by Joanna Rees
Anna didn’t know what to do with herself. The shimmery dress swished around her legs, the sequins catching the light. Surely it was sinful to have her shoulders so exposed? She resisted the urge to tug at the top of the fringed dress, where it strained across her breasts in an unbecoming way. Goodness only knew what would happen if she started to move. Not that she was planning on dancing! Anything but that. A trickle of sweat slid down her back to her buttocks and she clenched her fingers into her palms, feeling her skin goosebump.
‘Name?’ a gruff male voice demanded from the shadows, startling her.
‘Ann— I mean . . . er . . . Verity.’
‘Speak up.’
‘Verity. Verity Casey, sir. My friends call me Vita.’ She half-smiled across at Nancy, feeling a lump in her throat. Oh, this was so bad. She was going to be in so much trouble.
‘You in a contract, Miss Casey?’ the voice from the dark demanded.
Nancy flicked her head, encouraging her to speak.
Anna shaded her eyes from the light, straining to see who was talking to her. ‘No, sir.’
‘You could work right away?’
‘Uh . . . yes.’
There was the muffled sound of voices, and then she noticed a man sitting down at a piano near the edge of the stage and saw that it was Jerome. He opened a file of music and balanced it on the stand. He took a drag of his cigarette and then rested it on the top of the piano. The smoke curled up into the darkness.
Anna stared at the polished black floor of the stage, which was pitted with tiny heel-marks.
‘He’ll want to see you dance,’ Nancy whispered, sidling closer to her. ‘Just follow me. We start the warm-up with the Charleston. Right foot first. Eight bars in.’ She demonstrated the dainty move, and Anna saw straight away that she was an excellent dancer.
Anna had danced on and off all her life, but nothing that might have prepared her for this. There’d been ballet lessons with the awful Miss Scott, who banged her stick on the ground as the girls tried to plié and jeté, and had made the girls parade around with heavy encyclopaedias on their heads to encourage graceful deportment. She’d once whacked Anna’s hand with a ruler so hard that the ruler had broken. Then there had been some ballroom-dancing lessons, but her mother had put a stop to them, after Clement had heard that some of the workers were spying on the girls.
Anna had been to the dance hall in Preston once, so she knew all about the Charleston and had practised it when she could; or at least a version of it, behind her mother’s back, listening to Clement’s gramophone record in the drawing room. But she’d had no idea if she’d been doing it right. Now, flailing her arms around, as she had done then, was only going to make her look like the foolish child she was. She had to say something.
She braced herself, stepping forward right to the edge of the stage, her toe almost off it, but just then Jerome started playing a few tinkling bars of introduction, making her jump back. The girls shuffled, getting ready to dance.
‘Five, six, seven . . .’ Nancy mouthed.
‘Wait a moment, Jerome,’ someone called and the piano stopped abruptly.
This was it: her moment of humiliation. From the gloom, it sounded as if two or three people were deep in what was becoming a heated conversation. There was the noise of a scraping chair. She glanced towards the other girls, who now seemed to retreat further back on the stage. The heat of the stage lights seemed to bear down on her.
‘Goddamn it, Jack,’ she heard someone say. A man’s voice. American. ‘You’ve got two months, max, or this place will fold. I’m telling you.’
‘What’s going on now?’ Nancy whispered. She cocked out her hip, staring at Jerome, who shrugged.
‘That’s all for today,’ she heard a voice from the back. The man, whoever he was, sounded angry.
‘But, sir,’ Nancy piped up. ‘What about . . .’ She gestured to Anna.
‘Fine. You’ll do. That’s all. See Mrs Winters about a contract. Next call, tomorrow at twelve.’
‘Oh, well, that was easy,’ Nancy said, clapping her hands with glee. ‘Looks like you’re one of us. Come and meet everyone.’
15
The Girls
‘This is Emma and Jane, Betsy and Jemima,’ Nancy gushed, as the girls all jostled around. ‘This is Verity, but we’re calling her Vita.’
This is actually happening. They really believe I’m Vita. ‘How do you do. Vita, is it?’ one of the girls said, wanting to get in first. Was she Emma, Jane or Betsy? She was the one who’d given her a wave earlier. ‘I’m Emma,’ she said.
