“I can start you on the basic rate. You will not get better in this city. In return I expect hard work and loyalty. You must not let me down. I will give you a trial for a week. If it works out you can work on subject to a weeks notice on both sides.”
“Thank you, this is my lucky day” Adizua said gratefully.
“Shake on it,” Jimmy Joe said, spitting on his hand and extending to Adizua. After a moments hesitation and looking surprised Adizua laughed, spit on his hand and they shook on it.
“You can start tomorrow. Where will you live?” Jimmy Joe asked.
“I have to find a place,” Adizua replied, “I can look this day. Can you suggest where I might look?”
“There are Nigerians out on the West of the city,” Jimmy Joe offered, “or you could try around James Street and Thomas Street in town. I do some scrap out at the back of the Guinness brewery, which is in James Street. There is a halting site for itinerants around the back. And I do notice that some of the older houses on James Street have some coloured people coming and going. You might find a berth there.”
“We will drop you there on our way out and you can find your way back here tomorrow,” Joe offered.” I have a map in the van; it’s an old map of Dublin. You can have it Adizua. We will mark out the routes.”
“Thank you. I am most appreciative of your kindness.”
They finished unloading the van and Paddy showed Adizua the map. Adizua studied it with Phelan as Paddy drove them further into town.
At Saint Catherine’s Church between Thomas Street and James Street they let Adizua out of the van.
“See you around” Phelan offered, and they were gone.
“Will he be all right?” Paddy asked as they moved away.
“God knows we did more for him than he could have expected. It is up to him from here out. He looks like he can take care of himself. We have enough to do to settle in the new halt,” Joe said as his final word on the matter.
Adizua saw a sign for the Guinness Brewery and decided to wander in that direction. There were run down shop fronts along this part of the road. He walked as far as the Brewery without seeing another coloured person. Then he doubled back.
Just near a run down hotel called the Brewery Hostel he had spotted two old adjoining houses with numerous doorbells built into the upright of the entrance door. Clearly these were set in flats and would be his likely target.
As he approached he saw a young coloured woman in bright clothing pushing a buggy with her child and laden with messages. She stopped at one of the doors.
Cautiously Adizua approached her.
“Looking for accommodation,” he said with calming gestures of his hand, in fear that his approach would frighten her. “Can I speak to your husband?”
“Pardon monsieur” she replied, looking confused and frightened.
“Bonjour Madame,” Adizua replied dredging up the smattering of French he had picked up on his travels. “Je suis ne en Afrique. Ton mari est la?” he said hoping he would be understood, that he was from Africa and wondering if her husband was there.
“Mon Mari s’appelle Jean Michel,” She replied.
“Je voudrais une Chambre, I need a room a louer, to rent,” he stammered.
She looked up and down the street and back at him, unsure what to do.
“Ma mari” she said and pushed her buggy and child into the hall.
“Ma Mari” she repeated and closed the door in his face.
Adizua stood feeling very vulnerable standing at the door. He hoped Ma Mari meant she was going to get her husband.
After a few minutes there was a noise on the other side of the door and it opened to reveal a medium height young man of about thirty-five.
“Yes?” he asked in heavily accented English.
“I am looking for a room, I have just arrived in this country.” Adizua said slowly, to be sure he was understood.
“Did the social welfare send you?” He asked
“No I am travelling solo, alone.”
The man looked up and down the street. “You better come in” he said.
“The landlord will be here at around six this evening. I think there is a room in the house next to this. A Somalia family was deported this week. I think the room is free.”
“Thank you, my name is Adizua,” Adizua said and shook his hand.
“I am Jean, I live here with my family. We are Algerian. We cannot have any trouble.”
“I understand” Adizua said, “would you telephone the Landlord and see if I can get a room. I can wait here in the hall.”
“Wait” jean said and went upstairs. Jean waited a few minutes and Jean reappeared. Jean went to a phone box in the hall and dialled a number.
“The landlord will be here in an hour. You can wait in my place if you wish.”
“Thank you.” Adizua followed him up the stairs.
Jean’s wife was busy with the baby and ignored them. It was clear from the decorations on the wall that they were Moslems.
“Some tea?” Jean asked. His English was good if accented and he appeared educated.
Jean did not introduce his wife, but spoke to her in French and she began to cook some water on the small stove.
Jean explained that he was seeking Asylum in Ireland and he had fled Algeria six months previously.
“I am not allowed to work while they process my case,” he said regretfully, “and the social welfare provide the accommodation through the landlord. We are very poor.”
“I am an economic refugee, if I am reported I will be sent out of the country,” Adizua said, worried and concerned.
“Don’t worry, I’ll not report you. The landlord is a crook. If you can pay he will be happy. He will charge you more than the social welfare allow and avoid tax on what he takes because technically you don't exist. There is a record of all Social Welfare payments. He has a mixture of tenants in these two houses.”
“I won’t be a source of trouble for you” Adizua assured him.
They made small talk and discussed aspects of France until the landlord arrived. “The less I know about you the better.” Jean had said. “Let us hope you will be safe. This is a very nice little country.”
