by Danny Hogan
Although she had spent the best part of her adult life training her body her routine was all about her face. With expressions designed to titillate and tease she had the audience’s undivided attention. The face was her character. The supreme device for misdirection; the crowd did not even notice anything else for a moment until her dress fell to the floor. And there she was standing before them in her stockings, authentic Fifties’ knickers and the black sequinned pasties with the long tassels.
With her shoulder blades pulled back until it was almost painful, she raised her right arm and thrust her breastworks, or money makers, as she called them.
Men and women alike stood dumbstruck; in awe of a body that was built by a strong, never-say-die character and a hell of a lot of heart.
Smiling, winking, pouting, hinting, allowing a quick peek; she was more titillating than a thousand dead-eyed cover girls who would show their all for cash and a taste of the highlife.
Her right breast began to rotate as if by some unseen force, causing the tassel of the pastie to spin like a propeller.
The crowd were now roaring their approval. It didn’t matter to her anymore that this was upstairs at the Albert and not a Vegas lounge or Parisian Review. She was onstage, doing what she did.
She had been around long enough to know what routine and for how long. All too soon, her set was over.
As she skipped off, and blew a kiss, the crowd cheered and hooted. Pushing past the oncoming band, Eloise grabbed her old doctor’s bag and slipped to the toilets to change into her day clothes. She was not about to spend another second half-naked in front of this lot.
4
‘Bollocks,’ Eloise muttered as she fought to put her clothes on in the cramped cubicle. She greatly appreciated that there was a mirror in there to straighten herself out in. Posters from the Guardian newspaper plastered to the walls said it all. After what seemed like an age she went back into the venue to watch The Wrongful banging out their old chestnuts. The crowd was going mental and she knew that they were riled-up so because of her.
Hunter was thundering around the stage, all limbs and energy, shouting into the microphone. Eloise respected him; he knew how to work a crowd.
Nutters and thugs were locked in what looked like a dreadful battle on the dance floor, laughing crazily as they battered each other. A brute of a man in full sailors rig meandered about the place smashing faces and wringing necks in time with the music.
After the show Eloise chatted to a few people she knew and went downstairs to the bar to get a drink. She was joined by Hunter.
‘And this is for you,’ he said, waving around a twenty-pound note that looked like it had been minted in the Eighties judging by its wear-and-tear. Tear was the word. It was held together in the middle by a thick strip of yellowing Sellotape and smears of cocaine were visible on its surface.
Eloise could hardly believe it.
‘Oh God, is that it?’ she asked.
Hunter just looked stupid for a moment before saying, ‘What do you mean? How much do you think we get paid for doing this?’
‘Oh well,’ she said, whipping the note from his hand and looking balefully at it.
‘More where that came from if you’d like. We’re playing the Free Butt on Wednesday.’
She just looked coldly at him.
Hunter appeared bemused and hurt.
‘Look,’ she said putting a hand on his shoulder, ‘thanks for helping me out, I really appreciate it.’
‘Listen, I’m sure something will turn up, you’ve come back from worse; way worse.’
‘I know, I’m just getting tired of having to fight for things all the time is all.’
Hunter put his hand on her arm.
‘Listen, do you want to come around to mine afterwards for a drink and a talk?’
‘Thanks, but I reckon I’d be shit company again. I think I need to be alone for a little while.’
He gathered his stuff and called out to a few of his band members who were heading towards the door.
‘Listen, you need anything you give me a bell, OK,’ he shouted back to her.
Eloise nodded.
Sitting at the bar, she stared blankly at the multi-coloured collection of liquor bottles stacked on the back wall. As she spun her drink around slowly in her hand she barely noticed someone sit down next to her.
He was a man who definitely did not belong here. He wore what appeared to be a very expensive suit and had hair slicked back into a long pony-tail. He also had orange skin and a smile that had wanker written all over it. But above all, it was night time and he was wearing designer sunglasses in a dark pub.
‘Oh God!’ Eloise said, burying her face in her hands.
‘Hey, I’m not after you, well not in that way anyway.’
Eloise looked back at him; he didn’t look like a bailiff.
‘Well, what do you want then?’
‘I saw you dancing upstairs and I’d like to offer you a job.’
Eloise regarded him with suspicion. If he had been upstairs she would have noticed him all right, he would have stuck out like a Nazi at Diwali.
‘I represent Napoleon Hammerstein.’
‘That greed-headed bastard who got in the news because of his massive bonus even though the bank he was running failed?’
‘Greed-headed…’ he chuckled and straightened his already oh-so-straight hair. ‘Some people would call him an enterprising man with good negotiating skills and I must say, I don’t like hearing a woman curse. I don’t know, call me old-fashioned, but it just kind of…well it riles me, you know.’
‘Here, I’ve got one for you: fu…’
‘Whoa there cowgirl,’ he said, holding his sovereign festooned hands up. ‘Let’s not get off on the wrong foot here.’ He put his elbows on the bar and looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar. His manner was like that of someone’s dad about to bestow advice. ‘I’ve been in this game a long, long while.’ As if to prove it, he removed his sunglasses to display eyes that carried huge saggy bags and were bizarrely wrinkled compared to the rest of his crease-free orange face. He smirked and continued, ‘I know what you’re thinking…’
‘No you don’t.’
