The Long Firm

by Jake Arnott

I introduced Tommy to Gerald Wilman who agreed to help him out with his voice. Gerald had an incredible vocal range and was famous on the radio for his funny voices. He’d done legitimate theatre work as well so he knew all about proper technique. Gerald was very taken with Tommy’s boyish good looks and Tommy played all of that up to the hilt. They made an arrangement to do a voice class every week. I warned Tommy of Gerald’s notorious short temper.

  I took Tommy out from time to time to the theatre or to see a movie. He was quite starstruck. He watched in the darkness with wonder, sometimes grabbing my hand as his eyes gazed upwards to the screen or the stage. It was nice to have the company of such a beautiful young man. It took my mind off worrying about Eddie and wondering how to act friendly with George Mooney. He had a great energy and enthusiasm about him, a curiosity about things. And he was very affectionate. It was as if he was making up for lost time.

  At other times me, Harry and Tommy went out together as a threesome. One night we went around to Johnnie Ray’s mews house in Chelsea for drinks. Johnnie and his boyfriend manager, Bill, had become quite settled there, even though Johnnie was about to do another god-forsaken tour of working men’s clubs. Tommy was very impressed by Johnnie, even though he was hardly a big star any more. Even in small social gatherings Johnnie would go into a sort of scripted dialogue. With his deafness it was always hard to know how much he kept up with the conversation and I think he went into a repetitious patter as a kind of defence mechanism.

  ‘You know,’ he announced, for the umpteenth time, ‘Sophie Tucker once said to me “Johnnie, you and I have paid our dues but these kids today, they all come up so fast.”’

  Tommy lapped it up. He nodded enthusiastically. It was as if in his own mad dreams of stardom he actually thought Johnnie was talking about him.

  ‘How’s the club?’ asked Bill, unaware of the recent changes.

  Harry explained rather sheepishly about the ‘Stardust Erotic Revue’. Johnnie smiled.

  ‘I used to go out with this high-class stripper back in the fifties,’ he said. ‘Tempest Storm. You may have heard of her.’

  ‘That was when you were trying to bolster your straight image, wasn’t it dear?’ quipped Bill, and everyone laughed.

  They all seemed happy enough. Harry loved Tommy. Johnnie loved Bill. And I felt like a double gooseberry all evening.

  Mooney didn’t bother checking the money that I handed over to him in the Celebrity Club off Bond Street. He let a sly smile play across his lips and his peephole eyes darted to and fro as he slipped the fat envelope in his inside jacket pocket.

  ‘Please pass on my thanks to Mr Starks,’ he said. ‘But also, some of our concerns regarding some of his more, er, flamboyant window displays. There’s a few we don’t like the look of.’

  He handed me a list of shops.

  ‘Get them to tone it down a bit. We need to keep the lid on all of this. Then everybody’s happy.’

  He poured the champagne.

  ‘And warn him that the Sunday People is doing an exposé of the porn trade in Soho. There’s nothing that titillates the tabloid reader more than a moral crusade against filth. There’s a bloke calling himself Fahmi, claims he’s a rich Arab wanting to buy blue films in bulk. He’s really a freelance journalist.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  Mooney smiled.

  ‘It really is a pleasure doing business with you, Ruby.’

  I forced a smile back.

  ‘There is something else,’ he said softly. ‘Something I’d like to keep just between the two of us for the time being.’

  He patted my hand.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, one of Mr Starks’s former cohorts, a certain Tony Stavrakakis. He’s in Brixton Prison and itching for an early release date. So he’s started talking. Making statements about some of Harry’s past activities. Looks like a case is being put together.’

  ‘What sort of case?’

  ‘Once this Kray business is dealt with, the word is that the Yard is going to be coming down heavily on any other organised crime. Don’t want anyone filling the vacuum, if you see what I mean.’

  He slurped at his champagne.

  ‘We need to be careful, Ruby.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes. You and me. If Harry Starks goes down we need to be as far away from it all as possible. Don’t want to get sucked under, do we?’

  ‘Er, no,’ I replied cautiously.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve started to make contingency plans. I’ve developed a fondness towards you, Ruby. I wouldn’t want you to be implicated in anything nasty.’

