Heart of the Cross

by Emily Madden

  Maggie felt her stomach sink to her knees. Anger and disbelief threaded through her. She had expected her mother to harp on about how she needed to concentrate on her studies, but she hadn’t expected this. Tears welled. She was still in a state of shock, disbelief, but perhaps most of all, she was sad.

  ‘Why do you always treat me like a child who can’t think for herself?’

  Rosie sighed. ‘I just don’t want you to make a decision that you’ll regret. Trust me. It’s best for you this way.’

  Anger surged. Maggie was sick of her mother’s overbearing ways. Sick of the lack of confidence Rosie had in her, her lack of trust. She was expected to have the drive of an adult but was only given the power of a child.

  Maggie threw her fork and it clattered loudly as it hit the side of the bowl. ‘Better for me, or better for you?’ She scraped back her chair and left the table, not waiting or caring to hear Rosie’s response.

  * * *

  Almost two years later in January 1986, Maggie sat with her mother and stared at the envelope that contained her Higher School Certificate results. At the last school assembly, she had been named Dux of Sixth Form at St Bernadette’s. Maggie had studied religiously to live up to the so-called potential placed on her shoulders and today was D-day.

  Carefully, she removed the paper to reveal near-perfect results across all subject areas. Rosie gasped and Maggie let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘You did it!’ her mother exclaimed. ‘I knew all that hard work would pay off!’

  Maggie smiled.

  ‘With marks like that, you’ll surely get into medicine. I can’t believe you’ll be at university next year.’

  Maggie felt her smile falter. ‘You mean year after next. I’m going travelling with Sharon, remember?’ She had kept her part of the bargain—she had studied and worked, saving for the trip.

  ‘Surely you don’t think that’s a good idea?’ Rosie looked at her as if the mere suggestion was ludicrous. ‘Your studies will take years, not to mention all the prac work and the additional studies needed to be a surgeon or specialist.’

  ‘Who said anything about me being a surgeon or specialist?’

  ‘Even general practice will take years …’ Her mother stopped, noticing the dismayed look on her face. ‘Maggie?’

  ‘You need to stop, Mum.’

  ‘Stop, what do you mean?’ Rosie asked, puzzled.

  ‘All this planning and mapping out my future, it needs to stop.’

  ‘Where is this coming from? I thought your dream was to become a doctor?’

  Maggie sighed. ‘That was your dream, not mine.’

  ‘Are you telling me you don’t want this?’ Her mother was moving from bewildered to angry. ‘You cannot seriously be wanting to waste your potential.’

  There was that word again—potential. God forbid she wasted her potential. But what if they were all wrong—her mother, her teachers? What if all she was good at was rote learning? Yes, she’d studied hard, but what if out there in the real world all that potential was purely phoney? She wouldn’t know if she didn’t try, just as she wouldn’t know what a year off would feel like if she didn’t go to London with Sharon.

  ‘I don’t know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but for the next year, it’s my own.’

  Twenty-eight

  Maggie

  Kings Cross, April 1986

  Darlinghurst Road was always a cacophony of noise, but never more so than on a Saturday night. Car horns honked, doormen of rival adult entertainment night spots battled each other, each spruiking the merits of their girls; people, mainly men, from all corners of the globe spilled out of one spot, only to stumble into another, often down a set of stairs that led them to a rabbit hole of debauchery and sin. Or down towards hell.

  A gust of wind tunnelled past, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Maggie cursed her decision not to take her jacket with her. It was late April, and the nights were growing longer and the days were getting shorter and shorter. Much like her patience with Sharon.

  After the monumental fight with her mother, Maggie had driven straight to Sharon’s house to let her know she was ready to go to London. In fact, they could leave as early as tomorrow.

  Within five minutes, two things were clear. Despite working for almost two years, Sharon didn’t have the money for their trip. Not even enough to get her to Singapore. It explained why she had gone cold on the whole thing of late.

  ‘I thought you weren’t serious about it,’ Sharon defended.

  ‘Of course I was serious. I killed myself studying and working part-time so we could do this. How can you not have saved enough?’ Maggie was astounded and furious. She didn’t add how she’d just had the biggest blow of her life with her mother over this. If she went home, it would be admitting defeat and Rosie would win again. She couldn’t do it.

