Capital Sins

by Jane Marciano

  'Well, you tried,' he said as he sensed her eyes upon him.

  'Sorry,' she answered dully. 'But, for a while there I thought... I thought ... ' She turned her face away but he heard sobs muffled by the sheets.

  Samuel rose on one elbow and stared down, trying to see in the gloom.

  'Don't, Sheila,' he whispered, jostling her shoulder. 'Don't cry.'

  Checking her tears, Sheila rolled on to her back. His arms went around her, pressing her to him as he gently stroked her hair.

  'It wasn't your fault. You're not to blame,' he told her, speaking in a low tone.

  'I'm not crying for me.' She let a deep, heavy breath escape and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, the way a child would. Then she clung to him. 'Oh, Sam, what are you going to do?'

  His chest heaved beneath her breasts. 'I don't know, love. I'm tired of thinking about it.'

  'Maybe thinking so hard doesn't help anyway,' she said reflectively. 'Maybe if you weren't so desperate, things might be easier for you.'

  They lay silent for a while, her head on his chest, her hand stroking the thick hair there.

  'There really isn't anything that I can do that I haven't already tried. and with a problem like mine, one doesn't go round talking about it. I suppose one day I'll come to my senses and realise that I must get married to save face, and adopt a son, but it will be as a last resort, and it'd take a special sort of person to live my life my way. I'll only do that when I feel that things have become hopeless, but it physically hurts to believe that now. I want to pretend just a while longer.'

  She didn't interrupt him, just moved closer for reassurance..

  She reckoned she had pushed herself on him far enough. He bent and kissed her nose lightly.

  'Thanks,' he said.

  'For what?'

  'For caring.'

  'I mistimed it. I should have approached you in a year or so when your defences were down.'

  'You're quite something, you know that? I'm just sorry I

  couldn't respond like I should, like a normal man would ... '

  She placed a finger across his lips, silencing him. 'Don't talk about that now, darling.'

  He nuzzled his chin against her hair, and sighed. 'You don't know how badly I want a son; a boy to carry on after me. I guess I'll have to learn to live with my inadequacy. Ah, what's the use of talking about it?' He looked down and saw that the girl's eyes were closed. He touched her cheek gently and felt that it was wet.

  'Sheila?'

  There was no reply. She was fast asleep. Samuel Jessop smiled to himself a little sadly in the darkness and closed his eyes.

  Connie arrived home from the office the next day and ran herself a hot bath. While she was soaking in the sudsy water, she thought about her day. Sheila hadn't turned up until about eleven o'clock and looked as if she had recently been crying. Connie hadn't asked why, it was none of her business, she told herself, even if Sheila was a friend. Sheila had been very subdued the whole day, and when at last Connie had gone to ask if there were any letters she wanted to dictate, the older girl had looked at her blankly at first. When the few memos and letters had been typed, Connie waited by the desk as Sheila signed them, wishing, as she looked at the bowed head, that the girl would get whatever was biting her off her chest. And yet, Connie thought, there isn't really anyone but me Sheila can talk to. She had cleared her throat deliberately, but the look in Sheila's eye intimidated her and she bit back the words that had come to her lips.

  Samuel Jessop had arrived late afternoon. Connie noticed that he looked strained, but there again he often seemed tired. When he had said hello to them, Connie intercepted the odd glance Sheila threw in his direction. He had retired to his office and hadn't reappeared when Connie had left. Sheila kept disappearing into his room for long periods but Connie was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to give either of them more than a passing thought, for she was going out that evening with Tilly.

  Connie forgot about Sheila Delaney and Samuel Jessop as she rose from the bath and flung a towel around her nakedness. Slipping on a pair of old mules, she flip-flapped down the linoed hallway to her room. Briskly, she rubbed herself dry, puffed on talcum powder and sprayed on cologne, resolving to buy some really good perfume when she could afford it. Connie set her pink and glistening body before the dressing-table mirror and scrutinised herself carefully, looking for blemishes, None at all: a perfect, flawless skin, at which she nodded in satisfaction. She thought of how Mrs Withers had looked at her when she had come in that evening and seen the landlady talking with a friend. Tilly and Connie often laughed to each other about Mrs Withers' so-called friends. What a hypocrite that woman was!