“Damp” Adizua suggested.
“Yes, but nice people” Jean replied.
Adizua had met the landlord a hundred times. Not him personally, but his type. Small minded and greedy and providing the poorest accommodation for the maximum he could charge.
“Rent one hundred per week.” He offered when he had ascertained Adizua’s particulars “and a deposit of a hundred Euro.”
He took Adizua to see a furnished bed sitting room about ten feet by twelve feet with a bed a wardrobe and a sink with cooker alongside and lino on the floor. The curtains on the window were beginning to disintegrate with small holes in the lace widening out to loops.
Adizua handed over two hundred Euro from his small store of wealth.
“Any arrears and you are out. Any trouble and you are out,” The Landlord said and handed Adizua a key ring.
“Room, Key, outside door key.” The landlord explained showing the relevant keys.
“Thank you. I will be paid on Friday next for my work. I can pay next week’s rent then.” “I’ll call,” the Landlord said. “Leave it in an envelope on your mantelpiece. If you are not here I will collect it either Friday or Saturday.”
With that the landlord was gone.
There were no blankets on the bed and the mattress had numerous stains. There was a dresser with cups and saucepans and beside the old stained sink, there was a two-ring cooker attached to a bottle of gas.
Adizua sat on the bed and looked around. He smiled. He had landed on his feet, his luck had held out. He was in this Country one day and he had a job and somewhere to stay. Who could ask for more he thought?
And then thought, nothing more, except that he could not get Megan, the Itinerant girl, out of his mind. He longed to see Megan again.
Chapter Twelv
e
“Was he stalking you?” Sonia asked, concern all over her face.
“I don’t know. I came out of the taxi at the top of Stephen’s Green. There he was as if by accident. I was startled. He had been ringing the club non stop to try to contact me.”
“What did you do?”
“I said hello Frank, fancy meeting you here.” Sara said with a laugh. “What else could I say? I couldn’t think.”
“And this Frank, what did he do?”
“He was tongue tied. Then he got it out. He had been trying desperately to contact me. Tried everything. The bouncers would not let him into the club.”
“No?” Sonia said surprised.
“No. I told them not to let him in.”
“O.K., what happened next?”
“He said he had hung about and followed my taxi home. He slept in the car and waited to see if I would come out. He must have followed our taxi into town”
“He’s definitely a stalker. You have to talk to Solveig.”
“No Sonia, wait. You should have seen him. He was all unkempt and sad. He has a big problem about me. He can’t stop thinking about me,” Sara said earnestly.
“Get rid of him,” Sonia advised flatly.
“He’s a teacher and very intelligent and it’s partly my fault.”
“Your fault Sara? How could it be your fault?”
“I had an effect on him. That night he came in with his friends. He was struck, you know gob smacked, I think he fell in love with me.”
“Sara, get real” Sonia said, taking her friends hand and forcing their eyes to meet.
“I did something to tip him over. I was charmed by his doglike expression of devotion and his interest in me. I did what I thought was a favour but I think it may have affected his mind.”
“What, what did you do?” Sonia asked, alarmed.
“I pulled him off under the crescent table. No one saw.”
“Sara you idiot. If Solveig found out, he’d be mad. If you were caught he could have lost his Club license. You know how serious that sort of thing is. No touching in the club, any hanky panky is strictly for the executive suite. If he finds out he’ll put you on the street.”
“I know,” Sara was contrite. Then she smiled her wicked smile. “It was fun. Frank nearly collapsed with shock. His pants were all wet and he looked like a dog that has found dog heaven. I loved the look in his eye. He was so moved out of himself. I bet he has never had a hand job before.”
“Sara stop it” Sonia laughed. “This is a serious subject. You have to stay within the rules of the club or you will be caught.”
“Anyway,” Sara added, “I think it blew his mind. He is so cracked about me. He is not creepy. I am not afraid of him. I don’t think he is a stalker. I think he is obsessed by me.”
“Not much different from a stalker. Sara you have to be careful. What did you say to him?”
“I said I’d meet him on Monday night.”
“What!”
“I said I’d meet him on Monday night. He was so pathetic. I could not just turn him away. I think he would have burst out crying. He was exhausted and emotional. I just agreed to meet him on Monday and he went away with, well almost skipping. He was very happy.”
“I’m sure he was. What about you Sara, you were always too soft. You can’t keep that date. And if he persists you tell Solveig, everything except the hand job that is, and Solveig will take it from there.”
“No I think I will meet him, to give him one chance,” Sara said seriously. “He is good looking and I like him. It’s just our lives are so impossibly different. But you never know.”
“If you tell me he is going to become of one of your important lovers by which you have babies, I will lock you up and throw away the key Sara. You are such a soft idiot.”
“Nothing like that. I have had all the babies I am going to have, much as I love them. No Frank is just an Irish interest. You know I have Exley in London. He loves the children, even those who are not his own.”
“Sara, stop now. Be advised. I am your friend. Nothing good will come of this. You may ruin this Frank’s life. Or he may ruin yours.”
