SAVAGE - Chapter Five

Airborne for hours, Erika sat looking down at the vast expanse of Canada shimmering in the moonlight. The giant airship droned through the night, over the North Pole toward England. She had made this trip many times, but never lost the feeling of remote detachment as she viewed the earth below from her perspective of thirty-seven thousand feet. For fifteen hours she had little to do but sleep, read, gaze out the window and think.

Most all the other passengers had long since settled into a fetal position in their seats and were sleeping. There was too much going on in her head to sleep. Even Judy had stopped her animated chatter and was slumbering with her head resting on Erika's shoulder.
There appeared to be hundreds of lakes down below reflecting the shimmering moonlight back up to her. From where she sat they resembled giant puddles and she marveled at the expanse of untouched land left in the world.

Erika was looking forward to being in Europe again. London, especially. Etta was enormously popular there and did turn-away business. It was the first stop on a six-month journey that would take them around the Globe. What adventures lay ahead?

She was looking forward to visiting the Far East and the Orient. She had never been to Bangkok. She sighed. There was a feeling of escape when she did one of these tours. Like leaving a part of herself behind, to be dealt with later. For now she was safely airborne. It was a feeling of vague uneasiness that plagued her all her life. What was there about travel that made her feel safe and secure? As if a voice inside whispered to keep moving, to roam the world and experience its mysteries would somehow keep her safe. Safe from what? She thought of her Mother, who essentially lived the same way. Is this how Alexandra felt as she constantly traveled? Of course, being the head of Alexandra Cosmetics meant that she traveled in a private, corporate jet and infinite luxury. Alexandra Cosmetics was a household word around the globe. Life magazine had once run a picture of a remote Aborigine village in the outback of Australia and there, sure enough, was a half empty jar of Alexandra moisturizing cream. Left behind, no doubt by some fair skinned tourist. It nonetheless was a photo picked up by every major wire service. Alexandra was everywhere, all right. Everywhere but near her daughter.

Erika detached at an early age from her glamorous Mother and the dazzling life she led. She didn't care for the celebrated international jet setters that claimed to be her mother's friends. Erika had made a life of her own in the bosom of Etta Rawlings and her "family" of professionals. They were as close as any family. There were rivalries and squabbles, but Etta ruled with such a tight reign that friction was at a minimum. The more seasoned members had truly grown into a closely-knit family, looking out for and helping one another. Erika could be alone whenever she felt like it but she always knew that when she needed it there was someone in the group that she could be with, talk with, laugh with and even sometimes sleep with.

Sleep with. She looked across the aisle of the darkened cabin and saw the form of the sleeping Savage; his right leg sprawled into the aisle. God, he was beautiful. All the girls had come on to him at some time during rehearsal. He treated them with charm and a sense of humor, putting his arm around them as they shared a secret joke. His smile was like a warm beacon enhanced by his large, wide smile, that bewitching smile that belonged in a toothpaste ad.

What was she doing? My God, how her mind wandered! She tried to think of Rusty back in Los Angeles. He was probably curled up in her bed by now. Asleep. Dreaming of nothing and going routinely through each day for the next six months until she returned. She wondered if Etta was still awake up in the First Class cabin. Etta flew First Class but made it a point to come back into the economy section to visit her "kids," as she called them. That always thrilled the passengers who saw the legend in the flesh. Etta often claimed that she had more fun in Economy than First Class. Perhaps it was true.

Sometimes she didn't know what to believe. Like her solo number. Erika spoke fluent French. There were occasional promises about letting her do a spot in the show by herself. A French ballad made famous by Edith Piaf. Erika knew it by heart and rehearsed it constantly, but no decision was ever made about it. It hung there like an invisible carrot for her to pine for.
Finally she began to grow sleepy. She consulted her watch and calculated that they had about nine hours left of sliding across the night sky. There would be photographers at Heathrow Airport. Best grab some sleep to look as rested as possible. She reached into her travel bag and dabbed into a jar of Alexandra moisturizing cream that she smoothed over her face and throat. The pressurized cabin of the plane wasn't good for the skin. Dryness. As she drifted off to sleep she repeated Alexandra's credo. "Mother Nature is not a nice girl."

Etta Rawlings did not stay in a hotel during her stay in London. The producers at the Talk of the Town, London's most popular nightclub, maintained a three story townhouse overlooking fashionable Elstree Gardens, one of the most desirable sections of town. A black person, no matter how famous, was undoubtedly unwelcome by the neighbors. However, Etta grandly swept from her Austin Princess limousine, up the six steps to the threshold and stepped into the elegant foyer.

