The Hostess

by L. P. Gibbs

  The couple walked quickly to the spot where Randall always parked his car, outside a little drinker called The Men's Room just off Soho Square where he always had a space left for him. The late night drinking spot was one that he collected money from for Harris. As they got to the car, the proprietor of the place was just locking up. Randall called across to him.

  “Tony, you old queen,” he yelled, good naturedly. “How's business been tonight?” The slightly overweight and effeminately dressed man smiled with a pout and called back across the road.

  “Not been too good, Al,” he replied, putting on a sorrowful frown. “Could be a bit better if I didn't have to pay Lenny so much.” Randall shook his head with a smile as he opened the passenger door of his car for Samantha to get in. Sliding himself behind the wheel he was still smiling.

  “What's that smile for?” she asked.

  “That was Camp Tony. The old queen is always pleading poverty every time he sees me,” he said. “I think he feels that if he let on how much he was actually raking in each night from that place, that Lenny would increase the insurance money that he has to pay him.”

  “What do you mean, insurance?” Randall threw back his head and laughed aloud as he turned the key and started the engine.

  “You really are a bit naïve, aren't you, my love?” he replied. “Lenny charges Tony 'insurance' to make sure his drinker doesn't have any trouble or interference from the outside parties. In other words, Camp Tony pays what's asked of him or Lenny Harris sends a couple of heavies round to smash the place up. There's half a dozen other places around Soho just like that and one or two in the East End as well, Stepney area near where Lenny lives. Most of the illegal drinking houses are paying Lenny on a regular basis. That's one of the ways in which he makes his money. Sometimes, I think that Silk's Gentlemen's Club is just a side-line to make him look legitimate and launder his money from illegal sources.” They drove back to Samantha's in silence as she thought about what he had told her. The way things were done here in London were still a source of total mystery to her even after all this time.

  She and Randall made love again that night in her small, single bed ,but he left well before daybreak saying that he had business to attend to later that morning. She would never ask what sort of business he had, apart from working on the door. It had nothing to do with her and she was certain that she wouldn't get a truthful answer even if she did have the nerve to ask him. That was the kind of man that Alan Randall was. What she did know was that Alan often went round different places, collecting money for Lenny but she never asked questions about it.

  Carla didn't come home that night and Samantha assumed that she was staying with the man she had gone off with in the taxi. She didn't come in to work at Silk's the next night either and Samantha started to worry about her friend, especially as she hadn't phoned the club to say she wouldn't be at work as she would normally have done. She was still fretting about the problem as she boarded the N29 night bus to go home at the end of her shift. Randall had told her he had some other work to do for Lenny Harris which would take him until dawn, apparently. Even as she got off the bus near the railway bridge, her brows were still furrowed with concern over Carla

  On returning to her little bedsit, she was surprised to find Carla already there, sprawled face down on the bed still fully clothed, the remains of her make up smeared across her face like native American war-paint. The girl didn't stir as Samantha tried in vain to push her further across the single bed to make room for herself. It was impossible, so in the end she gave up and settled down into the worn old armchair and covered herself with a blanket, leaving the two bar electric fire switched on for warmth. She awoke, bitterly cold and uncomfortable, at eight thirty-five to find Carla standing at the basin and splashing cold water onto her face. Yawning, Samantha stretched and forced herself to stand up, her body aching from the discomfort of the armchair.

  “What on earth happened to you?” she enquired, a little annoyed. Carla turned to face her and Samantha was shocked at her appearance. “My God!” she exclaimed in horror. “You look terrible.” Carla simply nodded and headed back towards the bed, her eyes half closed, dragging her feet.

  “Don't go on, Sam,” she slurred. “My head's pounding and I just need to go back to sleep.” With that, she flopped down on top of the bed once more and was asleep within seconds.

