The Room on the Second Floor

by T A Williams

  ‘And what about the room names? Even somebody as innocent as Linda might think Rawhide and Whiplash a bit out of place in a beauty salon.’ There was a note of panic in Duggie’s voice. Mo, however, rose to the occasion.

  ‘Rocky, can you find a screwdriver please? There’s something I would like you to do for me.’

  ‘I’ll go and ask Stan.’ He was out of the door and down the stairs in a flash.

  ‘I’ll talk to the girls. I’ll make sure they see that all the clients are tucked up quietly when Linda comes along the corridor. Any comings and goings can be through the back entrance.’

  Just for a moment, the Duggie of old came close to surfacing. But his worries choked off the desire to giggle. Mo, unaware of the comic potential of her choice of vocabulary, carried on.

  ‘Now, as for all the other stuff, I am sure that between us we have got all that you would expect to find in a good beauty salon. Leave it to me, Douglas. We’ll sort her out.’

  And so they did.

  Linda duly received a message via Duggie that they had made an appointment for her for ten o’clock. She made sure she was on time. Rocky, the rumba dancer, was absent. In his place she found Maureen, the personnel officer. Linda liked Mo, which was more than she could say for Rachel Turner, whose rudeness was ever more apparent. Mercifully, the manager was otherwise engaged.

  Mo met Linda and accompanied her through the security door and down the corridor to Room Seven. If Linda noticed the holes in the woodwork of the closed doors just under the numbers, she gave no sign. The brass plates and the screws were safely hidden, along with the screwdriver, inside the filing cabinet in Mo’s office. Rocky would replace them that afternoon.

  The doors they passed were all closed. Nothing could be heard from within any of the rooms. Mo’s instructions to the girls had been quite clear: nobody to move until she gave the all-clear. Mr Starkey the accountant was pleasantly surprised to find that his hour-long session extended to almost two hours that day. And for no extra charge. Delighted to get something for nothing, he took full advantage. In consequence, he finally reached work shortly before lunch in a state of suspended animation. His secretary later described it as being, ‘as if he had just been turned over by the Revenue’. His morning had indeed been taxing, but not in the fiscal sense.

  Oblivious to the extent of the deception around her, Linda was very impressed by the Salon, and Room Seven in particular. A long unit against the wall was covered with every possible beauty aid, and the bathroom filled with lotions and creams. The fact that the bottom half of the wall unit contained over three thousand pounds’-worth of German sex toys and clothes, was not divulged to her. There were lilies on the low coffee table and a smart leather three-piece suite. Fortunately, she failed to notice the rings set into the back of the settee, where one of the best-known local bankers liked nothing better than to be chained up, prior to his spanking by Natascha. Linda was particularly grateful to Mo, who pulled on a crisp white coat and proceeded to give her a splendid session of pampering. This ran from a facial to a full manicure and pedicure.

  As the morning proceeded, Linda asked, and obtained, a number of beauty and fashion tips. Mo was keen to help her show off her looks to best advantage. They were later joined by Ingrid, the tall Latvian girl, who further advised her, while giving her a most relaxing shoulder massage. When asked where she had learnt her trade, Ingrid answered honestly. She had been involved with massage for some years now, but had no formal qualifications. Linda finally left the Salon feeling like a million dollars. Armed with the girls’ suggestions, she determined to go into town to do some serious clothes shopping.

  As for Mo, she was delighted with the success of the session. She found herself looking forward to Linda’s next appointment. As she tidied the room, returning the creams and lotions to their place in the cupboard, she sighed. She looked wistfully at these reminders of her original career, squeezed in on the shelf between German leather underwear and Taiwanese plastic sex toys. What would have become of her, she wondered, if she had stayed as a beautician?

  Never one to indulge in introspection, she closed the cupboard and turned to the door. She was in a salon of a decidedly different nature now, and it was time to sound the all-clear.

  Chapter 35

  Rachel Turner was doing a risk assessment. When asked by Rocky what this entailed, her reply was predictably curt.