  ‘I dunno.’ Sharon lowered her gaze as if she was a child being chastised by her mother. ‘I was being paid cash and somehow …’ She gave a one-shouldered shrug and picked at her nail polish. ‘I’m just not as good at saving as you.’ She stuck out her bottom lip and Maggie bit the urge to scream.

  ‘Okay, let’s sit down and see how long it will take for you to save for one way. We can always get jobs as barmaids or waitresses while we’re there and make enough money for the way home.’

  After an hour, after finally going through all of Sharon’s expenses, including what she spent on rent, clothing, food and entertainment, they had a plan.

  ‘But I’m going to live like a pauper!’ Sharon protested. ‘My rent is the biggest killer. I virtually have nothing to live on after I pay it.’

  Sharon was exaggerating, but what she was paying for the tiny room in the Elizabeth Bay apartment was a little inflated. Leanne’s parents owned the two-bedroom apartment, and apparently before she’d met a guy and buggered off to Queensland, Val had brokered the deal for Sharon to rent the spare room at ‘mates rates’.

  An idea flicked through Maggie’s head, and before she could process the thought properly, she was saying, ‘Why don’t I move in and share the rent with you? Do you think Leanne would mind?’

  Sharon’s eyes widened and she gasped, enveloping Maggie in a bear hug. ‘You’re a lifesaver! Do you think Rosie would go for it?’

  Maggie closed her eyes. ‘I might be able to talk her round.’

  Leanne was more than happy to have Maggie move in, but her attempt to have her pay the same amount as Sharon was thwarted. If Maggie had learned anything from her mother, it was to spot a bad deal when she saw it.

  The next day, while her mother was out of the house, she gathered all her things, or as much as she could pack. She left her car that Rosie had bought her when she got her Ps. Maggie also considered leaving her house key, but decided against it. Despite being mighty pissed off with her mother still, the act of leaving her house key seemed so final.

  One week later, Sharon arrived home and declared she’d had enough and had quit her job.

  ‘Why?’ Maggie implored. She was still only working casually at Grace Bros and hadn’t had any luck securing extra shifts.

  ‘I’m sick of being asked to make coffee, take dictation and argh, type!’ she declared dramatically.

  ‘But isn’t that what being a secretary entails?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s so boring. I’ll find another job,’ Sharon said, unperturbed.

  ‘Where?’ Maggie was alarmed at Sharon’s lack of concern.

  ‘You could always waitress at The Vinyl Room where Warren works,’ Leanne interjected. ‘They’re always looking for girls.’

  ‘Oh, yes! Isn’t that perfect, Maggie? That way when we get to London, I’ll have waitressing experience.’

  Maggie knew that Warren worked as a doorman in Kings Cross, and he sometimes, much to her dismay, crashed on their couch. She also had heard rumours about The Vinyl Room. Apparently, it was the Kardomah on steroids. Up-and-coming bands would play while girls danced on either side of the stage.
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br />   Leanne rolled her eyes. ‘It’s the Cross, it’s a nightclub and some of the girls perform. But it’s not sleazy or anything like that. It’s called pole dancing and they’re actually really talented.’

  ‘And men throw money at them while they dance naked.’

  ‘Jeez, Maggie, not all of them are naked. Some of them wear lingerie.’

  ‘What about the waitresses, are they fully clothed?’

  ‘Oh yeah, there’s a uniform. But the ones that go topless earn the most. You’d earn a shitload with your rack.’ She nodded pointedly towards Maggie. ‘I can ask Warren to put in a good word for you.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Maggie uttered in disgust at the same time as Sharon said, ‘Yes please!’

  ‘The tips are really good!’ Sharon gushed late one morning as she rose from deep slumber. ‘You really should come, Maggie.’

  Maggie had to admit, there was a small amount of jealousy and on some level resentment. Her part-time pay was a pittance in comparison to what Sharon was bringing home.

  After a month of struggling to get more shifts and watching Sharon work nights, bringing in more money than she expected, Maggie decided it might be time to check the place out.

