've gotten you a booking in Las Vegas," Clifton Lawrence told Toby. "I've arranged for Dick Landry to work on your act. He's the best nightclub director in the business."

"Fantastic! Which hotel? The Flamingo? The Thunderbird?"

"The Oasis."

"The Oasis?" Toby looked at Cliff to see if he was joking. "I never - "

"I know." Cliff smiled. "You never heard of it. Fair enough. They never heard of you. They're really not booking you - they're booking me. They're taking my word that you're good."

"Don't worry," Toby promised. "I will be."

Toby broke the news to Alice Tanner about his Las Vegas booking just before he was to leave. "I know you're going to be a big star," she said. "It's your time. They'll adore you, darling." She hugged him and said, "When do we leave, and what do I wear to the opening night of a young comic genius?"

Toby shook his head ruefully. "I wish I could take you, Alice. The trouble is I'll be working night and day thinking up a lot of new material."

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.

Fifteen minutes after Dick Landry met Toby Temple, Landry knew he was working with a talent. Listening to Toby's monologue, Landry found himself laughing aloud - something he rarely did. It was not the jokes so much as Toby's wistful way of delivering them. He was so pathetically sincere that it broke your heart. He was an adorable Chicken Little, terrified that the sky was about to fall on his head. You wanted to run up there and hug him and assure him that everything would be all right.

When Toby finished, it was all that Landry could do to keep from applauding. He went up to the stage where Toby stood. "You're good," he said enthusiastically. "Really good."

Toby said, pleased, "Thanks. Cliff says you can show me how to be great."

Landry said, "I'm going to try. The first thing is for you to learn to diversify your talents. As long as you can only stand up there and tell jokes, you'll never be more than a standup comic. Let me hear you sing."

Toby grinned. "Rent a canary. I can't sing."

"Try it."

Toby tried. Landry was pleased. "Your voice isn't much," he told Toby, "but you have an ear. With the right songs, you can fake it so that they'll think you're Sinatra. We'll arrange to have some song writers do some special material for you. I don't want you singing the same songs that everyone else is doing. Let's see you move."

Toby moved.

Landry studied him carefully. "Fair, fair. You'll never be a dancer, but I'm going to make you look like one."

"Why?" Toby asked. "Song-and-dance men are a dime a dozen."

"So are comics," Landry retorted. "I'm going to turn you into an entertainer."

Toby grinned and said, "Let's roll up our sleeves and get to work."

They went to work. O'Hanlon and Rainger were at every rehearsal, adding lines, creating new routines, watching Landry drive Toby. It was a grueling schedule. Toby rehearsed until every muscle in his body ached, but he burned off five pounds and became trim and hard. He took a singing lesson every day and vocalized until he was singing in his sleep. He worked on new comedy routines with the boys, then stopped to learn new songs that had been written for him, and it was time to rehearse again.

Almost every day, Toby found a message in his box that Alice Tanner had telephoned. He remembered how she had tried to hold him back. You're not ready yet. Well, he was ready now, and he had done it in spite of her. To hell with her. He threw the messages away. Finally, they stopped. But the rehearsals went on.

Suddenly it was opening night.

There is a mystique about the birth of a new star. It is as though some telepathic message is instantaneously transmitted to the four corners of the world of show business. Through some magic alchemy, the news spreads to London and Paris, to New York and Sydney; wherever there is theater, the word is carried.

Five minutes after Toby Temple walked onto the stage of the Oasis Hotel, the word was out that there was a new star on the horizon.

Clifton Lawrence flew in for Toby's opening and stayed for the supper show. Toby was flattered. Clifton was neglecting his other clients for him. When Toby finished the show, the two of them went to the hotel's all-night coffee shop.

"Did you see all the celebrities out there?" Toby asked. "When they came back to my dressing room, I damn near died."

Clifton smiled at Toby's enthusiasm. It was such a pleasant change from all his other, jaded clients. Toby was a pussycat. A sweet, blue-eyed pussycat.

"They know talent when they see it," Clifton said. "So does the Oasis. They want to make a new deal with you. They want to raise you from six-fifty to a thousand a week."

Toby dropped his spoon. "A thousand a week? That's fantastic, Cliff!"

"And I've had a couple of feelers from the Thunderbird and the El Rancho Hotel."

"Already?" Toby asked, elated.

"Don't wet your pants. It's just to play the lounge." He smiled. "It's the old story, Toby. To me you're a headliner, and to you you're a headliner - but to a headliner are you a headliner?" He stood up. "I have to catch a plane to New York. I'm flying to London tomorrow."

"London? When will you be back?"

"In a few weeks." Clifton leaned forward and said, "Listen to me, dear boy. You have two more weeks here. Treat it like a school. Every night you're up on that stage, I want you to figure out how you can be better. I've persuaded O'Hanlon and Rainger not to leave. They're willing to work with you day and night. Use them. Landry will come back weekends to see how everything is going."