Across town Alex Hagin had booked the travel-weary troupe into a third rate theatrical hotel named The Croyden. Located close to the dingy Soho district, it was a far cry from Etta's sumptuous surroundings. The Croyden management had no way of pre-assigning rooms according to gender and so it was purely by accident that Savage and Erika were given the same room key. They had an awkward moment of shared embarrassment before deciding to inspect the room before rejecting it. They climbed the three flights of aging stairs and crept along the dingy hallway looking for the mysterious room. They found it and the door opened three-quarters of the way before banging into the floral, wallpapered wall of what The Croyden called a room.

"Jesus!" Erika exclaimed, "It's so small."

"Understatement," said Savage. "The door doesn't even open all the way. It hits the side of the bed."

Erika laughed. "Would you look at that wallpaper? It must have been there since before the War."

"Which War?" Savage was now beginning to laugh.

They were giddy and tired from their long flight. The situation was becoming hysterical.

"It doesn't even have single beds," Erika screamed through her laughter. One forlorn double bed dominated the tiny room. A nightstand jammed in a corner held an ancient telephone. Erika shrieked, "It doesn't even have its own bathroom!" This was enough to double them both over in hysterical convulsions.

"Stop. You're making my side hurt," Savage cried.
Suddenly, Erika became all business. She regained her composure and declared, "I'll get the guy at the desk to give us some other rooms. This is impossible."

She picked up the telephone and began clicking the receiver furiously. "These phones take forever."

Savage stood in the half opened doorway feeling a little helpless. He had stopped laughing and began to see the room from another perspective. Erika was losing patience with the telephone. "My God, a person could die waiting for the operator."

"Wait a minute," Savage said. "It's really not that bad. I mean, how much time will be spent in this room anyway? I can stand it. As a matter of fact, I've lived in worse. We're going to be in rehearsals or sightseeing most of the time anyway and I'll bet that the rest of the rooms in this hotel are just as small. Why not make the best of it?"

It was Erika's turn to take a cold second look at the room. What Savage was saying made sense. As a matter of fact, what could be more perfect? What the Hell was she complaining about? Dianne or Judy would give their right tit for this opportunity. Well, she couldn't look too eager. She slammed the receiver into its cradle.

"They'll never answer. I'm exhausted and I need a bath. I guess this will have to do for now. Let's go get our luggage. I'm hungry, too. Where in the Hell is the dining room?"

They shared a meal and Savage brought a bottle of wine back to the room. Now they were alone, sitting and re-examining their dinner conversation. They were both in robes, Erika in a royal blue floor-length satin, and Savage in a short black kimono that barely covered the knee. Savage wanted to know more about something Erika had said over dinner.

"How much do you know about Etta and her beginnings in San Francisco?"

She smiled. "Etta and I go back a long way. She knows all my secrets, too."

"You don't strike me as the kind of girl who has to keep secrets."

She smiled her warm, uneven smile and said, "All girls have secrets."

"How important is Joel? I haven't been able to figure him out. Etta's really dependent on him, isn't she?"

"More than you know."

"There's something strange about their relationship. She doesn't treat him like he's just her music arranger."

"Svengali," Erika replied. "Joel is Etta's Svengali. He's the man behind the Legend. Without him she probably wouldn't be the star she is today. He's her -- everything."

The way she said the word "everything" implied there was an even bigger mystery.

"What do you mean?" he pressed.

Erika sipped her wine slowly, carefully evaluating his level of trust.

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Who would I tell?"

She decided to confide in him. "Joel McCain is Etta's husband." She watched the slow reaction on his face. Silently his mouth formed the word, "Wow." Erika continued.

"They've been secretly married for years. One of the best kept secrets in the World. They married before Etta really made it big and decided to keep it from the public. Bad for her image. Haven't you ever noticed how she never discusses her private life? It's as though she doesn't have one."

"But what about ....."

"Joe and Sally Hammond? I thought you'd never ask. Joel again. He had so much dirt on them that it was a piece of cake to get them to alter their contract. Joel's no fool, though. They still get a piece of the action. I think it's called 'Hush Money'."

Such information was difficult to digest.

Erika relished his reaction to her story. "You know," she continued, "Joel comes from a very moneyed background in the deep South. How do you think his family would react if they knew he was married to a Black? They'd disown him in a flash. The funny thing is, they really do love one another. They just go on quietly building their empire; Etrawl Productions. Thanks to Alex Hagin."