  Connie, looking at her reflection, remembered how her landlady had stared enviously at the new suit that Connie had bought especially for the office. She smiled at herself in the mirror, thinking of Mrs Withers' floppy little breasts, like two tiny lemons under the baggy shift she always wore. While her own legs were long and shapely, Mrs Withers' were like match sticks, criss-crossed with varicose veins. How awful to be like her, Connie shuddered. How pathetic to get to that stage when one becomes jealous of all girls who are young and pretty. She leaned forward over the dresser to inspect her face more closely. No wrinkles, no disfigurement of any kind – not like Ma Withers, with her flesh like dried orange peel, pitted and oily, on which she slapped thick, heavy brown foundation, which didn't do a thing to disguise her bad skin.

  Humming softly, Connie sat down and prepared to make up. She dabbed on moisturiser but decided against any foundation or cheek colouring, her cheeks being rosy already from the heat of the bath water. Deftly having brushed violet eyeshadow around her eyes, she then artistically applied the faintest rim of eye-liner. That done, she spat on to a mascara block and proceeded to lengthen her already absurdly long and curly lashes. Three coats, and it was done, and she sat back to admire the effect. She didn't put on any lipstick. After all, what was the point when it was likely to come off again during the evening – or so she hoped?

  Now, should she leave her hair down, just hanging loosely? It looked more elegant pinned up, made her look older, more mature and worldly, but did she necessarily want to look that way tonight – or merely just plain sexy? She left her hair alone after giving it a good brush.

  She stood up and took out from a drawer a new pair of tights and a pair of freshly laundered pants. She sat on the bed and rolled on the tights, careful not to ladder them. It was worth buying expensive ones, she reflected, for her legs appeared incredibly silky, in spite of just having shaved them. When the bottom half of her was decently clad, she picked up a bra. Then she thought of what Tilly had told her, and didn't put it on.

  ' ... Makes men wild to see boobs swing under a girl's dress, Tilly had said cheekily, 'and it's much more comfortable, too. Try it ... and anyway, it's quicker to get undressed, if ya see what I mean ... '

  She took out from her wardrobe a dress which was still new, bought just before she had left the Home. It was simply styled and white, but Connie chose it because it was the sort of dress one could wear to a party, a dance, or just if one decided to go to the cinema. Tilly hadn't yet informed her what they were going to do that evening; she laid on the entertainments, so this number was just the job. The straps were narrow and the neckline was heart-shaped, just dipping into her cleavage – which made the goodies underneath even more interesting since imagination had to work overtime when the eyes couldn't see. Connie thought the top of the dress slightly old-fashioned, but the skirt, gently flaring from the waist and stopping at her knees, was in the latest fashion. As a going-away present, the matron had bought the girl a pair of shoes to accompany the dress, and these she now brought out from their tissue wrapping in a box.

  When she had put them on, Connie danced around the room a couple of times. She looked good, she knew it. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and her cheeks were still flushed but she didn't care about the reason. All she knew was that she was free. young and lov
ely, and was going to have herself a ball!

  She snatched up a jacket, flung open the door and tripped lightly down the worn stairs, her heels clattering on thin carpeting, long since worn away from much tramping and little repair. As she got to the front door, the one on her left, which led to the landlady's sitting room, opened and Mrs Withers came out. The woman stopped short at sight of her, and seemed to be trying to bar the way and sight of a man behind her sharp shoulder blades.

  'Good evening,' Connie said to her pleasantly.

  The man was making grunting noises and, with a look of regret, the woman moved aside to let him out.

  'What 'ave we here?' he said, looking Connie over with interest.

  'She's just one of my lodgers,' Mrs Withers answered him before Connie had a chance to open her mouth. Her face was grudging as she said, 'Miss Sands is just going out it seems, Harold ... '

  ' ... Ain't you going to introduce me to your new lodger then, Mavis?'

  Connie tried not to laugh when she saw how annoyed the woman looked and, where there was no immediate response from her, Connie held out her hand.

  'How do you do. My name's Constance Sands.'

  His wet, fish-like flipper grasped hers happily. 'Harold Bates, always pleased to meet such a pretty girl.'

