Dream On (38 page)

Ginny's face clouded over. Not again. She'd been feeling so down it was all she could do to find the energy to turn up to do the show each night; how could anyone think she had what it took to do something as difficult as running a club? In fact, she had seriously thought that if it wasn't for the debts, and the weekly envelopes she sent to Susan and Nellie, she could have just given it all up and . . . That was the problem. And what?

She wouldn't even have a roof over her head. Not even a slum roof.

‘Well, Ginny?'

‘I can't.'

‘Look at me, Ginny. And just listen to those girls in there.'

Ginny did as she was told and listened to the drunken chorus of laughter coming from the sitting-room.

‘It's you Billy singled out for this job. Not them. And why? Because you're bright, you're able, you're from the area, and,' Leila added, suddenly distracted by a loose thread on her emerald-green sleeve, ‘you look good. And let's face it, Billy's not asking you to run the Astor Club for him, now is he. It's only an East End drinking spot.'

They said nothing for a few moments, just stood there while the girls' giggles built to a crescendo of tipsy hilarity.

Leila took a deep breath and pulled her final rabbit from the hat. ‘I've been very good to you, Ginny. And very patient. And I think you owe me a favour.'

Ginny couldn't look at her; she didn't want to hear what she was sure was coming next.

‘As the governor's right-hand assistant, I was told to persuade you to take this job, Ginny,' she began, setting the foundation of her lie. ‘And if you don't do this for me, I'm going to get the blame. I could lose everything I've worked for: my position in the business, my reputation, this flat. Do you want to be responsible for all those things happening to me?' Leila touched the back of her hand theatrically to her forehead.

‘But Leila—'

‘And I thought you were my friend.'

Ginny ran her fingers distractedly through her hair, as a fat tear brimmed over and plopped on to her cheek. ‘I don't know why Mr Saunders thinks I can do it.'

Leila stretched her lips in a taut smile. ‘Because he's got faith in you. He was only saying so the other day.' She then added with reckless impatience: ‘In fact, it sometimes feels as though he speaks of nothing else
but
you.'

‘But, Leila—'

‘Look, I've put it to you straight, Ginny. You know the position now.'

‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get you in trouble. I'm really sorry.' She shook her head at her own wickedness and sniffed loudly. ‘All right if I use the—'

‘The powder room? Of course. You go and get those tears mopped up.' Apart from an almost imperceptible fluttering of a nerve just below her left eye, Leila looked completely composed, but she could have smacked Ginny's face. What was wrong with her? Anyone else in her position would have jumped at a chance like this. Leila took a deep breath. She mustn't lose control. ‘I'll be in the kitchen.'

While Leila and Ginny had been in the hall, Shirley was pressed against the sitting-room door straining to hear their conversation. Now she'd heard Ginny go off to the lavatory, she dashed into the kitchen to find out the state of play from Leila.

‘I wondered where you'd got to,' Shirley lied, as she hitched up the skin-tight skirt of her blue satin sheath dress and clambered unsteadily on to one of the spindly legged stools at the breakfast bar.

Leila could smell the gin on Shirley's breath from ten feet away.

‘I was giving Ginny the guided tour,' she said wearily, taking a tray of ice from the refrigerator, cracking it against the stainless steel draining board and tipping it into a bowl.

‘Hope you didn't let little Miss Butter-Wouldn't-Melt look in the workroom when you were showing her round,' Shirley snorted. ‘You'd have scared the life out of her if she'd seen all the gear. Especially those new harnesses and whips you had delivered.'

Leila closed her eyes for a long moment. In a business where keeping your mouth shut was the first rule, Shirley's drinking was becoming a real problem. But she couldn't deal with her now.

‘I like the girl,' she said lightly. ‘And I was showing her my flat. Not interviewing her for a job.'

‘Lucky you weren't, because let's face it, we're none of us getting any younger, are we? And having the likes of her working here, well, we wouldn't get a look in, would we?'

Leila poured herself a small gin, topped the tall glass with tonic almost to the brim and dropped in a single ice cube.

‘Don't I get a drink?' Shirley asked petulantly.