"What do you mean?" Savage was fascinated.

"Alex handles Etta's investments. He was an investment banker before coming to work with her and Joel. He really knows the Stock Market. I don't think Etta's ever lost a dime with him. Did you know that Etta is probably the richest Black in the United States? Possibly the World, for all I know. Alex has her invested in everything, but his favorite commodity is land. Undeveloped land. Hell, she even owns Post Offices." Erika played with her glass, amused by the expression on his face.

"Post Offices? I thought they were owned by the Federal Government."

"In a way they are. But the land isn't. Alex buys land in Etta's name and puts up a little cinder block building ideally suited for a Post Office in some remote place that needs one. Then he sells the U.S. Government a ninety-nine year lease on the land and the building. Clever, huh? The money comes out of the taxpayers pockets and right into the Treasury of Etrawl Productions."

"Somehow that sounds illegal," Savage murmured.

"But it isn't. Think about it. Alex saves the taxpayers the cost of putting up the building. But, by leasing it for ninety-nine years, it's like having a little oil well pumping money into the bank every month. There are a lot of details I don't know anything about. The only reason I know as much as I do is because we were playing Portland once. We were doing a bus and truck tour and Etta was on the bus for a change, not flying ahead. We passed through a small town somewhere in Oregon and she pointed out the Post Office and told me the story. She was kind of bombed, but I believe her."

The wine was going to her head. Erika was getting tired of talking about Etta and her fortune. She stared for a moment at the beautiful man sitting on the bed with her, "Where did you get such great legs?"

Lost in thought, he missed the seductive tone in her voice. "I ran a lot when I was a kid," he answered; then realized she was flirting with him. She openly admired his long, slender legs and feet. Muscular calves hosted fine, black hair. With his robe loosely opened on his chest she saw a line of fine, black hair as well. Looking into his intense brown eyes warmed her. Savage was equally mesmerized by her riveting green eyes, flecked with gold. He smiled tenderly.

"Shall we turn out the light?"

Moments later they were in an embrace. Neither was surprised they made love that night. The desire had been smoldering since their first meeting. She felt no embarrassment when he unfastened the sash of her robe and slipped it off her shoulders. He was a gentle lover, skillful and tender. Her arm circled his neck and guided his mouth to hers and their lips met in a fervent kiss.

As dawn crept over London, they made love again. Erika emitted a long, satisfied sigh. She lay naked, face down, on the bed. Tawny masses of hair sprawled over the pillow, obscuring her face. Dominant and equally naked, Savage straddled her well rounded hips and felt the warmth of her buttocks pressing his. Gently, he massaged her back with the surface of his hands, applying pressure to the spinal area with his thumbs.

The silken feeling of her aroused him, creating a rigid manhood deliciously, delicately rubbing against her flesh. He began kissing and nibbling her exposed ear. His tongue explored the sculpted curves and crevices causing her to respond with another languid shudder. He felt her shoulder muscles congeal into tiny, throbbing bumps of goose flesh. His tongue moved in fluttering circles to massage that area as well. Yielding, she grasped the pillow, twisting, and felt his strong, warm tongue begin it's exploration of her back. Expertly he covered every exposed inch, working his mouth in widening circles, lubricating her, continuing his exploration.

She buried her head in the twisted goose-down and groaned as his tongue reached the lower vertebrae. He firmly grasped her buttocks and began licking, first one side and then the other. His tongue fluttered down the back of her silken thighs to discover surprisingly sensitive erogenous zones at the back of her knees, then returned again to the buttocks. She was being driven mad by his forceful oral inquisition.