  1968 was nearly over. I had my last visit to Eddie of that year. Christmas was four days away so it didn’t seem right telling him anything of what I thought of us splitting up. I think he knew that something was up, though. I found it hard to look him in the eye. I didn’t mention what I was doing, other than to say that I’d got some work in stage management, which was near enough the truth.

  Harry went back to Hoxton for Christmas and took Tommy with him. A sure sign that he was serious about the kid. He invited me as well but I stayed in Chelsea and had my mother over for a couple of days.

  After Christmas we all went around to Johnnie’s and Bill’s for drinks. Johnnie had just finished a tour of the northern club circuit and didn’t have any engagements until next year so they could relax and see in the new year together.

  ‘How are you going to celebrate it?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Well,’ replied Johnnie with a grin. ‘Judy’s in town.’

  ‘Judy Garland?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s doing a residency at the Talk of the Town. We thought we’d go and give the old girl some support. She sure as hell needs it. It’ll be like old times.’

  ‘You know Judy?’

  ‘Sure. Well, I know her daughter Liza better. But me and Judy go back. I met her when I was working on Sunset Strip. She said to me, “Johnnie, you and I have paid our dues, but these kids today, they all come up so fast.”’

  ‘You a fan, Harry?’ asked Bill.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Tommy interjected. ‘Harry loves Judy. Don’t you Harry?’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ replied Harry, slightly guarded. ‘She’s a great talent.’

  ‘Well, we could introduce you,’ suggested Johnnie with a smile.

  ‘Could you?’ Harry piped up, his voice suddenly full of child-like enthusiasm.

  Harry couldn’t help coming over all eager. Johnnie and Bill laughed at the expression on his face. He looked like a big kid.

  ‘Well, lookee here,’ Johnnie drawled in a Midwest twang, ‘Harry’s a real friend of Dorothy’s, aren’t you, Harry?’

  Harry went all bashful. But you could tell he quite enjoyed being made fun of. In carefully controlled circumstances, of course. He could relax for a bit, laugh at himself.

  Everyone was in a good mood. But I suddenly had this odd sense of foreboding about Judy. She seemed so doom laden. There were awful press stories about her. Breakdowns, disastrous marriages, pills and booze and suicide attempts. Her tax bill made what Johnnie owed in back taxes seem like milk money. The queens still loved her, but maybe all that drama and tragedy was part of the attraction. I was beginning to long for the quiet life myself. And I somehow felt that her coming was a bad omen.

  New Year’s Eve I went out with the strippers from the club. We went drinking in the West End. They were a good crew of girls to get drunk with. We staggered down Charing Cross Road arm in arm to join the crowds in Trafalgar Square just as Big Ben was pealing midnight.

  ‘What’s your New Year’s resolution?’ asked one.

  ‘I’m going to get a proper West End show. A nice musical.’

  ‘Fuck that! I’m going to marry a rich punter!’

  Laughter.

  Then one of the girls turned to me and asked me softly: ‘What about you, Rube? You got a resolution?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I’m going to make me enough money out of this filthy game and then
retire. Do something normal.’

  I meant it too. But I couldn’t help having these uneasy thoughts. I had a bad feeling about 1969.

  On the night that Harry and Tommy had planned to go and see Judy at the Talk of the Town, Harry was called away on business. It must have been important to keep him from seeing Judy Garland. He called me up on the telephone.

  ‘You take the kid,’ he said. ‘Tommy’s been dying to see Judy. Wouldn’t want to disappoint him.’

  He sounded like he was under pressure.

  ‘Is anything wrong?’ I asked him.

  ‘Nah,’ he replied, distractedly. ‘Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll get Tommy to pick you up.’

  And so me and Tommy went to the Talk of the Town together. Harry didn’t like Tommy going out on his own. He was jealous and possessive just as Rachman had been with me.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind going out with me,’ I said to Tommy.

  ‘Course not, Ruby.’ He grinned at me with an off-centre stare. ‘I can be your boyfriend for the evening.’