  Samantha decided to get herself dressed and let Carla sleep it off. She walked down to the cafe where she had once worked part-time to get some breakfast and to give Carla some time to recover from whatever her ordeal had been. After a meal of eggs, bacon, sausage and fried bread followed by a mug of scalding coffee, she made her way past Camden Town tube station and walked along Camden High Street, window shopping, glancing at The Black Cap pub as she passed. They were great times with Sandra back then. It was just after mid-day, having stopped once in the Wimpy Bar for another coffee to keep herself awake, that she returned home. Carla was now up and about, her make-up on, hair done, busying herself tidying the room. She turned round as Samantha came in through the door. Her appearance had vastly improved from earlier and she bounced jauntily round the room.

  “Hello, lovely,” she said, as if nothing untoward had occurred the night before. “The kettle's just boiled if you'd like some coffee.” Samantha looked at Carla, dumbfounded as she poured hot water into two mugs.

  “I don't believe you,” Samantha said, hands on hips. “You disappear for over twenty four hours then turn up here like a zombie. Now you're acting as if nothing has happened. What's going on, Carla?” Her friend slumped back into the old armchair and looked up at her flat-mate. Holding her coffee mug in both hands, she bowed her head a fraction and gazed at the floor.

  “I think I may have done something a bit silly, Sam,” she said quietly, a slightly guilty expression on her face. “The night before last is a bit of a blur really. I went with Mark, the guy in the taxi, to an all-nighter in Brixton. We had quite a bit to drink there and I was, … well, … a bit out of it, I suppose. Then, when we got back to his place there were loads of people there and someone gave me some cocaine to try. I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it a go, find out what it was like. It felt good at the time. I don't remember much after that.” Carla placed her mug on the floor, put her head in her hands and began to weep quietly for a while before continuing her story. “I do recall Mark putting me in a cab and giving the driver some money but not much else. I have a vague memory of you asleep in this chair and saying something, but that's about it.” Samantha was horrified by what she heard.

  “Are you mad, Carla? Cocaine? For Christ's sake, you could have killed yourself, you stupid cow.” Carla looked guiltily down at her feet again, not wanting to meet her friend's accusing eyes.

  “It was only the once,” she responded.

  “Once is all it takes, you know. You could easily get hooked on that stuff. Promise me you'll never take any more? Please?” Carla returned her stare from the armchair.

  “Okay, I won't. Now, can we change the subject, please? I don't want to talk about it any more.”

  “I think it's important to find out more about this Mark if you're planning to see him again, that's all,” Samantha told her. Carla said that she would speak to him. Nothing more was said about the incident and they both returned to work as normal. Until the following week, that is.

  The man that Carla had spent the night with the previous week came into Silk's once more. Samantha was seated at the small bar downstairs when she saw him come down the spiral staircase with a friend. She turned and looked across the small, gloomy dance floor and saw Carla immediately heading towards the man. Samantha tried to head her off but was hindered by two of the other girls on the small dance floor and it was too late. She was there at Mark's side with her arm hooked through his, smiling and gazing into his eyes like a star-crossed lover as he slipped his arm around her waist. Samantha gave Carla a knowing frown and shook her head but the other girl ignored her, averting her eyes
and steering the customer into one of the booths to one side. Rocky arrived at their table with his trusty notepad to take their drinks order.

  When the man left the club just before three in the morning, Samantha pulled Carla to one side.

  “You're not going to meet him again, are you?” she asked.

  “Don't worry,” her friend replied. “I know what I'm doing. I'm just going for a drink with him this time and to keep him company for a while. I'm not going to be taking coke again, I promise. Last week he put a hundred and fifty pounds into my purse. If I make that again, I'll be happy.”

  “Keep him company? Don't you mean to have sex with him?”

  “Now look, Samantha,” Carla said firmly in a whisper so no-one else could hear. “I'm well over twenty-one years of age and I don't need your permission if I want to have sex with any man. It's what I'm good at, and you know that. I've been on the game for years. Besides, he's paying me another hundred and fifty pounds just like last time. I think I'd be a fool to turn him down, wouldn't I?” Samantha thought about what Carla had just told her and was still concerned.

  “Well just make sure he doesn't give you any more of that cocaine,” she said. “Remember what happened to you the last time? You looked like the walking dead.” Carla squeezed her arm and told her not to worry. She left the club just over a half an hour later and Samantha went up the stairs with her. She watched from behind the beaded curtain as Carla got into the back of a black cab with Mark. He had his arm round her shoulder as the taxi moved off.

