by Ali McNamara
‘Ellie, love!’ A large bald man with a hairy chest appears from the depths of the club. ‘It’s great to see you again, but what you doing standing there on the doorstep? Come on in!’
Ellie tosses her hair at Boyd, who has now reappeared at the door, and marches through.
‘Thank you,’ I say to him as I pass. ‘We appreciate it.’
He nods at me, and his moustache gives an approving wiggle.
‘What can I do for you two girls?’ Ringo asks us, looking me up and down appraisingly with a pair of jet black eyes. ‘Have we met before?’
‘No, Jo-Jo is new to the newspaper, she’s just moved here from Norwich.’
‘Ah, country girl, eh?’ Ringo says, showing a shark-like set of teeth when he smiles.
‘Norwich is hardly country,’ I begin, but Ellie interrupts.
‘Ringo, have you got Bob Geldof in here tonight?’ she demands.
‘Ellie, you know I can’t divulge information about my private clientele,’ Ringo says, raising a bushy black eyebrow at her.
‘What about Phil Collins, then, or Midge Ure? Please, Ringo, it’s important.’
Ringo looks over his shoulder, from side to side, then leans in towards us. ‘Ellie, I would be absolutely delighted to entertain all the aforementioned parties in my establishment. But I’m afraid that sadly, no, I do not.’
Ellie bangs her fist into her other hand. ‘Damn!’
‘Have you been thrown what my American clients would call a curve ball, by any chance?’
‘Spun a pack of bloody lies, more like, to put me off the proper scent! Getting any scoops on anything to do with Live Aid is like trying to break through the Berlin Wall. It just ain’t gonna happen.’
‘Never say never, Ellie,’ I suggest knowingly. ‘You just never know what’s going to happen in the future.’
‘I know what will happen in my future if we don’t get some decent celebrity scoops soon – I’ll be out of a job.’
‘Aw, I’m sure that’s not the case,’ Ringo says kindly. ‘Look, why don’t the two of you stay, now you’re here – we’ve got some entertainment on this evening you might enjoy.’
Ellie, still sulking, makes a sort of humphing sound.
‘What sort of entertainment?’ I ask.
‘A cabaret – of sorts. Stay, please, my treat,’ he insists.
‘Free drinks?’ Ellie asks brightening.
‘One free drink,’ Ringo says wisely. ‘Or I’ll have your father to answer to.’
‘Deal!’ Ellie sings, already taking her jacket off.
We follow Ringo into the club proper, and I find myself inside what seems like, from what little I know of them, a swanky-looking gentlemen’s club. It has a mostly black interior, with the odd dash of purple here and there on things like the plush velvet seat covers, and the luxurious black and purple flocked wallpaper.
‘Here we go, ladies,’ Ringo says, showing us to a small booth tucked away in the corner of the club. ‘I’ll send Lucy over in a moment and she’ll take care of you this evening.’
‘Thanks, Ringo,’ Ellie says, ‘we really appreciate it. This is cool,’ she whistles, turning to me as Ringo wanders across to another table to talk to one of his customers. She snuggles down on the velvet settee. ‘I bet I can get more than one free drink out of Ringo if I sweet talk him, too.’
I look round the club at our fellow drinkers. They’re mostly older men in dinner jackets drinking spirits and smoking a mixture of cigarettes and cigars, either surrounded by similar-looking men, or accompanied by their trophy wives and girlfriends, who all look bored stiff by their company.
‘Good evening,’ our waitress says as she arrives at our table. ‘What can I get for you ladies tonight?’
I look up at the young girl who has come to take our order. She’s in her late teens, I’d guess, but it’s hard to tell because she’s wearing so much make-up. She has black, bobbed hair and is wearing a very low-cut, short black dress, with black high heels and a tiny purple apron.
‘I’ll have a peach schnapps, please,’ Ellie says. ‘Jo-Jo?’
Here we go, what did they drink in the eighties?
‘A glass of wine would be lovely,’ I venture, thinking I’ll be on safe territory with that.
‘Red or white, miss?’
‘Red?’
‘Beaujolais Nouveau, miss?’