So intense was her response that he forced himself to concentrate on her alone, ignoring the throbbing of his own desire. Moans mixed with laughter as their shared pleasure escalated feverishly. Slowly, he brought her foot to his mouth. Erika gasped as he began to lick and kiss the inside arch. Gently, he sucked her toes, expertly slipping them in and out of his mouth. Shudders ran through her and she ached to feel their bodies enjoined. At long last he guided her onto her back. Her eyes closed as she felt the exquisite hardness of his desire entering; firmly, gently taking control of her passion.
Their lovemaking was without restraint. Erika clung to him as if he were a mighty rock she had found while floundering in a stormy sea. Her arms tightly circled his neck and her hips held him in a vice-like grip as she felt him rhythmically thrusting with smooth, powerful strokes. He filled her completely. She had never been with a man so endowed who was at once a gentle and tender lover. Erika gave herself completely to the intimacy they were sharing. Perspiration from his flat, well defined belly mixed with hers and she reveled in it and the pungent scent of their union. Her heart beat like wings of wild birds before thunder. Warm, surging blood pounded through her veins and brain, causing her uncontrolled breathing coming from some far away place. He was laying full on top of her now, his heated breath in her ear, his wet cheek against hers as he increased his insistent thrusts. Oh, my God! She wanted to scream. His pounding body made her feel on fire. Sublime fire. She relinquished control as her body arched and she frantically thrust her hips to milk him of even more ecstasy. Her orgasm came from every part of her being at the same moment. There was no part of her that was not on fire. She held him even tighter and stifled a scream in his neck and shoulder muscles. Satisfied that she had reached the first pinnacle, Savage lifted her slightly and put both arms around her. Their embrace might have blended them into one being. He was beyond concentrating on her alone now. She begged him to take her. Her intensity had just begun to subside when she felt him growing even larger and hotter inside of her. Oh, God, it was starting again! This time they experienced the moment together. At the moment of eruption his head and shoulders rose up and away from her, loins pressed to loins, as if savoring it, to be locked in memory forever.

They lay together for a long time on the crumpled sheets, their bodies still enjoined, Savage filling her still and she ached to keep him there; his head cradled in her neck. As she stroked the nape of his neck, he lay with closed eyes and made a mental map of her body. The feeling of her skin against him. Her bountiful breasts pressing his chest. Her belly pressing his. He kissed her shoulder and began exploring her feet with his toes, moving in small circles against hers. Erika explored his naked back with her hands. At last she spoke.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

He mumbled into her neck. "Just doin' what comes naturally."

She smiled to herself. My God. Six month of this? This is shaping up to be the best tour yet!

The opening night party at The Talk of The Town was star studded and jammed with press and photographers. Everyone was tired but happy. Etta's high standards of perfection paid off. The sound and lighting had been perfect. The dazzling performance intensified the spirit of gayety. The management had extended invitations to other celebrities who were performing in London. The cream of Piccadilly was jammed into The Talk of the Town to pay homage to Etta Rawlings. They took turns congratulating her and posing for the photographers. As Sequins, rhinestones and capped teeth flashed for the strobes many wondered which publication they would appear in. One could only hope for something glossy and chic like Paris Match or trendy like Women's Wear Daily. Frankly, they'd settle for anything just to keep their faces in front of the public. Savage was happy to be able to meet and watch some other big names for a change. Carol Channing was a charming sensation. "Hello, Dolly" was playing down the street and London adored her with her saucer like eyes and crazy curl of a smile. Anthony Newley was there. His musical "Oliver" was a huge hit and there was talk of it being made into a motion picture. He impressed Savage as a brooding, introverted man. Very complex. Savage felt a stab of jealousy toward Newley. Why should he be so successful? Several people were clustered around a short little man with mousy blonde hair. He was puffy and nondescript. Savage didn't know who he was. He asked Dianne.

"Vaughn Monroe," she answered. "I have all his albums. What a dreamy voice. Did you know that he was a truck driver before being discovered? There's hope for us all."

A beautiful brown skinned woman made her entrance wearing a clinging black gown studded with silver sequins that heralded her sensational figure. She sashayed into the room with four handsome black men in tow. Savage gasped. "My God. Who's that?" Judy, on his other arm, whispered, "Shirley Bassey. Sensational performer, but I'll bet she's a real bitch."

Shirley and Etta kissed the air somewhere in the vicinity of each other's cheeks and then Shirley sailed into a litany of things Etta might do to improve her performance.

This was the first of many opening night parties that Savage would be privy to. Tonight he was exhilarated and star struck and thrilled to stand on the sidelines and observe the tribal ritual. Who there would have predicted that he would someday be a bigger star than any and how empty it would seem?

It was agreed that The Croyden Hotel was not where they wanted to spend their two months in London. The day after opening Dianne, Judy and Erika went to a rental agent posing as Stewardesses and found a charming, three story flat to rent in Chelsea. Ironically, on a street named Hollywood Road. Savage agreed to share the expense and move in with Erika. It was by now an unspoken fact among the cast that the two were lovers. At least for this tour. That's the way it worked on the road. People pair off very quickly. Dianne had gotten friendly with Etta's drummer and it looked as if they would soon be living together. Judy was having fun charming the local gentry. She enjoyed receiving notes and flowers backstage along with invitations to dinner. Only a few die-hard musicians stayed on at The Croyden.