"Right," Toby said. "Thanks, Cliff."

"Oh, I almost forgot," Clifton Lawrence said casually. He pulled a small package from his pocket and handed it to Toby.

Inside was a pair of beautiful diamond cufflinks. They were in the shape of a star.

Whenever Toby had some free time, he relaxed around the large swimming pool at the back of the hotel. There were twenty-five girls in the show and there were always a dozen or so from the chorus line in bathing suits, sunning themselves. They appeared in the hot noon air like late-blooming flowers, one more beautiful than the next. Toby had never had trouble getting girls, but what happened to him now was a totally new experience. The showgirls had never heard of Toby Temple before, but his name was up in lights on the marquee. That was enough. He was a Star, and they fought each other for the privilege of going to bed with him.

The next two weeks were marvelous for Toby. He would wake up around noon, have breakfast in the dining room where he was kept busy signing autographs and then rehearse for an hour or two. Afterward, he would pick one or two of the long-legged beauties around the pool and they would go up to his suite for an afternoon romp in bed.

And Toby learned something new. Because of the skimpy costumes the girls wore, they had to get rid of their pubic hair. But they waxed it in such a way that only a curly strip of hair was left in the center of the mound, making the opening more available.

"It's like an aphrodisiac," one of the girls confided to Toby. "A few hours in a pair of tight pants and a girl becomes a raving nymphomaniac."

Toby did not bother to learn any of their names. They were all "baby" or "honey," and they became a marvelous, sensuous blur of thighs and lips and eager bodies.

During the final week of Toby's engagement at the Oasis, he had a visitor. Toby had finished the first show and was in his dressing room, creaming off his makeup, when the dining room captain opened the door and said in hushed tones, "Mr. Al Caruso would like you to join his table."

Al Caruso was one of the big names in Las Vegas. He owned one hotel outright, and it was rumored that he had points in two or three others. It was also rumored that he had mob connections, but that was no concern of Toby's. What was important was that if Al Caruso liked him, Toby could get bookings in Las Vegas for the rest of his life. He hurriedly finished dressing and went into the dining room to meet Caruso.

Al Caruso was a short man in his fifties with gray hair, twinkling, soft brown eyes and a little paunch. He reminded Toby of a miniature Santa Claus. As Toby came up to the table, Caruso rose, held out his hand, smiled warmly and said, "Al Caruso. Just wanted to tell you what I think of you, Toby. Pull up a chair."

There were two other men at Caruso's table, dressed in dark suits. They were both burly, sipped Coca-Colas and did not say a word during the entire meeting. Toby never learned their names. Toby usually had his dinner after the first show. He was ravenous now, but Caruso had obviously just finished eating, and Toby did not want to appear to be more interested in food than in his meeting with the great man.

"I'm impressed with you, kid," Caruso said. "Real impressed." And he beamed at Toby with those mischievous brown eyes.

"Thanks, Mr. Caruso," Toby said happily. "That means a lot to me."

"Call me Al."

"Yes, sir - Al."

"You got a future, Toby. I've seen 'em come and I've seen 'em go. But the ones with talent last a long time. You got talent."

Toby could feel a pleasant warmth suffusing his body. He fleetingly debated whether to tell Al Caruso to discuss business with Clifton Lawrence; but Toby decided it might be better if he made the deal himself. If Caruso is this excited about me, Toby thought, I can make a better deal than Cliff. Toby decided he would let Al Caruso make the first offer and then he would do some hard bargaining.

"I almost wet my pants," Caruso was telling him. "That monkey routine of yours is the funniest thing I ever heard."

"Coming from you, that's a real compliment," Toby said with sincerity.

The little Santa Claus eyes were filled with tears of laughter. He took out a white silk handkerchief and wiped them away. He turned to his two escorts. "Did I say he's a funny man?"

The two men nodded.

Al Caruso turned back to Toby. "Tell you why I came to see you, Toby."

This was the magical moment, his entrance into the big time. Clifton Lawrence was off in Europe somewhere, making deals for has-been clients when he should have been here making this deal. Well, Lawrence would have a real surprise in store for him when he returned.

Toby leaned forward and said, smiling engagingly, "I'm listening, Al."

"Millie loves you."

Toby blinked, sure that he had missed something. The old man was watching him, his eyes twinkling.

"I - I'm sorry," Toby said, in confusion. "What did you say?"

Al Caruso smiled warmly. "Millie loves you. She told me."

Millie? Could that be Caruso's wife? His daughter? Toby started to speak, but Al Caruso interrupted.

"She's a great kid. I been keepin' her for three, four years." He turned to the other two men. "Four years?"

They nodded.

Al Caruso turned back to Toby. "I love that girl, Toby. I'm really crazy about her."

Toby could feel the blood beginning to drain from his face. "Mr. Caruso - "

Al Caruso said, "Millie and me got a deal. I don't cheat on her except with my wife, and she don't cheat on me unless she tells me." He beamed at Toby, and this time Toby saw something beyond the cherubic smile that turned his blood to ice.