  And so, here she was. Standing outside The Vinyl Room.

  ‘Hey, Maggie.’ Warren was at the door, a smile as seedy as the club she was about to enter curled at his lips, sending a shiver down her spine.

  ‘Warren.’ She gave a curt nod as she headed down the rabbit-hole stairs as the music pulsed and the bass line thumped wildly, reverberating against her skin.

  Cigarette smoke and the heady scent of aftershave assaulted her. The dimness was a stark contrast to the neon jungle above. The noise was just as chaotic as outside, the pace a little less frantic.

  She knew that tonight there was a less-known band called Bezema due on stage later on, but for now, the crowd that consisted mainly of men was being entertained by the pre-show act.

  The room was deceptively large—half of the area was taken up by a runway-style stage, bathed in coloured lights that branched out into a T, each end with a golden pole that was the colour of tarnished brass under the club lights. Two girls, both completely nude, captured the attention of the adoring crowd. The one on the left, a blonde, was expertly doing the splits as she slid down the pole at a snail’s pace towards the mouth of a man lying on the stage with money between his lips.

  What the hell is she going to do?

  A second later, Maggie had her answer as the bill was snatched up and was now sitting securely between the girl’s folds. Fascination and revulsion warred. It was like a train wreck; she couldn’t look away.

  Wolf whistles and cheers erupted from the audience. The girl slid her hand down her body suggestively as she retrieved the bill, and from the flicker of light that shone for a split second, Maggie could see it was a tenner. A moment later, another man took his place and the act was repeated all over again and Maggie was curious—how many men would lie down to have their go, and just how much would the girl make from her party trick? She shuddered at the unsavouriness of it all.

  The rest of the space was taken up by lounges and tables and a bar area to her right.

  Girls in scanty lingerie paced the room serving drinks to men in business suits old enough to be their fathers. As one girl bent over to clear a table of empty glasses, one man reached out and grabbed her backside, pulling her down on his lap as he reached up and began fondling her breasts. Maggie was horrified. No one seemed to bat an eyelid at such salaciousness—it was as if this was the norm—but most of all, it seemed that the girl herself didn’t mind.

  Scenes like these were surely played out in strip clubs and brothels throughout the Cross, but The Vinyl Room was unique as it blended part strip club, part gig house.

  This was the dark heart of Sydney. Where people were drawn to the neon lights like moths to a flame—pulled into a web of the after-dark world. A place of excess, a strip known as the Golden Mile, which while the rest of Sydney slept, played host to those seeking to sate their innermost carnal desires. The women, more often girls, were there to stroke men’s egos, and if the price was right, to stroke more.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous.’ A voice brought Maggie back to the present. She turned to see a woman, perhaps her mother’s age, dressed in a tight black dress with a plunging sweetheart neckline. Her face was fully made up and was softened by the pink-tinged light, but proximity gave her age away.

  ‘You must be Sharon and Leanne’s friend.’

  ‘Yes, I’m Maggie.’

  ‘Destiny.’ She proffered her hand and it took Maggie a beat to realise this was the infamous club owner that Sharon had told her about. Maggie had never met someone with a name so exotic. ‘So, Maggie, you thinking of joining us?’

  ‘Oh, God, no!’ Her retort was quick and fast and it elicited a raised brow from Destiny. ‘I mean, I don’t have that …’ She waved her hand about, hoping the other woman would read between the lines.

  ‘Confidence?’ Destiny offered.

  ‘Yes.’ Maggie nodded, feeling her face flaming from embarrassment. ‘Confidence.’

  ‘Shame,’ Destiny murmured, her gaze sweeping up and down her body. ‘You’ve such a pretty face.’ Something told Maggie her face wasn’t all Destiny was referring to. ‘Sharon tells me you’re a maths whiz.’

  ‘I’m not sure whiz would be the right word,’ Maggie muttered, unsure what her mathematical skills had to do with anything.

  ‘Are you or are you not good at maths?’ Destiny snapped and it automatically made Maggie’s back straighten, leaving her with no doubt that this woman, also known as The Boss, ruled her club with an iron fist.

