by Ted Tayler
Laura Mallinder prepared to leave for work at half-past five in the evening.
Only a three-hour stint tonight. A typical Sunday. She had her regular clients to see to and perhaps a phone enquiry. With luck, she could earn one hundred pounds. Not a bad rate of pay for three hours. Twice the national average for women.
When she left Bedminster Down Secondary School in 2000 with seven GCSEs, she had no burning ambition to continue studying. University wasn’t for the likes of her and other members of her family. Her Dad worked in a factory, Mum served dinners at her old school, and her two older brothers worked in the building trade.
Laura wanted something different. Her best friends Mo and JoJo enrolled at the City of Bristol College to gain qualifications in hairdressing and beauty therapy. She followed in their wake as she wasn’t ready to commit to a full-time job. She studied Business and Professional Services. That seemed ironic now.
When she left the College in the summer of 2002, she landed a job in a solicitor’s office. Laura found it boring. She hated seeing the same people every single day.
At her first firm, the partners were all men. A couple had wandering hands. They seemed to think the office junior was there to give them a cheap thrill. Laura complained to one of the older secretaries.
“We’ve had to put up with that too, Laura. It goes with the territory. Why complain?”
“It’s not right,” said Laura.
“The partners will be here long after you’ve gone. Bite your tongue and hope they take on a new girl in a month or two. They’re like children with a shiny new toy.”
Laura stayed until the end of the month. There was no sign of a new arrival to disrupt the constant harassment. She signed on at a secretarial agency, and for over three years, the work took her to dozens of different working environments across Bristol. Large office blocks with open-plan layouts and hundreds of employees. Offices with plenty of banter to fill the empty gaps in her working day. There were smaller firms too, where she had a room to herself and a boss who rarely visited the office. The work was still dull, but it brought in a living wage.
That was part of the problem. Times were tough for a young girl wanting to leave home and strike out on her own. So, when Mo and JoJo suggested the three of them rent a place together, she jumped at the chance. All three were single. There were plenty of boys in the pubs and clubs they frequented. Times had changed from her Mum’s day when she met Laura’s Dad at the youth club at fourteen and walked up the aisle a virgin at nineteen.
The rented house wasn’t a palace, and it stood on a large housing estate with its share of social problems. The parties they held were wild. Laura lost track of the number of men who stayed over. Mo and JoJo proved more interested in the late nights, the drinking, dancing and recreational drugs than dealing with the housekeeping. Laura enjoyed the drinking and dancing, but after three years the novelty wore off. The temporary work from the agency was still well paid and consistent; even if it bored her to tears. How could she break this vicious circle?
As she smoothed her short skirt and checked her stockings were pristine before she began the fifteen-minute walk to work, Laura recalled the night her life changed. She had just ended a relationship with a twenty-two-year-old guy from Bradley Stoke. They met in a nightclub and saw one another for several months.
Not long after they broke up, he moved to the Midlands. It was a relief. Laura had wondered whether he was ‘the one’ for a while, but he got too clingy. Plenty of other fish in the sea.
Her friends had arranged to visit a new wine bar that opened in Redcliffe. Laura had nothing better to do, so she tagged along. While Mo and JoJo bought the drinks, she guarded a corner table as best she could. The place was filling up, and soon it would be standing-room-only.
“Laura? Is that you?”
A slim, dark-haired girl had leaned towards her, gripping a large glass of white wine.
“Blimey, Carol Gullis? I haven’t seen you since we sat our Geography GCSE.”
“I know, what a bleeding disaster. Answer one question from Section A, B and C. What did we do? Answered both questions in section A and the first in Section B. We couldn’t fathom how we only found time to do three of the six questions. Silly mares.”
“Are you with someone?” Laura asked.
“No, are you? Can I take the weight off and sit for a while?”
“My housemates are at the bar getting drinks. Please, sit here, it’s not a problem. You look great.”
She did, Carol’s clothes looked to bear designer labels and her hair, which at school had been in bunches secured by elastic bands, now fell over her shoulders.
“You look good yourself. What are you doing these days?” asked Carol.
“I’ve been with a secretarial agency for just over three years. Plenty of variety in my place of work when I’m temping around the city, but it’s boring as hell. Where did you go after school, the Civil Service wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Carol sighed, “the treadmill. Nine to five. Week after bloody week in offices out at Filton.
At that moment, her friends returned carrying two rounds of drinks.
“We thought it saved time,” said Mo.
“It’s heaving in here ain’t it? Who’s this then?” said JoJo.
Laura had made the introductions. Mo and JoJo were on a mission. They wanted to get their drinks down their necks and move on to a nightclub. They begged Laura and Carol to drink up and accompany them.
“You go, Laura,” said Carol, “time for me to get my beauty sleep. Here’s my card, slip it in your purse. Call me if you’re interested. Maybe we can meet up another time?”
“I’d like that,” Laura had replied, taking the card and slipping it into her purse without a second glance. Mo and JoJo stood by the bar door beckoning for her to hurry. The night was a blur now as Laura stood thinking back five years. Too much to drink, a dodgy kebab and a sick day were as much as she could remember.
