by Lulu Taylor
Rich famous people she understood – Hollywood stars, singers … but ordinary people no one had heard of? How did they do it? She suddenly became aware of the limits of her own world, how small her experience of life beyond it was. I know fuck all about stuff like this. She realised that she could either reject it and return to her life in London, determined to shut out things that awed and frightened her. Or she could accept it and try to understand it. She was too interested to ignore it, though, and she might never get a chance like this again …
At last they were able to rehearse, the music sounding muffled through the huge speakers, Haley’s voice not quite carrying properly. The routine didn’t fit the space available, and Roberto made some hasty improvisations. Immediately Coco felt nervous and upset. She knew the routines back to front. How was she supposed to relearn them now? If she forgot to count three instead of four, she could ruin everything … With the stress, she managed to make several mistakes and one of the girls swore under her breath at her, and called her fucking clumsy.
Coco wanted to punch her in the mouth but she held back. She was miserable and scowling when they were finally led to a trestle table in the marquee where sandwiches, fruit and cake were laid out for them.
‘Cheer up, love,’ Roberto whispered. She tried to smile as she loaded her plate with chicken sandwiches but inside she was furious at the way things were turning out. It was going to be a disaster, that was certain, and she was terrified she was going to mess it up.
In the afternoon, the dancers were banned from the main marquees. The workmen had finished and now the decorators and caterers had moved in in force. The girls were allowed to go for a walk and Coco went off on her own, trying to get on top of her frustration.
‘Fucking hell,’ she whispered to herself, her hands stuffed deep into her pockets as she walked across the cool green grass of the lawn. The only sounds were birdsong from the trees and the distant buzz of a tractor or something, working away in a field nearby. It was beautiful in a way she’d never seen before, and yet she was miserable.
I’ve got to get on top of this before tonight, she told herself sternly. I’ve got to sparkle tonight. I don’t know why. I just do.
*
They had to be out of sight by seven o’clock. At the front of the house, valets were preparing to take the guests’ cars as they arrived. The waiters and waitresses, immaculate in their black-and-white uniforms, were in position, ready to carry out their duties. Jugs of cocktails were mixed and champagne was on ice.
On her way backstage Coco saw a woman walking around, clearly checking everything was in place and as it should be. The party planners were following behind in a nervous cluster, like chickens following a mother hen. The woman, in a plain dark suit, was regarding everything with an eagle eye and giving orders for things she wanted changed, but so quietly and calmly that it was obvious she had to be important.
Birthday boy’s wife? Coco wondered, interested. She’d imagined someone a bit flashier, with more diamonds and better shoes.
Then she heard the woman say, ‘I don’t have to tell you that this has to be perfect. Mr Dangerfield expects nothing less, do you understand? Failure will not be tolerated.’
Sounds like a charming bloke, thought Coco, then Roberto called them all backstage and she decided to start on her make-up. They weren’t due on until ten or so. The dancers were the after-dinner entertainment, to be enjoyed while the guests were eating their pudding, so there was plenty of time to do her face and hair, although space in front of the mirror was at premium and Haley was claiming most of it as her right. Coco tried to put her hair in curlers so that she could create glossy forties-style waves, but Haley shooed her out of the mirror space.
‘I’m doing my eyelashes!’ she declared grandly, and shot a nasty look at Coco. ‘People aren’t going to be bothered about you, but they will be looking at the singer!’
‘Really?’ Coco said coolly, rolling a platinum lock around a Velcro curler. ‘Don’t be too sure, love. You must be thirty if you’re a day, and you look it.’
Haley looked outraged but, before she could think of a reply, Coco had deftly tucked her curler up and walked off, displaying her excellent figure to its best advantage in her skimpy bra and knickers. She’d already almost caused waiters to drop their trays by wandering about in her underwear, totally unselfconscious.
‘Hey, you’re not in the club now,’ Roberto muttered, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her back to the dressing area. ‘Some people ain’t used to it. And what’s this about you upsetting Haley?’
