by Martina Cole
Just as Desrae was dropping off, the bedroom door opened and Cathy came into his room in the overlarge nightie he had loaned her.
‘What’s the matter, love? You all right?’
She went to the bed and, slipping back the covers, climbed in beside her new friend. ‘I was a bit frightened in there all on me own.’ Her voice was small.
Desrae grinned. ‘Go to sleep, love. You’re as safe as houses now. I told you that before and Desrae don’t say anything unless it’s true, all right?’
Cathy nodded. Five minutes later her soft breathing told the man that she was indeed asleep. As he listened to her, he marvelled at a God Who could answer the prayers of a homosexual transvestite. He had needed someone in his life and she had been sent to him in the shape of little Cathy Connor.
He lay there and felt that indeed his cup ranneth over. He smiled at the thought. He had known a few vicars in his time, in a professional capacity, and they had a funny old way of talking. They were a bit funny altogether, he reasoned, but he would not dwell on that tonight!
Instead he pulled the covers up over the girl’s shoulders and closed his eyes. They slept like babies together, neither one of them moving till the morning.
Chapter Sixteen
Cathy awoke to the sounds of crockery being banged against glasses and the radio playing. It was all strange to her, and for a few seconds she wondered where she was. Then she opened her eyes and saw the dim winter sunshine coming through the heavy pink curtains and the events of the night before came to mind. She closed her eyes once more rather than think of that man, the alley, and the overwhelming stench around them.
Remembering the man-woman Desrae, though, she found herself smiling widely and a feeling of euphoria washed over her. Even after the terrible things that had befallen her during the last few weeks, she still felt she could trust the person who had saved her.
As she heard his dulcet tones singing along with the Monkees she smiled. Last Train to Clarksville had never sounded quite like that before! Bursting into the room wearing a long blue peignoir and with his hair in rollers, he was still singing at the top of his considerable voice.
‘Wake up, Cathy, and come and get something to eat,’ he ordered. ‘I’ve done us my favourite: smoked salmon and cream cheese on toast. Happy Harold will be upset when he sees it’s all gone but what the fuck, eh, girl? Life’s for the living, as a friend of mine always used to say.’ He frowned and looked down at the girl in the bed then added sadly, ‘That was before he died, of course. Took an overdose, deliberately and all. Silly man. I mean, life can be shit, I know, but any life’s better than none at all, don’t you think?’
Without waiting for an answer he put a large towelling dressing gown on the bed and flounced from the room. Wrapping herself in the sweet-smelling material, Cathy followed him. She had already realised that a lot of things he said did not really require an answer.
In the kitchen she looked at the plate before her with interest. There were indeed slices of pink smoked salmon and a mound of cream cheese. In addition there were scrambled eggs and slices of heavily buttered brown toast. Cathy tackled the hearty breakfast hungrily. Finally, feeling a large hand on her arm, she grinned as Desrae said: ‘For Gawd’s sake, girl, no one’s going to snatch the bleeding food away from you. Slow down.’
Cathy ate more slowly, watching as Desrae nibbled his own tiny breakfast then wiped his mouth daintily on a napkin. It made her feel ashamed of how quickly she had bolted her own food.
‘Drink your tea, love, I haven’t sugared it yet. Sort yourself out. And there’s plenty more where that came from so for fuck’s sake eat a bit slower. You’ll end up with indigestion.’
But Cathy had finished and was busy looking round the kitchen.
Like the rest of the flat it was clean and modern. Even the shelves were properly painted. In Cathy’s short life shelves had always been of bare wood and encrusted with grime. She realised that if she was going to maid properly she had a lot to learn. Madge’s slapdash ideas of cleanliness would not be welcome in this place. As if reading her mind, Desrae grinned.
‘Looks lovely, don’t it? I painted the walls meself. I like yellow - it’s a sunny, friendly type of colour, though it washes me out. I mean, it doesn’t suit my complexion at all. Still, sod that! I like to sit here and eat me grub, it puts me in a good mood, like. Colour’s important, you know, in your surroundings. I try and choose happy colours if I can. Pinks, yellows, blues - well, light blues - and greens. Very relaxing colour, green is. Calming sort of colour. I’ll learn you, dear. By the time I’m finished with you, love, you could maid for Danny la Rue.’
