Mr Lonely, page 19
‘No,’ Sid said confidently. ‘Of what? What’s the worst thing that can happen? I get paid off, that’s the worst thing that can happen. They pay me for not working, so I’m walking about in eighty degrees of sunshine. I’m not talking too fast for you, am I? I’ll still be staying at the best hotel, so for two weeks I’ll be able to live it up on their money. Now that’s the worst that can happen to me. At home, there may be six other comics rubbing their hands together and cadging drinks from each other, saying, “He failed. Isn’t that great. He failed. He flopped in Vegas.” And they will be thrilled and the papers will be the same. “Last night in Las Vegas at the MGM Grand Hotel, Sid Lewis flew over (first class) to fly the British flag and failed. Yes, readers, he failed, and the once great British flag is now only fluttering at half mast.” They won’t mention that I tried. The other comics won’t say, “Well, at least, he got the offer. We didn’t.” Oh, no, they’ll just say he failed and be pleased because half of those comics would not have the nerve to have a go out here and the other half could not get booked in a concert party on the Isle of Wight.’
‘I was on the Isle of Wight on D-Day,’ the driver said.
‘They’re still talking about you,’ Sid retorted and the driver laughed. ‘If I fail here, I’ll still be a star at home. The comics won’t make any difference, nor will the newspapers. Don’t forget, the hardest thing to find is yesterday’s newspaper. When I get home after the failure, my agent will be there to meet me and help me carry the money to the bank.’
‘You don’t like your agent, do you?’
‘It’s not that. My agent doesn’t like me.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes, he’s upset because I get ninety per cent of his salary.’
Silence took over again. The only thing you could hear in the car was a digital watch on the driver’s wrist.
Olly broke the silence, saying, ‘Three more miles and we’ll be there.’
‘Five,’ the driver said.
‘Five, is it …? Are you married, Sid?’ Olly asked quietly.
‘Yes. She couldn’t come with me. She couldn’t leave our daughter, Elspeth, on her own.’
‘How old is Elizabeth?’
‘Elspeth. She’s fifteen.’
‘If you want any company, just let me know.’
‘I’m happy with you,’ Sid grinned.
‘No, I mean, female company. You know, black, brown, Jap, anything. Just let me know. Here’s my card,’ Olly whispered as he slipped Sid a piece of pasteboard with his name and phone number on it. ‘Any time. Just let me know.’ Olly winked.
Sid smiled to himself as he thought of Bobbers and Robin. They had been there three days already. ‘I’m not like that,’ he lied, while at the same time putting Olly’s card into his top pocket.
‘Of course not …’ Olly said. ‘But you know …’ he trailed off. Then, quickly, ‘Well, we’re almost there.’
‘Oh, good. Are there any fairy croupiers at the tables, Olly?’
Olly ignored Sid’s question. ‘You can see the MGM up ahead.’ Olly pointed, and had to admit to himself, ‘Each time I see it it’s magnificent.’
The size of the hotel alone was breathtaking. The car gently stopped and as it did a young man in beige pants and a dark red jacket opened the door for them to alight. Sid left the air-conditioned car and went into the hot sunshine again. Fingers were snapped and two more attendants were taking luggage out of the boot. Olly beckoned that Sid should follow him. Sid carried his British Airways bag and a raincoat over his arm. The coat was Carrie’s idea. It was getting more stares than Olly’s pants and shirt. Looking up at the clear, hard, blue skies, he knew he would never wear it while he was there.
