The Girl in His Eyes

by Jennie Ensor

  The girl was putting on an exaggerated pout for the camera, her bottom lip stuck out, hands on hips. Suzanne drew the camera closer. The picture had an intimate quality, as if Emma and the photographer had entered their own private world. Emma had on a sweatshirt and pink lip gloss with a streak of eyeliner. There something rather flirtatious about the way she was looking at the camera, wasn’t there? Where had Paul taken it? Indoors, somewhere. The background was white, and didn’t look like anywhere associated with a swimming pool. Could it have been taken here, inside this house? The date – March 12, nearly three weeks ago – was shown in white at the bottom of the picture. She did a mental calculation. The twelfth had been a Saturday. That must have been the day he’d taken Emma swimming for the last time; the day she was away at the retreat.

  Was something going on between Paul and Emma?

  A series of mental images came to her. Her husband with Emma. Paul trying to amuse the girl, making a fuss of her, taking an interest in her – too much of an interest – while Emma laughed, flaunting her taut, young body at him.

  No, she scolded herself, that was ridiculous. She was jumping to conclusions based on nothing. The photograph didn’t show anything like that. All it showed was the normal exuberance of a young girl, posing for the camera, aware of her own sexuality. Jane had said Emma was getting interested in boys. Perhaps Emma had been testing out her attractiveness on Paul. That would be natural, wouldn’t it?

  Suzanne put the camera back in its case and into the drawer. She’d ask Paul about it later. It was 4.50pm now, too late to go to her class. She would go for a walk instead.

  Specks of drizzle wetted her face as she walked along the edge of the golf course. She burrowed her hands into her jacket pockets and brought out her gym membership card.

  Paul was leaning against the fridge, drinking from a bottle of beer as she chopped vegetables for a stir-fry, telling her about his day. The directors of the parent company had flown back to Chicago, after unsettling everyone by talking about falling profits.

  ‘They’re going to bring in consultants to look at restructuring options,’ he said. ‘We all know that means redundancies. We’ve heard rumours, but there’s been nothing definite till now.’

  She put down the knife and looked at him. ‘Your job’s safe, isn’t it?’

  ‘They could combine my position with Dave’s, I guess. But it’s too early to predict. Coleman wants to make his mark, he’s keen to chop out the dead wood. I reckon he wants to offload us from the group.’

  Restructuring had happened before at his company and Paul had survived, but this time … What would they do if he lost his job? He was too old to get another job quickly, or at all. Suddenly the photograph seemed trivial. Still, it would be good to be reassured she was worrying over nothing.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Paul. The picture of Emma on your camera, when did you take it? I saw it this afternoon while I was looking for something.’

  He swigged on his beer again then walked to the pedal bin and dropped the empty bottle inside. Then he turned to her, a furrow on his brow.

  ‘I took it that last time I saw her. After we’d been to the pool.’

  ‘What, here? At home?’

  A beat. ‘That’s right. What were you doing anyway, looking through my desk?’ His voice louder, the tell-tale reddening of his face. ‘I’ve told you before to keep out of there.’

  ‘For goodness sake, I was trying to find my gym card. Why was she here, in our house?’

  ‘I told you, I brought her back here after swimming and we watched a film – don’t you remember?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t remember you saying that.’

  ‘You must have been thinking of something else, as usual.’ A dash of contempt in his voice, not quite hidden. ‘We came out of the pool early, so I suggested we came back here to watch a film. I thought she might enjoy watching it better here – and it would make a change for her to be away from the mess over at Jane’s.’

  She tried to fit the information together in her head. ‘But why did you take a photo of her?’

  ‘When she saw my camera on the table, she asked if I’d mind taking a few photos of her, she wanted to send some off to a model agency. I didn’t see any harm in it.’

  ‘Where are the others? There was only one of her on the camera.’

  He shrugged. ‘They didn’t turn out too well – I deleted them. That one, I thought I’d send to Emma.’ He carried the salad bowl to the table, sat down, and started helping himself to salad. ‘Is anything wrong?’