‘I think you've had enough.'

‘Touchy!' Shirley grinned smugly. ‘D'you know, she's really getting to you, Leila. You want to get her off that stage in Frith Street before she really gets you going. You can't fool me, I know what it's all about: every time she flashes those tits of hers you never know who's going to be standing at the back of the club watching, and wanting her, do you? It must be driving you mad. But I can't say I blame you. I've seen the way Billy looks at her. And while I can't understand the attraction myself, whatever it is, she's got it. You want to get her all covered up in a frock, with her legs hidden behind a cash desk, as soon as you like.' Shirley laughed coarsely. ‘And a pair of glasses wouldn't come amiss.'

Leila kept her back to Shirley, not trusting herself to face her. ‘Have you finished?' she asked through gritted teeth.

‘Don't blame me for the way she's making you feel, Leila. I mean, we all hate getting older. Even she must. I know she doesn't look it, but I reckon she must be, what? Late twenties? Maybe even a bit older. But she looks good. Very good. And you, Leila, you must be what? How old are you now?'

Leila spun round. ‘That's it, Shirley. And this time I mean it. This is your last chance. Either you stop drinking and running off at the mouth, or I'm going to have to sack you.'

Shirley blinked. Sack? This wasn't going the way she'd intended at all. She had meant to carry on planting the idea that Leila should get rid of Ginny, not her.

‘How could you sack me? Who'd help you out here with the private parties? None of the other girls have got half the brains or class I've got. None of them.'

‘Brains? Class? I know you've been drinking, Shirley, but I didn't realise you'd completely lost your marbles.' Leila shook her head in disdain and turned away from her. She hated losing her temper, it was so undignified, but Shirley was really goading her. ‘When did you last look at yourself?'

‘This is all her fault. I told you, she's getting to you. You've got to stop her.'

Leila bent over the sink, trying to steady her breathing, her chest rising and falling as though she'd just completed the hundred-yard dash.

Shirley was relentless. ‘And I don't know why you should pick on me anyway. How about Carmen and Patty smoking dope every night? You don't do anything about them.'

‘They've stopped.' Leila's voice was unsteady, but quiet.

‘Have they?'

Leila twisted round to face her again. ‘Do you know, Shirley, you are really pushing your luck. I've told you before, there are very few things I hate more than a stirrer. But a big-mouthed, drunken stirrer is one of them. So just go in the other room, out of my sight, and keep that big mouth of yours shut for a while, because I'm going to be considering your future very carefully.'

Shirley did as she was told. Not because she thought she was in the wrong, but because she wanted to go in the other room anyway – she needed another drink. She scrambled gracelessly down from the stool, her skirt still tucked up around her thighs, and barged her way out of the kitchen.

As she flung the door back on its hinges, she almost knocked Ginny off her feet.

‘Is Shirley all right?' Ginny asked, steadying herself against the wall and reaching out to stop the door slamming at the same time.

‘Just a bit over-excited. Not everyday we have a coronation, is it?' Leila held up her glass. ‘Drink?'

‘I've already got one in the other room, thanks.'

Leila did her best to smile. But it wasn't easy. She really couldn't figure Ginny out at all. Any of the other girls would have accepted another drink without a second thought. Why should they worry about wasting other people's booze? But here was Ginny – an exotic dancer – acting as politely as if she were at a vicarage tea-party. It was like at the club, whenever men showed interest in her. There she was, up on the stage, stark naked apart from a few pink feathers, flirting and pouting with the best of them, but as soon as any of the punters made an approach – and there were always plenty – she shrank into herself and fled. Even though she'd brassed all that while.

Sexy without a sex life. It was a mystery to Leila. What did she want, a man with slippers and a pipe, reading the Sunday papers while she cooked the roast? She was such a complete contradiction. Every time Leila thought she had a handle on the girl, she immediately slipped out of her grasp, like a fish struggling to return to the river.

To make it worse, Leila couldn't even bring herself to dislike her. Not really. She was always so reasonable. So nice. So – apparently – genuine. Even if it was an act, and Leila knew all about acting, God alone knew how she managed to keep it up while working in the club every night. It was unnerving.

