Ginny felt panic flood through her. Only a moment ago she had wanted to walk out of the club and never look back, but now it came to it, the question of what else she could do suddenly seemed a lot more important, the issue a lot more threatening. And where would she go? Even her rooms were tied to the job. And then there was the money . . .
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, hurriedly wiping the cleanser from her face with a pad of rough cotton wool.
‘No need to sound so worried. I’m not after getting you sacked.’ Leila, raising her tight green shantung skirt above her knees, lowered herself on to the least unpleasant-looking of the chairs. ‘Now, come on,’ she encouraged Ginny, ‘you can be honest with me, you know that.’
Ginny let the cream-covered pad drop from her hand and began speaking. At first she spoke to Leila, but soon it was as though Leila wasn’t there and Ginny was speaking to herself.
She stared into the mirror, but she didn’t see her smeared and make-up-streaked face, what she saw was her life spinning and reeling in front of her in a malevolent kaleidoscope of scenes and moments – like watching a film that was running at the wrong speed and in the wrong order.
‘I’m doing something I don’t understand. That I don’t like. And I’ve got to leave. I know that. And I know all the other girls all say the same. The difference is, I mean it. But the trouble is, who’d want me when I’ve been leading a life like this? Where would I go? It was bad enough before. But now . . .’
A self-mocking smile lifted Ginny’s lips, but her eyes remained unmoved.
‘The girls talk about going to Australia, Canada, South Africa. Anywhere to get away and start a new life where no one knows about what they did. Somewhere they can become other people, turn themselves into someone else. Find a place where they don’t ever have to . . .’ Ginny sighed deeply. ‘Where they just don’t have to. That’s all.’
She picked up a packet of cigarettes that was lying on the table and lit one. ‘All those magic places they talk about where there’s no more working until the early hours, no more fog, or cold, or bomb-sites. It all sounds like something out of a fairy story. But I knew someone once, she sent her kids to Southern Rhodesia. It was a woman from our street. I don’t know how she did it. She didn’t even know where the place was. It was in Africa somewhere I think. And it broke her heart, but she thought it was for the best. And at least she had her children and tried to do her best for them.’
Ginny took a long draw on her cigarette. She frowned as though trying to work out something important.
‘There’s something else I’m worried about. Someone who needs looking after,’ she said eventually. ‘What with all this polio about, I’ll bet she’s not even had the vaccination yet. Dilys would never think to get it done.’
Leila watched her for a moment, then said, ‘Why don’t you just remind this Dilys whoever she is? I’m sure she won’t mind. But I wouldn’t worry if I were you, it’s only children they’re worried about, isn’t it?’
Ginny seemed flustered to hear another voice. She rubbed her hand roughly over her face, dragging the remnants of her mascara down over her cheeks. ‘It’s not for her,’ she said absently. ‘It’s for her little girl. I used to mind her now and again.’
Leila said nothing; she was used to the girls having complicated lives. And Ginny having a child she ‘used to mind’ sounded to Leila like just another of the many ways the girls had of talking about their kids. They either wanted to keep their existence secret for some reason, or had somehow lost contact with them – whether by design, against their will, or even, most incredibly to her, just by carelessness. Leila sometimes thought she took better care of her crocodile handbags than some of the girls did of themselves and their offspring. But then she had never actually raised a child.
‘And when you see what can happen to people.’ Ginny was speaking again. ‘It really makes you think.’
She stubbed out her cigarette and turned her head so that she was looking at Leila face to face. ‘It’s like when Pauline started drinking the real stuff in the club, instead of just tonic. She went downhill so quickly. It was tragic.’
Leila put on her professional, bright-but-sympathetic smile and leaned forward so that she could touch Ginny gently on the arm. ‘You were very kind to Pauline when she had her operation,’ she said, delicately skirting the use of the word abortion.
Ginny shrugged. ‘I got rid of a baby myself once.’
Leila didn’t show any sign of surprise. She just continued to touch her arm. ‘A lot of girls make mistakes, Ginny.’