‘You’re still set on that then?’ Cathy’s voice was small, hesitant. The more she saw of this outlandish person, the more she wanted to be with him, though for the life of her she didn’t know why. In reality she should have been terrified of him. A man, a grown man, dressed in women’s clothes and acting more like a woman than any Cathy had ever seen.
Oh, she had heard about people like him: shirtlifters, shitstabbers and iron hoofs had been the nicknames used in the East End for homosexuals. They were called all sorts of things besides and treated with the utmost disrespect. There were not many who would dare walk the streets of Bethnal Green in full regalia, though a few worked the docks and took stick from the men and the women alike. Queers, men who looked like men, were barely tolerated, kept their sexual preferences to themselves and didn’t advertise the fact.
No, Cathy had heard about queers, but this was the first queer transvestite she had ever encountered and she was amazed to find that they were such nice people. She could imagine, though, the reception that Desrae would get where he had come from, guessing correctly that he was from the East End himself originally and had moved away quick smart to somewhere more tolerant.
Obviously, his work was lucrative and he was doing very well; his flat was a palace in Cathy’s eyes, filled with objects she had only ever seen in films before. There was even a TV in the corner of the living room, which in itself was amazing to the girl. Though Madge had earned enough over the years to give them what most people would have termed a good life, she had squandered all her money on booze, men and cheap clothes.
Cathy glanced up to find Desrae watching her. ‘Am I still set on you maiding for me? Of course I am, love. The only thing is, I don’t want to shock you, see. I mean, I know this is hard to believe,’ he fluttered his eyelashes in an exaggerated way, ‘but in case you haven’t noticed, I am in fact a man.’
Cathy laughed delightedly. ‘Seriously though, love - pour me out another cuppa, there’s a sweet - I don’t want to start you off on all this unless you’re sure you can really handle it. If you’re wary then we’ll put our thinking caps back on and try to come up with something else, all right?’
Cathy filled up the man’s cup and shook her head. ‘I’ll be all right, Desrae. Me mum was a brass. I mean, I take a lot of shocking.’
Desrae looked very serious for a second and said flatly, ‘You were shocked last night, darlin’, when I helped you out with that bloke.’
Cathy shrugged. ‘That was different, wasn’t it? I mean, I ain’t got to do anything like that, have I?’
It was a question and a plea and Desrae’s heart went out to the girl before him.
‘’Course you ain’t, love. Fuck me, I only do that now and again these days, and then only with me regulars. I mean, you have to set yourself some standards, for goodness’ sake.’
‘So what have I got to do?’ Cathy asked eagerly.
Desrae pulled his peignoir around him tightly and lit himself a Sobranie cigarette. It was the same shade as his wrap.
‘Listen, love, I would not harm one hair on your head, let’s get that straight now. You’ve had a bit of a time of it one way and another and I think you need somewhere to hide out, don’t you? Well, I’m willing to let you do that here. Only for a week or two, mind, until the heat dies down. In that time I’ll change your appearance a bit. T
each you a little about make-up and that. Style your hair.
‘That aside, we’re both agreed you’ll keep away from the East End for a while. Myself, I think you’d be better off kissing the place goodbye once and for all, but that’s your decision. As for your young fella, I’d say give him the Big E. But, like I say, that’s up to you.’ He sipped at his tea daintily then continued to speak.
‘First things first, eh? I maided for years when I first came to the West End. Oh, I maided for a bitch of a man. A right bastard he was. Had lovely hair, though, real it was and all. Made a fortune he did. Mind you, he had his good points . . . but I digress. I ain’t had a maid for years. Most of them are up and comings. You know, want to do your job really only they don’t know how to go about it. You take them in, fall in love with the little fuckers and then they tuck you up. Pinch your customers, pinch your gold and pinch your self-respect too if you’re not careful. No, I’ve looked out for meself for a few years. Now, however, I think I have found just the person for the job.