An attendant held the door of the hotel open for him as Sid followed the kid from Gateshead. Sid stood there looking at the size of the place. Olly stood with him, obviously used to the surprise of visitors and first-timers. Sid was looking at an area as big as the playing-area of Wembley Stadium. This was told to all English visitors and was perfectly true. It was packed with nothing but row upon row of slot machines, rows of roulette wheels and blackjack tables, rows of crap tables, faro wheels, change counters and a constant reminder what while you were in one of the restaurants, you could play Keno. Maybe two thousand people were walking about from machine to machine, from table to table, and wheel to wheel, in surroundings that would make Elton John feel at home, and in perfect air conditioning at four-thirty in the afternoon, and not many less at four-thirty in the morning. It is a phenomenon that only the Americans could think of. No other nation would have the know-how or the nerve to do it. It was the perfect place to bring a Socialist MP and watch him turn the same colour as the money being spent there, or a Conservative MP and listen to him spout about the beauty of free enterprise. There was no pushing, you always had an empty machine, and if any trouble occurred it was dealt with so swiftly you never saw it. Sid looked around this enormous room and noticed there were no windows. This was because ‘they’ did not want you to see the great weather outside. On this ground floor there were six restaurants, a cinema, two theatres as big as the Palladium, a lounge—where acts were also performed—tennis and swimming outside, a shopping arcade as big as any Arndale Shopping Centre and health clubs. It cost one hundred and twenty million dollars to build and boasted two thousand one hundred rooms. It was also built within a year.
On the left as you walked in was a long reception desk manned and womanned by twenty people, all flashing teeth and begging you to have a nice day with about as much sincerity as an undertaker’s get-well card. Every two seconds a soft melodious bell would sound, followed by a voice asking for Mr So-and-So to pick up a house phone. Sid signed in, while Olly organized yet another attendant to see that the luggage would end up in the right room. They then walked to a row of six elevators, which took them almost three minutes. The lift door opened. It was empty and large. Sid remembered thinking he’d played smaller theatres than the lift. A line of flashing buttons at the side of the sliding doors made you feel that if you pressed the wrong one, you could start the third world war. Sid left all those things to Olly.
Olly pressed a button with ‘Penthouse’ written above it. They arrived at the floor seconds later. At the same time the luggage arrived, being pushed along the corridor by yet another attendant who was wishing everything that moved to have a nice day. The three of them went into Sid’s suite of rooms, the attendant wheeling the luggage into the bedroom—the bedroom with the sunken Roman bath. Sid gazed round the room. It was beautiful and tastefully decorated and, of course, large. It had, in one corner of the room, its own fully stocked bar, with enough stools to seat ten people in comfort. Phones were everywhere, bathroom, toilet, three in the living-room, two in each of the three bedrooms. Help was everywhere hidden in a dozen buttons, phones and walled intercoms. The room, door and corridor were on permanent video in case of the slightest trouble. On that floor there were only three suites.
For the first time since he had signed the contract in England, Sid felt nervous. It was only a passing fear of, ‘Jesus and money, too, I hope they like me.’ It was also a passing fear of self-preservation. If he did well and they liked him, it would be ‘Many happy returns’ for a long time to come.
Sid heard the crackle of a new five-dollar bill changing hands as Olly tipped the All-American full back. He now waited for, ‘Have a nice day.’ The man said it, but only once. Sid thought that for a five-dollar tip they should have been given a ‘Have a nice day’ each. As Olly sat down and lit a cigarette, Sid looked out of his window to the distant blue mountains, thinking, If those early pioneers could see what happened to their dream …
Olly shattered his thoughts. ‘Well, Sid, satisfied? Room okay?’ His smile was almost a leer. He knew he could not compete at this level. He was the epitome of ‘Gotcha,’ or even, ‘Now you know why I left Gateshead, Henny.’ Sid turned to him with a little jealousy in his heart. They looked at each other and both decided to keep it on a friendly basis with an invisible handshake. ‘Okay, Sid, I’ll leave you to unpack, unless you want me to do it for you?’ He looked at Sid briefly, then carried on: ‘You know, you’re not used to people like me, are you? But my job is to look after your every need. I recommend you make the most of it. It may never come your way again. But if you make it here—who knows? You may have this life style for the rest of your life.’
‘What’s your home like in Vegas?’ Sid asked him.