‘You’re thinking: what’s the man trying to get me into here? Should I trust him?’
‘Well you’re quarter-right actually,’ Eloise said draining her drink.
‘Oh really?’ he said, putting his sunglasses back on and grinning.
‘I was thinking what a dickhead; I shouldn’t trust him.’
His grin disappeared and his top lip shuddered. He pointed at the barman and whistled. The barman ignored him. Eloise was amused at how flustered this seemed to get the dodgy stranger. He rifled in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash held precariously together by a money clip that was in the shape of a dollar encrusted with diamonds, although it could have been diamante. He tugged a £50 note from the stack and waved it about in front of the barman who had previously been unresponsive. This seemed to do the trick as he strolled lazily over.
‘A dirty Martini and whatever the lady is having.’
‘That ain’t no lady, that’s Eloise Murphy,’ said the slack-jawed barkeep.
‘Oi!’ Eloise said.
‘I know who it is, just get the goddamned drinks.’
‘You don’t know me,’ said Eloise.
‘Oh don’t I? Born in Cork, spent your childhood in London; if you could call it a childhood. I could go into more detail than that, like…’ He leant closer to her and whispered into her ear.
She could barely breathe. For the first time in fifteen years she felt feeble.
‘Mr Hammerstein is using some of his well deserved bonus to open up a series of specialist gentlemen’s clubs around the country, starting with Brighton. He wants you to be a part of the team and he’s willing to pay very well indeed.’
‘Why me, though?’ Eloise said, distraught at the obvious quiver in her voice.
‘I think that perhaps you are m
ore in demand than you realise, young lady.’ He flashed a smile that made her skin crawl. ‘Pop by and pay Mr. Hammerstein a visit on Monday when you’ve finished selling dildos and I assure you the past will stay in the past.’ He fished about in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and produced a card. ‘Here’s the address.’ He pushed it along the bar top towards her; making sure it soaked up every bit of spilt drink as he did so. Necking his drink, he turned and walked out of the door.
Eloise picked up the damp card and noticed that it was magnolia and slightly ruffled, the lettering was gold and embossed and read:
Napoleon Hammerstein
Entrepreneur and Philanthropist
God, the pillock. There was also an address on West Street and a red shield with three hammers on it. She didn’t know what to think, all she knew was that she needed a drink. She called over the barman and asked for ‘A pint of pear cider and a gin and tonic on the side, oh, and if you ever say “that’s not a lady” when referring to me again, I’ll cut your damned balls off.’
5
Twenty minutes after Eloise had thumbed the text to Jolene May inviting her to come out for a drink, she walked into the pub.
Accompanying Jolene, to Eloise’s horror, was one of the eighteen-year-old public school dancers; a vacuous looking creature with blonde hair and fresh tattoos.
‘What the fuck’s she doing with you?’ asked Eloise as she hugged her friend.
‘Don’t worry about Lulu Mae,’ Jolene said, ‘she’s harmless. She’s new in town and Charlie wanted me to show her around.’
‘Lulu Mae? Christ!’ said Eloise.
Lulu Mae just looked at Eloise and smiled. It was an overconfident smile as if she knew something that Eloise didn’t.
‘I also wanted to meet the famous old-timer, Eloise Murphy herself,’ Lulu Mae said in an annoyingly high-pitch.
‘Do you want me to be the last person you ever meet, you little cu…’ said Eloise, lifting herself off the barstool.
‘Whoa, whoa,’ said Jolene, putting her arm out to hinder Eloise’s progress, ‘there’s no need for sillies. Anyway Murphy, you might have lost your job but there’s no need to take mine with it; Charlie will give me the boot for sure if I bring damaged merchandise back.’
Eloise got back on her chair. She didn’t like Jolene’s attitude towards the business at times. Referring to the other dancers and even herself as merchandise while kowtowing to the whims of promoters like they were their masters.
‘When I texted you, it was because I wanted a drink with a friend after my shithouse day, not for that friend to come and rub my nose in it by bringing one of the brats along with her.’ Eloise lifted her pint slowly and took a sip, then followed it up with a large gulp of gin.
‘Look, I had to kill two birds with one stone. What are we gonna do here, drink or what?’
Jolene called over the barkeep in a way that suggested she knew him intimately, and ordered a round. Lulu Mae kept on looking at Eloise, smiling. Eloise just glared back. This whole situation didn’t ring true somehow. She knew that these girls were stupid but, even so, did they really need babysitting now?
When the drinks arrived Eloise took a slug of her pint and followed it with another gulp of gin.
‘You better watch yourself,’ said Lulu Mae.
Choking on her drink, Eloise could scarcely credit what she’d just heard. It was about to get a whole lot worse.
‘That’s an awful lot of calories you’re taking in there, and you’re not dancing anymore, or getting any younger.’
Gripping the tumbler of gin Eloise went for her foe but Jolene managed to grab her hand just in time and, although she was tougher than Jolene, she was a lot smaller. Jolene just managed to get the edge on her and force her back in her seat.
