The Daughters' Story

by Cyr, Murielle;

  Nadine glanced up, wide-eyed. “How do you know? The boss told me to shut up about it.”

  “The guy’s a creep. Everyone knows that.” Manon brushed her sandwich crumbs off the table. “He likes sweet young ones like you. Report the asshole if he tries anything.”

  Nadine cleared her throat and looked around to make sure no one was listening. “At first, he’d only put his hand on the back of my neck when he leaned over to say something to me. Then he started rubbing my back each time. It made my skin crawl, but I need this job so I didn’t say anything. Two weeks ago, he squatted beside me to tell me I hadn’t sewn a piece right. He put his hand on my lap under the table—out of everyone’s sight—and pulled my skirt up past my knees. I pushed his hand away but he did it again and started rubbing my thigh with a big grin on his face. I wanted to run out of there and never come back. Before I knew it, I had pushed my chair back and marched straight to the boss’s office.”

  “Brave move, kid. What did the boss say?”

  “What do you think, eh?” Nadine slapped her lunch bag down on the table. “He told me to stop making trouble. ‘Get back to your sewing machine and stop spreading rumours,’ he yelled at me.” She clutched the edge of the table. “Like I was a silly kid telling lies. If I didn’t need this stupid job, I’d tell them all off and never come—” She studied the other women sitting at the table. “Was I talking too loud? The boss will fire me if he hears I said anything.”

  Manon grinned. “Don’t you worry. What you say at this table, stays at this table. They might pretend they’re not listening, but they’re not hard of hearing either. Good thing, too. If one of the operators hesitated to sew up a sample for you before this, she sure won’t now. The foreman must know you snitched on him, that’s why he’s giving you a hard time. The better you get at your job, the less he can harass you.” She pushed her chair back and motioned for Nadine to follow. “Come on. I’m going out back for a smoke.”

  Nadine took a quick look at the round wall clock. Twelve minutes left on their lunch break. Enough time to grab her coat and get a breath of fresh air before starting back. The full, dark blue coat Aunt Jan had bought her two winters ago still served her well and—stylish or not—she intended to keep it a few years longer. It also doubled as an extra bed cover during the cold winter nights when the wind whistled through her drafty window.

  Manon wasn’t in the habit of inviting anybody to go outside with her. She sometimes joined the group of smokers who hung out along the back wall of the factory during the break. Most times she stood away from them near the back gates, her cigarette smoke blending with the fumes of noon-hour traffic.

  Nadine hooked her lunch bag on to the back of her chair and followed close on Manon’s heels. When her friend passed by the coat rack without stopping, she reminded her how cold it was outside.

  Manon gave her a playful shove. “Don’t be such a baby, Nadine. It’s not even winter yet and you’re bundled for the North Pole. The cold will help kill off some of the germs from this moldy dump.”

  They continued down the hallway and pushed the door open to the back yard. Nadine admired Manon’s elegant, wide floral skirt and dark blue cashmere cardigan. Her pastel blue blouse, nipped-in at the waist, outlined her slim figure. Manon wasn’t that much older and had been at the factory only a year longer, but she always showed up wearing clothes Nadine only dreamed of having. The navy-blue Baby Dolls on her feet cost a good week’s pay. How did she do it? The few items of clothing Nadine owned all came from the Sally Ann and church basement thrift shops.

  Wages for a sewing machine operator were higher than what Nadine got as a simple needle worker. The raise in pay she’d get if she passed her training in six months would allow her to buy more food, but not cover other expenses. None of the others in the sewing machine section came to work dressed like a model. Manon was pretty evasive about her personal life. The other girls suspected a rich boyfriend—married, of course. They liked to rib her about the sugar daddy she was keeping from them. That’s right, she’d joke back, I’m head of the Secret Sugar Daddy Club. You’re all welcome to join.

  Manon waved to the other smokers by the brick wall and headed for the gate at the back of the yard. She slid her Export A pack and small silver lighter from the pocket of her skirt, pulled out a cigarette, and offered one to Nadine, who declined. “Wise girl.” She cupped her hand over the lighter and drew hard on her cigarette. “I’m sorry I started this dirty habit.”