‘Big. Almost as big as Gateshead.’ Olly smiled. ‘I’m also well off. Back home I’d be known as a rich Yank, and I’ve still got a few more years left to earn even more money. If I had stayed in Gateshead, what would I have been doing? I’ll tell you. Saved like hell for a holiday in Whitby. Four weeks from now I’m taking my family to Acapulco for a whole month. First-class flight and hotel. The hotel is owned by this group so I get it almost free. So don’t remember me to Gateshead, Sid. I’ve got a home that the Lord Mayor of Newcastle would be proud to drink his Newcastle Brown in. Then, if he’s not thirsty, he can go and lie by the pool, or go into the games room and shoot a game of pool. It’s a bit different than playing snooker over Burton’s Fifty Bob Tailors, so I ask you, what could Gateshead offer my particular talents, eh? They couldn’t offer me a damn thing. I’ve no love for Gateshead or England. When I left school at fourteen years of age, I wasn’t willing to go down the mines or work on the docks, so I was known in my family and by all the neighbours, as a lazy little bugger. I joined the Merchant Navy when I was fifteen, just to get away. The farthest I’d been in those days was an overnight stay in Wembley to see “Wor Jackie” win the cup for us again.’
‘Well, I’m glad you’ve got that off your chest.’
‘Sid, don’t underrate us. This is a big concern.’
‘I’m not.’ Sid laughed loudly, which spurred Olly on to more rhetoric.
‘We know everything about you. This organization knows everything about you.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Sid.
‘Well, you’ve been checked out. Your politics. Where you live. We even know your taste in girls …’
‘So why did you ask me in the car?’
‘I’m letting you into secrets now, Sid. We even know where your in-laws live. In Hampshire, and you let them stay in your cottage for almost nothing. That your mother-in-law hates you and your father-in-law is a lush.’ Sid just looked and listened in amazement. ‘We also know that you already have a girl here and the room she’s in.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Sid lied.
‘Room 1190.’ He handed Sid the phone.
Sid dialled 1190. He listened a few seconds, then put the phone slowly down. ‘Okay, so I do know what you’re talking about, but tell me one thing—why?’
‘Well, you’re an investment and you’re getting a lot of money and my job—and it is a job—is to see that you get all the treatment this organization can offer. If you don’t accept it, that’s okay, but I guarantee you that before you leave you will have pressed every goddamn button in this hotel to get the treatment.’ He lit another cigarette quickly and tried to cover himself with smoke.
‘Well that was some speech, Olly.’
‘As I said, just protecting our investment. You have to be checked.’
‘What about 1190? How did you find out?’
‘That’s not my department. I don’t know. I haven’t even seen the girl, anyway. It’s nothing to do with me. I’m only briefed. The only thing I know is that she’s downstairs with her husband and she’s waiting for you to arrive. Two at once? She must be a hot number. Anyway, I’ll go and I’ll see you downstairs at what time?’
‘Do I have to be there?’
‘No. I just thought you’d like to see backstage and meet a few people. Eat, that’s all.’
‘Eh, let’s say five-thirty, then.’
‘Could you make it six? I’ve got to drive home and back.’
‘Six it is.’ Sid and Olly shook hands. ‘It’s been very interesting meeting you, Mein Herr.’
‘My pleasure. I’ll see you at the reception desk at six.’ Olly put the room keys on the writing desk and left. Suddenly Sid was alone. He walked into the main bedroom to unpack and saw his raincoat on the bed. He thought of Carrie and smiled gently. He soon unpacked and dived into his Roman bath.
*
Sid had bathed and, while in the bath, slept for half an hour. He then took a cold shower and felt completely refreshed. How long it would last remained to be seen. Jet lag hadn’t set in. He picked out his best dark suit, along with his new white shirt and his most expensive Pierre Cardin tie. I’ll show those bums how to dress, he thought. He felt good and felt he looked good. He looked at his gold, extra thin watch. He hated those great big watches that made your left arm stronger than your right one, and took you a minute and a half to find out the time. The moon and the tides you could work out instantly, but the time was sometimes difficult. But then, if you couldn’t get the time, you could, on some of them, get a breezy little melody, so while you were trying to find out the time you were also being entertained. He worked it out—it was five-forty. He picked up a phone and dialled 1190. It buzzed its single buzz a few times before he realized his heart was thumping faster than the one Boris Karloff had in the jar at home. After a couple more buzzes and thirty-six heartbeats Bobbers said, ‘Yes?’