  Gingerly, Connie dislodged her hand and when she saw him eyeing the top of her dress, she decided it was time she left.

  'It was nice meeting you, but I have to go now,' she said,

  smiling at them in turn although longing to be away.

  'Mebbe I could give you a lift?' the man asked quickly, eyes greedy.

  'Thanks, but no. I have private transport.' It was a lie, she was going by bus and tube, but she wasn't going anywhere with this lecherous little creature. ,

  He looked disappointed. 'But ... '

  'Sorry,' she interrupted, 'but if you've nothing better to do, Harold, why don't you take Mrs Withers out? She hasn't been anywhere nice for days and I'm sure she'd be glad of a change.'

  Mrs Withers bristled. Cheeky brat to suggest she had to stay indoors. Connie shrugged, but didn't wait for a reply from either of them.

  The train was crowded and Connie was pushed and jostled about the carriage as more people scurried in like hefty little moles desperate to tunnel even deeper underground. She found her nose squashed against the back of a huge, burly Negro and, since she couldn't breathe, turned around and found herself face to face with an Indian woman whose breath smelt of curry and garlic. Connie rotated, thinking it better to die of suffocation than nausea. She wasn't able to move her hand to see her watch, but the last time she had looked it had been seven o'clock. That was OK, she was meeting Tilly at the club at seven-thirty, by which time Tilly should be finished for the evening, to be succeeded by another girl on the rota.

  The train drew to a halt and Connie was swept out as the doors recessed into the side of the train, but it was her stop anyway. A crowd of young boys by the ticket barrier stared, and a few whistled. She tossed her head, wiggled her hips deliberately, and hurried past.

  As usual, the hot dog stands and cold drink vendors standing at the corners of the streets were doing a roaring trade and, since the weather was fine, the evening being unusually mild, there were more people than ever to be seen. The thumping of a piano from a beer cellar, accompanied by the stomp of feet and shrieking voices proclaimed that a good time was being had by all. She neared a pub, and a drunk lurching unsteadily outside the doorway winked at her, then fell over his feet when he tried to follow. Connie hurried on, past throngs of people, cinema queues, and entered the Topaz Club, with its photographs of half-naked girls and cabaret acts hung on the outside walls and tiny foyer. The tough-looking doorman, or bouncer, recognised Connie and gave her a friendly wink as she went in. She checked in her jacket and then looked around. The band was swinging away as Connie became enveloped in a foggy mist of cigarette and cigar smoke, and dazzling, multi-coloured lights that sparkled on the dancers as they gyrated on the floor. The room was packed tight and waiters hurried to and fro bearing plates of food and bottles. Connie shielded her eyes from the glare of the spotlights and searched for Tilly, and espied her propped up against a bar, talking animatedly to a middle-aged man.

  ' ... And here she is,' Tilly said, indicating Connie with a flick of her wrist to the man who stared at the approaching girl with speculating eyes. 'Wotcher,' Tilly cried, to make herself heard above the din.

  'Hello,' Connie returned, more to her friend than both of them, for the man was making her feel nervous.

  He was about her height, but so thin his unfashionable suit almost hung on his skeleton-like frame as if on a hanger. He was incredibly sexless. There was nothing about him she found attractive. His pale black hair, what there was of it, was scraped back off his forehead, was thinning on top, but he had plastered down strands on his knobbly skull to make the most of his scanty resources.

  His scrawny neck was somehow shrunken into his shoulders so that he resembled a tortoise, and only a protruding Adam's apple stopped it from sinking any farther. He wore thick-rimmed spectacles attached to elephantine ears; for extra support, one lens was resting on an uncommonly large pimple. His tiny eyes were watery blue and sparsely lashed. To add to this loveliness, his chin receded. When he smiled, which was what he was now doing in Connie's direction, his mouth seemed to stretch right across his face, from ear to ear, showing broken, discoloured teeth. Hard as she tried to reassure herself that appearances could be deceptive, Connie couldn't help feeling revolted. Shouldn't be surprised if he's smarmy and sickly, she thought with a flash of shrewdness. Meanwhile, Tilly had taken charge.

