by L. P. Gibbs
Janet was horrified. She knew Steven was lying. She had always thought that her first experience of love-making would be something beautiful with a man that she loved dearly, a moment to be remembered for ever with deep fondness. Not a sordid, drunken romp with someone who was almost a stranger. She was completely dressed now, staring down at Steven.
“You're lying, you bastard!” she screamed at him. “You took advantage of me being drunk. I thought you were taking me home.”
“I did, love,” he replied with a grin, taking another deep drag on his cigarette. “My home. You weren't complaining last night.”
“I don't believe you. I wouldn't have been like that. I've never been with a man before.” Janet started to sob. Steven got out of the crumpled bed and pulled his underpants and jeans on.
“Well you've been with a real man now, sweetheart,” he said, matter-of-factly then moved across the room to make tea. “You want a cup before you go?” he asked without even turning to look at her. Janet ran out of the room without a word and came out on to Moore Street near Shaftesbury Avenue. It took her a few moments to realise exactly where she was. In almost a daze, she walked the length of the road to Piccadilly Circus where she knew she could get the one bus to take her home.
Standing at the bus stop, she turned and looked at her reflection in the window of Swan & Edgar's. Seeing the dishevelled state she was in, she tried in vain to smooth her hair which appeared to be sticking out like horns. Her clothes that had been slung over the chair were crumpled and looked as though she had slept in them. Just as the bus arrived, she remembered that she had left her little pale blue denim jacket behind on the back of the chair in Steven's room. It didn't matter, she would retrieve it another time when she felt more composed. The thought of seeing him again right now filled her with disgust so going back for it was out of the question.
To add to her sense of woe, Arthur was standing on the steps of the house when she arrived, smoking one of his roll up cigarettes.
“Want to pay the rent now, love?” he asked with an oily smile.
“I'll bring it down to you later, Arthur,” she told him and went past him in a hurry, wearily climbing the stairs to her room, her own little sanctuary, high above the wicked world that continued unabated outside.
The first thing she did was to strip off all her clothes and wash herself completely from head to toe using the small basin in the room. It took three kettles full of hot water. She considered throwing away the clothes she had been wearing but thought better of it as she didn't have that many and crammed them into the already overflowing laundry bag. Tossing the bag into a corner of the room, she vowed to go to the launderette the following day. It was open seven days a week.
Her dressing gown felt cosy and comforting when she wrapped it around herself and sat on the edge of her bed to ruminate over what had transpired. 'The bastard', she thought to herself. 'I'll make sure he doesn't get away with what he's done to me.' The idea of going to the police sprang in to her mind but then left it just as quickly. It would just be her word against his. Sitting there thinking, she slowly realised with some consternation that she didn't feel any different. Something would have to be done about Steven, though. She just didn't know what at that moment in time.
By the time she went to work on the Monday morning, she still had no idea of what to do but promised herself that she would try to see Steven in the cafe at lunchtime to get her jacket back at least.
On her lunch break at ten past one she entered the cafe and there he was, sitting there with that infernal smile glued to his face. She felt like slapping him there and then but managed to hold back.
“I want my jacket back,” she told him forcefully. “I left it behind in your room on Saturday morning.” Steven winked and stubbed out his cigarette in one of the small tin ashtrays scattered around on some of the tables. He stood up, noisily pushing the chair back with his legs.
“We'd better go and get it then, hadn't we?” He led the way out of the cafe and she followed, struggling to keep pace with his long strides. Within five minutes they were climbing the stairs to his room in Moore Street above a photographer's shop. He unlocked the door and held it open for her.
“You must be joking,” she said with a huff. “There's no way I'm going in there. You'll have to get it for me.”
He went in and immediately found her jacket on the back of the chair where she had inadvertently left it. Picking it up, he turned back to the door, holding it out in front of him. As Janet reached out to take it, he grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her forcefully inside, slamming the door and locking it.
“What do you think you're doing?” she demanded indignantly, trying to push past the man.
“You obviously liked it the other night and have come back for some more,” he said with a chuckle and grabbed her by her hair, twisting and throwing her back on to the bed. Instinct kicked in and Janet rolled over the bed coming up on the other side just as Steven was advancing towards her. In a panic, she snatched a fork up from a dirty plate that lay on the table and held it out in front of her, hand trembling. Steven simply laughed and kept moving forward towards her.
“What are you going to do? Eat me to death?” he asked and made a sudden lunge in her direction. In desperation, she thrust the fork out and it went straight into his throat, just below his Adam's apple and pierced the carotid artery.
Steven's eyes were open wide as he grasped at his neck with both hands and turned away from her, stumbling across the room and knocking the chair over. Blood pumped steadily in gushes through his splayed fingers from the open wound, spraying up the wall almost to the ceiling and across the bed as he fell face down upon it before sliding off and down to the floor on his side. Janet fell back against the grubby wall, the fork still in her shaking hand, watching the man writhing in his death throes, his eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling. As she watched, his movements became jerkier, slower and more feeble until, after a short time, he stopped moving altogether and just lay there, his unseeing eyes still wide, staring upwards.