‘No. It wasn’t a mistake. Well, not in the way you think. Getting rid of it was the mistake.’
A single fat tear rolled on to Ginny’s cheek and plopped on to her lap. She sniffed loudly and fumbled around clumsily with the Craven A packet on the table, trying and failing to get one out of the box. Leila took out her mother-of-pearl case and lighter, lit two gold-tipped black cigarettes and gave one to Ginny.
‘But I was in such a state, you see,’ Ginny explained to herself as much as to Leila. ‘When there’s hardship, people just can’t manage. But they do what they think’s best. Like poor Violet Varney.’
Leila didn’t ask who Violet Varney might be, she just let Ginny continue.
‘It’s not fair. You see some of the big spenders coming into the club and you think, if I’d had just a little bit of the money they’ve got . . .’ Her hand shook as she put the cigarette to her mouth. ‘Yvette said that that bloke in here the other night, the one with the funny clothes, was a maharajah, all the way from India.’
‘He was.’
‘But I’ll bet even he’s got his own story. That he’s either lonely, or miserable in some way. But hard times are easier to cope with when you’ve got a few bob. That’s why I came here in the first place, to earn the money to get a better life for myself. A life I thought I deserved. Now look at me.’
A loud crack of thunder made Ginny jump.
‘Just raining again,’ soothed Leila in her warm, purring voice.
‘Even this weather’s getting me down,’ Ginny sobbed, unable to hold back the flood of tears any longer.
‘That’s what I thought.’ Leila handed her her lace-trimmed handkerchief. ‘And that’s why I want to put a proposition to you.’
Ginny shuddered as though someone was walking over her grave. ‘How d’you mean?’ she sniffed.
Leila twisted one long, slim leg elegantly around the other. ‘I admire the way you dance with the customers, Ginny. And the way you speak when you’re with them. You sound very classy. It impresses them.’
Ginny laughed mirthlessly. ‘After nearly a year at this lark you learn how to act a part if you don’t learn anything else. But I’d hardly call it classy.’
‘No, I mean it. You have a way with you and you really can dance, you know.’
‘I used to go dancing with my friend once upon a time. And even with my husband.’ She shook her head in self-pity.
‘You certainly know how to use your body.’
‘You have to in this line of work.’ Ginny’s voice was thick with tears. She blew her nose loudly into Leila’s delicate little hankie and flicked a cynical eyebrow.
‘That’s why I want to know if you’d like a part in the new show we’re bringing in here.’
Ginny frowned briefly at the ‘we’ – nobody at the club was really sure why, but the governor never seemed to be around, while Leila appeared to have taken responsibility for all of the business side at Frith Street. There were rumours, of course: that he was inside, or that he was too busy with a whole lot of new interests, but nobody knew for sure. Whatever the reason, Ginny hadn’t set eyes on him since she’d been there – well, not to her knowledge. In the dimly lit club, one man was very much like another.
‘We have to keep up with the competition, you see.’
‘What competition’s that?’ Ginny had lost track.
‘The other clubs and theatres. The governor’s keen
we should make the place look classy, so don’t worry, it wouldn’t involve you in anything nasty or unpleasant.’
Leila had actually mentioned the governor, but Ginny was too busy laughing, genuinely amused this time, to follow it up. ‘Nothing nasty or unpleasant? After what I’ve been doing?’
Leila’s tone hardened. ‘You told me once you had dreams.’
‘Yeah, so much for them. Look what’s become of me.’
‘Well I’m giving you a chance to make some of your dreams come true, a chance to be something special. A star in an artistic tableau.’
‘What, standing naked in front of a room full of dirty old men, you mean?’
‘Better than what happened last night, sweetie.’
Ginny hurriedly looked away.
‘Terry told me.’
Ginny felt the tears pricking her eyes. She was so ashamed.
‘Say yes, Ginny. For me. It’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I promise’.
‘You have to keep still remember, Yvette. I told you, if you go wrong, just watch Ginny.’
