She tried to conceal her disappointment. “I understand.” She held him tighter. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know yet. You see, it’s kind of an open booking.”
She felt a small stab of worry, but she knew that she was being silly. “Call me the moment you can,” she said.
Toby kissed her and danced out the door.
It was as though Las Vegas, Nevada, had been created for the sole pleasure of Toby Temple. He felt it the moment he saw the town. It had a marvelous kinetic energy that he responded to, a pulsating power that matched the power burning inside him. Toby flew in with O’Hanlon and Rainger, and when they arrived at the airport, a limousine from the Oasis Hotel was waiting for them. It was Toby’s first taste of the wonderful world that was soon to be his. He enjoyed leaning back in the huge black car and having the chauffeur ask, “Did you have a nice flight, Mr. Temple?”
It was always the little people who could smell a success even before it happened, Toby thought.
“It was the usual bore,” Toby said carelessly. He caught the smile that O’Hanlon and Rainger exchanged, and he grinned back at them. He felt very close to them. They were all a team, the best goddamned team in show business.
The Oasis was off the glamorous Strip, far removed from the more famous hotels. As the limousine approached the hotel, Toby saw that it was not as large or as fancy as the Flamingo or the Thunderbird, but it had something better, much better. It had a giant marquee in front that read:
OPENING SEPT. 4TH
LILI WALLACE
TOBY TEMPLE
Toby’s name was in dazzling letters that seemed a hundred feet high. No sight was as beautiful as this in the whole goddamn world.
“Look at that!” he said in awe.
O’Hanlon glanced at the sign and said, “Yeah! How about that? Lili Wallace!” And he laughed. “Don’t worry, Toby. After the opening you’ll be on top of her.”
The manager of the Oasis, a middle-aged, sallow-faced man named Parker, greeted Toby and personally escorted him to his suite, fawning all the way. “I can’t tell you how pleased we are to have you with us, Mr. Temple. If there’s anything at all you need—anything—just give me a call.”
The welcome, Toby realized, was for Clifton Lawrence. This was the first time the fabulous agent had deigned to book one of his clients into this hotel. The manager of the Oasis hoped that now the hotel would get some of Lawrence’s really big stars.
The suite was enormous. It consisted of three bedrooms, a large living room, a kitchen, a bar and a terrace. On a table in the living room were bottles of assorted liquors, flowers and a large bowl of fresh fruit and cheeses, compliments of the management.
“I hope this will be satisfactory, Mr. Temple,” Parker said.
Toby looked around and thought of all the dreary little cockroach-ridden fleabag hotel rooms he had lived in. “Yeah. It’s okay.”
“Mr. Landry checked in an hour ago. I’ve arranged to clear the Mirage Room for your rehearsal at three o’clock.”
“Thanks.”
“Remember, if there’s anything at all you need—” And the manager bowed himself out.
Toby stood there, savoring his surroundings. He was going to live in places like this for the rest of his life. He would have it all—the broads, the money, the applause. Mostly the applause. People sitting out there laughing and cheering and loving him. That was his food and drink. He did not need anything else.
Dick Landry was in his late twenties, a slight, thin man with an alopecian head and long, graceful legs. He had started out as a gypsy on Broadway and had graduated from the chorus to lead dancer to choreographer to director. Landry had taste and a sense of what an audience wanted. He could not make a bad act good, but he could make it look good, and if he was given a good act, he could make it sensational. Until ten days ago, Landry had never heard of Toby Temple, and the only reason Landry had cut into his frantic schedule to come to Las Vegas and stage Temple’s act was because Clifton Lawrence had asked him to. It was Clifton who had given Landry his start.