London Blues

by Anthony Frewin

  ‘Have I? Where is it?’

  ‘On the table there … somewhere.’

  It wasn’t.

  ‘Well, it was earlier.’

  ‘But it’s gone.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So you’ve been the only person here.’

  ‘So?’

  I couldn’t find it anywhere.

  ‘What did it say?’

  ‘Nothing much. Just phone him. About a party. Saturday or something.’

  ‘I’ll call him.’

  ‘Don’t forget you’ve got to get down to Rochester and get the pictures developed.’

  ‘I know. What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Nothing. But you’ve got to do that.’

  ‘I know I have.’

  ‘If I don’t push you you’ll keep on putting it off.’

  ‘I haven’t kept on putting it off and I won’t, all right?’

  ‘Good.’

  I got through to Stephen later that evening on the third attempt.

  ‘You are a dear boy for phoning.’

  ‘I got your card. But it’s lost.’

  ‘Good. Did you like it?’

  ‘Uh … I haven’t seen it. Veronica lost it.’

  ‘What a shame … a beautiful portrait of the Duke of Edinburgh. Just the sort of thing to pin above the mantelpiece.’

  ‘I don’t collect pictures of the royal family.’

  ‘Well, you should … especially of Philip. A very good-looking man. Very good-looking. I used to see him about in the late 1940s, early 1950s.’

  ‘You get about a bit, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s what we’re here for, Timmy. Getting about and getting to know each other.’

  ‘I’ll remember that next time I’m full of existential despair.’

  ‘I don’t know if you’ve got your little appointment book with you but on Saturday week, that’s a week this Saturday, we’re having a little party at Dudley’s again in Culross Street. Perhaps you’d like to come?’

  ‘What, with the projector?’

  ‘No, no projector this time. We may have a magic lantern show instead. Teddy will do it himself.’

  ‘I think I can make it. Do you mind if I bring someone?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Veronica – the girl I live with.’

  ‘Not at all … as long as she has a full set of lips and cheeks and knows how to use them!’

  ‘You’ll have to ask her yourself.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Until Saturday, then.’

  ‘Until Saturday.’

  I turned up at Stephen’s party in a new sheepskin coat I’d got from Charlie for £6. It looked very smart. Veronica was wearing a tight-fitting black dress and had her hair piled up high. I guess we both looked smart for our type but I’m not sure how well we fitted in with the crowd who were there. It was the same lot as last time plus a few more – middle-aged and elderly geezers and tarty-classy young ladies. Stephen was all over me and all over Veronica when we arrived and then he spirited her off to meet some friends of his who were at the other end of the room. I just stood there with a brandy and soda until I heard a woman’s voice call my name. I turned. It was Vera: ‘Hello, dear.’

  ‘Hello, Vera.’

  ‘We are going to have a little film show after all, and I hope you don’t mind taking care of the projector.’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  ‘Good. The equipment is out in the hall. Perhaps you’ll go and get it in a jiff?’

  ‘Yes.’ Vera was rubbing her forefinger around the edge of the glass and staring at me. I sensed she wanted to talk. ‘Have you been to many of Stephen’s parties?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve known Stephen since just after the war. I’ve been to hundreds of his parties.’

  ‘Are they all much the same?’

  ‘They are attended by people who like to get the most out of life. Uninhibited types. Girls who want to get on. People like that.’

  ‘Just out for a good time?’

  ‘Exactly … and doing no harm to anyone else.’

  ‘Where do you come in?’

  ‘I’m a very old friend of Stephen’s and I help out. We all do what we can, don’t we?’

  ‘What’s Stephen’s particular type of sexuality? What is it he enjoys doing?’

  ‘I think you’d better ask him that yourself, dear.’

  ‘I’m asking you, aren’t I? What do you do for him?’

  ‘A bit of this, a bit of that, but I haven’t done either for a long time.’

  ‘You are being very coy.’

  ‘Not coy, just discreet.’

  ‘Tell me … for old times’ sake.’

  ‘We don’t have any old times.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He needs the vibrator now … it takes a lot of work. He likes watching, mainly. I don’t think he’s a very sexual person himself. He has sex through other people.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘A little bit of domination.’

  ‘What about other men?’

  ‘I think I’ve said quite enough already.’

  ‘You haven’t started.’

  ‘I’ve started and finished, dear.’

  ‘What do you mean by, “He has sex through other people”?’

  ‘He likes hearing about what other people do. He likes watching them. He takes up and adopts these young girls, introduces them to his friends … they go to bed. Favours are owed.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘That’s enough, isn’t it?’

  ‘I guess it is.’

  ‘He has very influential friends.’

  ‘He does?’

  ‘Yes, he does.’

  ‘Very influential.’

  Stephen’s voice cut through the general hubbub. ‘So, it’s all the talk of the town! One of my dear friend Baron’s assistants is going to marry the Queen’s sister. Tony Armstrong-Jones is going to marry Princess Margaret. When they told Tony it was May the sixth he didn’t know whether that was the wedding date or his new title!’