  ‘Every business needs a risk assessment. There are all manner of things round here that could be dangerous.’ She looked at him dismissively before turning her head towards the corner of the room. ‘Take that television over there, for example. I bet it’s not secured on top of that table. If somebody bumped into it, they could tip it over. If a small child were on the floor nearby, it could potentially be lethal.’ Stupid man, her attitude said it all.

  ‘In that case, rather than writing it down, wouldn’t it be better just to secure it to the table top like you say?’ Rocky couldn’t see the point.

  ‘But then we’d have nothing to put in the risk assessment, and HSE are very keen on risk assessments. Don’t you realise, we’ve got to have one.’ Rocky left her to it.

  She walked along the corridor, pushing the doors to the rooms open as she went. She took a careful look inside each, making notes on her clipboard as she did so. She noted the fact that two of the rooms gave onto a flat area of lead-covered roof. In consequence, she recorded on the form the possible noxious effects of the lead on staff or clients inside these rooms, if the windows were open. In the Action column, she wrote, ‘install alternative ventilation’.

  Gossamer, aka Room Two, had obviously just been vacated. There were sheets and clothes strewn across the bed and floor. She noted in the Hazards column that somebody could easily catch a foot in a discarded bra, or suspender belt, and fall. In the Action column, she solemnly wrote the injunction to avoid discarding clothing anywhere other than the designated undressing area. She decided to have signs denoting these areas prepared and installed in every room. Reaching down, she picked up a pair of bright-red panties. After a furtive look over her shoulder, she stuffed them in her pocket. She made no mention on her clipboard of the risk of theft in this room.

  When she got to Room Five and pushed the door, she found it locked from the inside. Unperturbed, she knocked sharply and waited. It took a further rap at the door before the handle turned. Mindy looked out at her enquiringly.

  ‘Risk assessment, Mindy. Is there anything potentially dangerous in there?’ As the MD of the local racecourse was currently tied to the bed head while Sindy, wearing a jockey’s helmet, slashed his backside with a crop, Mindy was not sure how to answer.

  ‘Um, I don’t think so really.’

  ‘Nothing that could harm anybody?’ A particularly enthusiastic swipe by Sindy produced a squeal from the MD. Rachel Turner pricked up her ears. ‘So you’re sure there’s no chance of anything in here actually hurting anybody?’ Another muffled cry rang out. Mindy was getting fed up by this time.

  ‘I must get back to work, Ms Turner. It’s time I took over from Sindy. She’s been suffering with tennis elbow.’ She withdrew her head, and pushed the door closed again. Rachel Turner decided to err on the side of caution, so she added ‘ropes and lashes’ to the Hazards column. The action to be taken was, ‘care needed when administering S&M gratification, so as to avoid excess flagellation’. As an afterthought, remembering Sindy’s tennis elbow, she decided she should investigate Repetitive Strain Injury. Maybe if the girls alternated arms every so many swipes? That should cover it.

  The newly finished Rawhide room was empty. Preparations had clearly been made for one of Natascha’s ‘special’ clients. A selection of unusual items littered the bed. The manager’s eye was drawn to a World War Two gas mask, and a CD of the best of Vera Lynn. She added ‘militaria’ to her list of potential hazards and filled in the Action column as ‘staff to be fully trained in the use of all items’. She finished her inspection and returned to her office.

/>   As she walked along the corridor, she hummed happily to herself. Tonight she was going on a date. This would be the first time in months. She hadn’t been out with a man since the departure of her unlamented former husband. She had hooked up with this one on an online dating site, and had spoken to him on Skype earlier in the week. She might even wear some of the saucy underwear she had been collecting. He was South African, a dentist. His name was Springer.

  Chapter 36

  The country club Christmas party was in full swing by eight o’clock. At Duggie’s suggestion, Roger had readily agreed to a party for all the staff, accompanied by their nearest and dearest. In all, about fifty people were now crowded into the snooker room on the ground floor. Judging by the noise at least, they were all having a really good time. Even with the radiators turned off, and the sash windows open, it was boiling in there.