  ‘Yes, I scored almost perfect marks in my HSC. But what has this got to do with—’

  ‘Good.’ Destiny nodded. ‘You can start tomorrow.’

  ‘Start tomorrow?’ she asked, still totally baffled. ‘Doing what?’

  ‘I need someone with a good head for figures at the bar.’

  ‘You want me to be a barmaid?’ Maggie squeaked. ‘I didn’t come here looking for a job.’

  ‘Then what did you come here for? Something tells me that you’re not here for the girls.’ Destiny nodded as a redhead with unruly curls slid down the pole upside down, her legs wrapped tightly around it.

  ‘I came to see that Sharon was okay,’ Maggie answered truthfully. ‘I just wanted to see that she wasn’t being taken advantage of.’

  Destiny narrowed her eyes. ‘I have a reputation for looking after my girls.’

  ‘With all due respect, Ms … ah, Destiny, I don’t know you from a bar of soap, but Sharon well, she tends to be easily led astray.’

  ‘You’re looking out for your friend. You want to make sure she doesn’t get in any trouble.’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ Maggie nodded.

  Destiny sighed as the redhead left the stage and a brunette and blonde duo walked down the runway hand in hand as the strains of Motley Crue’s ‘Girls, Girls, Girls’ filled the air. ‘I applaud your concern. Obviously, you’re a good friend. I run a tight ship, or I try to, but one thing I have learned from living and working in the Cross for most of my life is if trouble wants to find you, no amount of running is going to help. You start tomorrow, ten o’clock, don’t be late.’

  ‘But I don’t know how to—’

  Destiny was gone before Maggie finished her sentence.

  * * *

  Maggie arrived for her first night at The Vinyl Room almost an hour early. ‘I said ten, not nine,’ Destiny snapped as she stood behind the bar, clipboard in hand. Tonight, she wore a dress that was exactly the same cut and style as the one she wore the night before, except in a fire-engine red. Her blonde hair was expertly blown out in massive waves. Large gold hoop earrings swayed as she moved her head while checking off items.

  ‘I thought I would get here early, to, ah, learn the ropes.’ Maggie swallowed.

  Destiny flicked her gaze up briefly. ‘Nothing to it. We serve beer, wine
and spirits. Come round here and I’ll show you how to pull a beer. If you’re as smart as you look, you’ll be right.’

  Ten minutes later, Destiny had taken her through all she needed to know, and by the time the other bartender, Mike, arrived, Maggie felt confident she wouldn’t stuff up her first night.

  Destiny was off to deal with an unruly band back stage, but before heading off, she asked Mike to show Maggie her uniform.

  ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? I’m behind the bar, no one is going to look at me.’

  Mike raised a brow. ‘You’re young, hot and got a decent set of tits. Trust me—everyone is going to look at you.’

  If he wasn’t half a foot taller than she was and built like a tank, she dead-set could’ve punched Mike’s lights out and it must’ve been written all over her face because he held up his hands in protest.

  ‘Hey, just sayin’ it as it is. Don’t shoot the messenger. Besides, you’re not my type.’

  Unsure if she should be dismayed or offended by his comment, Maggie looked down and realised she had wrapped her arms across her chest. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, unfurling them.

  ‘Look, Destiny’s been in this game long enough to know what she’s doing. Warren vouched for your hotness, but Leanne said you’d be too stiff to work the floor.’

  ‘I’m not stiff,’ she protested, ‘I’m just …’

  ‘Hey, I get it, not everyone can get their tits out.’

  She had scruples, morals. She was only doing this job to keep an eye on Sharon, till Sharon saved enough for the trip and then they were both out of there. ‘I mean, I almost admire them.’ Maggie nodded towards the stage as the first of the girls came strutting down the runway. ‘But there’s no chance I can take my clothes off in front of strangers. Now, where is this uniform?’ Whatever it was, it couldn’t be any worse than what the girls on the floor wore—black lace bra and a G-string that looked like dental floss.

  Mike pulled out the tiniest, skimpiest scrap of fabric. Clearly, he was having her on. Maggie let out an almighty laugh, expecting him to join in and tell her he was joshing, but when he didn’t, she realised he was serious.