Two other males completed the backup group. Their names were Chuck and Josh and they had little to do with Savage. It was an awkward situation because as much as he would like to share their company and camaraderie, they shunned him. Even in the confinement of a small dressing room they spoke to one another as though Savage weren't there. He tried not to let it bother him, but it finally came up in conversation with Erika.

"My Dear," she laughed, "Don't you know why? They're scared to death of you. They're afraid you're going to take one of them away from the other."

Savage didn't understand what she was saying.
"They're Lovers," she said insistently. "They have been for years. They met while working on The Red Skelton Show a thousand years ago and have been Frick and Frack ever since. I'm surprised you didn't know."

Needless to say, the Lovers declined the invitation to move into the spacious house on Hollywood Road. It happened that there was an unused maids room in Etta's sumptuous digs and they happily settled in there.

For two wonderful months everyone settled into a routine of nightly performances and weekend matinees. When the show closed at The Talk of the Town they moved to another theatre; The Prince of Wales. Eleanor Watson had just completed a sell-out run of "Crazy Girl" on that very stage. Savage was impressed. Impressed enough to engage the Stage Manager in conversation and ask what he thought of Ms. Watson, the world's most fascinating up-and-comer.

"She did very good business, actually," the man answered in his clipped accent, "but I didn't much care for her as a person."

"Why not?"

"Much too demanding. Why, while she was still in New York with her show she began making requests for all sorts of things. I've never seen the Bloody likes of it."

"What sort of things?" Savage was anxious to know just how much a Star like Eleanor Watson could get away with. The Stage Manager also seemed happy to have someone to tell his story to. He warmed to the subject and sallied forth.

"First of all, she sent an edict across the Atlantic stating that all the ashtrays be removed from the seatbacks in the entire theatre. That took us days. Then she requested a floor plan of the theatre and colored pictures of the dressing room she would occupy. Well, of course we complied and were astounded when we received samples of fabrics and colors that she wanted the dressing room. Can you imagine? In addition, dear boy, someone must have pointed out to her that the dressing rooms are on the second level up. This is a very old theatre, you know. So, the lady commanded that a red carpet be run from her dressing room, all the way down the hallway and stairs, across the entire backstage up to the exact spot where she would make her entrance. And all of this to be done before she would set foot in England. Now, I ask you. Don't you think it a bit much? Miss Rawlings is such a joy to work with," he hastened to add, "she brings along everything she needs, including her own sound system. Why we hardly have to do anything at all."

Savage loved the story. Good for Watkins! It made him feel a bit triumphant for her. He might have done the same thing if he could think of it. Eleanor Watkins grew up in Paramus, New Jersey. She was an underdog. Awkward and certainly not a classic beauty. He could imagine what a traumatic childhood she must have had with other kids calling her names and making fun of her. And then one day she's a Star! Someone discovers that this duckling has an incredible gift. All of a sudden the little girl is given stardom, money and power. Handed to her on a silver platter! She can point to the Brooklyn Bridge and tell them to paint it pink if she wants to and they fucking well will because Watkins wants it. Good for you, Eleanor. You paid your dues. Savage relished the story the more he thought about it. It made him feel good to know that sometimes lives could be reversed. God, how he wished it would happen to him.

Etta was generous in allowing her troupe as much free time as they wanted to explore London. She was adamant that they be at the Theatre a half an hour before curtain time, but otherwise they were free to go where they pleased. To insure they arrived at the Theatre on time she sent her chauffeured Austin Princess Limousine to the house on Hollywood Row.

Erika became the official leader because of her previous visits to England. She took Savage and the rest to the obvious places such as Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London, but she also knew of out-of-the-way places that tourists never saw. A favorite haunt became the smelly Docks on the River Thames Sunday afternoons between matinee and evening performances. For six days a week the fishermen toiled on the docks making a living. On Sundays they jammed the tiny pub there drinking pinters of warm beer in smoke filled rooms singing at the top of their lungs as some fat old toothless crone accompanied them on a battered upright piano. Savage marveled how these people who led seemingly dreary lives could muster such enthusiasm and fun. It was in sharp contrast to the glittering parties of Piccadilly but he wondered who was really having the most fun.

The London summer was warm and mild and wonderful. All to quickly it passed and soon it was time to move on. Etta had commitments in Germany and other parts of Europe before pushing on to the Far East.