  'Connie, this is Henry. Henry, meet Constance.'

  There was nothing she could do but smile and offer him her hand which Henry took gravely in his own big paw.

  'I'm delighted to make the acquaintance of such a charming girl. I have a suspicion that Robert and I are going to come to blows as to who will escort whom to dinner tonight.'

  The pompous words, offered ingratiatingly, grated on her. He turned to Tilly with an apologetic smile and said silkily, 'Not that either of us will suffer by comparison, I'm sure.'

  Tilly bobbed her head and smiled mechanically. Connie, who had been waiting for an opportunity, took her by the arm.

  'Will you excuse us for a moment,' she said, and pulled the girl away, not stopping until they had reached the ladies' room. Inside, she turned to her grimly.

  'What's happening?' she demanded.

  'We're going out with Robert and Henry.' Tilly turned to the mirror and smoothed her curls complacently.

  'Don't look so proud of yourself, you can count me out of this little set-up. If Robert's anything like Henry I definitely don't want to know.'

  'Why not? Connie, don't be so fussy.'

  'Why shouldn't I be? At least we could find two a little nearer our ages, or at least a little more attractive.'

  Tilly tapped her foot impatiently. 'Look,' she lowered her voice as some women entered. 'Exactly 'ow much money you got on you?'

  Connie looked surprised. 'Not much, why?'

  'Because I chose these blokes 'cos they're real suckers, kid, and won't give us no trouble, and they're dead keen besides. So if you want a real slap-up nosh tonight. just leave things to me.'

  'But I don't want to spend the whole evening with two old codgers!'

  'Listen, shut up and trust me!' Tilly exclaimed in one breath. 'Henry's a very good client here and I can vouch for his ... er, prosperity. Robert's unusually flush as well, and they're just looking for a couple of birds to spend some money on and time with ... and that's us, kid.' She looked triumphant. 'Be nice to 'em, and they'll take us out somewhere real fancy. You can order the most expensive thing on the menu and they won't bat an eye.'

  Connie remained looking doubtful. 'And afterwards?'

  'No afterwards,' Tilly said smugly. 'We dodge 'em.'

  Connie wasn't convinced, but began to look more interested. 'How?'

  'P
iece of cake. Before we leave the restaurant, we just tell 'em we want to go to the loo or somethin', and we hop it without them seeing. On our tods.'

  'I'm not sure about this, Tilly, it seems wrong.'

  Tilly's forehead creased in exasperation. 'You said you didn't wanna stick with two groaners like 'em. For Christ's sake, don't start feeling sorry for those two, they got wives tucked away somewheres, so if they can be greedy and dishonest, then so can we.'

  Finally, Tilly managed to persuade her that it was all 'just a bit of fun' and the two girls returned to where the men were waiting. Connie looked at the man whom she supposed was Robert and thought that, beside the other, he was fairly decent-looking, at least presentable. However, when he was introduced to her, Robert proved to be as soapy and glib as Henry, but when Tilly nudged her in the ribs, Connie made an effort to reply as sweetly as possible with the necessary polite noises.

  In no time at all, the four were seated in Henry's Jag; Connie was in front with him, with Tilly and Robert, who appeared to have taken a shine to Tilly's dark gypsy looks, in the back.

  Henry flashed Connie the smile that split his face. 'Comfy, little lady?'

  'Ever so, thanks.'

  He didn't seem to notice the self-mockery and affectation in her voice. He thought she must always be so naturally sugary.

  'My, aren't we lucky to have such lovely ladies with us tonight, Robert?' Henry smirked over his shoulder, at which Robert gave a braying laugh that set Connie's teeth on edge. Robert meanwhile, no slow-coach, had his arm around Tilly's shoulders while his fingers played with the lobe of her ear. Henry stole a sidelong look at his on partner and dropped his hand on to her knee, with an assumed naturalness. She watched it resting there, like a flabby crab, and she was sure her skin crawled. He was so oily, so sure of himself while she could only think of him as pathetic.

  'And where would you like to eat ... Constance, isn't it?'

  She gave him a forced smile. 'Yes,' and was relieved when he removed his hand to the steering wheel as he started the car. 'I don't mind where we go.' she added.