The words came at Toby as though filtered, from a far distance. His mind registered what Al Caruso was saying, but it made no sense to him.
“Wait a minute,” Toby protested. “I can’t—”
Caruso put a powerful hand on Toby’s shoulder. “You’re a lucky man,” Caruso said. “I mean, if Millie hadn’t convinced me that you two really love each other, if I thought you were just laying her like she was some two-dollar hoor, this whole thing coulda had a different ending. You get my meaning?”
Toby found himself involuntarily looking up at the two men in black, and they both nodded.
“You finish up here Saturday night,” Al Caruso said. “We’ll make the wedding Sunday.”
Toby’s throat had gone dry again. “I—the thing is, Al, I’m afraid I have some bookings. I—”
“They’ll wait,” the cherubic face beamed. “I’m gonna pick out Millie’s wedding dress myself. Night, Toby.”
Toby stood there, staring in the direction of the three figures long after they had disappeared.
He did not have the faintest notion who Millie was.
By the next morning, Toby’s fears had evaporated. The unexpectedness of what had happened had thrown him off guard. But this was not the era of Al Capone. No one could force him to marry anyone he did not want to marry. Al Caruso was not some cheap, strong-arm hoodlum; he was a respectable hotel owner. The more Toby thought about the situation, the funnier it became. He kept embellishing it in his mind, building up the laughs. He had not really let Caruso scare him, of course, but he would tell it as though he had been terrified. I go up to this table, and there’s Caruso sitting with these six gorillas, see? They’ve all got big bulges where they’re carrying guns. Oh, yes, it would make a great story. He might even get a hilarious routine out of it.
For the rest of the week Toby stayed away from the swimming pool and the casino and avoided all the girls. He was not afraid of Al Caruso, but why take unnecessary chances? Toby had planned to leave Las Vegas by plane Sunday noon. Instead, he arranged for a rental car to be delivered to the back of the hotel parking lot Saturday night. The car would be waiting for him there. He packed his bags before he went downstairs to do his last show, so that he would be ready to leave for Los Angeles the moment he finished. He would stay away from Las Vegas for a while. If Al Caruso was really serious, Clifton Lawrence could straighten things out.
Toby’s closing performance was sensational. He got a standing ovation, the first one he had ever received. He stood on the stage, feeling the waves of love coming from the audience, bathing him in a warm, soft glow. He did one encore, begged off and hurried upstairs. This had been the greatest three weeks of his life. In that short period of time, he had gone from a nobody who slept with waitresses and cripples to a Star who had laid Al Caruso’s mistress. Beautiful girls were begging him to take them to bed, audiences admired him and the big hotels wanted him. He had it made, and he knew that this was only the beginning. He took out the key to his door. As he opened it, a familiar voice called out, “Come on in, kid.”
Slowly, Toby entered the room. Al Caruso and his two friends were inside. A quick shiver of apprehension went down Toby’s back. But it was all right. Caruso was beaming and saying, “You were great tonight, Toby, really great.”
Toby began to relax. “It was a good audience.”
Caruso’s brown eyes twinkled and he said, “You made them a good audience, Toby. I told you—you got talent.”
“Thanks, Al.” He wished they would all leave, so he could be on his way.
“You work hard,” Al Caruso said. He turned to his two lieutenants. “Did I say I never seen nobody work so hard?”
The two men nodded.
Caruso turned back to Toby. “Hey—Millie was kinda upset you didn’t call her. I told her it was because you was workin’ so hard.”