  “I'm a bit worried about Carla,” she told Randall as he stood in the doorway waiting for everyone to leave.

  “Why's that?” he asked with a frown. “What's the problem with her?” Samantha explained what had happened the previous week. When she told him all about it, he shook his head slowly as she related the story. “She's a big girl, love. She knows all the risks. If she wants to take drugs, then it's up to her. Don't you get too involved with her problems because if she's on coke, she won't listen to anything you've got to say or thank you for it either.”

  Samantha understood exactly what he was telling her but couldn't help but worrying about her friend. Carla had always looked out for her in the past, now it was Samantha's turn, she felt.

  This time, Carla went missing for four days. Questions were asked at Silk's by Lenny as he needed to have 'his girls', as he referred to them, at work when they were needed. Christmas was fast approaching and business had picked up considerably. All the girls were kept busy most of the night. On the fifth day, Carla came stumbling into their room at seven thirty in the morning. Samantha had only been asleep for a little over two hours, having entertained Alan Randall in her bed after work. He had left just after five o'clock. The door banged as Carla leaned her back against it on the inside. Samantha awoke with a start and sat up in bed. She could immediately tell from Carla's appearance that she had been taking cocaine again.

  “Carla!” she yelled. “You've done it again, haven't you? Just look at the state you're in, girl.” The other girl simply shrugged her shoulders and went to the small wooden table, yanking out a slice of bread from the wrapper and stuffing it into her mouth, chewing noisily.

  “Oh do shut up, Sam,” she mumbled. Crumbs falling from her mouth as she spoke. “I'm fucking starving. Isn't there anything else to eat in this dump?” As she said this, she fell face down across the foot of the bed, trapping Samantha by her ankles. Carla's expensive make-up had all but disappeared from her face, just smudges left where mascara and lipstick had once been. It looked as if it had not been re-applied in all the four nights she had been missing. Samantha struggled out of the bed from beneath her and, with more than a little difficulty, managed to drag her friend round and into a proper lying position upon the bed. She lay on the bed next to Carla and pulled the duvet up and over both of them. Carla started snoring loudly.

  When Samantha woke up at mid-day, Carla was standing by the window, fully dressed and applying her fresh make-up. As Samantha sat up, rubbing her eyes, Carla picked up her coat and, seeing the other girl staring quizzically at her, averted her eyes and looked out of the window as she slipped the coat on.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I've arranged to just pop out to see Mark,” Carla replied. Samantha leaped out of bed and grabbed her her by the arms.

  “You're going to get more drugs, aren't you?”

  “What if I am, it's not hurting anybody, is it?”

  “You're wrong, Carla. It's hurting you, you stupid cow. You don't seem to realise what it's doing to you. You have absolutely no idea what you looked like when you came home.” Carla pushed her away and took a step back.

  “No, Sam!” she responded. “It's you that's wrong. I know exactly what it's doing to me. It's making me feel good about myself. Do you think I like fucking these men just to have enough money to buy the nice things that I want, what other girls have? Well I don't, but the coke helps me to forget about it and feel better about myself. Now stay out of my business!” With that, and without waiting for a response she went out, slamming the door behind her and clomping noisily down the stairs. Samantha went to the window and watched as Carla made her way along the street towards Camden Road in search of a passing taxi.

  A little over two weeks passed with no sign of Carla. She hadn't returned for any fresh clothes or her prized cosmetics. Lenny Harris called Samantha into his little office at Silk's one night.

  “Now then, Samantha,” he started with mock severity, pouring a large measure of scotch into a glass. “Where's your mate Carla then? Is she still wantin' to work 'ere or what?” Samantha told him that she had not heard from Carla for over a fortnight and didn't know what her plans were. “Well if she ain't shown up by the end of the week, I'll 'ave to replace 'er,” he continued, tapping the Friday on the wall calendar for emphasis. “I'm tryin' to run a fuckin' business 'ere, you know. It ain't a charity. I'll grant you she's good with the punters, gets 'em spendin' a bit of dough just like you do, but I need 'er 'ere, workin' an' flashin' 'er tits.”