‘I’ll say again Murphy; you ain’t losing me my gigs. I’ll deal with this, OK.’
Jolene tugged Lulu Mae to one side and began talking to her in hushed tones. Eloise sat on her barstool breathing heavily. Jolene’s pretences of authority shook her to the core. They had been more-or-less equals up until now and Jolene was a pushover, normally. Something had changed.
She couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly but Jolene seemed to be very stern about it.
When they came back from their mutterings Lulu Mae gently put her hand on Eloise’s arm and said, ‘I’m really sorry, OK? I’m still learning the ropes.’
‘Take your hand from me, child.’
‘Murphy, give her a break will you.’
Eloise said nothing, continuing to double-fist her drinks instead.
As drinks disappeared Eloise watched as the two nattered away about a whole load of nothing like a pair of chickens, but did not contribute herself.
The pub was beginning to empty of its clientele when Lulu Mae eventually got up to go to the toilet. Eloise leant close to Jolene and said, ‘You shouldn’t have treated me that way in front of her.’
‘What the hell’s wrong with you, Murphy? You’re getting paranoid; chill out.’
‘That skank fronted me; I was well within my rights to stave her head in off the fucking floor.’
Jolene brought her drink up to her lips and rolled her eyes.
‘Look, she saw you do exactly that to her mate outside the Engine Rooms earlier…’
‘Want some revenge does she?’ asked Eloise ,smacking the bar.
‘Don’t be silly, like I said she saw you put their poor dumb bitch of a friend in hospital for a couple of weeks. A twig like that would know full well she doesn’t stand a chance.’ Jolene seemed to be looking at herself in the mirror before turning to Eloise. ‘We’ve known each other for ever, haven’t we? Do you think I’d bring someone down here if I thought for one second they would try it on?’
Eloise pondered Jolene’s words and behaviour.
‘Look,’ began Jolene, ‘how about we go to a late night spot and get wasted. Forget all this nonsense, eh? What do you say?’
‘Is that bitch coming, too?’
‘Well, yes…’
Eloise stood up abruptly, causing the feet of the barstool to scrape across the floor behind her. ‘You’re right, I have known you for a long time; long enough to know when there’s something up.’
Jolene, normally tediously confident in her manner, looked a little rattled.
‘Either you come clean with me now or I’m out the door.’
‘I really don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’
With that, Eloise grabbed her doctor’s bag and stormed out of the pub, bowling some hapless drunkard out the way as she went.
The air was cool and dry as she stood in Trafalgar Street for a moment, half expecting her friend to come out after and explain herself, but she didn’t.
A group of lads walked past her, drunk out of their heads and roaring nonsense down the street and she tried to remember the last time she had been carefree. She couldn’t.
The next thing Eloise knew, the sound of breaking glass sang out and she found herself face down on the floor. She lifted her head and saw the lads who had previously been in the grips of their simple amusements were looking shocked. She turned the other way and was met by the sight of a boot hurtling towards her. Her reactions were quick and she turned her face away so that the boot smacked off the side of her cranium. She heard what she was sure was a feminine vocalisation but she could not tell exactly what it was or by whom it was made.
By the time she gathered her senses she hauled herself up to a sitting position and heard the sound of boots thundering around the corner.
Eloise got up but she was dazed and nearly fell back down again. Running around the corner she saw no one, just an eerily empty street which felt like there was a presence but she couldn’t see anybody.
Her head hurt and she felt a warm stickiness in her hair. Confused, she reached up and rubbed the back of her head and when she brought her hand back down she saw blood in her palm.
Eloise stood there for a while glaring at
the blood, which was now dripping between her fingers. Her hands shook as she formed a fist. Somebody was going to pay.
She stormed back into the pub pushing past the bouncer, who was turfing people out.
Neither Jolene nor her charge was anywhere to be seen.
6
It was nearly seven on Monday evening when Eloise finished her godforsaken day job of “selling dildos”, as the man had put it on Saturday night.
She headed down to the address indicated on the business card, somewhere down West Street practically on the seafront. She actually knew it well. It had a big cinema on one corner.
The door was closed and the bar looked empty but as she walked up a man in a black shirt and trousers opened the door and pulled aside a red velveteen chord.
He ushered her in and she found herself in a sumptuous environment. The carpets were plush and red and the décor was a tasteful mix of new and vintage. Large seating booths were placed around gleaming tables and the mahogany bar must have been around thirty-foot long.
‘Go through the door at the back there and up the stairs,’ began the man that let her in, ‘you’ll find yourself in a corridor lined with doors. Knock on the last door, the one that’ll be facing you; Mr. Hammerstein is waiting.’
As Eloise went to follow the man’s instructions he called back: ‘Oh, Miss. Do not go into any of the other doors.’
She didn’t answer; she was not the type to make promises she couldn’t keep.
The corridor had the same red carpet that was in the bar area and the same colour of wallpaper. The doors were all dark brown wood. The silence was overbearing and there was an ominous and claustrophobic feel to the place.
As she walked past the doors she felt strangely nervous, butterflies in her stomach began to come to life. She had to stop for a second and get a grip of herself to continue on her way towards the last door that looked further away than she was sure it actually was.