Of course, the classic wine of the eighties. ‘Yes, that would be lovely, thank you – Lucy, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, miss.’ Lucy lifts her heavily made-up eyes to look at me properly for the first time. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes with your order.’
Lucy disappears to fetch our drinks.
‘Bit sleazy this place, isn’t it?’ I whisper.
‘Nah, these types of places are just like that, aren’t they?’ Ellie says, fiddling with one of the black plastic coasters. ‘Ringo’s above board ’n’ all that. Me dad knew him for years.’
‘Ah, all right then,’ I say, but I’m not too sure. There’s something not quite right about the place.
Lucy quickly returns with our drinks. ‘Here we are, a peach schnapps,’ she says, placing a glass down in front of Ellie, ‘and a large glass of the Nouveau for you,’ she continues, smiling at me. ‘Just give me a call when you’re ready for a top-up. I know Ringo said just the one free drink, but I’m sure he won’t notice – we’re pretty busy in here tonight.’ She winks at us. Loud, raucous laughter suddenly spills over from a large group of men filling two tables at the far side of the club. Lucy leans in towards us. ‘Just between the three of us, they’re a huge pain in my arse tonight,’ she says, looking over in their direction. ‘But I gotta make them think they’re the bee’s knees, that’s the job!’
‘Waitress!’ we hear bellowed across the room. ‘More drinks over here, now!’
Lucy rolls a pair of very pretty brown eyes underneath her heavy black fringe. ‘Back in a bit,’ she says.
Ellie starts downing her peach schnapps far too quickly, while I sip cautiously at my wine.
‘Great this, innit?’ Ellie says, helping herself from a bowl of peanuts sitting on the table. ‘I wonder what time the entertainment comes on?’
‘Do you know how many germs there are in a bowl of peanuts like that?’ I ask her, looking with disdain at the free snacks.
‘What?’ Ellie asks, still munching.
‘They’ve done tests on bowls like that in bars like this, and found more germs on them than on the inside of a toilet. It’s when people go to the loo and then don’t wash their —’
‘OK, OK!’ Ellie says, spitting out the peanuts into the napkin her drink was served on. ‘When did you become Dr Death? I’ve never heard that one before.’
‘I think I only read it myself quite recently,’ I say truthfully.
‘It’s disgusting! Who would have thought an innocent peanut could do all that harm?’
‘Indeed, but I believe it’s true. Look,’ I say, pointing to a small stage in the corner of the club, ‘apparently our entertainment is about to begin.’
We both look towards the stage and see Ringo standing under a small spotlight with a microphone in his hand.
‘Gentlemen and Ladies,’ he says, smiling at the few women in the bar in that leery way he has about him. ‘I would like to welcome to the Karma club this evening a new act that I’m sure you’re going to enjoy. They’re a bit shy,’ he winks purposefully, ‘so please give them a very warm welcome. I give you – Strawberry Fields.’
While the stage lights dim and Ringo exits, I roll my eyes. Bloody Beatles, here they are again. When the lights come up there are five women with their backs to us now on the stage. I can already see they’re not wearing an awful lot. But what little fabric does cover them is fashioned into a black silk corset with a single strawberry stitched pertinently in the centre of each of their pert little behinds. As they swivel around on their high heels and begin to gyrate to the music that pounds through the club’s speaker system
, I see they have two more matching strawberries placed very prominently on each breast.
I turn to Ellie whose eyes are wide open.
‘See,’ I hiss. ‘I told you this place was sleazy.’
‘Bloody hell, I didn’t know Ringo had strippers here.’
‘They’re not stripping… yet,’ I point out, giving them the benefit of the doubt. ‘Maybe they just dance?’
But no, within a couple of minutes, long black gloves are being removed in unison, and then somehow corset tops manage to disappear, while strawberries remain intact, and soon the same thing happens with their lower strawberries too. I would actually be quite impressed by the complexity of it all, if I weren’t too busy being appalled.
Eventually they reach the end of their – even I have to admit – quite artistic routine, and disappear, strawberry-less, into the darkness with only their heels still on.
Enthusiastic cheers break out around the club and Ringo appears back on the stage.