  It was midway through the Thursday evening that Samantha saw Rocky, the barman from upstairs, come scurrying down the spiral staircase moving faster than she had ever seen him move before. He rushed into Lenny's office and closed the door behind him. Thirty seconds later, they both came out and went back up together towards the bar area. Five minutes passed and Samantha was chatting with one of the other girls when Rocky came back down and approached her. He gripped her elbow and pulled her to one side as he whispered to her.

  “Sam, Lenny needs you upstairs,” he told her urgently. Something in his voice alarmed the hostess. She followed him up the staircase, her hands gripping the metal rails on either side. When she reached the bar Rocky disappeared behind it, nodding in the direction of the foyer and, looking through the curtain, she saw Harris talking to two men. She had worked in Soho long enough to realise the two strangers were policemen. Alan Randall standing in the background giving her a knowing look and a slight nod of his head towards them confirmed her initial suspicions. Harris beckoned her across to them and told Roseanne who was seated on the sofa behind the desk to go downstairs. She pouted and moved slowly. She was a bit put out that she was not going to be privy to what was going on in the foyer.

  “These are policemen an' they want to 'ave a chat wiv yer, Sam, sweet'eart. Just tell 'em what they want to know an' everyfing will be alright,” he said, trying hard not to meet her questioning eyes but attempting an assuring smile. She turned to the two plain clothes officers.

  “What do you want with me?” she asked, fearfully. “Is it me Mam?” It was the first thought that came into her mind. The shorter of the two shook his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a notebook.

  “No, love,” he told her. “We understand that you're an acquaintance of Alexandra Cowley, is that right?” He consulted his notebook as if he were unsure of what he was asking. “I believe you know her as Carla, don't you?” Samantha's heart skipped
a beat when she heard this.

  “Yes, we share a room together but I haven't seen her for nearly three weeks. What's happened? Is she alright?” The taller officer took her by the arm and led her to the red sofa, motioning for her to sit.

  “Got a bit of bad news for you, I'm afraid,” the other man said. “She's been found dead in a pedestrian underpass near Clapham. It appears at the moment that she may have taken an overdose of drugs. We're not certain just yet.” Samantha felt her head swimming, the room began to spin, her throat was dry but she felt clammy yet cold at the same time. “Are you alright, love?” the policeman was saying. It took a while for what he had said to sink in.

  “Are you sure it's her? It might be someone who looks like her,” was the only thing she could think of asking. From his pocket, the man took out a copy of a photograph of Carla taken from the I.D. Card which she always carried in her purse.

  “Is this her?” he asked, offering the photo. She sucked in her breath before replying. She informed them it was definitely Carla. “We will need to take a statement from you, miss,” said one of the men. “We can do it at West End Central police station. That will be the best place. It's nearer and will be a lot more comfortable than any other station. Would you like to come with us now?” Still in something of a daze, she agreed and allowed herself to be helped up from the low sofa and guided outside to a waiting car. Randall leaned in as she sat down.

  “Give me a bell when you're ready and I'll come and pick you up, okay?” She took in his words and merely nodded. The unmarked car drove away and she sank back in the rear seat, lost in her thoughts.

  When they reached the police station in Saville Row, the car went round the back and into the underground car park of the station in Old Burlington Street. Her high-heels echoed on the concrete of the basement as the trio walked through it. They took her up in a lift to the second floor, down a long corridor with glass partitions on either side and into a small interview room. Someone produced a styrofoam cup containing what she assumed must be tea and placed it on the desk in front of her as the two officers sat down on the opposite side, the shorter one retrieving his notebook from his inside pocket once more. They asked her when she had last seen Carla and under what circumstances. She told them all about Mark, the man she had gone to meet and that Carla had met him at Silk's. Their ears pricked up when they learned about Carla getting involved with cocaine after meeting the man and made notes throughout the interview. They told her they would review any CCTV evidence from Silk's and may want her to identify the man. She said that she wasn't sure if there was any cameras at the club.