Anna – no, Vita – shook her proffered hand, and tried to remember that Emma was the one with the wavy black hair and deep-blue eyes. Then there was Jemima, with the freckles. She felt like a small chick in a nest, as the plumed, groomed girls stared down at her. She hooked the stray hair from her hairband over her ear. How did that one – Jane, was it? the tall brunette – get her hair to stay in those lustrous curls? She’d never seen such lovely young women. Where she came from, so many women were downtrodden and grey. These shiny, glorious girls were like a whole new species. It was as if she’d stepped into a Greta Garbo film.
‘Where you from, Vita?’ Jane asked.
‘Oh, I, er . . .’
‘How do you know Edith?’ It was another one of the girls; Betsy, was it? She had fiery red hair in pin-curls and rouged cheeks.
‘Well, I . . .’
‘How old are you? If you don’t mind me saying, you look frightfully young.’
‘Great gams, though,’ Nancy chipped in, gesturing to Vita’s legs and giving her thigh a friendly slap.
She jumped at the contact and blushed. Nobody had ever complimented her about her figure before. ‘Nineteen . . . nearly twenty,’ she lied. It was like being pecked by questions.
Suddenly the girls shushed each other, nodding over Vita’s shoulder. Another girl with a fur stole over her shoulders, but in one of the dancers’ dresses, was strutting towards them across the stage. Her blonde hair was cut short like Nancy’s, her feline eyes heavily ringed in black, her fashionably thin brows pencilled in, and her mouth a glossy red with a particularly pointed cupid’s bow.
A much smaller girl in day-clothes followed, shy and almost cowering, but it was the girl in front who exuded authority, her gaze making the other girls shrink away from Vita.
‘Oh, Edith honey. There you are,’ Nancy said, breaking away from the group. ‘Wherever were you? We waited and—’
‘You will never believe the ghastly morning I’ve had. And you made me late. I’ve been waiting all this time, Nancy.’ Her tone was harsh and accusatory, her plummy accent cutting. It was the voice of a bully.
So this was Edith, Vita realized. Meaning what? That the girl behind her was the girl whose job she had just stolen? She wasn’t ‘pretty in an understated way’, as Nancy had implied earlier – she was stunning. The girl had exotically dark skin and a perfectly slender figure. How had Nancy ever mistaken Vita for her?
‘But it’s no bother, darling. I found your friend, Vita, and Mr Connelly has given her a job. The spot in our line-up. Just as you wanted. Isn’t that the berries?’
Edith’s eyes flashed with fury. ‘Who? Who did he give a job to?’
‘Verity . . . Vita,’ Nancy said, but her voice quavered now with uncertainty. ‘I thought she was your friend?’
‘Her?’ Edith’s lips curled as she spoke, her eyes blazing at Vita. ‘I’ve never seen her before in my life.’
In the silence that followed, Vita felt everyone staring at her. Nancy spoke next, slowly, as the realization sank in. ‘That is too devilish,’ she said, arms akimbo. ‘Vita, are you not . . .?’
Her eyes bored into those of Vita, who swallowed hard, sheepishly meeting Nancy’s astonished gaze. ‘No, I’m sorry. I sort of—’
‘You perfect idiot, Nancy!’ Edith’s mouth was a thin line of fury, as Nancy gasped. ‘Can’t you see that she’s clearly an imposter? As if I would ever be friends with
someone like her. You Americans!’ She threw her arm up in disdain, before marching over to where Vita was standing. ‘Where are you from?’ she demanded, jabbing her roughly on the collarbone with a forefinger, the shock of it making Vita stumble backwards. ‘The Troc? The Kit Kat? Those sneaky girls are always trying to get in here.’
‘I’m sorry, I promise I’m not, I . . . I’m so sorry.’ Vita pulled away, too frightened to cry. Edith looked furious enough to hit her. Vita had seen that look enough to know.
A small woman with curly grey hair in a dowdy black dress walked onto the stage, a bottle-green knitted cardigan balanced on her shoulders. ‘Verity, is it?’ she said in an exhausted voice, looking at her notepad. ‘Miss Casey?’