‘Thank you! Thank you!’ he calls, taking the plaudits of the crowd as though he had performed himself. ‘I know the girls are thrilled at your appreciation. My girls are a very talented bunch as you’ve just seen, but their individual talents extend far beyond dancing…’ He raises his black bushy eyebrows suggestively. ‘If you’d like to find out anything further about any of them then please don’t hesitate to contact me and I will be happy to set up a private meeting for you backstage. But for now, enjoy your evening, gentlemen.’
‘What did he just say?’ I turn to Ellie, who’s nearly emptied her glass of peach schnapps already.
‘Something about meeting the girls backstage, but why would you want their autographs? They’re hardly famous, are they?’
I continue to stare hard at Ellie.
‘Oh!’ she says as the penny begins to drop. ‘You don’t think…’
‘I damn well do think!’
‘… Ringo’s running a knocking shop?’ she asks, her green eyes wide.
‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that. But yes, a call girl service maybe, that kind of thing.’
Ellie screws up her face. ‘Disgusting.’
‘More drinks, ladies?’ Lucy asks, arriving at our table again.
Ellie and I look at each other.
‘It’s on the house,’ Lucy adds. ‘Officially like. Ringo just said.’
‘Definitely then,’ I say, smiling at her. ‘I think we’ll make it champagne this time, if Ringo is paying.’
‘Nice one,’ Lucy grins. ‘I’ll make sure I find you a bottle of the good stuff!’
‘What’d you do that for?’ Ellie asks after Lucy has gone. ‘I’d have thought you’d have wanted to be well shot of here if that sort of thing is going on.’
‘If Ringo is running that kind of game, Ellie, he’ll be making an absolute mint, so I think we should sting him for all we can. He deserves it. Besides,’ I say taking a sideways glance at Lucy at the bar, ‘there are a few things in here I’d like to investigate a little bit further.’
Twenty-Five
The evening continues to flow, as do the drinks to our table. After our bottle of very fine champagne, Ellie’s now moved on to Malibu and Coke, which seem to keep appearing just as Ellie empties the last drop from her previous glass.
‘Steady on,’ I warn her at one stage, ‘I don’t want to have to carry you home tonight.’
‘Ah, I’m fine,’ she says, waving her hand casually in my face. ‘You just stick with ya boring old wine, and leave the exciting stuff to me.’
Lucy waited on us brilliantly all evening, and when sensible conversation with Ellie started to become nigh on impossible, I managed to have a few quick chats with Lucy in between rounds. She seemed like a bright, intelligent girl, and I couldn’t quite figure out why she was working in a place like this.
‘How do you put up with this, night after night?’ I ask her, after I’ve witnessed a particularly bad bout of her trying to avoid her bum being pinched, and having her chest constantly ogled. Just watching it from a distance is bad enough.
She shrugs. ‘Beats being stuck at home on my own, I guess.’
‘Don’t you have any friends?’ I ask. ‘Any family?’
‘Not really. I work two jobs, see, this one at night and another in a packing department in the day. No time for mates, and my family… well, they live far away now.’
I feel a bit sorry for her. ‘After the way you’ve looked after us tonight, Ellie and I are certainly your friends from now on if you’ll have us.’
Lucy looks at Ellie gently swaying next to me on the plush sofa we’re sitting on. ‘Do I have to prop her up?’ she asks, grinning.
I laugh. ‘Sometimes, but she’s so small you’ll hardly notice.’
‘Deal then,’ Lucy says, winking at me. Then she hurries off across the club as another table requires her services.
Suddenly there’s a kerfuffle at one of the tables across the room, and a few of the people around it push back their chairs and stand up.
‘What’s going on there?’ I ask Ellie, trying to lean around her so I can see better.
‘I dunno, probably one of them don’t know how to hold his drink – talking of which, I think I might just need to visit the ladies’ room meself.’ Ellie leaps to her feet and hurries in the direction of the ladies’ toilet.
I watch her go, and then turn my attention back to the other table. Several of the occupants are looking panicky now and keep looking anxiously around them as if to try and summon help. But I still can’t see properly what’s going on because the people standing around it keep masking the table.
