by Kaye Dobbie
So, determined, she went out the next day on her own and caught a tram, then wandered along the streets, looking into the shop windows and trying to ignore the rain. The day after she spent inside, helping her aunt bake cakes for a school stall. It was almost like being back at Willow Tree Bend—comfortable, that was the word, and because of that, vaguely unsettling.
‘Kitty’s working all hours,’ her aunt warned her. ‘We hardly ever see her.’
After another sleepless night, and another, she was so desperate she went out on Saturday night and rang Joe from a public telephone box. He’d left her his home phone number scribbled on the back of a petrol receipt—as if she didn’t already know it by heart! As he’d handed it over, he’d said, ‘If you need anything, or just to talk, okay?’ She’d felt his eyes on her as she’d bent her head, pretending to read it and not wanting him to know how touched she was.
‘So, how’s it going?’ he asked her when his mother grudgingly fetched him to take the call. She could hear the sound of the television in the background—the Graham Kennedy Show—interspersed with Pete’s laughter.
‘All right.’
There was a pause as he tried to interpret her tone of voice. ‘Faith, you know you only have to say and I’ll come and get you. There’s no shame in that. If you try a thing and don’t like it at least you’ve tried.’
Faith gripped the handset tightly, staring through the grimy glass as two girls walked towards her along the street, their skin-tight jeans and bright jumpers proclaiming them as Sharpies. Kitty had told her that Sharpies and Mods were the two foremost gangs in Melbourne and that they hated each other. The girls stopped under a street lamp to light their cigarettes, and they were laughing about something. In that moment her heart ached for Hope.
‘Faith? Do you want me to come and get you?’
She told herself she was being pathetic. She’d only been here a week! If she chickened out then that would be it as far as her mother was concerned, and she wouldn’t be allowed to leave home again until she was twenty-one. No, she had to wait a bit longer. Things would get better, they had to.
‘Okay,’ Joe said, when she told him she was staying. ‘I’ll be down in a few weeks anyway. I’ll drop in to see you then.’
Faith finished the call, hoping that by then she wouldn’t have this terrible urge to cling to him.
The week dragged by. It was the weekend again, and Kitty arrived like a breath of fresh air in her bright-yellow dress and diamond-patterned stockings. She took in the situation with one glance and promptly packed up Faith’s things, scoffing at her mother’s dire warnings, and bundled her off to her digs in St Kilda. It was a two-storey house, narrow and creaky and old, and very untidy, but that was only to be expected with three other girls sharing. Because it reminded her of the often messy room that she had shared with Hope, Faith felt instantly at home.
‘You can have the spare bed in here with me—I’m out a lot of the time anyway. We can split the rent. You’ll have to find a job.’ Her cousin stubbed out the inevitable cigarette. Faith’s eyes were already stinging.
‘What sort of job?’
‘I’ll think of something,’ Kitty muttered, before making herself a cosy nest in her blankets and falling asleep instantly.
That night Faith lay awake again, worrying about her future, and what would happen if the hoped-for job didn’t eventuate. There was no one to talk to because after Kitty went to work, she didn’t come home again, and the other girls kept to their rooms.
But when Kitty arrived with the dawn, she brought good news. ‘Jared says he’ll take a look at you and see if you’re suitable for the Cocktail Lounge. Should be okay.’ She took in Faith’s tangled hair and baggy pyjamas. ‘Have you got some clothes to wear to the interview? Not that little-girl stuff you had on yesterday.’ And seeing Faith’s blank expression, she sighed. ‘Go to Circe in Charnwood Crescent and ask for Leanne. Tell her you’ll be working at the Angel and she’ll know what you need.’
Faith tried not to feel hurt. She and Hope had spent hours poring over teen fashion magazines and trying to copy the newest looks. She’d always felt she was up to the mark. Hope had even said that if she cut her hair short and lost weight, she could be Twiggy. Their mother had overheard and given them a long lecture on the importance of accepting yourself as you were, with a longer one on the starving children in Africa.
‘You need to think about what looks good on you,’ Kitty was enlightening her. ‘Make the best of what you’ve got. Look at me. I’m not beautiful—’
‘You are!’