  There were two films that evening:

  LA VIBORA

  A very poor print. Made in Mexico, Cuba or somewhere like that. Looks old, could have been made in the 1930s. A man goes to see a girl and they soon start making love. Then another man arrives and the first one hides in a cupboard. Later he comes out and all three of them go at it.

  ESPRIT DE FAMILLE

  A French film from the late 1940s (?), reassembled by some cutter who apparently didn’t have a full print to work with. A man and two girls. The shots are out of sequence – in one shot one of the girls is undressed, in the next she is walking into the room fully clothed. Just a couple of dozen takes of sexual activity thrown together in no particular order.

  After the showing couples wandered upstairs again and we hung around for a little while eating and drinking. We left about 11 p.m.

  I walked up Wardour Street and down the alley that led across to Dean Street. About half-way down on the right-hand side was a large, freshly painted front door. Freshly painted in black. There was nothing on the door aside from a polished knocker, a dolphin, and a small bronze plate that had engraved upon it: MIDEX LTD. I knocked and waited, then knocked again. A small grille that I hadn’t noticed on the upper part of the door slid back and a voice, with an Italian accent, said, ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Timmy Purdom. I’ve come to see Mr Messalino.’

  The door opened and I was waved in by a young Italian kid in an expensive blue suit. He waved me on further, up the stairs. Mr Messalino appeared on the landing at the top and showed me into his office.

  ‘Please sit down.’

  Messalino walked around the desk and sat down too. He smiled and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘You have been busy?’

  ‘Pretty busy, yes.’

  ‘You have something for me?’

  I handed him the large manila envelope I had been carrying. Of the 144 pictures I took on Ma
y Day I judged that 110 of them were OK for his consideration, the other 34, though better than Joe’s, I didn’t really consider good enough.

  Messalino thanks me for the envelope and takes from it the pile of photographs. He removes the rubber band that secures them and then takes a pair of glasses from his breast pocket.

  ‘You have been very busy.’

  ‘I hope they are what you are looking for.’

  ‘I hope so too.’

  Messalino carefully scrutinises each picture in silence. Some are put in a pile on the left, some on the right. He works his way through them, carefully and deliberately.

  ‘Two very attractive models, Timmy.’

  ‘They are.’

  ‘I wonder if they would be available for other work?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  This little room must be the hub of Messalino’s empire. An antique desk, two chairs, a drinks cabinet, a filing cabinet, and dozens of family photographs all elaborately and ornately framed on the walls. The one window is draped with bright red velvet curtains and nets and overlooks the back yards of some buildings on Old Compton Street.

  Messalino considers each photograph individually. He squints at it like a diamond dealer, carefully assaying its quality. Some will pass, others will not.

  ‘Very well. I have made a selection. Perhaps we can now do some business?’ He hands me the larger of the two piles.

  ‘These I would like. Would you count them?’

  There are sixty-five photographs. Sixty-five sold out of a total of 144 taken. That’s very nearly 50 per cent. Not bad going, eh?

  ‘That’s sixty-five, Mr Messalino.’

  ‘Good. You have the negatives with you?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve numbered them. Call out the numbers on the back of each print and I’ll sort the negs.’

  I didn’t want to just hand over the rolls of film so I cut all the negs and separately bagged and numbered them. Messalino would only get what he paid for. Nothing more. Nothing less. We spent twenty minutes sorting them and then Messalino went over to the wall-safe that was behind a family photograph on hinges (just like in the films). He took out a metal cash box and walked back to his desk.

  ‘Sixty-five photographs, Timmy. And we agreed £2 10s. per negative?’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘That is a total of £162 10s then?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘That is one hundred in ones … sixty in fives … two further ones … and a ten-shilling note.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I am very pleased with these … but my customers will be the final judge. Let us see how well they react. I will be in touch with you presently.’

  ‘I’ve never held so much money in my whole life. I hope you’ll be able to make your money back.’

  ‘I’m sure I will. These are very good pictures.’

  I said goodbye to Mr Messalino and walked out on to the Soho streets like a tit in a trance. One hundred and sixty-two pounds and ten shillings! Can you believe it? Can you honestly believe it? All that money for doing what? Doing fuck all! Just a few lousy photographs. Big simple money this! And what did it cost me? A few hours on the Sunday, a Saturday afternoon in Rochester, and a total of about £25! One hundred and thirty-seven pounds and ten shillings clear profit! Staggering. Still, I’ve got to split this with Veronica, but that still leaves nearly seventy quid to myself. Seventy quid, no less! I can even afford to bung a few pounds to that mean black bastard, Sonny.

  It was late on a Thursday afternoon and we had been very quiet for an hour or two when I heard my name being called across the place. I looked up from the cheese sandwich I was making and saw Stephen sitting at a window table with a slim brunette who somehow looked both nervous and full of herself at the same time. I guess she was about nineteen, late teens certainly.

  ‘Tim, dear boy, do we merit table service?’