This must be Mrs Winters, whom she’d been told to see. ‘Yes, that’s me,’ she piped up, before she’d even known she was going to speak. It was the only thing to do. To get out of Edith’s line of fire. She quickly sidestepped Edith towards Mrs Winters, but Edith moved quickly too, barging Vita out of her way as she beat her to it. The elderly woman looked up, dismayed at the unseemly scuffle.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, staring between Edith and Vita.
‘This is intolerable. She’s an imposter. She’s not meant to be here at all. Call Jack back,’ Edith demanded, her voice rising hysterically. ‘I insist. We need to clear this terrible mess up at once. Don’t let her sign anything.’
‘Mr Connelly has left the building,’ Mrs Winters said, her tone icy. It was clear she wasn’t happy about taking instructions from Edith. She also disapproved of Edith being on first-name terms with Mr Connelly.
‘Well, get him back,’ Edith snapped, as if the woman was an imbecile.
Mrs Winters drew up her formidable chest and positioned her spectacles on her nose.
Vita glanced behind her into the wings and saw Percy standing with his arms folded, taking it all in. He was trying to suppress a smile.
‘Ugh!’ Edith made an exasperated growl and flounced towards him, her shoulder shoving against Percy’s. ‘Do I have to do everything around here?’
‘Edith, wait!’ Nancy said.
Vita looked down at her feet, wishing the stage would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. But then Jerome dropped his music book on the piano keys and a discordant sound rang out.
Percy strolled over, as the girls erupted into shocked gossiping. Vita felt close to tears. She looked at him, imploring him to take her side.
‘Ignore her,’ he whispered to Vita. ‘Mrs Winters, my dear, Mr Connelly was quite clear that he wants to sign up Miss Casey. She’s exactly what the girls have been looking for. And, as we all know, time is of the essence. So let’s make this simple, shall we? Vita will sign the paperwork, and then I’m sure one of the girls will find you a cup of tea and a biscuit. You look run off your feet, as usual.’
For the first time, Mrs Winters smiled. A little kindness went a long way, even with her, it seemed.
16
Wisey
Vita wanted to pinch herself as the girls took her backstage, after she’d signed Mrs Winters’s forms.
‘You’re being so nice,’ she said to Jane, as she led her down the narrow corridor back to the dressing room.
Jane gave her a sideways smile. ‘I’ve been a rabbit caught in the headlights myself, darling, but I’ve rarely seen anyone braver than you. Nobody ever stands up to Edith Montgomery.’
‘I didn’t really stand up to her,’ Vita said, feeling oddly close to tears. It felt nice to be called ‘darling’ by someone so glamorous. ‘I honestly didn’t mean it to go this far. I sort of got swept up with Nancy and I wanted to tell her the truth, but she didn’t stop talking and . . .’ She hung her head. ‘But the truth is, my life has been so awful recently and I so desperately need a job – so I lied.’
‘Cheer up. Everyone tells a few fibs,’ Betsy said.
‘Especially in this business,’ Jemima agreed, and they all laughed as they bustled into the changing room. There was no sign of Nancy or Edith.
‘Look, it doesn’t matter how you got here – you’re in. You heard the man, and you’ve signed Mrs Winters’s forms now. Forget Edie, and whoever that other girl was. Frankly, she would never have cut the mustard,’ Jane assured her.
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly. There’s no room for shrinking violets around here, but your face fits.’
All the girls started to undress, stripping off with the same abandon that Nancy had shown. Nervously Vita headed for the corner, grabbing her Sunday blouse and skirt.
Betsy’s voice now took on a serious tone. ‘Who’s taken the Q-tips?’ she asked, looking around on the dressing table. Jane slid a box across. ‘Thanks, honey,’ Betsy went on, prodding a stick at her eyeliner in the mirror. ‘Did you hear what they were talking about? Those men? Do you really think we’ve only got a couple of months?’ she asked the others.
‘Take no notice,’ Jemima said, spritzing some perfume under her arms and sniffing. She put on some glasses and inspected her hair in the mirror, licking her forefinger and rubbing her hairline. ‘The Zip Club is fine. We’re full every night. You know how dramatic Connelly is.’
Vita slipped behind the screen as she listened to their animated chatter.
‘So, where are you staying?’ Jane asked, just as Vita had finished dressing and emerged from behind the screen with her carpet bag.