Janet picked up her jacket which she had dropped in the brief scuffle and edged round the walls until she reached the door. A full-length mirror was fixed to the inside of the door and she was horrified to see splatters of bright red blood on the right sleeve and front shoulder of her white blouse. It caused her to step back in alarm. As she stood there, she could see in the mirror Steven's lifeless body behind her on the floor beside the bed. As she stood there trembling, she gathered her wits and thought hard about what she should do. After a few minutes she had her answer. Putting on her jacket covered the blood stained blouse and the few drops that were on her black mini skirt wouldn't show. Satisfied that she could get away with it she moved forward to the door handle but stopped just before touching it. Fingerprints! She took a small handkerchief from the pocket of her denim jacket and wrapped it first around the key to unlock the door and then the handle.
Stepping out through the open door, she pulled it closed behind her with the handkerchief and locked it, stuffing the key into her tiny handbag along with the hankie and the fork she had used to protect herself. The stairs down to the street seemed to stretch out into eternity before her as she cautiously made her way down, taking care not to touch the banister rail. When she went out into the street there were masses of people around, it being lunchtime and many workers on their breaks. Janet was swallowed up amongst them and nobody noticed her.
Because of the blood on her blouse, she knew she could not go back to the shop as it would easily be noticed. Instead, she made her way to Regent Street, farther along from Adrian's. She took the bus straight home and scurried up the stairs to her room, locking the door behind her.
Janet had read enough crime stories in her magazines to know what she had to do. She stripped off all the clothes she had been wearing and stuffed them into a plastic carrier bag that she had brought grocery shopping back in the previous week. Also into the bag went the handkerchief. She wrappe
d the fork and door key in some toilet tissue and laid it on top of the clothes in the bag. Twenty five yards away was the wide Regent's Canal with its continuously moving barges that wound its way through North London. Standing on the towpath beneath the road bridge and out of view of any prying eyes, she dropped the fork and the key into the dirty water with hardly a splash and moved away, still clutching the bag. It would disappear into the silt on the bed of the canal, never to be found.
Regaining the road, she walked swiftly South along the whole length of Royal College Street, she came to a pub on the corner with two large, green refuse containers on wheels that were tethered to the wall by heavy chains. Looking around to ensure that she was not being watched, she approached them and casually slid the bag of clothes inside one of them, pushing it well down underneath some of the other rubbish, turned and smartly walked away.
Upon returning to her room she sat on the edge of the bed and considered her position. She knew that she could not go back to Adrian's shop. Miss Eileen would definitely give her the sack; she had been late back from lunch far too often and was on her final warning some weeks ago. Her lunch break was well and truly over more than two hours ago. She had received her weeks' wages the previous Friday so was owed nothing except for that morning's work, which only amounted to a couple of pounds.
After sitting there for more than another hour, she had come to a decision. She made a cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, laid fully clothed on the bed and drifted off to sleep as if nothing had happened. She awoke just before five o'clock according to the little bedside clock and put on her going out clothes. She spent quite some time getting herself ready for the coming evening. Surveying herself in the mirror, she felt that she looked good enough for the purpose that she had in mind. To find a different form of work. At seven o'clock precisely, she sat on the edge of her bed again to wait until the time she had decided to leave.
Leaving the house shortly after seven thirty, she made her way by bus to Piccadilly Circus and walked along Great Windmill Street to Silk's Club. When she found it, she realised it had not yet opened for business. The metal shutter had been pushed up and there was someone moving around within. A light was on somewhere in the back of the foyer but the glass door was locked. Janet moved back down the street and went into the public house on the corner, ordered a lager and lime from the middle-aged barmaid who eyed her with suspicion and sat in a corner to wait. Whilst sipping her second drink of the evening, she noticed that she was drawing more than just a few admiring glances from some of the customers during the hour or so that she was in there. The barmaid continued to keep a wary eye on her.
As the large, ex-British Railways clock on the wall showed nine, she left and went back to the club. The door was standing open this time and a tall, heavily built man in a black evening suit and bow-tie stood in the doorway. It was the same man she had watched before. He looked somewhat imposing. Janet took a deep breath and walked up to him with a confident gait.
“Hello,” she said with a warm smile. “Can I speak to Alex, please?” The doorman looked at her inquisitively.
“Sorry, sweetheart,” he told her. “There's no Alex here. You sure you've got the right place?”
“Yes, she told me she was starting here a couple of weeks ago.”
“What does she look like, this Alex?”
“A bit taller than me with long, wavy blonde hair.”
“Big boobs?” the man asked with a grin.
“Well, …... er …. yes, actually, she has.” The doorman smiled knowingly before replying.
“You'll be wanting Carla, then,” he informed her with a knowing smile. “Wait here a couple of minutes and I'll fetch her for you, love. She's downstairs at the moment.” He turned back inside the doorway, disappearing through a multi-coloured beaded curtain, leaving Janet standing on the doorstep. She stood there in the doorway, tapping her foot. The doorman returned two minutes later with Alex in tow behind him. “This her, love?” he asked, smiling.
`“Jan!” Alex exclaimed. “What are you doing here?” Janet looked first at the doorman and then back to her friend.