  I wiped my hands and walked over. Stephen was rabbiting on to the girl about those ‘influential’ friends he had. She looked suitably impressed – impressed enough to take time off from inspecting her manicured long red fingernails.

  ‘Tim, I want you to meet my very dear friend, Linda. Linda, this is Tim.’

  Linda and I nodded at each other. She smiled, but it was a thin and forced smile, a smile that had its origin in the social etiquette pages of a woman’s magazine. She was wearing a classy black dress and a wide-brimmed hat. Around her neck was a string of pearls.

  ‘Linda is one of the newest models in London … and very successful.’

  Stephen said this in a measured, considered way as if it was very important. Almost in the way Richard Dimbleby would announce some royal event on the television.

  ‘Linda is particularly successful in … photographic modelling.’

  The emphasis was on the word photographic. Photographic. There was something curious about this statement because though it was aimed at me Stephen was looking at Linda as he said it and he continued looking at her, with a leery smile. She stared at him and giggled. They were talking about something I was not privy to. Something else was going on here.

  ‘Linda cannot stop. She has to be somewhere … don’t you, love?’

  Linda got up at the end of this sentence, smiled at me, waved at Stephen and left, without even saying a word. I watched her as she crossed Wardour Street and headed down towards Shaftesbury Avenue.

  I fetched Stephen a cup of coffee and sat down with him. He had been boozing and his speech was slightly slurred.

  ‘I didn’t know you knew I worked here … did I tell you?’

  ‘You must have done. Or someone did.’

  I could tell from Stephen’s eyes that things were racing through his mind. There was a stifled smile on his lips as though he was thinking, I know something you don’t know. Just like Desmond, but in his unique way.

  ‘Have you known Linda long?’

  ‘Gorgeous girl, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She’s very well liked … has a lot of admirers.’

  ‘Have you just been somewhere?’

  ‘Yes … we have. And have you?’

  ‘Just here and home.’

  ‘Nowhere else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ve heard you’ve been quite active.’

  ‘Active?’

  ‘Yes, photographically speaking … if you get my drift, Tim.’

  Stephen’s smile ceased to be stifled, it spread across his face. His eyes opened up. His expression said, you can trust me! This was his little secret. This was what he had wanted to say to me.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Tim … I know lots and lots of people … I really do.’

  ‘Word travels fast around here.’

  ‘It does. All I wanted to say was that I could be of great help to you … you have only to ask.’

  ‘Help? How?’

  ‘I know some very good girls, photographic models ….’

  ‘Like Linda?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Somehow I could not picture Linda getting her giggling gear around Sonny’s stiff black cock … but who knows?

  ‘I think it is so important for friends to help each other. Don’t you, Tim?’

  ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘But just do me a little favour in return.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You know I’m a bit of a dirty old man … let me have some copies of the pictures. I can put them in my … family album. I do so like photographs of the dear girls I’ve helped … given a helping hand to … see them as I best remember them.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ I said.

  ‘Would you like some tickets for Psycho, the new Hitchcock film? It opens here at the end of the month.’

  ‘Would you like another coffee?’

  ‘I don’t think I quite have time.’

  And that was that.

  I was walking down Wardour Street with Charlie early one evening when some geezer in a big black Mercedes
starts honking his horn. I didn’t take any notice. Then Charlie says to me some bloke in the car is waving to me. I looked around and it was Mr Messalino.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Messalino.’

  ‘Good evening. How are you?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Business is good. Business is very good. I need more photographs from you. I need new photographs. You come and see me on Saturday morning. We discuss it then.’

  ‘Yes. Right.’

  The Mercedes pulled forward and headed down towards Old Compton Street.

  ‘He a friend of yours, Tim?’

  ‘That’s Mr Messalino.’

  ‘Some car, huh?’

  ‘Yeah. I think I’ve just made myself a few more bob, old mate.’

  ‘Good. It’s National Pakamac Fortnight now. You’ll be able to get yourself a different one for each day of the week.’

  ‘And you too.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  When I first met Mr Messalino he had three shops in Soho. Now he has seven, I’m told. Dirty pix and adult mags have really taken off in a big way. He must be making hundreds of pounds a week. And easy money at that.

  I didn’t get around to setting up the second photo session of my career until the beginning of September. The 2nd of September, funnily enough. My birthday: 2 September 1960. My twenty-third birthday. And as good a way of celebrating the event as any.

  The session was shot in Charlie’s rooms up on the Holloway Road near the Nag’s Head. The two blokes were Charlie and Sonny and the two girls were two secretary types that Stephen had sent over called Angela and Beverly. They were both brunettes in their early twenties. Angela was slim and had no tits but made up for it with enthusiasm while Beverly was big (about 36D) and a bit frigid: she just acted like a robot. Which just goes to show you can’t get everything right.

  We started at 7.30 p.m. and finished just after 10 p.m. I shot a total of four reels again. It was just the usual couples and foursome stuff (the girls didn’t want to do any heavy lesbian things) but I got some good shots of Angela with two cocks in her mouth at the same time. I also discovered that condensed milk looks just like semen so I cheated a good number of ejaculation shots.