Kitty’s mouth quirked, but she shook her head, suddenly serious. ‘No, I’m not. I’ve learned how to draw attention to my best features. Be yourself, Faith, that’s the trick. Play up your good points and play down the bad. You just need a bit of practice. Your hair is lovely, and your eyes. You have a nice figure, not much of you, but men like petite women. Makes them feel big and strong. Jared’s always on the lookout for girls who can bring in the customers.’
So, was this all for Jared? she wondered resentfully. And then she remembered it was Jared who would be deciding whether or not to give her a job, and buttoned her lip.
Faith headed off to Charnwood Crescent, fuelled by Kitty’s encouragement and her own determination to give it her best shot.
Charnwood looped between two busier streets, and was lined with older-style houses and businesses that had seen better days. According to Kitty, the pop-music newspaper Go-Set was produced from one of these buildings, and that made her feel as if she was really in the beating heart, and certainly a long way from Willow Tree Bend.
Circe was a boutique, and situated in a small, front room in what looked like an old butcher’s shop, if the hooks in the ceiling were any indication. Leanne was older than she’d expected, and when Faith explained why she was there, she stood back and assessed her with a practised air.
‘You’re young for the Angel,’ she said. ‘If anyone asks say you’re eighteen.’
‘I am eighteen,’ Faith lied.
‘Hmm.’ Leanne gave her a knowing look.
They got down to business. Faith tried on outfit after outfit. Leanne called for another staff member, who appeared from the back of the store, and turned out to be more Faith’s age. Together the women began to discuss her size and shape just as if she was one of the shop mannequins.
Under their guidance, she bought a fitted woollen mini-dress that buttoned up at the front, and some white boots, several short skirts and tight-fitting tops, as well as a gorgeous fake fur coat and a more practical one in black wool that tied around her waist.
When she mentioned the Twiggy similarity, Leanne gave her a once-over. ‘Maybe,’ she said doubtfully.
‘Twiggy?’ the other girl spoke up. ‘Nah. You’re Petula Clark. Don’t Sleep in the Subway, babe!’
They all had a good laugh about that.
By the time she struggled home with her new gear, Faith was beginning to worry she’d overspent. Kitty’s unstinting approval helped to soothe her worries, as did her announcement that Faith was now ready to meet with Jared at the Angel that very night.
The nightclub was bigger than she’d expected—four storeys high—and the windows were all lit up. To Faith’s disappointment, Kitty didn’t take her in through the front entrance, and instead used a side door. She could hear voices though, as if a party was going on somewhere, and music, too.
‘This is it,’ Kitty said, leading her up a short flight of stairs to the office. She ran her gaze over her cousin. ‘Ready?’ And then, before she could answer, she knocked and opened the door.
Jared turned out to be about forty but pretending to be younger. His camel-coloured leather jacket was open over his black shirt and trousers, and his beard was trimmed to his jaw. His eyes widened when he first saw Faith, and he shot a look at Kitty.
Kitty shrugged and he turned back, eyes squinting against the smoke from the cigarette in his mouth, his stare lingering on her short skirt and p
ale stockings.
‘You eighteen?’ It wasn’t a question. He just wanted her to say ‘yes’ because eighteen was the lawful age for entering any establishment that sold alcohol.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said.
Jared nodded. ‘Rightio, then. Tomorrow Kitty will show you the ropes. You can start at four.’ Then, as they were leaving, she heard him say to her cousin, ‘Better keep her away from Dalzell. For the present anyway.’
Kitty didn’t reply, hustling her from the room.
‘Who’s Dalzell?’ Faith asked her, when they were out of earshot.
But Kitty didn’t answer her either.
That had happened yesterday, and now here she was in her new mini-dress and white boots, snuggled into her black coat, and heading to her job.
‘This is the first day of—’
‘Hey, luv!’
A dark-haired young man was calling to her. At first she thought he must have heard what she’d said and felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment.
‘Luv, is this the way to the Angel nightclub?’ he asked. He had the sound of Liverpool, and the Beatles, in his voice.