Ringo appears to find out what’s going on, and he emerges from the huddle that’s building around the table looking fearful.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he calls, ‘do we have a doctor in the house at all?’ He looks desperately around him. ‘Lucy, call an ambulance!’ he shouts at Lucy, who’s standing by the bar about to collect another round of drinks. ‘And tell them to make it snappy!’
One of the men who’s been blocking my view moves out of the way and as he stands back to loosen his tie and get some air, I see another man still sitting at the table being comforted by a woman in a sparkling turquoise green dress. Except the man doesn’t look very comforted at all; he looks extremely uncomfortable, and as if he’s having difficulty breathing. His face seems to be swelling up and he’s holding his throat.
I leap to my feet and rush over to the table.
‘What did he eat?’ I demand, looking at the others standing helplessly around the distressed man.
They shrug, and look back at me with furrowed brows and puzzled expressions as if I’m asking the most complicated question in the world.
‘Did he eat some of these?’ I demand of them again, lifting a half-empty bowl of peanuts from the table.
‘Yes,’ the woman in the green dress says. ‘Yes, he did, just a handful, though. But Rocky didn’t choke or anything, he was talking to me for a few minutes after.’
‘He’s allergic,’ I say, my outer voice belying my inner feelings of panic as I see Rocky’s having even more trouble breathing. He’s beginning to turn more of a burgundy colour now, rather than simply tomato red. ‘He has a nut allergy, that’s what’s causing this reaction.’
‘You’re the one with the nut problem,’ one of the men says. ‘Nutcase, that’s what you are! Never heard such a lot of shite.’
‘It’s not shite! I’ve seen it before because someone in my office has the same thing. Has anyone got an EpiPen?’ I ask them, then realise that it’s probably too early for such a thing when they look at me with even more derision. I think hard. ‘What about an anti-allergy medication, then? Like hay fever tablets?’
They all just stare at me like I’m mad.
‘I’ve got medicine,’ a voice suddenly pipes up. ‘I take it because I’m allergic to animal fur.’
I look around at Lucy. ‘Perfect. Have you got it here by any chance?’
She nods. ‘In my
locker. I’ll run and get it!’
Lucy dashes off, and is replaced in the circle now gathering around Rocky and I by Ellie.
‘What are you doing, Jo-Jo?’ she hisses. ‘Let the ambulance people do their job when they get here.’
‘If we wait for them,’ I say, looking at Rocky, ‘he might not make it.’
‘Here,’ Lucy says, returning with a bottle of medicine, ‘what should I do?’
‘Loosen his tie,’ I tell her, sliding on to the seat next to a now almost-blue Rocky. ‘Could you move over, please?’ I ask green dress woman. ‘This just might save his life.’
While Lucy loosens Rocky’s bow tie and shirt, I shake up the bottle. There’s no time to find a spoon. So I simply remove the lid.
‘I know this is going to be difficult for you,’ I tell him, lifting the bottle so it’s right in front of his face, ‘but I need you to drink some of this. It will help, I promise.’
At least I hope it will. We have a girl in the office back home who is allergic to peanuts and she carries an EpiPen everywhere now. She discovered her allergy one Christmas when she had an attack during an office lunch. Some bright spark realised what her problem was and dashed along to the local chemist and bought a bottle of Benadryl to calm her throat, which was just beginning to tighten. It was so successful she didn’t even need to go to hospital, but simply made an appointment to see her doctor the next morning.
Rocky manages a weak nod. By the look of him he doesn’t usually do anything weakly. He’s a big, broad man. Not fat, but not slim. Muscly, I’m guessing, by the way his white shirt is pulling across his chest right now, but that might be more to do with him gasping for each and every breath.
I lift the bottle of medicine to his lips and he weakly attempts to sip from it.
‘That’s it,’ I encourage him, ‘nice and gently.’
Very slowly, in tiny drips, he manages to swallow some of the liquid down.
‘Where’s that bloody ambulance?’ I hear Ringo call behind me. ‘I can see me getting sued here for every penny I own, if this goes wrong.’
But as Rocky sips more and more of the allergy medication, his breathing starts to become easier, and then his swollen face begins to reduce in size.