‘I’ll teach you how to care for my things - properly, mind. How to treat the customers, and a few little tricks to get by on. Nothing funny like, just the basics of Soho. Where to shop . . . oh, lots of things. That’s very much in the future though. First, I’ll have to see about getting you some clothes and underwear. You can borrow my make-up until you can get your own. We need to give you some kind of image, don’t we? You’re a lovely-looking girl, and I reckon you’d scrub up a treat. Meantime, while all this is going on, I’ll teach you how to maid. Most of my customers are regulars - always went for the regular trade meself. Built it up over the years. And then there’s me boyfriend, of course.’
He laughed deeply at Cathy’s shocked expression.
‘Oh, I’ve got a boyfriend, love, and what he’ll say about you I really don’t know! Still, we’ll worry about that later. First I’m going to get dressed and then I’m going to take some measurements and after that I’m going to get you some decent clothes. Can’t have me maid looking like something the cat shat on, can I? What would all the other girls say, eh?’
Cathy shook her head in wonderment. Desrae made everything sound fun, easy and exciting. She only hoped that his happy-go-lucky ways rubbed off on her. If she needed anything at the moment it was some light relief. She wanted to hide away here in this nice flat, with this lovely man, lick her wounds and get herself sorted in both mind and body.
Here with Desrae she might have the chance to make a new life for herself. She couldn’t face Eamonn yet, not until she was ready. Until she could meet him as an equal. Eamonn didn’t like being burdened with other people’s problems, he was too wrapped up in his own.
No, she would become a maid for this strange man, and hide herself away from the world until she was ready to make her triumphal return. She couldn’t wait to see Eamonn’s face when she did! Cathy hugged herself at the thought, and Desrae, seeing the stars in her eyes, pursed his lips thoughtfully.
Caroline awoke with a deep soreness between her legs and a dull heavy ache all over her body.
Eamonn’s arms were around her and she instinctively snuggled into the warmth of his body. Wincing in pain, she realised that her eye was black and nearly closed. It felt too big for her face. Testing it once more, she opened it slowly and saw Eamonn looking down at her. There was a look of shame mingled with exhilaration on his handsome face.
He kissed her brow gently, small kisses interspersed with words of love and affection.
‘I’m sorry, Caroline. I don’t know what made me do it. You know I love you. I’ll always love you. There’s no one else for me.’ He hugged her bruised body to him, causing her fresh pain - though not half so much as she would have felt had she known that all the time he soothed and comforted her his thoughts were on another girl entirely. Cathy . . . his Cathy . . . safely out of his rat’s nest with the poncey Hendersons.
Part of Eamonn wanted to track them down and show them just what he thought of their cosy, do-gooding lifestyle. But another part - the part that had always envied the kids at school with clean clothes and hair and a well-fed look about them - knew that she was better off where she was. For the moment at least.
Come her sixteenth birthday, though, and he was going after her. Then she’d be free to lead her own life; free to love him as he knew he loved her. Loved her to death, in fact. Until then he’d have to content himself with this dopey slag who seemed to believe that the punishment he meted out was a sign of affection.
‘I love you, Eamonn.’
She was telling the truth. Last night Caroline had fallen in love with danger, and all her life she would worship it. As she looked up at his darkly handsome face, his sparkling eyes and thick sensuous lips, she fell even deeper in love, believing this big handsome boy-man loved her too.
He had maimed another man for her. He would kill for her, so strong was his love and devotion. Smiling through her pain, Caroline ran her hand down his body and found his erect penis. Feeling the intense heat pervading her, she opened her legs in moist expectation.
She was not disappointed.
It was the best sex she had ever had in her life, and it was addictive. She could never have too much of Eamonn Docherty.
Cathy, dressed in a shirt deemed too small for Desrae and a pair of black tights, watched in amazement as he put on his ‘face’. Even after watching her mother tart herself up for years, nothing had prepared her for the sight which met her eyes.