  She didn’t reply immediately, examining her mental image of the photograph.

  ‘It’s just that she looked so … I don’t know. Coquettish.’

  ‘Oh, Emma loves posing, she was just acting up for the camera. She was trying to look like the models in Glamour magazine.’ He put the tongs back in the bowl with a dull clatter.

  ‘She looks like she was trying to come on to you, almost.’

  ‘Yes, I know what you mean. But models look like that these days, don’t they?’ He sprinkled salt over his salad. ‘Come and eat, Suze, stop worrying.’

  She sat down at the table, opposite him, in her usual place. Paul had mentioned Emma being keen on the idea of modelling as a future career. She remembered that, at any rate.

  There was nothing to worry about, she told herself. What he had said made sense. But she was still a little uneasy. Why hadn’t he said anything before, about Emma coming to the house? Her memory couldn’t be that bad. Surely, she wouldn’t have forgotten something like that. Perhaps he’d said it while she was thinking about something else.

  I’ll ring Jane, she decided. Yes, she’d mention the photo of Emma and the modelling thing. They hadn’t had a decent conversation for ages; Jane was so busy nowadays. Tomorrow, or over the weekend. Weekday evenings were never the best time to talk. Jane would be preparing dinner, in the middle of eating it, or collapsed in front of the TV.

  After dinner, Paul went into the office to work on his computer. Suzanne watched Marmaduke squeeze in through the cat flap. He brushed against her legs and purred as she scraped the last of the chicken pieces into his bowl.

  14

  Laura

  31 March 2011

  A mass of people swirled into Hammersmith underground station, like water going down a plughole. Laura pulled her canvas bag closer to her side, forcing her way against the flow, up the steps and out into the damp evening. All her gear for tonight was inside the bag – the black silk wrap that she’d borrowed from Noelle, which just covered her bottom, as well as the three-inch-high silver platforms, shameless wisp of a G-string, black lace garter and fishnet stockings – everything except the elbow-length black gloves, which none of the department stores she tried had in stock. It was probably just as well – in total she’d had to fork out nearly eighty quid, paid out of money she had set aside for Tube fares and the electric meter.

  She checked her watch again: 6.58pm, she was going to be late for her first shift. Why hadn’t she left fifteen minutes earlier? It was just her luck, having to wait twenty minutes for a Tube, tonight of all nights. Her trainers slapped against the pavement. She walked as fast as she could, dodging shoppers and office workers. Her mouth was dry but there was no time to stop and take a drink. She felt fear and excitement in turn. Soon, she’d be wearing next to nothing in front of a roomful of strangers, doing things that before this week she’d never imagined herself doing. And how would she ever remember all the things Noelle had shown her?

  She shivered. What on earth would Rachel say if she knew? She’d be surprised, certainly, and probably none too pleased. And what if her mother found out? She’d be horrified. As for her father, God knows what he’d think. He’d probably fly off his perch, making out she was the lowest of the low.

  Laura turned in to a side street, past spiky railings guarding smart terraces. At the fourth street on the right, she stopped. Was this the turning, the street without a sign? Everything look
ed different in the dark. She walked a little way down it.

  This was the building. It looked similar to the offices on either side, except the door was painted in a deep plum shade, and a gold plaque on the wall proclaimed the name of the club in Gothic script: Rascals. She crossed the road and went up the steps to the front door.

  I could go home now. It’s not too late to change my mind.

  No, she couldn’t chicken out now. What would she do if she was kicked out of her flat? She pressed the buzzer.

  A voice blared through the intercom. ‘Rascals, good evening.’

  She wet her lips. ‘I’m Laura, Sarina, I mean. I’m starting work tonight.’ Sarina was her working name. Noelle had suggested it, saying most of the girls had one, and Sarina sounded more exotic than Laura.

  There was a loud buzz. She pushed the door and went in. A heavily made up girl in a strappy black dress eyed her from behind the reception desk.