Leila rolled her eyes and smacked her forehead with the flat of her hand. She must have told Yvette to stop quivering and wiggling about at least a hundred times during the past fortnight of rehearsals, and now here they were, in the middle of the final dress run through, due to open in a couple of hours and the girl still hadn’t got it. She might be a gorgeous, redheaded beauty, but she certainly wasn’t blessed with brains.
Leila tried again. ‘Static tableaux, sweetie, static. That’s what it means. Remember? Staying still so we don’t all get arrested? Now stop waggling those pretty little titties of yours all over the place and get on with it. You’re meant to be a divine goddess offering herself up to Zeus, not a cheap chorus girl trying to pull a punter in the front row.’
Yvette narrowed her extravagantly made-up eyes and strode to the front of the stage that had been especially constructed at the end of the club, next to the dais where the three-piece band were positioned ready to play.
‘I have never looked like a cheap chorus girl in my life!’ she roared, the pink ostrich plumes on her head and the narrow, sequined straps that made up the rest of her goddess costume fluttering and glittering as she jabbed her finger at Leila. Then, grabbing her naked breasts in her hands, Yvette stuck her chin in the air and declared, ‘And these titties are certainly not little!’
She spun round and glared at the drummer who had dared to mutter something about her bra size to the pianist. ‘And you can shut your gob an’ all, you fat old bugger. Just ’cos you’ve got bigger tits than I have!’
The drummer, who was a bit on the heavy side but didn’t like to be reminded of the fact, threw down his sticks in protest. He knew it was a rather pathetic gesture, but he also knew it wasn’t worth starting a row with Yvette; he’d seen her – under cover of the confusion of a police raid – floor a punter with a single left hook, just because she had taken exception to the way the man had smiled reassuringly at her. And she didn’t look very happy now. In fact, Yvette looked ready to rip someone’s head off.
Leila bit her lip, not knowing whether the sound that was bursting to come out of her mouth was a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, or a scream of despair over the possibility that she might have to cancel the opening night of a show that she had had advertised all over the West End. The governor would go mad.
The pianist, who was either bolder or less sensible than the drummer, grinned broadly at Yvette who still had her hands clasped to her bosom. ‘Need any help holding them things, Yve? Not too heavy for you, are they?’
‘That’s it!’ Yvette was steaming. She pulled off her head-dress and flung it to the floor. ‘I’ve had enough. I’m off home. And don’t expect me back.’
‘But, sweetie,’ Leila pleaded, ‘if you walk out, the show can’t go on.’
‘Let Ginny do it by herself.’
‘But it’s all planned around the two of you. You know that. All the scenes are—’
‘Tough.’
‘Let me have a word?’ Ginny asked, stepping forward.
Leila raised her hands in surrender. ‘Sure, go ahead.’
Ginny picked up Yvette’s feathers, took her gently by the arm and tried to lead her to the side of the stage.
Yvette pulled free and folded her arms firmly across her bosom. ‘What?’
‘Look, Yve, I know you’ve been here longer than me and you’ve seen girls come and go. In fact, I bet you’ve seen it all. But, please, listen to me for just a minute?’
Yvette shrugged carelessly. ‘Go on.’
‘I never in all my wildest dreams expected to wind up like this.’ She raised her hand to silence Yvette who was about to interrupt. ‘Please, I’m not judging anyone. I just meant that I was an ordinary little housewife whose life somehow went out of control. When I first came here, you were kind to me. You made me feel at home after my first night’s work. And even though it was obvious I thought I was different from the rest of you, you knew I was gonna wind up doing what I’ve been doing the moment you saw me. Just like Leila did. And once I started . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Look, Yve, this is a chance for me to stop doing it. A chance for both of us. And remember it’s us she picked, not the others.’
Yvette shrugged again. ‘So?’
‘Well, for a start, even though I’m nervous as hell, the money she’s offering is bloody good and I couldn’t half do with a few extra quid. Plus, if the choice is between earning my living flashing me knockers at the mugs out there, or letting them have it away with me night after night, then it’s obvious the choice I’m gonna make. So how about you, Yve?’
