Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (143 page)

Jerome's voice dropped to a confidential tone, but he
couldn't keep the excitement out of it. 'Well, the Almoayyed
brothers don't know it yet, but B. Lawrence Craik expressed
interest that he might be willing to back the film, and I put
feelers out to Gio Monti too.'

She was genuinely surprised. This was more news, yet.
Jerome had certainly been keeping busy.

The recently knighted Sir B. Lawrence Craik owned Tim
berlake Studios in London, where many independent producers shot their soundstage footage and had their films
processed; he was also sole owner of Craik Films, a family-
held company which financed, produced, and released ten
middle-of-the-market pictures a year.

Gio Monti, on the other hand, was much more famous and flamboyant. He was the undisputed King of Cinecitta, Rome's
answer to Hollywood. As well-known for the B movies that
had made him a multimillionaire as for his his years of living
in sin with and subsequently marrying Daniela Zanini, Italy's
big-breasted bombshell, he was, now that his fortune was
secure, trying to branch out into important first-rate films. And, more important, he was willing to exchange financial
backing for sweetheart distribution deals.

'So you see, I've got Craik and Monti on the sidelines, and
the Almoayyed brothers in the middle,' Jerome explained
with mounting excitement. 'If I have to, I can play them
against each other.'

'That's playing with fire, and you know it,' Daliah said.

'I'm doing it for you.'

'Jerome, you're full of shit, you know that? If you were
doing it for me, you'd drop the Almoayyed brothers com
pletely.'

'Listen, all I'm asking is to talk it over with you in person.
That isn't asking for so much, is it?'

'It's asking for a great deal, Jerome.'

'So I'm asking for a great deal. Okay. I know it's a great
deal.' He paused. 'Are you still planning to fly to Israel for
your brother's wedding?'

'That's right. I'm flying over six days from now.'

'You'll be at Inge's until then?'

'I'm heading back to the City the day before I take off.'

'Tell you what. Why don't you change your flight and stop
off in Paris? Just for a day? That way we can meet and discuss
all this.'

'I don't want to stop off in Paris. If you're so anxious to
meet, then you come over here.'

There was a long pause. 'All right,' he growled. 'I'll see
what I can do. But it'll depend on whether or not I can sew up
the
Red Satin
distribution deals by then. But I'll try.'

Perhaps he tried; then again, perhaps he did not. She
couldn't be sure. The way things worked out, the
Red Satin
deals kept him busy for the next two days; the two days after
that he spent in London trying to entice Sir B. Lawrence
Craik, who was lukewarm to the size of the projected budget.
Then it was on to Rome, where Gio Monti listened to his proposal and decided to think it over before coming to a
decision. Finally, deciding that a bird in the hand was certainly
worth a flock in the bush, he flew to Saudi Arabia, and back
into the good graces of the Almoayyed brothers.

Time had a habit of slipping through one's fingers. By the
time the sixth day rolled around, he was still in Riyadh.

And Daliah planned on leaving the Cape in the wee hours
of the following morning.

Inge was already up by the time Daliah was set to leave. She had a thermos of hot coffee waiting. 'For the drive,' she said.

'You're a jewel, you know that?' Daliah said fondly, stoop
ing to give the tiny figure in the quilted bathrobe a warm hug.

Inge shrugged and followed her outside to the gravel car park up front. Happy pranced ecstatically at her side.

Despite her jacket, Daliah shivered. It was still dark out,
and chilly. The damp sea fog hung in the air, and the porch lanterns to either side of the front door gave off little halos of
fuzzy light. The air smelled of salt. On the other side of the
big sand dunes, the breakers made crashing noises as they
spent themselves upon the beach.

'I'm going to miss you,' Daliah said when they reached the
car. She unlocked the door and opened it a few inches so that
the little overhead lamp inside could click on and give them some more light. She turned to Inge and smiled. 'As soon as
I'm back, I'll try to come up and visit for a few more days.'

Inge looked pleased. 'I would like that.' Her eyes glinted
moistly in the weak light, and she pulled the driver's door
wider open so that Daliah could get in. 'I hope you have a
good flight.'

'Oh, I'm sure I will. Patsy's secretary made all the arrange
ments, and she even bought the seat next to mine. That way
I won't have anyone beside me, and I'll be able to enjoy com
plete privacy.'