Laura had found the card in her purse later that week and given Carol a call.
“Cleo’s, Amber speaking. How can I help you?”
Laura didn’t know what to say. It sounded like her school friend’s voice if she was trying to sound sexy. Was she messing around?
“Carol? It’s Laura; we bumped into one another the other night in the wine bar. I thought this was your mobile number. Who’s Amber?”
“Oh, hi Laura,” giggled Carol, “this is what I do now. It pays a helluva lot better than the Civil Service.”
“Where are you?” asked Laura.
“Cleopatra’s, it’s a massage parlour,” replied Carol.
“That’s gross, Carol,” said Laura, “and dangerous, surely? There are so many stories about those places being raided by the police because of what goes on.”
“I work for a lady called Maggie Monk. She runs a chain of shops across the West. They’re not brothels. We give a sensual massage, and there’s a price list for extras. Intercourse is forbidden. If you get caught with condoms in your handbag, Maggie will sack you on the spot.”
“How can you stand it? I don’t know if I could do that,” said Laura.
“How many hours a week, do you work?” asked Carol. “Thirty-six? What do you take home? Three hundred quid a week? I work twenty-four hours in total over seven days. I can earn six to eight hundred pounds, depending on the extras my customers want.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Laura had said.
“It’s the same as everything else, sweetheart,” Carol replied, “once you get over the first time it’s a breeze.”
Laura promised to think about it. Carol begged her to keep in touch even if she turned down the chance to work as a masseuse.
That had been five years ago.
Mo gave Laura the push she needed. Another month had arrived where her friend’s housekeeping money was late or non-existent. Laura had found another pile of dirty laundry for her to clear before she started her own. It was Monday, and the weekend had seen another succes
sion of late nights and partying. Something had to give. She’d kept quiet for long enough.
“I know what you’re going to say,” sighed Mo, when Laura said they needed to talk. Her mate flopped onto the sofa and burst into tears. JoJo wandered through from the kitchen with a coffee. She had just surfaced too and looked like death.
“Why did you have to upset her?” she moaned, “she’s up the duff and can’t remember who she was with when it happened.”
“Well, things would have had to change,” Laura replied, “I can’t go on carrying the extra load. I keep making up the housekeeping because you’ve maxed out your credit cards on clothes, drink and dope. Nothing ever gets done around here unless I do it. I’m moving back in with my parents until I can find somewhere else to live on my own.”
Laura left JoJo comforting Mo on the sofa and went upstairs to pack. Those two deserved one another. Whether they could sort out a future for themselves wasn’t clear. Laura doubted it. She’d tried to make it work, but some people think they can keep taking and never give a thing in return — time to move on.
“There’s always a place for you here, sweetheart, you know that,” her Mum had said when Laura rang to check it was okay to move back to her old bedroom. They welcomed her home with open arms.
“Are you still working at the solicitor's office?” her Dad had asked, as he carried a case upstairs to her room.
“I’ve been temping, Dad, but I’m looking for a more permanent position.”
“Good. We’d love to see you settled. You’re still young but flitting from job to job doesn’t help in the long run.”
“You think Mr Right will be more likely to find me if I stay in the same place for forty years like you, eh Dad?”
Her Dad laughed.
“I hope he wouldn’t take that long, darling. You’re as pretty as a picture. You’re always smiling and have a bubbly outgoing character. Just like your mother did when I met her at the youth club. Love at first sight.”
Fate lent a hand two months later. Laura had been temping in Brislington for several months covering maternity leave. When the boss called her into the office, she had expected it to be news of the date the other girl returned to work. It was far worse. The secretarial agency that employed her was bankrupt, and everyone on their books was now a free agent.
Then the boss added that the girl Laura covered for was indeed returning to work next month. Laura was distraught. The firm paid the agency, and she received her salary cheque direct into her bank account on the first Monday of each month. It was unlikely she would get paid for what she’d worked so far this month now. The boss could tell she was upset. He agreed to pay her until the end of the month. Two weeks at the rate he paid the other secretary. Less than the agency charged him, but it was something. Laura had told her parents when she got home.
“It may prove to be a blessing,” her Dad had said, “this might be your chance to find that more permanent position you spoke of when you moved back home.”
“Don’t worry about the money, sweetheart,” her Mum said, “we can look after you until you find a job. There are a healthy number of vacancies at the moment. It shouldn’t take you long.”
Laura had finished the temporary assignment in Brislington. She took one look at the parlous state of her bank account and hunted through her purse for that business card Carol gave her. She called from home after her parents had left for work.
“Cleo’s, Ebony speaking. How can I help you?”
“Is Carol there? Sorry, is Amber working today?”
“Please hold,”
Laura soon realised the girl had her hand over the mouthpiece. The conversation became muffled, but she picked up the gist of it.
“Hey, Amber. It’s a woman on the phone asking for you. Do you see female punters?”
“Hello?” Carol replied.
“It’s me,” said Laura, “and no offence, I don’t want to book you. I’m out of work. I need money. Is there any chance of getting an interview with this Maggie Monk?”