  Nadine laughed. “I can’t afford it anyway.”

  “Right.” She blew out her smoke over Nadine’s head. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. It’s plain you’re having a hard time getting by. Same as me when I first started here. But it doesn’t have to be that way. Some of the women here have husbands who help out—or else they’re supposed to be helping, though I know it’s not always the case. Most of the younger ones still live at home and they’re not stuck paying rent like us.” She studied Nadine. “I’ve got a gig for you. But you’ve got to promise me this conversation stays between us.”

  “You can trust me, Manon. You know I don’t talk much to anybody here.”

  “I know you won’t shoot your mouth off.” She took a drag, inhaled the smoke deep into her lungs, and let it out in long jets. “This shitty job is more of a front for me right now. I’ve got myself an easy gig for big bucks.”

  “Any chance for me to get in on it?”

  “Sure thing. All I have to do is sit for an hour and watch some guy put on women’s clothes.” She waved her smoke away from Nadine’s face. “Don’t look so shocked. There’s nothing to it. Sometimes he talks to me and I answer, but no touching, ever. The madam has other girls who do those things on the upstairs floor. The guy takes about thirty minutes to dress up and get made up before coming out from behind a screen. Sometimes he asks that you wear something special. The madam has a walk-in closet full of weird outfits.”

  Nadine pulled her coat closer. “Can you get arrested for that?”

  “No law against watching a guy parade his new clothes. Most never wear the same outfit twice. It’s damn good money. What I get for two one-hour gigs is the same pay as a full day’s work at the factory. So if you do three each time, you can cover a week’s pay in three nights. The extra cash can help you move out of that crappy rooming house and get yourself some furniture. Say goodbye to lard sandwiches and get some decent clothes. What do you think, kid?”

  Nadine cleared her throat and dug her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat. She didn’t know what to say. The mystery of Manon’s sugar daddy had just disappeared down the drain along with the aura of glamour that had accompanied her friend. What she was asking her to do didn’t feel right. If she told her that, she’d look like she was judging her, and refusing to go along might create a barrier between them.

  Manon leaned back against the gate with her arms crossed. “What’s the matter, Little Goody Two-Shoes? Not prudish enough for you?”

  Nadine backed up a couple steps, her stomach in a knot. Manon was the only one at the factory who knew about her past. She hadn’t planned on telling her. It had slipped out last summer at the company’s family picnic at Beaver Lake.

  The joyous laughter of young children darting in and out of the crowd of employees had tugged at her heart. If only for a few short hours, their grimy playgrounds of garbage-strewn alleyways, broken cement sidewalks, and tilted front stoops were forgotten. They tore around the adults, chasing each other over picnic tables and vast expanses of greenery and sand.

  She sat at a picnic table with the women from work, sipping cheap wine offered by the bosses. It burned her throat at first, but after the second glass it tasted less like medicine. When a grubby little girl stopped running to grab onto Nadine’s leg and beam up at her, something shifted inside her.

  Manon found her sitting on a flat boulder beside the lake and nudged herself into the narrow space
beside her. She asked her what she was doing there all by herself and Nadine’s tears burst out.

  Her confession had cemented a bond between them and they made a habit of sitting together at lunchtime after that. Nadine didn’t want to lose her friendship, but what she had proposed left a sour taste in her mouth. Manon had never judged her when she told her about the baby, nor had she probed her for details, but had remained silent with her arms around her shoulder. There had been no mention of it afterwards. “It’s not that, Manon. I —”

  “Hey, kid. I’m only showing you a way out. You want to spend the rest of your life eating lard sandwiches every day except for the occasional hard-boiled egg, and rooting through somebody’s hand-me-downs in smelly thrift shops, that’s your business.” She ground her cigarette butt with her heel and squinted at Nadine through the smoke. “Take control of your own life or someone else will do it for you.”

  “I have no right to judge you, Manon. The money is sure tempting but I don’t know if I can do something like that. Let’s not be at odds about this.”