Covering his face thickly with panstick, Desrae blended it over his cheekbones expertly, subtly changing the contours and lines. Looking at her in delight, he waggled his eyebrows. ‘Clever little git, ain’t I?’
Then, making her laugh by pouting at himself in the mirror a few times and rolling his eyes, he pencilled a deep brown line around the outside of his lips.
‘This makes them look fuller, see. Mine are a bit thin. Got a man’s lips, me.’
He filled this all in with a bright pink lipstick, smoothing it by placing his lips together suggestively and pushing his tongue against the side of his face.
Cathy was roaring with laughter by then.
‘Now for the old eyeballs, girl. This really is a feat of ex-fucking-traordinary danger. First time I saw someone do this, I was nearly as sick as a bleeding dog.’
Pulling down his lower lid, he drew inside it with a kohl pencil whose blackness immediately made his eyes look wider, more open. He fluttered his eyelashes, then began to apply thick blue greasy eyeshadow with a heavy brush. It took five minutes before he was satisfied. Then, blinking his eyes quickly, he looked at her again and grinned.
‘Getting there, ain’t I?’
The next step was the false eyelashes he applied with the same care and attention as a surgeon working in an operating theatre. He glued them to both top and bottom lids then, sitting back, proudly surveyed his handiwork.
Sucking in his cheeks, he looked at himself with a grave expression on his face. ‘Now then, a brown blusher, I think - make the most of me cheekbones.’ He picked up a large brush and stuck it in a pot of loose powder.
‘Always act as if someone is watching you. I don’t know who said that, but it’s something I’ve lived by for years. They were dead right.’ He applied the blusher with long sweeping upward strokes. ‘All that’s left now is the old Barnet Fair. I never wear wigs during the day unless I’m working.’
Taking out his rollers, he brushed his hair and backcombed it strenuously before styling it around his head in a wide halo and flicking it up at the ends.
‘Eat your fucking heart out, Mandy Rice-Davis, that’s what I say! I mean, who needs a woman with me about?’
Cathy was still laughing. ‘You look great, not at all like a . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Placing one well-manicured hand over hers, Desrae said happily, ‘Don’t worry about what you nearly said, love, I take things like that as a compliment. I spend hours trying to look like a woman. Why should I be upset when you say I don’t look like
a bleeding bloke, eh?’
Cathy shook her head, unable to answer.
‘You ever seen a bloke’s tackle before?’
She nodded, unsure what was going to happen next. Desrae saw the look and laughed. ‘Lovely you may be, but I think we’ve established that you’re not my cup of tea, eh? No, love, don’t worry. All I’m going to do is put on me body now. Nothing more. You’ll see it for a split second, if that.’
Stripping off his nightwear, he stood naked before her for an instant. Then, picking up a pair of tiny shorts, he slid them up his legs. Taking his penis, he pushed it as far back between his thighs as he could. In the mirror Cathy saw it disappear completely as Desrae quickly pulled up the padded shorts. Arching his back, his long lean body posed like a ballet dancer’s, he grinned.
‘Clever, eh?’
Cathy giggled with delight.
‘Now for the falsies and then we’re cooking with gas!’
Ten minutes later he was dressed in a red jumper, thrusting false breasts pointing to the ceiling above it, and a black knee-length skirt. Black tights and high heels finished off the outfit.
‘So what do you think, eh?’
Cathy sat back on the bed and shook her head in amazement. ‘You look brilliant, Desrae. Blinding.’
He preened in mock admiration of himself. ‘Not bad for an old sod even if I say it meself.’ Then, smiling widely, he bellowed: ‘Now let’s get you some decent clothes.’
As they left the bedroom together it occurred to Cathy that this was the happiest she had ever been in her whole life. She felt safe, loved and secure.
It also occurred to her that it didn’t really take much to make people happy. Not as much as they thought, anyway.
Desrae walked into Tony Gosa’s cafe with a wide smile and a very determined look in his eye. Tony, noticing him instantly, smiled warily back. ‘Hello, what can I get you?’