'That is good.' Inge nodded and fussed with the zipper on
Daliah's jacket. 'I worry about you all the time, you know.
You are very famous, and there are a lot of crazy people out
there. Every time I pick up a newspaper or turn on the TV,
all I hear about are murders and violence.'

'Don't worry so much,' Daliah said with a smile. 'I'm very well-insulated from the rest of humanity. I don't even have to
sit in airport waiting rooms anymore. As soon as I get to an airport, I'm always whisked away to the VIP lounges. No
matter where I go, there are always special airline representa
tives who take good care of me.'

'Besides which,' she added, 'I know how to take care of
myself. All Israeli girls do. During my military training I
learned hand-to-hand combat.' Playfully she flattened her
hands and took a classic fighting stance.

Inge looked up at her without amusement. She shook her
head. 'I still worry,' she insisted stubbornly.

'That's all I need,' Daliah laughed. 'Two mothers.'

'Well, one mother and maybe a grandmother. Of sorts.'

'What do you mean, "grandmother of sorts"?' Daliah
embraced Inge again and kissed both her cheeks. 'I've always considered you my real grandmother,' she said huskily. 'You
know that.'

'I know.' Inge smiled, got up on tiptoe, and kissed Daliah
on both cheeks.

Daliah kissed her back. 'I promise that next time I'll try to
stay even longer. Maybe I'll even spend two whole weeks.'

Inge nodded and let go of her. 'We will see. I know you are
very busy, and even a day or two is enough to satisfy me.
When you get old, you would be surprised how far a little visit
can go.' She tilted her head to one side. 'You will give your
mother my love?'

'I will,' Daliah promised as Happy trotted over to her. She
squatted down and he licked her face. She grabbed hold of him and gave him an affectionate squeeze. 'You take good
care of Inge, Happy, hear?'

Daliah slid into the car and looked up at Inge. 'Thanks
again for the hospitality. And don't look at me like that.' She
slammed the door shut, rolled down the window, and switched
on the engine. She raised her voice so she could be heard
above the roar of the motor. 'I'll be fine.'

'It's not that, Daliah. You know, you still didn't tell me
anything about your date. You went out two times with him,
and you still didn't tell me a thing.'

'What's there to tell?' Daliah shrugged. 'He was very nice,
we talked about lots of unimportant things, and we never went
to bed, if that's what you're getting at.'

'I didn't mean it that way at all, Daliah,' Inge said severely.
'I don't know why you young people can only think about sex.'

Which was, Daliah thought, the perfect exit line.

With a wide white grin and a cheerful wave of her hand, she
gunned the motor and the car leapt out of the car park on to
the main road. At this early hour there was no traffic. Faster,
faster! The needle on the speedometer swept inexorably to
the right, and the view out the side windows blurred as the
tires gobbled up the leaping white divider lines. Faster, faster,
faster. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

Chapter 7

The giant jet engines changed pitch, the wheel hydraulics
whined, and the plane seemed to slow to a halt and hang there in midair. For one gut-wrenching moment Daliah felt stricken
with terror. She hated flying, and on the other side of the
square of Perspex, the Mediterranean looked so near that she
had the sensation the belly of the jet was floating on the water and that if the plane didn't gain some more speed right away,
it was going to sink to the bottom of the sea like a giant bomb.
She felt one ear pop, and then the other. She swallowed
hard a couple of times and licked her lips. Then she grimaced.
Her mouth felt dehydrated and stale, as full of cotton as
though she'd spent a night drinking. Pressurized cabins never
failed to do that to her.

She strained against the seat belt and shifted uncomfortably
in her seat. Once again, she was conscious of a prickly rash.
Her mound had started itching again, and it took more
willpower than she would have liked to admit not to reach
down and scratch it surreptitiously. The hair which Jerome had always insisted on shaving was growing back in.

And that was another thing, she thought, her lips tightening,
her mind happily clutching any thought but that of flying.
From now on, she would let her pubic hair grow and blossom
into an extravagant, luxuriant bush. Even if she had to set it
in curlers and coif it, she was going to have the pubic bush to
end all pubic bushes.

Fuck Jerome's perversities. That hair was hers, and hers
alone, and she would keep it that way. If nothing else, keeping
her mound unshaved would symbolize a measure of newfound
independence, of not needing men, and certainly not men like
Jerome.