. That was all he required
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