  We had a good table, near the stage. There was a floorshow on first. Some silly revue with showgirls in feathery costumes. High-class bump and grind. Like The Stardust but they kept their clothes on.

  Judy was due on at eleven. She was late. No surprise there. It gave me and Tommy a chance to chat. Tommy’s career. It had started well enough. He’d got an agent. One of Harry’s connections. And he’d had some nice new publicity photos done. But he’d had no luck with any castings. He’d come to my flat from an audition one afternoon virtually in tears. He obviously wanted reassurance. ‘That director was a right bitch,’ he’d said. I’d hugged him and said, ‘Yeah, I know darling.’ Deep down I suspected that he hadn’t been any good. And Gerald Wilman had given up on the vocal training. He’d lost patience with Tommy’s inability to form consonants, and ended up shouting at him. Tommy had fled, upset.

  I tried to sound encouraging but deep down I wanted to warn him off. He didn’t really have much going for himself apart from his looks. Someone needed to break it to him gently that he didn’t really have any talent as an actor. I decided that I’d talk to Harry about it. I just felt that Tommy was setting himself up for a lot of humiliation and disappointment.

  Judy finally made it onto the stage just past midnight and by now the crowd had become more than restless. The spotlight hit her spindly, quivering form as it tottered out in a red trouser suit. She didn’t seem to be aware of where she was. The mob became ugly and started to bay. Someone threw an empty cigarette packet. A few bread rolls followed. Booing and catcalls.

  Judy just stood there trembling.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she managed to squeak. ‘Oh dear.’

  It was obscene. Like some sort of awful ritual sacrifice. A man got up on stage and grabbed the microphone.

  ‘If you can’t turn up on time,’ he bawled, ‘why turn up at all?’

  Judy rushed off the stage in tears. I was glad Harry wasn’t there to see this. He’d have probably started a fight with the hecklers. Tommy was in a state of shock.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  We drove slowly back to Chelsea in silence. Tommy dropped me off and I invited him up for a nightcap. The poor kid could do with a drink after tonight’s fiasco, I thought.

  ‘Well, that was a bit of a disaster,’ I said as Tommy poured us both a brandy.

  ‘It was awful,’ said Tommy, still wide eyed from it all. ‘Those people were so horrible to Judy.’

  ‘Well that’s show business,’ I said flatly. I felt a cruel satisfaction in his disillusionment.

  ‘But Ruby . . .’

  ‘But nothing. That’s what it’s like. You don’t come up with the goods, and they’ll tear you apart. You should remember that.’

  Tommy looked hurt. He took a gulp of brandy and squinted at me.

  ‘You don’t think I’d be any good as an actor, do you?’

  I sighed.

  ‘I don’t know, Tommy. Maybe you shouldn’t set your heart on it too much. It’s a tough business, believe me.’

  ‘But I want to be somebody.’

  I smiled at him.

  ‘You are somebody, Tommy.’

  He went to the window.

  ‘No I’m not,’ said Tommy. ‘I’m a nobody. I don’t even know who my parents were. I want to make something of my life. That’s why I took up boxing. I thought that could be something.’

  I turned around to look at him. Head down, eyes up looking at me in a dewy squint. I went over and touched his face.

  ‘I’m glad Harry made you give up boxing. You are very handsome.’

  Tommy pulled away.

  ‘Harry,’ he said resentfully. ‘He’d make me give up everything. Give up myself. For him.’

  ‘He cares about you,’ I said.

  ‘Does he?’ Tommy’s voice was suddenly cold. ‘He doesn’t even know me. I don’t even know me. I’ve never—’

  He stopped abruptly, turning away to look out of the window. A hollow reflection of his face in the darkened pane.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. He turned back and looked at me. I was mesmerised by his squint. His pale-blue eyes. He was so pretty. I kissed him gently on the mouth. He kissed me back and before I knew it we were at it. Arms snaking around each other. Mouths greedy. We tore at each other’s clothes and staggered into the bedroom.

  This is crazy, I thought as we climbed onto the bed together. I think we both got carried away with the sheer recklessness of it. A passionate sense of danger. Harry would kill us for this. Tommy raked his fingers over me clumsily, sucking at my tits in a kind of blind hunger. I stroked his taut body, tracing the little ripples of muscle, and arched myself up against him as I guided him into me.