‘She’s a silly bitch. Thinks she’s a superstar.’ Coco scowled.
‘Yeah, well … she is the singer so let’s give her a break.’
‘She can give me a fuckin’ break,’ Coco said indignantly. ‘She’s been in front of that mirror for hours and we all have to share. Stuck-up cow.’
‘Coco,’ Roberto said warningly, ‘no fireworks tonight. Promise?’
She eyed him sulkily. The bad mood that had been building all day was threatening to explode. She bit her tongue. ‘OK.’
‘Good. Now go and put some clothes on, for Christ’s sake.’
*
She heard the buzz of voices as the guests arrived. They would spend an hour or two in the first marquee, champagne, canapés and cocktails served as they mingled. No doubt the hosts were there, greeting their guests, moving among them, accepting birthday greetings and compliments on the lavish party. Coco peeked through the passageway and caught glimpses of men in dinner suits and bow ties, and women in long gowns, jewels sparkling at their throats. Then she was flapped away by party planners who were now running the operation out of sight, flitting around and whispering frantically into their headsets.
At eight-thirty, the noise grew louder as dinner was announced and the throng made its way into the main marquee. Coco’s nerves were coming back to life with a vengeance. She felt unable to eat anything from the table laid with food for the girls, and longed for a cigarette to calm her anxiety. Her fingers felt shaky and her stomach churned with apprehension and fear. She went back to the mirrors and reapplied her red lipstick. She was in her sexy soldier-girl’s uniform – a short khaki shirtdress with military-style pockets and a peaked cap, along with towering black platform heels.
‘Christ,’ she muttered to her reflection. ‘I’d better pull this off.’
The buzz from the dining room grew louder as the meal progressed, helped along by numerous bottles of wine. Coco watched the waiters take out trays laden with plates of exquisite food. When the dirty plates began coming back from the dining room in huge stacks on the waiters’ arms, Coco began to feel truly sick. In a moment, pudding would start going out, and then it would almost be time. Everyone looked nervous. Even Haley looked pale and had beads of sweat breaking out across her upper lip and forehead, which she had to keep blotting away.
Then suddenly Roberto was there, herding them all towards the stage, reminding them where the costume changes and props were, and running through the new steps they’d all agreed.
The noise in the dining room subsided as someone stood up and began to make a speech. The audience roared with appreciative laughter at his jokes, and clapped enthusiastically when he made a good point. The girls fell into line for the first dance. The speaker announced, ‘And now … a very special, very spicy surprise! I’m telling you – these girls are amazing! Ladies and gentlemen – enjoy the show.’
The opening bars of the music sounded, loud and clear over the sound system. Coco took a deep breath, smiled broadly and followed the others as they ran out on stage to take their places and begin.
It went so amazingly quickly. At the same time as she was remembering her steps and concentrating on what she had to do, she was also taking in the room and the people in it. The marquee had been totally transformed from the chaos of the morning. Glittering chandeliers hung from the ruched ceiling and vast candelabras glowed softly on the tables where there was fine linen, china and candlelight
glinting off silver and crystal. Waiting staff lined the walls. A cocktail bar glowed at the back of the marquee. Around the tables sat sleek and glossy men and women, well fed and watered, leaning back to enjoy the show.
What a load of old men! Coco thought to herself as she noted grey head after grey head, and paunch after paunch. They seemed to be paying close attention to the long legs and billowing bosoms on display. They’re the same everywhere – rich and poor. It’s not so different from the club – except these guys have a million times more cash than my usual audience.
But who knew who was out there, watching?
She put even more effort into her shimmies and her smile. The routine came naturally and she remembered all the changes without a hitch. Her confidence began to grow and she started to enjoy herself.
‘Well done!’ hissed Roberto as they came backstage to do their quick change into the tuxedos. ‘Keep it up, ladies!’