  ‘Zoe, there’s someone new starting, can you come?’

  Laura pulled the water bottle from her bag and recovered her breath. She drank some water and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. For the first time, she noticed the shiny potted plants and the black leather sofas in the entrance area. The receptionist stared at her for a few seconds then switched her attention back to her magazine.

  ‘Laura?’ Zoe wore black leather trousers and a low-cut top. Her neck and arms were strewn with gold.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, my train was delayed.’

  Zoe’s face stayed stony. ‘Come in, I’ll show you where to change.’

  They went down a dimly lit passage, past framed drawings of nudes. Zoe opened a door and motioned for her to go inside. The air was overloaded with perfume, its sweetness offset with a sprinkling of stale sweat. There was scarcely room for anyone else to fit in the room. Benches and pegs disappeared under heaps of discarded clothes. Shoes, bags, towels and toiletries almost hid the floor. The place didn’t look particularly hygienic. A patch of pale flakes garnished the floor where someone had been eating a croissant, and the waste bin was overflowing with blood-stained tissues. Girls in various stages of undress clustered around a mirror above a row of washbasins, applying make-up and false lashes and spraying hair. In one corner, a girl with vampish nails, a shiny black corset, a jet choker, and the shortest of shorts, sat cross-legged on the floor, peering into a thick volume that was open in front of her, as if she were quite alone. A cross-section of a heart stared out from the page.

  The door closed. Laura hesitated. She felt like the new girl at school. She tried in vain to find an empty spot to put her things.

  ‘Hello, darling. Squeeze in beside me, if you like.’

  A girl with big brown eyes in an elfin face grinned at her. She had pink-streaked, jaw-length hair, and was wearing false lashes, a sparkly red bra with matching briefs, and dangerously high red platforms. A black and yellow striped snake with outstretched fangs coiled around her belly button.

  ‘Hi, I’m Sam.’ The girl plucked a dried apricot from the packet she was holding and put it into her mouth. ‘This is your first time?’

  Laura nodded. ‘Yes, I’m Laura, I mean, Sarina.’

  ‘Hi, Sarina. Sam’s my real name, by the way. I couldn’t be bothered to think of another one.’

  Sam made space on the bench so she could put her bag down then bent to examine a shoe. A small blue butterfly flapped over the left cheek of her bottom.

  Laura removed a smelly towel from the peg nearest her, the only one not burdened with clothes, and hung up her jacket. She sensed a multitude of eyes flicking in her direction, like curious animals watching a human who’d strayed into their territory. Someone bumped her from behind as she took off her T-shirt.

  It was far too hot in this place. She sat down and wiped her palms on her jeans before taking them off. Everyone seemed to be ready, except for her, adding finishing touches to their faces or adjusting straps on their heels and lingerie. She took another swig from her bottle and removed her pants, snatched her G-string from her bag and wriggled into it. It was even more uncomfortable than when she’d tried it on. She put on her lace lingerie set, dragged the fishnets up as high as they’d go and attached them to her garter, and tied the black silk gown around her waist. Then she fastened her platforms and tottered over to the mirror, swaying from one foot to the other.

  Yes, she looked different. Sleekly, decadently glamorous, as captivating as the others. The high heels made her legs look incredibly long. They were difficult to walk in, though, let alone dance.

  ‘Hey, Laura,’ Sam called. ‘Put some blusher on, darling. And you need some redder lipstick. Here, have some of mine. You’ll earn more if you look sexy.’

  Laura took the lipstick. Reluctantly, she pressed it over her lips, brushed Sam’s blusher onto her cheeks and stared the girl in the mirror. Her face looked gaudy, a tart’s face. She took out the little zippered, elasticated pouch from her bag, and positioned it above her elbow, as Sam had done with hers.

  ‘Girls, are you ready, is everyone sorted? Josie, have you put on weight again?’ Zoe strode towards a big-breasted girl, who was wearing a see-through top over tight hot pants that accentuated the flesh beneath. ‘I know the men like big boobs, but I don’t think they’re so keen on big bums.’