“Is there anywhere I can talk to you in private?” she asked, her voice trembling a little. “It's very important. I've got a bit of a problem and I don't know what I can do about it. I thought you might be able to give me some advice.” Alex took her by the hand and led her inside.
“We can go out the back if it's as important as your face says it is. Come with me.” Nodding at the doorman, Alex took her hand and quickly led her inside, through a beaded curtain and a small bar area. Beyond that, they went halfway down a narrow, metal spiral staircase and then to a wide door to one side marked 'Fire Exit'. Alex pushed hard on the bar and the door opened outwards on to a yard at the rear of the premises. They went through and into the cool night air, standing between two large rubbish containers. Alex lit a king sized, pink-coloured filter cigarette from her silver case and turned to look at the other girl beside her.
“So come on, then,” she said with a sigh. “Tell me what's wrong.” So Janet told her. Everything that had happened since they last met. It took her almost half an hour to relate her story. By that time, Alex had smoked three cigarettes and was standing open-mouthed in amazement.
“Well, you can't say anything about Steven to anyone,” she stated at the end. “No-one will ever believe you as you didn't report him after the first time. That was rape, you know?” Alex nodded as f convincing herself that she was right. “It's best to just say nothing and accept that he got what he deserved. I'd have killed him as well if it had been me. And as for that dirty little wop at The Pink Panther, just leave it with me. I know someone who will sort him out.”
“Okay, but now, I've got to find myself a job and I thought of what you said about working here. What do you think?” Alex frowned and thought about the question for a moment or two before answering.
“Okay, “ she eventually said. “You will have to use a different name, though. Same as I do. Janet isn't really a sexy name, is it?” They both laughed. “What sort of name do you fancy?”
“There was a girl I was at school with,” Janet said wistfully. “She always had the boys ogling her all the time. Her name was Samantha. How about that? Will that do the trick?”
“Perfect. Right, come inside and I'll introduce you to Lenny, the guv'nor. See what he says. How old are you now, by the way?”
“Only just nineteen.”
“That's okay. If he asks, tell him you're twenty one. He's a bit old fashioned in that respect when it comes to 'his girls', as he likes to call us. Just don't get caught alone with him.” She led Janet back through the fire exit and took her down the remainder of the staircase and on to the club floor.
On the other side was a small door to an office which stood open. Janet could see Lenny Harris, a man in his late fifties with a wrinkled, weather-beaten face, sitting at a desk, smoking a huge cigar, a glass of something amber coloured at his elbow. He appeared to be leafing through some paperwork. There was also a stack of banknotes on the desk beside him, fives, tens and twenties. Loads of them. She followed Alex inside the small office which was more like a large cupboard once she got inside. The seated man looked up at the intrusion.
“Yes, Carla,” he said, looking up with a weary smile and leaning back in his chair. “What can I do for you, darlin'?” He looked over her shoulder as he asked the question and saw Janet standing behind her, silhouetted against the bright flashing neon lights of the dance floor.
“This is my friend, Samantha,” she said indicating Janet. “She's looking for work and I said I'd ask you if she can start here and work with me. I can show her the ropes.” Harris stood up and eyed the new girl, looking her up and down as he walked round the desk, inspecting her.
“Yes, you might be okay 'ere, sweet'eart,” he said, flashing a smile. “You'll 'ave to get y'self some different clothes, though. It's gotta be summink the punters are gonna go a bit wild for.”
�
�I'll help her with that, Len,” Alex said. He nodded thoughtfully and went back to his seat.
“Alright,” he said, once sat. “Come in tomorrow night and we'll 'ave a chat about what 'as to be done.” Janet said that she would and he told her to be there by nine o'clock the following evening. She went out through the bar with Alex following her. They went into the street.
“I hope I can make it alright, Alex,” Janet said with a worried expression.
“You'll do just fine if you follow my lead,” she said. “Oh, and by the way, only refer to me as Carla and I'll only call you Samantha. That okay?” Janet said that it was. “If you want to meet me at one o'clock tomorrow in the cafe I can tell you what to wear and how to get and keep a punter spending money.”
The next afternoon, Janet was waiting in the cafe when Alex came in. She sat down opposite and leaned forward.
“Have you heard anything about, …... you know?” she whispered conspiratorially, looking about the place and inclining her head towards the table by the door that Janet usually sat at.
“No, nothing at all. No-one has said anything since I came in here.”
“Maybe no-one has found him yet.” Alex appeared to think for a moment before continuing. “If anyone asks you about him, just say that you saw him in here from time to time but nothing else, alright?” Janet agreed.
“Right then, down to business. What you need to wear for work is sexy clothing, almost trashy if you like. Mini skirts and low-cut tops with cleavage on show, that sort of thing. It's what the men who come in are expecting to see. If you've got stockings, so much the better.” Janet said that she would sort something out.
That Saturday night at nine fifteen, Samantha waltzed into Silk's Gentleman's Club in Great Windmill Street wearing the shortest of mini skirts possible and a white, almost see-through blouse, opened to just below the bust. Her patent leather high heeled shoes completed the outfit. The doorman, Chris, whistled as she approached the door with a wide, lecherous grin on his face.