‘I don’t take much notice of them to tell you the truth. I let me mind go blank. Just let them get on with it and wait till they finish.’
‘Liar.’ Ginny touched her gently on the cheek. ‘Please, Yve. I can’t go on brassing. I need this chance. And Leila said you can still do business as well, if you want. And the tips we’ll get if we dance with them afterwards, can you imagine?’
Yvette sighed wearily. ‘All right, but I’m telling you, if she tells me to stand still once more, I’m gonna chin the bitch.’
Ginny squeezed her hand. ‘Thanks, Yve, really. You won’t regret it, I promise.’
Plastering on a broad smile, Yvette took a deep breath, turned to face Leila, threw her arms into a dramatic pose and said sweetly. ‘Is this better?’
‘Much better, darling,’ beamed Leila. ‘The punters are going to love you.’
And the punters did. When the curtains closed after the final stirring scene – two shy maidens caught in the act of bathing by a river – the audience went wild.
And, to Leila’s relief, the other girls liked it too. She had been afraid there might be some jealousy, or worse, that one of the screaming cat fights that had broken out in the past over something as insignificant as a bottle of nail polish would erupt, but it all had worked out really well. Not only were the customers put in just the right frame of mind for going upstairs, but during the show they were so busy goggling at the stage that they were even more generous than usual – saying yes to almost any request for yet more drinks, or gifts from the cigarette girl.
Leila grabbed the only bottle of genuine champagne in the club, that she had told Gloria to cool for her behind the bar, and took it through to the dressing-room.
‘You were wonderful! The governor’s going to be thrilled with us.’
Yvette was about to question the ‘us’ when she spotted the champagne. ‘I’m so pleased,’ she said pleasantly.
Leila popped the cork with a theatrical flourish and poured three glasses. ‘And you, Ginny? Are you pleased?’
Ginny, glowing with the adrenalin rush of performing in front of an appreciative audience, threw her arms round Leila and kissed her. ‘I’m not only pleased, Leila. I can’t tell you. I loved it. It was like being someone else. Like being a film star.’
Leila picked up one of the glasses and ra
ised it in salute. ‘I’m absolutely thrilled, Ginny. Thrilled to bits. And just wait till you hear what you’re going to do next!’
Chapter 13
AS GINNY SAT at the mirror, fixing a sparkling rhinestone tiara in her hair, Leila bobbed down behind her and looked over Ginny’s shoulder at their reflections.
‘It’s wonderful out there, darling,’ she raved. ‘Just wonderful. The club is simply full to bursting.’ She took a box of Passing Clouds from her bag and offered the pink packet to Ginny.
Without a word, Ginny took one and waited for Leila to light it for her – at one time, such an exotic item as a deliberately flattened cigarette would have fascinated Ginny, but now it didn’t merit the lifting of an eyebrow.
‘How many of those gentlemen out there’, Leila continued in a happy, encouraging trill, ‘do you suppose have come up to the West End supposedly to buy Christmas presents for little wifey and the kiddiewinks, but have actually come here to see you instead?’
Ginny drew on her cigarette and shrugged. She couldn’t give a bugger about lying husbands or their phoney Christmas shopping trips, all that interested her was trying to figure out why on earth she had ever let Leila talk her into doing this. The static tableaux were one thing – they were easy, just standing there like a statue, posing under the coloured lights, looking unseeingly into the middle distance as though you were a bit missing, while the band played a suitably cod-classical accompaniment. As Yvette always gleefully reminded her when they were counting their wages at the end of the week, it was actually more than easy, it was all a bit of a doddle, especially compared to hostessing. Admittedly they were stark naked up there on the stage – well as good as – but Ginny found it oddly soothing, pretending, as she stared at some imaginary vista, cloaked by the velvet darkness of the club, that she was all alone, that she was someone else, even somewhere else.
But this . . .
Ginny stared into the mirror at the exaggerated greasepaint mask she painted on nightly; the mask that the real Ginny hid behind as she posed in front of the punters. But a lot of good a bit of slap plastered across her chops would do her tonight.
Dream On Page 24