“Just one date, I have been so good in Ireland. I am coming to the end of my two months in Dublin in two weeks. After that I disappear back to London for two months. Frank won’t know where I am, not unless I want to contact him on my next trip over.”
“Sara, you have to be careful.”
“I know Sonia. But he is the first really nice man I have met over here. And I did try to avoid him, but he tracked me down. Not because he is nuts, but because he is very attracted to me. I had to give him some credit for trying so hard.”
“Are you sure he is, you know, O.K? Where are you meeting him? Is it a public place? Don’t go into strange places with him.”
“Why don’t we do another double date?” Sara asked sweetly, having considered Sonia’s comments for a moment. “You are still dating that Samuel gent, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but.”
“Yes but what?” Sara asked with a wide grin.
“I have a problem with Samuel.”
“Trying to get his two hands into your knickers?”
“Stop” Sonia said looking around. They were in the cafe of the Brown Thomas store in Grafton Street, relaxing after a strenuous two hours of trying on new fashions on the second floor and in the lingerie in the basement.
This was Dublin’s, if not Ireland’s most up-market shop and the clientele were from appearances, very respectable middle class people, possibly of a sort that would not like to over hear conversations about hands in knickers. Sonia loved Sara, but occasionally Sara knew how to cover her in embarrassment.
“And stop grinning,” she added, smiling despite herself. She really enjoyed her weekly shop and gossip sessions with Sara.
“Is Samuel a serious business?” Sara asked looking curiously at her friend. Sonia had had never taken a serious man friend since her lover Sergie had been killed. She had grieved terribly and gone wild, but had recovered and had named her son Sergie in memory of her lover. Perhaps she was beginning to put that tragedy behind her.
“Samuel offers me respect and calm and is a good listener. I find it very pleasant to be in his company. He has a young heart.”
“So how come you have a problem with him? Is he not able to do it? There’s always Viagra. Very good at that age” Sara bantered.
“Sara, stop it. It is not like that. So far I have only let him kiss me. He’s a good kisser and he may get further, and I have observed that he is very capable of an erection.”
“Never waste an erection if they are over sixty, that’s my advice,” Sara continued to tease.
“Sara, the problem is that he told his family that he was dating. His son Peter, his only son, has gone ballistic. You’d imagine that Samuel was only sixteen, not in his sixties. Really, children.”
“Well Sonia, you do have an interesting background,” Sara reminded her, “They might not like granddad to run off with a hooker.”
“I was never a hooker,” Sonia reminded her a little sharpness creeping into her tone. “You know Sergie never let me do tricks, only to lap dance.”
“Sorry, I know,” Sara said, not really contrite. From her viewpoint, Sonia’s ability to stay out of the mire was really just an accident of who her lover Sergie was at the time. That is, a gangster who was jealous of anyone touching his girl.
“But Sonia,” Sara continued, “If Samuel is prepared to let you meet his family, you better explain everything to him. Otherwise it will come out. It always does, and you might get hurt.”
“I know. And thank you Sara, I really appreciate your support. I have told Samuel that I am house-manager in a house that is for Lap dancers. He knows I also work as a waitress and he knows I am looking for a way to change out of this life and bring my son Sergie to Ireland. He knows my story and he is very understanding.”
“Then meet his son. Take them on. If Samuel is man
enough he will stick by you. If not forget him.”
‘I’m scared. I really like Samuel and I am scared as to where this is going. I like the quiet order of my life as it is. I just need to get Sergie to Ireland. It’s breaking my heart.”
“Then just bring him,” Sara said forcibly, “what’s the problem, Sergie has English papers, he can live in Ireland.”
“No, I must prepare the way. I intend to leave Solveig and set up in business on my own?”
“A lap dance club?” Sara asked, amazed.
“No, of course not. I want some sort of a shop, which can support me and leave some money over to send to my parents. Something in catering, maybe a coffee shop. I am working in the café to learn the business. Soon I will find a way. Soon. Samuel knows business, he can advise me. I think I have enough money of my own.”
‘Have you told Sloveig?” Sara asked.
“Solveig? No, it might be too soon. I need him to let me go.”
“Be careful of Solveig. He is hard to read.”
“Sergie was Solveig’s cousin. He thinks of me as family. I am sure he will understand. But I need to be sure that I have everything in place. Before I talk to him.”
Sonia called for the bill.
“Sara” she said, “let’s try on that pink satin dress again. You look so sexy and dirty and rotten in it. It even makes me fancy you.”
“Do you think it would drive Frank wild?”
“Forget Frank. That’s not a dress you could wear on a normal date. It is, …you know what it is.”
“A tart’s dress?”
“A high class tart’s dress, the sort of thing film stars wear. You would knock them dead in the club. And it undoes up the front. Will we try it on again? It makes me randy just talking about it?”
“Sonia, sometimes you surprise me. I thought you had given up all that and become a nun.”
“I wonder what Samuel would say if he saw me in it? Somewhere private.”
“That’s it” Sara said decisively. “We have to buy it. If it fits, Sonia, you buy it and then you find the occasion to wear it. How about a honeymoon?”
“Shut up Sara.”
Love on the Dark Side of the City Page 12