Haley was crooning through her solo as the girls changed. They were barely into their hot pants and tailcoats and were still picking up their canes when the music changed and it was time to dash back out again to the area in front of the stage, to pull off their fast-moving tap routine. It was hard to see much of the audience with the bright spotlights in her eyes, but Coco did her best. The men she could see were appreciative of the girls, but some of the women looked distinctly stony-faced.
Who cares? We’re gorgeous and young. They’ve had their chance. Now it’s our turn. And she put even more bounce into her dancing, flashing her long slim legs as sexily as she dared. If they only knew where I usually display my thighs … she thought, laughing inwardly. Wonder if any of these old gits want to shove a tenner down my pants?
Then she was heading off stage again, ready to change for the finale. Haley was there too, just sliding into her black dress for the final number.
‘You! How long have we got?’ she demanded as Coco came up to get her dress.
‘Dunno. Three minutes? It’s the instrumental now,’ Coco said with a shrug, wriggling out of her hot pants. This was the moment she’d been looking forward to. The other girls were doing their own quick changes, each lost in her own world.
‘God, I’ve got to have a piss!’ said Haley, her small pointed face worried below the dark pixie haircut.
‘There’s the toilet,’ Coco said. ‘Just behind that curtain. Go now. You’ve got time.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yeah, if you go right now. I’ll help you.’ Coco lifted the curtain and went over to the door of the temporary lavatory and opened it for her. As she did so, a wicked thought occurred to her. Could I? It’s pretty nasty but fucking hell, she’s asked for it … Besides, I’ll never get another chance like this. She beckoned to the other girl to duck behind the curtain after her. Haley hesitated. ‘Hurry up! If you’re quick, you’ll have plenty of time.’
Haley dashed forward into the cubicle and Coco pushed the door closed behind her. It took her barely half a second to decide she was going to do it. She grabbed the fire extinguisher from next to the cubicle, dragged it down and wedged it so that the door could not be pushed open. Satisfied it would not move, she ducked back under the curtain and pulled it shut. It would muffle any noise from the toilet, she was sure of that.
Then she pulled on the beautiful red dress, zipping up the side as she marched up to Roberto. ‘Haley’s sick. She’s throwing up. She can’t go on.’
His mouth dropped open in horror and he stared at her, speechless.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll do it. I know the words, I know Haley’s moves. It won’t matter if there’s one dancer less on the floor.’
‘B-b-b-but – can you sing? I mean, properly?’
Coco flashed him a smile, tossed her head so that her platinum hair swished over her bare shoulders and said, ‘We’ll find out, won’t we?’
There wasn’t time to be frightened. Before she was really aware of what was happening, she was up on the stage, striking a pose in her shimmering sequins. She knew that she must look amazing in the spotlights, her full breasts pillowing out above her low-cut bodice, her white hair glowing and one long thigh emerging from the split skirt.
Good thing I watched how Haley did it, she thought. But she had also listened to Roberto and had made it her business to watch some Rita Hayworth movies. In one, there had been a spectacular routine where Rita had wowed an audience of glamorous nightclub goers while she danced and sang up a sexy storm. That’s me. I’m Rita tonight. I’m Marilyn. I’m Madonna. I’m all of them. She knew she could do it.
The music started up. Exhilaration coursed through her. She threw open her arms, jiggled her hips, opened her mouth and began to sing.
28
‘OH, GOD, IT’S going to be a disaster, a horrible disaster,’ groaned Alan, his head in his hands. They were sitting at his coffee table surrounded by paper covered with the hotel’s financial details. ‘Why the hell do they put me through this? The last directors’ meeting was so terrible, I’m still having nightmares about it. I was sure they were going to fire me.’
Daisy put a comforting hand on his arm. ‘Come on, Alan, it’ll be fine. I’m here to help you. Besides, things are looking much better than they were.’
‘You’re right.’ He looked up but still appeared gloomy. ‘We’ve you to thank for that, Daphne, I know. You’ve tidied things up wonderfully and there’s no doubt that the figures are better than they used to be.’ He leaned over and picked up one of the spreadsheets. ‘But bookings are down. There’s no other way to look at it. And if they don’t decide to sack me, they might close the hotel anyway and put us all out of work.’