“Oh, Laura, I’m so sorry to hear that. Maggie’s not here at present. We’ve got branches in Bath, Devizes and Swindon that she’s visiting today. I’ll leave a message for her. Can she call you on this number?”
“God, no, this is my parent’s home phone. They can never find out I’m even considering working there. I’ll give you my mobile number.”
When she ended the call, Laura sat on the hall carpet and wondered what the hell she had just done. It was one thing finding the nerve to make a call to her school friend; how on earth could she steel herself to do the same job as Carol?
She considered the facts; it had been three months since that chance meeting in the wine bar. Carol was working at the same parlour. The place kept busy enough for more than one girl on each shift. The money must still be good. Money was what she needed. What did she have to lose? It was only an interview at this stage.
Maggie Monk called the following day.
“Is that Gem? Amber gave me your number. I understand you’re looking for a job?”
Carol had given her boss a false name. That was quick thinking. If she got cold feet and couldn’t go through with it, Maggie Monk would be none the wiser.
“Yes, I’m Gem. I told Amber I needed a change of scene.”
“Age?”
“Two months older than Amber,”
“Have you done this line of work before?”
“Never,”
“That’s okay. We can train you on the job. Has Amber told you the rules? There’s no funny business in any of my places. I intend to keep the doors open. I don’t want the law sniffing around every waking hour.”
“We know one another well. Amber talked me through the procedures. She thought I could be an asset to your business.”
“I’ll need to meet you to check if that’s true. Amber said you’re a good-looking girl. Can you come to Cleopatra’s in Knowle tomorrow morning at ten o’clock?”
Here goes nothing, Laura thought.
As she had stepped off Green Lane and made her way through the black boarded entrance doors, Laura found herself in a lounge area. The walls and floor were crimson and the lighting harsh and bright. The four-seater black leather sofas on either side of the room looked comfortable and welcoming. There were glass-topped coffee tables, potted plants and magazine racks by each sofa. High on the wall above each sofa hung a large TV screen showing daytime TV. She checked her watch — two minutes to ten.
Just as well she wore her watch today, there were no clocks in sight anywhere. At the Reception desk stood three women of similar height and build. Laura imagined Ebony was the dusky beauty beaming a smile her way. The two white girls beside her differed in age by at least ten years, maybe more. All three wore a crisp white blouse, and as Laura neared the counter, she saw that a black miniskirt completed the branch’s outfit. There was no sign of Carol. Maybe this was one of her days off.
“You must be Gem,” said Ebony, “Maggie told us you were coming in today. Would you like a coffee?”
“Thanks, that would be great. Is Maggie here yet?”
“She’s running late,” said Ebony. The other two women giggled.
Laura wondered if that meant it was a regular occurrence.
“I’m supposed to give you the grand tour,” the young girl continued. She led Laura along the corridor off the Reception area and into the first room.
“This is where the staff amenities are. Lockers for your belongings during a shift. Tea and coffee-making facilities. How do you take your coffee?”
“White, no sugar, thanks,” Laura replied.
While they drank their coffees, Ebony asked if Laura had always lived in Bristol and what did she do with her spare time. Ebony’s family arrived in St Paul’s back in the early Sixties from Jamaica. It appeared she was a keen sports fan and watched football, rugby and ice-hockey when not working.
As they made their way into the corridor again, Laura noticed mirrors and lights ever
ywhere. It made the place seem far larger, and the decorations added to the ambience. If she forgot what went on behind each of the five doors, it felt a pleasant working environment. It was classier than a few of the offices they had lumbered her with while temping.
“I’m sure Maggie will be here in a few minutes,” said Ebony, “we’d better get back to Reception. You can see that none of the five doors is open now. We’re open from ten in the morning to ten at night. Janina and Kathy, who you saw earlier, were waiting for their first clients. The other girls were still getting their rooms ready when you arrived.”
Ebony had offered to show Laura how to answer the phone and to book in the clients. Each girl who worked at the parlour had a card detailing the extras price list. If they hadn’t committed the details to memory and destroyed it that card was the first thing they grabbed in a police raid. They were to collect that before they picked up discarded items of clothing.
“The booking form is basic,” Ebony had explained. “The guy’s name, the time he arrived, the girl he went with and the cost of the straight massage. It’s always cash, and that goes into the money box here at Reception.”
That part seemed straightforward enough, Laura thought.
Ebony continued with the tour.
“Maggie charges us for sundries such as oils, tissues, tea, coffee and milk. That’s a standard sum per shift. It varies from parlour to parlour.”
“When I answer the phone, what do I say?”
“The name of the parlour, and can I help you? Don’t say more than you have to, in case it’s a reporter or the law. Just quote the opening times and the cost of a massage. If they ask, tell them who’s working today. It’s on a list at Reception. When it’s a regular calling, they get to see the girl they ask for unless she’s unavailable. After that, we take our turn in alphabetical order. So, I pick up a client before you if you want to use your name.”
“I don’t suppose Ebony is your real name?”
“Of course not. I ain’t telling you what it is either,”
Laura smiled. If Ebony showed caution about revealing too much, then she could follow suit. Carol had kept her real identity secret so far. Why change things?