Faith looked hard but no, he wasn’t Paul, John or George, not even Ringo. This was a stranger, with the skinny pale look of someone who spent too much time inside, but with such an obvious raw sex appeal she felt her heart ratchet up a notch. His hair was cut to his shoulders, freshly washed and shiny, and he looked like he was a member of a band. If he was asking about the Angel then he probably was. Kitty had said they had some top acts performing there, and Faith wondered if she’d heard him on the wireless in the milk bar.
‘I’m going that way,’ she replied, copying Kitty’s confident smile.
‘Okey-dokey, then.’ He swaggered along beside her. His dark-grey suit was the height of fashion and he had pointy-toed boots with heels. This close to him she could see he wasn’t quite perfect because he had a shaving nick on his chin, while his eyes were hidden behind the darkest glasses she’d ever seen.
‘You a singer, then?’ He was turned in her direction, and she noticed the pale blur of her face reflected back, with her dark eye makeup and honey-blonde hair like a smooth cap flicked up at the ends. ‘Should I recognise you, luv?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she was Petula Clark. Faith grinned and then stopped, aware of how it made her cheeks look pudgy and her eyes squinty. ‘I work there,’ she said instead, in Kitty’s offhand voice. ‘This is my first day.’
‘Well, ’ow about that!’ he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze and filling her head with the scent of his aftershave. ‘Mine, too! What’s your name again?’
She knew she was blushing even more now, but she didn’t care. This was sheer bliss. ‘Faith Taylor,’ she said, with her newly borrowed self-assurance.
‘I’m Ray Bartel,’ her companion said, and all thought left her head.
She did know him! In fact, she was amazed she hadn’t recognised him from his photo in Go-Set, although he hadn’t been wearing sunglasses then.
Ray Bartel and his band the Allnights had put a hit song out last year. True, they’d been proclaimed a bit of a one-hit wonder, but it had been her favourite. Still was. Ray was part of her life, part of the reason she was here, and he didn’t even know it.
‘What you laughing about?’ he demanded. But he didn’t seem insulted, he was smiling too, and she thought she might tell him.
‘Faith, you’re late.’
Kitty was standing in the staff entrance, cigarette butts, lolly wrappers and other detritus at her feet. She was looking anxious, and then she noticed Ray and her face turned sly. She grabbed Faith’s arm. ‘Come on,’ she said with a tight smile. ‘I need to show you the ropes before we open.’
Faith went with her, looking back over her shoulder to where Ray was lighting a cigarette and seemed to have forgotten she existed.
Inside, the air stank of smoke and beer, and her shoes stuck to the linoleum floor as she followed Kitty along a narrow corridor and into the big ground-floor room that was the Cocktail Lounge. Round tables with accompanying chairs were scattered throughout the space, and there was a stage with a brightly wallpapered wall and a bar opposite. In daylight the place looked tired, with none of the glitz she’d imagined.
She tried to keep her spirits up, but she could tell Kitty suddenly seemed less than enthusiastic about her cousin working with her. Or maybe she was reading too much into the other girl’s expression. Maybe Kitty was just tired from her shift last night. Faith hadn’t heard her come in till all hours, and now there were shadows under her green eyes and her blonde hair looked greasy despite all the comb-teasing Kitty had given it.
She tried to pay attention while Kitty explained to her what was expected of a Cocktail Lounge waitress. Serving drinks and keeping the customers happy seemed to be the main requirements. Patrons could order meals or snacks if they didn’t want to be bothered making their way up to the dining room on the Mezzanine floor. There was also a Friday- and Saturday-night show in the Cocktail Lounge. Modern stuff, Kitty said, as opposed to the more traditional—and more expensive—acts in the entertainment area that was part of the dining room on the Mezzanine.
‘We get lots of clients in here from the high end of town,’ Kitty said with a wink. ‘They tip well. Some of them find it more comfortable. Informal. The captain up on the Mezzanine runs a tight ship.’ She chuckled, as if it was a joke. ‘You don’t need to worry about the Mezzanine though, or anything that happens up on the fourth floor. The Penthouse, we call it. Next stop heaven.’