‘Is that likely?’ said Daisy, aghast at the idea. ‘I thought we did good business? We’re in a prime location in the city centre, we always seem to be well booked.’
Alan looked even more miserable. ‘There’s so much competition. And we don’t get enough tourist trade, or enough business trade either. We’re too quiet in the week. We’ve not had the function business lately either, with everyone cutting back in the recession. Doom – doom and despair, Daffers, I’m afraid that’s the only conclusion.’
Daisy laughed. ‘Don’t be so pessimistic. I’m sure that by the time the directors come in next week, we’ll have a couple of surprises up our sleeve.’
She had been at the Excalibur for six months now, and had gradually made herself indispensable. It had started with volunteering to help Alan after her chambermaiding duties were over. He didn’t seem to think it odd that she didn’t want to be paid for the extra work, but he was that sort of man: he didn’t examine anything too deeply. Daisy had become his right-hand woman, much to the relief of Muriel who was no good at dealing with Alan’s muddle and hated being asked. Slowly, the office became tidier and more organised. Systems were put into place so that invoices were dealt with properly, and Daisy used everything her diploma had taught her about cost control, purchasing, cashiering and financial management to make everything flow better and more efficiently. She overhauled staff rotas and worked out that if she got rid of a couple of extraneous – and unreliable – members of staff, she could give a rise to those who remained. This made her very popular. They all knew that life at the Excalibur had improved since she’d arrived. There weren’t quite so many crises, or irate guests, or stopped deliveries, and it was down to her.
Alan was overjoyed. Within a couple of months, he’d decided that she could drop her chambermaiding altogether (which had been Daisy’s intention, especially when she reorganised the rotas, freeing herself up from the back-breaking and boring work of cleaning the rooms) and work full-time in his office, with a pay rise that she was able to fund from the savings they were making.
‘Well done, Daphne!’ he’d say. ‘What a magnificent team we are!’
Daisy would laugh and agree. Alan’s state of constant chaos was often frustrating but she knew that having him as a boss was a gift – his incompetence meant that she was able to learn a tremendous amount on the job.
And often, when Alan had gone home, she would stay on in the empty office, accessing his computer and roaming through the company system, discovering all she could about the Excalibur and her owners, a property company called Craven Dalziel & Co.
When she wasn’t researching the hotel and the company that owned it in the quiet of the deserted office, she was at home, with business books she’d borrowed from the local library, finding out how to decipher what she’d learned and how to apply her new knowledge. It helped that Daddy had given her a solid grounding in the language of business: she understood profits, losses, turnover and net gains. She had a grasp of cash-flow projections and break-even analyses – but it was all theoretical. She had never had to apply her loosely gained knowledge, and that was why she was working as hard as possible to understand how to turn theory into reality.
‘Listen, Alan,’ she said now, feeling that the moment was ripe to start revealing some of her plans. ‘I’ve had a few ideas for what we can do to impress the directors. Would you like to hear them?’
He sat up eagerly, clasping his hands together as if in supplication. ‘Of course I would! I knew you’d come through for me – I bet you’re going to save my bacon. It was my lucky day when you walked through the door, Daphne, it really was. Fire away – I’m all ears.’
Daisy didn’t get home until after nine o’clock, letting herself in wearily at the front door and going through the mail on the hall table to see if anything had arrived for her. Nothing had.
She was just about to climb the stairs to her bedsit when the bloke from the ground-floor flat popped out. ‘Hi, Daphne,’ he said. ‘You’re late back.’
‘Oh hi, Nathan. How are you?’ She smiled at him, though her heart sank. He was nice enough – a pale, eager-eyed graduate student with thinning fair hair – and he wanted to be friends with her. He probably even hoped for something more, but he was on a hiding to nothing – he was not her type.
‘Fine. Do you want to go to the pub for a drink?’
‘That’s sweet of you, Nathan, but—’