  Manon’s face softened. “Hey, kid. Don’t look so upset. Of course, we’ll stay friends. You’re always so sensitive about things.” She brushed the cigarette ashes off her sleeve and took Nadine’s arm. “Time to get back. This autumn wind is getting nippy. We’ll have to start wearing our woollen bloomers soon.”

  She came to a halt after a few steps and grinned at Nadine. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come along with me after work tomorrow? You don’t have to do a thing but watch my gig through a secret opening in the hallway. You’ll see, there’s nothing to it. I watch the guy, I listen to his dumb comments, sometimes I say a few words, and the madam gives me cash when I’m done. I’m only booked for two gigs so I’ll have time to treat you after to a smoked meat sandwich on Ste-Catherine Street.” She shivered and continued towards the factory door. “It’ll be nice to have someone walk with me to the bus stop afterwards. I hate being out alone in that part of town. It’s pretty dark and gloomy along Saint-Dominique Street. I’m always scared some creep will jump out of a dark alleyway and ambush me. You can be my bodyguard for tomorrow night. What do you say, kid?”

  Nadine smiled, her eyes glowing. They were still friends after all. She’d tag along with her and put this disagreement behind them for good. Where was the harm in that? And no overtime was scheduled for tomorrow. All she’d do in her drab room was lie on her narrow cot and rehash her problems all evening. This thing might bring them closer, just as her confession about her past had done. That’s what good friends do, support each other no matter what. “Can’t afford to refuse a free meal, especially smoked meat with lots of mustard. It reminds me of my Aunt Jan. Each time we went shopping downtown we’d stop and share a sandwich at Ben’s Deli.”

  Manon yanked open the back door to the shop and gestured for Nadine to enter. “No need to head all the way to the other side of town for that. I know a great little restaurant that serves a smoked meat that towers over Ben’s, and tastier too.”

  Wooden stairs stood next to the two glass facades of Simon’s Provision Store on the ground floor. They led up to a faded red door on the balcony of the second level of the old three-storey brick building. The lights from Bob’s Bar Salon on one side and Ti-Guy’s Tattoo Art on the other lit up the grocer’s darkened store windows. A thick layer of dust covered the cans of food and drinks.

  A second set of more narrow stairs, almost hidden from view between the walls of the tattoo shop and the grocer, also led to the second floor, but to a black door further down from the red one. All the shades of the upper floors were down, although a faint light filtered through most of them.

  Manon pulled her hands out of the deep pockets of her box coat and turned to Nadine before climbing the stairs. “Remember, you’re my cousin from out of town. And call me Fern, that’s my working name here. Let me do the talking and things will be OK. And don’t leave your gloves on your chair or you’ll forget them like you always do. Stuff them in the arm of that big coat of yours. Madame Anna’s not the giving-back type.”

  Nadine glanced at her wool gloves. “No one will want these. Three of the fingers are coming apart.” She looked up at the stairs and bit her lip. The sight of the deserted grocery store and shabby building made her hesitate. What was she doing here? Her decision to support her friend might not have been such a great idea. “I can just go on home if my being here is a problem.”

  Manon climbed on to the first step and paused before going up. “Don’t worry. I can handle Madame Anna.”

  “Is this the only way in and out of this place?”

  “Customers use the other stairs beside the tattoo place. It leads to a tiny locked foyer with a telephone on the wall. Once they pick up the receiver, the phone rings twice on Madame Anna’s desk and she decides whether to buzz them in or not. They can’t get to the rooms without first seeing her about business. The two rooms where I work have a door on opposite sides where the guy can slip in behind the dressing screen to change clothes in private. Makes it easier for the girls to escape in case of trouble. This door here is only for workers. Madame Anna likes to keep things separate. She doesn’t want anyone figuring out that the men going to the black door are heading to her side of the building. She always sits at her desk up here to keep an eye on things—her boarding house business, she calls it. Let’s go. I’m booked for two gigs and she doesn’t like to keep her people waiting.”