Much as Leila hated to admit that Shirley was right about anything, she was spot on about Ginny. She had to do something about her.

But what could she do? She'd tried her last trick and failed. She had to think. Had to be clear.

Playing for time, Leila offered Ginny a cigarette.

‘Thanks.' Ginny bent forward to accept the light. ‘Leila?'

‘Mmmm?'

‘I was thinking when I was in your, you know, your powder room, just now. And I've decided I'm fed up living in that hovel.'

Leila sighed inwardly. More complaints about the room. If she heard one more word about the slot-meter gas fire giving out less heat than a forty-watt bulb she'd scream. Ginny didn't have a clue, that was her trouble. If she did, she'd count herself lucky that the rent collectors – Saunder's real ones, that is, the hard men with the coshes – didn't visit her the way they did some of the other tenants. And she'd take the sodding job like a shot.

‘It was very short notice, Ginny.'

‘I know. And I didn't mean to be ungrateful, but I want something better out of life.' She paused. ‘And I really didn't mean to get you in no bother.'

Leila closed her eyes. ‘I don't suppose you did,' she said flatly.

‘So d'you honestly think I could do it? And d'you really promise it would be more money?'

Leila's eyes flicked open again. ‘Sorry?'

‘Run the club. D'you really think I could do it?'

‘Of course you can do it, sweetie!'

‘But I never meant—'

‘Look, just give it a go. What have you got to lose?'

Leila stood in the doorway of the sitting-room, a chilled bottle of champagne in each hand, trilling a loud, ‘Dadaaaa!' like a conjurer's assistant – she had, after all, just pulled off a successful illusion. But her intended big entrance fell flat on its face. The historic events were still flickering away on the screen in the corner, but the sound had been turned down and nobody was paying any attention to it. Instead, they were all slumped back in their seats, with faces like kites.

‘What on earth's going on?' Leila asked, scanning the room for Shirley, who, no doubt, had been spreading more of her poison. ‘It's more like a funeral than a party.'

But Shirley was sitting perfectly quietly at the far end of the room nursing another large drink.

Carmen peered over the back of the sofa. ‘We were just talking, Leila,' she said, flapping her hand in the direction of the television. ‘Seeing all this going on: all the fuss there's been in the papers and on the newsreels. It makes you sick when you think about them girls what have been mullered and how hardly anything's been said about them.'

‘D'you know what makes me sick?' Patty chipped in. ‘If he'd been doing in nice little housewives, or shop girls, it'd be all over the papers and everyone'd be demanding something was done about it. But they don't give a fuck about us working girls.'

‘Patty!' Leila's face was like stone. She didn't allow the girls to use such language. ‘I think you've said enough.'

‘I'm sorry, Leila, but it's like we don't count for nothing. I get so wild thinking about the way we get treated.'

Leila took a deep breath and pinned on a smile. ‘Well, I'm doing the treating today. So let's all get fresh glasses and have a toast, because we girls now have a reason to celebrate. Ginny, would you, please?'

Ginny went around the room with the tray of champagne goblets Leila had given her to bring in from the kitchen.

A once more serene vision in emerald green, Leila stepped into the centre of the room, leading Ginny by the hand. ‘Not only are we drinking to this new Elizabethan Age, and to the success of Hillary and Sherpa Tensing—'

‘Whoever he is when he's at home,' said Patty gloomily.

‘Thank you, Patty,' Leila replied graciously. ‘But we now have cause for a more personal celebration.'

Having finished handing round the glasses, Ginny stood by Leila's side.

‘I know you've all heard the talk about Ginny being offered a manager's job. Well, I'd like you to be the first to know that it's true and, what's more, she's decided to take it.'

‘I said I'd discuss it with Mr Saunders,' Ginny whispered under her breath, nervously twisting the stem of her glass between her fingers.

‘It's the same thing, darling,' Leila whispered back, while flashing one of her most dazzling smiles. ‘Now, let's drink to the future. I'm sure it's going to be wonderful for us all!'