The girls were ready in their street clothes, and Vita immediately felt dowdy next to them. Emma was wearing a sky-blue wool coat and matching hat, and Jane had a brown coat and a turban with a large jewel brooch on the front.
‘In Brunswick Square. At a boarding house.’
‘Oh. Is it nice?’
Vita let out a bitter laugh. ‘No. I’d rather be anywhere but there.’ She knew she sounded too honest, too needy, but she couldn’t help it. Betsy and Jane were looking at her. ‘There’s a couple next door and they fight all night long,’ she continued. Then she did an impression of the fight. ‘You come here . . . wallop . . . no, Billy, no.’
‘Dear Lord, that sounds awful,’ Jane said, with an alarmed laugh at Vita’s impression.
‘It really is. And there’s a brothel next door. The woman, Rose, who runs it is, frankly, terrifying. But I can’t afford anywhere else.’ She stopped herself saying more, even though she longed to tell the other girls how difficult life had been, without any references or a job. How frightening it had been to be ill and alone. It felt so good to be talking to them. For them to be listening to her. It was as if she were a wilted flower and their attention was water, bringing her back to life.
‘What about Mrs Bell’s?’ Betsy suggested to Jane.
‘Where’s that?’
‘Oh, we all board together,’ Jane replied, adjusting her turban in the mirror. ‘At Mrs Bell’s. It’s the best value, although she’s rather formidable. Percy put us on to her.’
‘That sounds lovely,’ Vita said, feeling a stab of jealousy. It did sound lovely – all of them being together.
‘There’s still a spare bed in our room in the attic. It’s freezing in the winter, but the worst of that’s passed,’ Betsy added.
‘Do you think I could have it?’ Vita asked, pouncing on the possibility. ‘I’d be so very grateful. And I’d be no trouble – no trouble at all. I don’t mind where I go, or how uncomfortable the bed is . . . I really can’t bear another night in the place I’m in.’
Jane looked at Betsy and then wrote the address down on a piece of paper. ‘Here. Tell her we sent you,’ she said, handing it over. ‘There’s no guarantees, though.’
‘Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.’ Vita didn’t know how she was ever going to find the boarding house by herself, or what she would say to Mrs Bell, but as she pressed the paper to her chest, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that she’d been given another precious lifeline.
An older woman entered the dressing room. She was wearing a pale-yellow day-dress and had dyed blonde hair, held in place by hairc
lips and covered in a pink hairnet. There was an air of faded glamour about her, and Vita wondered if she’d been a showgirl herself once. She wasn’t old, but she had a weathered air about her as she surveyed Vita from the door, her bright-red lips puckering around acigarette.
‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ she asked, as Betsy grabbed her handbag and threw in her cigarette case. The woman tutted and walked over, before confidently adjusting the turban on Jane’s head. ‘That’s better.’
‘Thank you, Wisey,’ Jane said, checking her reflection approvingly. ‘We’re going to Lyons Corner House and I’d ask you,’ she said, looking at Vita, ‘but it’s a double date.’
‘Oh no, of course, it doesn’t matter,’ she replied, amazed that they’d even think of including her.
Jane linked arms with Betsy, who made an excited face. ‘Alex and Tommy.’
‘Have a nice time,’ Wisey said with a wry look.
‘Oh, Wisey, this is our new girl, Vita,’ Jemima said, putting on her coat. Then she went off with Emma.
Vita didn’t want to be abandoned, or left alone with Wisey, who now assessed her with a suspicious eye.
‘I know all about you,’ Wisey said. ‘Nancy’s language was particularly blue. Running after Edith like that – I ask you. Edith says “Jump” and they all jump around here. Only not you, it seems.’
‘I did rather deceive poor Nancy. I’m not surprised she’s cross.’
Wisey nodded and said nothing. She started tidying up, gathering up the dresses. ‘I take it your parents don’t know you’re here?’ When Vita didn’t answer, she grunted, as if she’d expected as much. ‘Well, you’re here now. And for as long as you are, if you obey the rules, you’ll get along fine.’
‘I will try. I promise,’ Vita said, but she heard the warning note in Wisey’s voice. One bad move and she’d be out, just as fast as she’d got in.
‘How old are you? Wisey asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
‘Twenty.’
Wisey pulled a face.