  Afterwards we lay on the bed in silence for quite a while.

  ‘Tommy?’ I said finally. ‘Are you all right?’

  There was a strange low laugh in the darkness. I rolled over onto one side and tried to look at him.

  ‘This is a very bad idea,’ I said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Tommy whispered, stroking my hair.

  ‘What’s all this about, anyway?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I thought you were, you know . . .’

  ‘Queer?’

  ‘Well, yeah.’

  ‘I told you. I don’t know what I am.’

  I sighed heavily and rolled onto my back.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Tommy insisted. ‘It’ll all be all right. I promise it will, Ruby.’

  I didn’t know what on earth he meant by this. But I felt too exhausted to ask. All I knew was this could fuck everything up really badly. And all I could think was: Harry mustn’t know.

  Harry phoned me the next day sounding flustered and I had a sudden fear that he’d found out. He said that he needed to talk to me.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

  ‘We’ve had a spot of bother.’

  I felt a wave of relief. He was talking business.

  ‘Meet me at the club,’ said Harry, and I made my way over there.

  I got to The Stardust and went up to the office. Harry was sitting at the desk glancing at the Daily Mirror and smoking a cigarette. KRAYS AT THE OLD BAILEY, read the headline. I could see the tension in his jaw.

  ‘Shocking,’ Harry said, tapping the paper. ‘All these guys the prosecution’s calling. All these faces going QE. It’s a bad omen.’

  He shook his head slowly and looked up at me.

  ‘Glad you could come, Rube,’ he said, agitatedly stubbing out the fag.

  ‘What’s happened, Harry?’

  ‘We’ve been fucked over. That’s what’s happened.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A whole shipment of Scans. Busted at Felixstowe. Customs and Excise. Somebody grassed. They had a tip off, that’s for sure. Three lorries’ worth, pinched. Worth fifty grand retail. I need to know what the fuck’s going on.’

  ‘What do you want me to do
?’

  ‘I want you to have a meet with Mooney, pronto. I want to know who grassed. I want to know where it’s safe for me to bring this stuff in to.’

  ‘Right.’ I nodded.

  ‘And I need to know what he’s up to,’ said Harry.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Something’s up. I’m paying him off for the whole squad but I’ve heard a rumour that the Chief Super isn’t getting his fair whack. Money we’re giving him isn’t going upstairs. If he’s keeping it all for himself then I’m soon going to have his guvnor breathing down my neck. It’s all a fucking mess.’

  Harry was completely wound up. It wasn’t like him.

  ‘Is this what last night was all about?’ I asked him.

  Harry sighed.

  ‘Nah,’ he said, darkly. ‘That’s something else.’

  He lit another cigarette.

  ‘What is it, Harry?’

  Harry sighed out a stream of smoke.

  ‘Nothing you need to know about,’ he muttered. ‘Look, just get a meet with Mooney and find out what’s going on.’

  I didn’t have any time to do anything about it that day, though. I had to go over to Wandsworth. I had a VO to see Eddie in the Hate Factory. Eddie looked well enough physically. A fine example of how jail keeps young men lean and fit, mean and ready for more crime once they’re out again. Scores of plans for scams and really big ones trod out on the inner circle of the exercise yard.

  The conversation began to flag once it went past the how are you, how’s it going stage. Then we hit silence. After about a minute, I came right out and said it: ‘I want a divorce, Eddie.’

  He sighed. More silence.

  ‘Ruby,’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  He sighed again.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘don’t do it now. Not yet.’

  ‘Eddie . . .’

  ‘Think how it would look to the parole board. They might well think if they let me out, I’ll be after you with a grudge. Give it a bit more time, eh?’

  Eddie looked over at me desperately.

  ‘Ruby, there’s two ways you can do your time, you know? With love or with hate. Either one will keep you going. Don’t make me hate you. At least let me pretend for a while.’

  And we left it at that.

  I met Mooney in a pub on Brewer Street. He gave a little show of surprise at me coming empty handed.