  As for Roger, it didn’t really matter these days where he was. As long as he was with Linda, he was very, very happy. He looked across the room and saw Duggie alongside Tina. She was looking radiant. Her long dark hair framed her smiling face as she draped herself around Duggie and teased his hair with her fingers. He was really pleased for his friend.

  He and Duggie went back a long way. He knew that the time Duggie had spent in the armed forces had involved him in things that had scarred him physically and mentally. Even now, he couldn’t talk about them. Add to that the succession of unfortunate relationships and subsequent divorces, and he had had an emotional pasting. To a great extent, his exterior bonhomie had developed into a convenient screen. It covered his inner feelings, but now, at least, he seemed settled. Roger stretched out his arm and pulled Linda towards him.

  ‘I’m no expert at parties, but I get the feeling this one is going well.’ He had his mouth to her ear. She gripped his forearm a little tighter as she replied.

  ‘They are like a big family. Look at Duggie and Tina.’ He nodded as she continued. ‘And what about Mr Vinnicombe?’ He followed her gaze and spotted the unmistakable bulk of their zealous cleaner, arm-in-arm with an immensely tall, stringy fellow. Her head barely reached his chest, while the rest of her body completely blotted out his, apart from his neck and head. The overall impression was of an ostrich. The lower section all body, with a disproportionately thin top third.

  ‘No prizes for guessing who is wearing the cleanest shirt tonight.’ He had no doubt that she was dead right.

  ‘The girls from the Salon are enjoying themselves.’ Her observation was mainly directed towards Natascha and Svetlana. They had found the vodka and appeared to be doing their best to empty the bottle between them. Not surprisingly, they were accompanied by a crowd. Most of the unattached men at the party had been drawn towards them as if by magic. Neither girl was wearing anything outrageous – rather the opposite, in fact – but there was no hiding the fact that they were lovely young girls. The boys had picked them out from the start. Over to one side of the dance floor, a space had opened up around the prancing form of Rocky. He was dancing flamboyantly with Sindy and Mindy and they seemed to be enjoying it as much as the onlookers.

  Linda smiled and waved as she caught sight of Ingrid, her blond head sticking up higher than most of those around her. The other Salon girls were a little less visible, although the Salon manager, Rachel Turner, was anything but. She was wearing a full-length evening dress, complete with pearls and long black gloves. She was deep in conversation with Stan the gardener. In her case, conversation all too often meant monologue. His facial expression was gloomier than usual. It clearly indicated that he would be glad of a means of escape. Linda looked up at Roger and decided to help out.

  ‘All right if I go and dance with Stan?’

  He understood immediately and relinquished his hold on her, watching her make her way through the crowd towards Stan. A moment later, the two of them were dancing. However, to Roger’s dismay, Rachel Turner spun round and walked resolutely in his direction. Before he had time to rush off to the loo, she had buttonholed him.

  ‘Good evening, Professor Dalby. Thought it was about time we had an interface. Can’t beat a bit of proactive networking, eh?’

  He nodded vaguely and took the outstretched hand gingerly, but still received the usual crushing. When she released him, he very nearly dipped his fingers in the so far untouched glass of champagne he was holding. Since the debacle at Linda’s flat in November, he had reduced his already minimal alcohol intake, so as to avoid any further embarrassment. Rachel Turner, on the other hand, drained her glass and picked another from a passing tray with all the skill of an old hand.

  ‘The important thing for us is to be focused on creating opportunities for the people who contribute to corporate excellence. Our goal must be to concurrently link growth of the business base, with ongoing productivity initiatives, so that we satisfy all the stakeholders.’ He nodded blankly. Thankfully she then added: ‘Good party.’ It was an observation, rather than a question but, nevertheless, he felt obliged to reply.

  ‘I was just thinking that it is a bit like a big family.’ He smiled at her, but the response was predictably acerbic.

  ‘How does it go? You can pick your friends, but you are stuck with your family. Something like that.’ She took a long pull at her glass. ‘A fairly dysfunctional family, I am afraid. Just look at those Salon girls. Hussies!’ The last word was delivered with such venom that Roger found his face covered with a fine mist of champagne. For a moment, he was virtually blinded. Luckily, she chose that moment to sweep off into the crowd.