"Mr. Caruso - "

"You know somethin', Toby? You're the first guy she ever cheated on me with." He turned to the two men at the table. "Is that the honest truth?"

They nodded.

When Toby spoke, his voice was trembling. "I - I swear to God I didn't know Millie was your girlfriend. If I had even dreamed it, I wouldn't have touched her. I wouldn't have come within a mile of her, Mr. Caruso - "

The Santa Claus beamed at him. "Al. Call me Al."

"Al." It came out as a croak. Toby could feel the perspiration running down under his arms. "Look, Al," he said. "I'll - I'll never see her again. Ever. Believe me, I - "

Caruso was staring at him. "Hey! I don't think you were listening to me."

Toby swallowed. "Yes. Yes, I was. I heard every word you said. And you don't have to worry about - "

"I said the kid loves you. If she wants you, then I want her to have you. I want her to be happy. Understand?"

"I - " Toby's brain was spinning. For a crazy moment he had actually thought that the man sitting across from him was looking for revenge. Instead Al Caruso was offering him his girlfriend. Toby almost laughed aloud with relief. "Jesus, Al," Toby said. "Sure. Whatever you want."

"Whatever Millie wants."

"Yeah. Whatever Millie wants."

"I knew you were a nice man," Al Caruso said. He turned to the two men at the table. "Did I say Toby Temple was a nice man?"

They nodded and silently sipped their Cokes.

Al Caruso rose, and the two men with him were instantly on their feet, one positioned on either side of him. "I'm gonna give the wedding myself," Al Caruso said. "We'll take over the big banquet room at the Morocco. You don't have to worry about nothin'. I'll take care of everything."

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."

"That's right," Toby said quickly. "I'm glad you understand, Al."

Al smiled benignly. "Sure. But you know what I don't understand? You didn't call to find out what time the wedding is."

"I was going to call in the morning."

Al Caruso laughed and said chidingly, "From L.A.?"

Toby felt a small pang of anxiety. "What are you talking about, Al?"

Caruso regarded him reproachfully. "You got your suitcases all packed in there." He pinched Toby's cheek playfully. "I told you I'd kill anyone who hurt Millie."

"Wait a minute! Honest to God, I wasn't - "

"You're a good kid, but you're stupid, Toby. I guess that's part of bein' a genius, huh?"

Toby stared at the chubby, beaming countenance, not knowing what to say.

"You gotta believe me," Al Caruso said warmly, "I'm your friend. I wanna make sure nothin' bad happens to you. For Millie's sake. But if you won't listen to me, what can I do? You know how you get a mule to pay attention?"

Toby shook his head dumbly.

"First, you hit it over the head with a two-by-four."

Toby felt fear rising in his throat.

"Which is your good arm?" Caruso asked.

"My - my right one," Toby mumbled.

Caruso nodded genially and turned to the two men. "Break it," he said.

From out of nowhere, a tire iron appeared in the hands of one of the men. The two of them began closing in on Toby. The river of fear became a sudden flood that made his whole body shake.

"For Christ's sake," Toby heard himself say, inanely. "You can't do this."

One of the men hit him hard in the stomach. In the next second, Toby felt excruciating pain as the tire iron slammed against his right arm, shattering bones. He fell to the floor, writhing in an unbearable agony. He tried to scream, but he could not catch his breath. Through tear-filled eyes, he looked up and saw Al Caruso standing over him, smiling.

"Have I got your attention?" Caruso asked softly.

Toby nodded, in torment.

"Good," Caruso said. He turned to one of the men. "Open up his pants."

The man leaned down and unzipped Toby's fly. He took the tire iron and flicked out Toby's penis.

Caruso stood there a moment, looking down at it. "You're a lucky man, Toby. You're really hung."

Toby was filled with a dread such as he had never known. "Oh, God...please...don't...don't do it to me," he croaked.

"I wouldn't hurt you," Caruso told him. "As long as you're good to Millie, you're my friend. If she ever tells me you did anything to hurt her - anything - you understand me?" He nudged Toby's broken arm with the toe of his shoe and Toby screamed aloud. "I'm glad we understand each other," Caruso beamed. "The wedding is at one o'clock."

Caruso's voice was fading in and out as Toby felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. But he knew he had to hang on. "I c-can't," he whimpered. "My arm..."

"Don't worry about that," Al Caruso said. "There's a doc on his way up to take care of you. He's gonna set your arm and give you some stuff so you won't feel no pain. The boys will be here tomorrow to pick you up. You be ready, huh?"

Toby lay there in a nightmare of agony, staring up at Santa Claus's smiling face, unable to believe that any of this was really happening. He saw Caruso's foot moving toward his arm again.

"S - sure," Toby moaned. "I'll be ready..."

And he lost consciousness.