‘Sid here. Can I talk?’
‘No,’ she answered in a very cool English voice.
‘I’m in the penthouse called Regent,’ he said very quickly.
‘I see.’
‘When will you phone?’
‘But operator, this is the second wrong number in the last, let me see, I would say …’ (pause) ‘… two hours.’ Then the phone went dead.
Sid put the phone back in its cradle and burst out laughing. ‘God, that was cool,’ he said out loud, followed by, ‘after that I need a drink.’ He looked again at his watch. Five-forty-two. As he poured a large Scotch he thought, If I’m back here in two hours, that’s seven-forty odd. He swigged down the drink and it hit his empty stomach like a mallet. It burned and tasted strange. He looked at the label on the bottle—Bourbon. That’s the one to avoid, he thought. He picked up his door key off the desk and left the suite.
He was downstairs at ten to six. He looked around and walked along an aisle of slot machines. At the end of the aisle was a change desk. He took out of his pocket a five dollar bill and asked the lady for five dollars worth of quarters. He said, ‘Thank you,’ and was answered with, ‘You’re welcome, sir.’ He looked for what he thought might be a lucky machine, one that would give him a jackpot right away. He saw a woman leave a machine. Sid put in a quarter and pulled down a still-warm handle. He lost his five dollars in three minutes flat, thinking, Good God, if Carrie had seen me do that, she’d have fainted on the spot. He slowly made his way back to the reception desk, passing and watching other addicts feeding the steel boxes with money. Some were playing two machines at once, others hypnotically putting money in with a definite rhythm. Away to his left he heard a woman scream and a light on top of a machine lit up and flickered like a police lamp on Kojak’s car. He walked slowly by a crap table surrounded by men putting money all over the table, while another man with a long, thin walking-stick shouted, ‘Nine’s your point.’
He arrived at the reception area as Olly was walking through the main doors. Sid almost laughed out loud. Olly was wearing a yellow suit, yellow shoes and socks to match, and an open-necked yellow shirt. He looked like a well-dressed banana. Olly was almost next to Sid before he saw him. They both smiled. Olly spoke first.
‘I’m not late, am I?’
‘No, you’re bang on time.’
‘Good. Have you had a gamble yet?’
‘Yes.’ Sid smiled. ‘I lost five dollars.’
‘Oh, so you’re the high roller they’re all talking about.’
‘What’s a high roller?’ They both started to walk towards a dark area that was a bar. It was so dark, Sid would not have seen it if Olly had not known where it was.
‘A high roller,’ Olly explained, ‘is a guy whose living is gambling and who has to come to win or lose heavy money, sometimes maybe as much as fifty grand. Well, once he’s been checked out and he’s known, he gets everything on the house: accommodation, food, drink—although very few do drink. Anything his little old gambling heart desires.’
‘How long does he stay for?’
‘It’s up to him.’
They entered the dark bar. All Americans seem to like darkness when they drink. They probably think they’re doing something wrong so they have to do it in the dark. Sid thought that Olly was wearing a bright yellow suit so that it could be seen by the waitresses. No sooner had they sat down than a black waitress appeared, dressed in black tights and a small apron that made a mini-skirt look old-fashioned. Sid was trying to adjust to the darkness when Olly said, ‘What’ll it be, Sid?’ While Sid was trying to read the drinks card, Olly talked to the waitress. ‘Hi, Marie.’
‘Hi, Mr Hunter. How you bin?’
‘Fine, thanks. And you? I’ll have a Bacardi and Coke.’
Sid was still trying to read in the dark. ‘Oh, I’ll just have a Scotch and water on the rocks, please.’