  A few girls laughed loudly, turning to examine the culprit.

  ‘I’m going on a diet, Zoe,’ mumbled the girl under scrutiny. ‘I’m going to lose five kilos by next week.’

  Zoe moved on. ‘Anabelle, that bra makes you look frumpy. It looks like something my granny would wear. Can anyone lend her something else?’

  There was a flurry of activity while another set of lingerie was found, then silence as Zoe examined the rest of them. Laura felt Zoe’s gaze on her own body, before the woman turned away without making any further comments. She breathed a sigh. She’d passed the night’s first test. Everyone moved towards the door, except for herself and Sam.

  ‘Don’t look so worried, darling, you’ll be fine.’ Sam stuffed the last of the dried fruit into her mouth and tossed the empty bag to the floor. ‘Stick with me, if you like, till you get the hang of it.’

  The club was almost empty. Clumps of men in suits sat around tables in twos and threes, talking and drinking. Most were in their twenties and thirties. Zoe flitted about, businesslike, chatting to her customers. A burly guy in jeans and a dark shirt stood near the entrance to the room, looking bored. Girls strategically positioned themselves near the men, whom they greatly outnumbered, either alone or in pairs. Every so often, a girl went over to a table, sat down and started up a conversation. A minute or two later they’d move off to another table. No one wanted a dance yet.

  Laura clasped her hands behind her back. The monotonously heavy beat of the dance music reverberated through her body. She was conspicuous here, standing under these bright lights so close to the stage. Though she didn’t want to leave Sam, she’d prefer to stand in the darker area at the back. Here, she was on display. Every few minutes a man would look her up and down as if she were a car in a dealer’s yard. Were her wheels scuffed? Was her steering off? She pulled down her garter a little, so it was less tight.

  ‘Come with me,’ Sam suddenly hissed, nodding at the nearest sofa where two guys lounged in business shirts, ties off and collars undone, their glasses empty. ‘They’ve refused everyone so far. But we might get lucky.’

  As they approached, one of the guys gave her a lingering look with no hint of a smile. He had small, deep-set eyes and an oddly pronounced forehead.

  The other one was better looking. ‘Hi, girls,’ he said, introducing himself as Dave and the other as Roger.

  Sam sat in the armchair near Dave. ‘Hiya, guys. How’re you this evening?’

  Laura hesitated and sat down on the sofa beside Roger, the only spare seat. She let Sam do the talking. They hadn’t been here before, someone at work had suggested they give it a try. They were traders for an American bank in the City.

  Roger scratched
his thigh and cleared his throat.

  ‘Have you been working here long?’ He meant her, not Sam, but Sam answered for her.

  ‘I’ve been here for two years. Sarina hasn’t been here for long.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Roger cocked his head to one side and examined her with renewed interest.

  ‘That’s right,’ she replied, not knowing what else to say.

  They talked on, or rather Sam and Dave did, about the excesses of their day. Roger joined in from time to time with less enthusiasm. Laura fidgeted. They should leave these two alone, she thought, trying to catch Sam’s eye.

  Roger leaned over and spoke in his friend’s ear then smiled at Sam.

  ‘How ’bout a dance then, girls?’

  Sam smiled back and uncrossed her legs. Laura forced a smile. It was what they were here for, but she wasn’t ready yet. She looked around. The rest of the tables were filling up. A petite blonde with oversized breasts was swaying her hips at a nearby table.

  Roger was holding out a twenty-pound note. She unzipped her money belt and put the folded note inside. When she looked up, Sam had arranged herself between Dave’s legs.

  Laura got to her feet. Roger opened his legs to make a space for her. She lowered herself into it, her back to him as Noelle had showed her. Her heart crashed against her chest. She was trapped. He was too close, she didn’t want him to be so close, she didn’t want to be anywhere near him. She took a slow breath and concentrated on remembering what she had to do next.