  Roger felt a soft, feminine hand on his neck. He turned to feel Tina’s lips on his cheek. He liked her a lot, and she was woman enough to realise it.

  ‘How’s my favourite professor?’ She left her hand on his collar and gave him time to admire her. The black dress, discreetly provocative, had proved a great hit with all the men in the room. Roger was no exception. She felt great, smelt sexy and looked gorgeous. He felt it incumbent upon him to register the fact.

  ‘You look absolutely gorgeous, Tina.’ She almost blushed. Duggie gave him a brilliant smile.

  ‘The love of a good man, Roger.’ She saw his eyes flick over towards Duggie, so she felt she had to clarify. ‘But there wasn’t one around, so I got this very bad one!’ Duggie smiled benevolently and Roger was delighted for both of them. Tina squeaked and jumped as Duggie’s hand reappeared from behind her.

  ‘Santa knew what I wanted for Christmas, all right. The ultimate stocking filler! And this one fills two stockings.’ Duggie was looking much more relaxed than Roger had seen him for weeks. Whatever Tina was doing for him, it was working. Then Roger remembered Linda’s instructions.

  ‘Oh yes, Duggie, many thanks from Linda for laying on the full beauty treatment for her the other day. She was very impressed with the Salon.’ Duggie breathed out gratefully. Mo’s pay rise would come early, he had already decided. As for the future of Ms Turner, well that remained to be seen.

  ‘Is that her secret?’ Tina had been watching her. She had never seen her happier or prettier. ‘Maybe I should give the Salon a try myself.’ As she said it, she cast an oblique glance at Duggie, enjoying seeing him squirm. ‘Maybe mention it to a few girlfriends.’

  ‘Linda doesn’t need a beauty salon. Ever since you two came back from Japan, she has been looking stunning.’ Duggie meant it.

  The three of them watched the guests in silence for a few moments. The DJ had just put on Queen’s ‘We are the Champions’, and half the people in the room were waving their arms in the air, Linda and Stan included. Roger spotted Paddy perched on a table by the door, the glass of wine held uncomfortably in a hand more used to pints of Guinness. He was walking better now, but the accident he claimed to have had on Mrs Vinicombe’s over-polished floor was evidently giving him gyp. Beside him, the pseudo-twins, Sindy and Mindy, fresh from the dance floor, had included him in their conversation. This was a rare event. They were well-known for being only interested in themselves. Maybe as a result, the Irishman seemed unus
ually animated.

  Off to their right, on the edge of the dance floor, Mo was swaying to the music alongside Henri the Butler. Both of them were dressed in sober black. Mo looked smaller and younger without her stilettos and Henri was smiling at her happily. Duggie saw her and felt a warm glow of satisfaction. She really was doing a great job. Maybe this crazy idea of his would actually turn out to be for the good after all.

  ‘Well, are we dancing?’ Tina had her hands on Roger’s arm. Noticing his reticence, she added. ‘Come on, Roger. You’ve got to do it for me. When I tell all the girls back at uni next term that I actually got to hold the sexy professor Dalby in my unworthy arms, the envy and unrequited lust will be exquisite!’

  She gave him a broad smile as she dragged him, protesting, onto the dance floor. Just at that moment, the music changed, providentially, to the Beachboys’ ‘California Girls’. Roger was no dancer, but there were a few he remembered, that still got him moving. Luckily this was one of them. They were swept into the crowd, all humming ‘Dumba, dumba, dumba, dumba…’ in time to the music.

  Duggie watched them happily. The last months had been the busiest of his life. Now, with opening day for the club itself only a week away, he felt a considerable sense of achievement. This was accompanied by no small helping of relief that everything had fallen into place in time. His mad idea to create the Salon seemed at last to be working out. He had got over his traumatic, if not altogether unexpected, discovery that prostitution was a very murky world. Since his confrontation with Rachel Turner, she had kept a blessedly low profile. There was no question, she had definitely taken a lot of work off his shoulders. Above all, her appointment had allowed him to take a step back from the often sad reality behind the glamour.