  Manon sprinted up the stairs two steps at a time. Nadine followed, clutching the loose wooden banister. She swallowed hard but the knot in her throat remained. Manon rapped four times below a small peephole on the door. A brief pause and the door swung open halfway. A woman’s wide-boned hand appeared, gesturing them to come in. They entered a foyer crowded with a long overstuffed sofa along one wall and several armchairs lined against the opposite one. Large glass ashtrays and ornate boudoir lamps sat on the wooden end tables between the armchairs. An array of framed pictures depicting women in various stages of undress decorated the walls. A heavy odour of cigarette smoke lingered in the air.

  A tall stern-looking woman with blond hair twisted back into a tight bun slammed the door behind them and clicked the deadbolt into position. “Who the hell’s that?” She stood rigid, staring with arms crossed over her ample chest. The pink and white polka dot scarf wrapped around her neck accentuated the severity of her calf-length black wool suit. Nadine’s shoulder’s stiffened when she saw the disdain on the woman’s face. A brutal reminder of the nuns at the maternity home. She took a step back and Manon grabbed her wrist.

  “Good evening, Madame Anna.” Manon flashed a wide smile. “Love that scarf. Polka dots are the latest rage.” She leaned her head towards Nadine. “This here is my cousin, Rosa, all the way from back east. I had to meet her at the train station after work. But if I brought her back to my place, I’d get here late. I didn’t think you’d mind her sitting on a chair outside the room till I’m finished. She won’t be in the way, I promise.”

  Madame Anna studied Nadine. “No minors. Get her out of here.” She walked to the wooden desk in the corner behind her and pulled out a black notebook from the top drawer.

  “But she’s going on nineteen.”

  “She can wait outside and away from my building. Don’t want cops sniffing around.”

  Manon’s eyes widened. “You’re asking my cousin to stand outside in the cold for two hours with all those creeps lurking around?”

  Madame Anna tilted her head towards the door. “Show the kid out and get to work. The first client wants you in cop clothes, and you’ll be a nurse for the second one.”

  Manon took a step forward. “Sorry Madame Anna, but my family depends on me to keep Rosa safe. The girl has no idea how to get around Montreal. Leaving her on her own outside in this area is like throwing her to the wolves. If she can’t stay here this one time while I work, I’m going to have to escort her home righ
t now.”

  Madame Anna’s eyes narrowed. “My other girls are all busy upstairs. The clients won’t like being stood up. If you leave now, forget about coming back.”

  Manon grabbed Nadine’s arm and headed towards the door.

  The telephone on Madame Anna’s desk rang twice. She reached for it, stopping mid-way. “Another damn client calling and I’ve got two others waiting already.” She grabbed the receiver, covered it with her hand and glared back over her shoulder at Manon. “OK. She can stay. But that’s only because I’m stuck. She better keep her mouth shut about this and stay out of my way.”

  Manon smiled at Nadine. “Come on, kid. I’ve got to find that cop outfit.” She rushed to the end of the hallway and pushed open the door to the changing room. “Check in that chest over in the corner.” She started sifting through the colourful assortment of outfits hanging on racks on both sides of the large walk-in closet. “You’ll find a pair of handcuffs and a police baton.”

  Nadine rooted through the pile of kinky gadgets in the chest and pulled out the two items Manon asked for. She took a long breath and slumped back against the closed door. Her knees were still wobbly from the confrontation with Madame Anna. She cursed Manon under her breath for insisting she stay. Why did she ever agree to come? “That woman is a real terror. I can’t believe you can speak to her like that without pissing your pants. She had me tongue tied.”

  Manon laughed. “I told you I’d handle her. I knew she’d never turn a client away. She makes big bucks on each gig I do.” She pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “How do I look? Threatening enough for you?”

  Despite the knot in her gut, Nadine managed to smile at how gawky her friend looked in the loose-fitting police uniform. She stepped forward and straightened the cap. “This can fit a head three times fatter than yours. The holster looks like it’s weighing you down. You’re not as scary as Madame Anna, but you can still put the fear of God in a grown man wearing frilly pink undies.”