Faith looked up at the ceiling in a bewildered fashion, and Kitty laughed, herself again. ‘Come on,’ she said, grabbing hold of Faith’s hand. ‘Let’s go and have one of Gaz’s breakfasts.’
‘Breakfast? Isn’t it a bit late for that?’
‘Not at the Angel. Gaz is the cook and he’ll want to be introduced.’
The kitchen was enormous, although mostly empty of staff at this hour. Faith was to learn that it was always quieter early in the week and it wasn’t until Thursday that things started jumping at the Angel.
Gaz turned out to be in his fifties, a burly man with a bald head and unshaven face, and tattoos snaking down his arms. His paunch filled out his white tee-shirt and overflowed over his trouser belt. But his eyes twinkled and his smile was warm and welcoming.
‘Faith, eh?’ he drawled in a way that reminded her of the country. Of home. ‘Where’s Hope and Charity?’
Faith opened her mouth to tell him where Hope was at least, but her cousin cut her off.
‘Don’t tease her. She’ll get enough of that from the other girls.’ Kitty was already filling her plate with sausage and egg and bacon. Obviously she wasn’t hung over.
‘I’m not teasing her,’ Gaz replied, nodding Faith to a chair and filling her plate himself until it looked as if it would need several of her to finish it. ‘Don’t you think she looks a bit like Mela—?’
‘Shut up, Gaz. We don’t talk about you-know-who.’
‘Right. Sorry.’ He caught Faith’s puzzled look and smiled. ‘I like your name. Old-fashioned, dependable. Honest,’ he added with a meaningful glance at Kitty.
‘As usual you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she muttered around a mouthful of egg.
‘I know when someone is tip-toeing along a balcony five storeys up,’ Gaz said flatly.
Kitty didn’t reply, but she didn’t stay long either. Finishing her breakfast, she got up abruptly, reminding Faith she’d see her when her shift started. ‘Don’t be late,’ she warned. ‘Jared sacks girls who are late.’
When she’d gone, Gaz sat down opposite her with an enormous mug filled with milky tea. He was silent, which made Faith anxious. When she pushed her plate away, too full to eat another bite, she saw that he wasn’t staring at her; his faraway gaze was fixed on the shelves behind her, which were weighed down with crockery.
‘I’d better go,’ she said with a smile. ‘Thank
s for breakfast, Gaz.’
He watched as she pushed her chair back and got to her feet. ‘Be careful, Faith,’ he said, nodding as if to enhance the warning. ‘You tread carefully, sweetheart, even if Kitty won’t.’
Something in his kindness, and maybe his country accent, caused tears to spring to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. This was her brand-new life, she reminded herself. New and exciting. And she did not intend to tread carefully, however well-meaning Gaz’s advice. Faith intended to jump straight in, white boots and all.
SAMANTHA
12 January 2000, Willow Tree Bend
The old ute rattled to a halt outside the gate to my property and I sat a while with the engine idling, deep in thought. I’d picked up the aptly named ‘rust bucket’ yesterday and it seemed to be back in working order. I told myself I should be able to put off buying a newer model for a bit longer.
At least until I could afford it.
Work-wise, things were going as okay as expected with this long hot summer. Unless they had no choice, most people weren’t thinking about creating new gardens. Sensibly, they were waiting until the weather cooled and there was more chance of rain.
And I knew the rains always came.
Eventually.
For now, I had enough work to last another month, but there was always that niggling worry about the future. One question in particular seemed to pop into my head several times a day, try as I might to keep it out.
Can my business survive?
On the plus side, the new primary school was keeping me busy, and the staff were just as enthusiastic as the kids about their new veggie garden and bird-friendly landscaping. It was quite avantgarde, but I was a great believer in sustainability. Recently, I’d been asked for a few quotes for new gardens and it was encouraging to know they were out there, floating about, and might bear fruit. One in particular had taken my fancy.
A restaurant was opening on the outskirts of town and the owner was a well-known Melbourne chef. His restaurant served French-Australian fusion, which seemed a bit odd to me but was a big hit with the patrons, so what did I know? If he chose me to create his kitchen garden and he was happy with it, and then he raved to his friends and customers … That would certainly bring in the clients.
