Kitty Little

by Freda Lightfoot

  They discovered the Blossom Theatre Club situated deep in the side streets and alleys of Salford. A gas light flickered indifferently over a scuffed door that looked in dire need of a fresh coat of paint. Stuck on the walls in the seedy looking foyer were several tatty posters with the strangest play titles Kitty had ever seen. “A Night With Lil,” was one. “Out on the town with Our Bessie” was another. All most puzzling and not in the least prepossessing.

  No one seemed to be around to talk to, so they bought three tickets from the girl in the booth and made their way into the smoky atmosphere of a dimly lit room. It wasn’t particularly large, more what could be classed as intimate. The stage was the usual proscenium arch with brown velvet curtains that had seen better days drawn across it. Unusually, from the centre of this came an extra platform which protruded out into the audience. Rows of plush seats were ranked at either side, beyond which were set a number of tables. It was at one of these that they sat. Archie ordered a bottle of champagne, saying they might as well at least enjoy the evening and again Kitty marvelled at his seemingly bottomless funds. Would real life ever catch up with Archie? she wondered.

  More people came in and the room gradually filled up, with about half the rows occupied and most of the tables. The bar was certainly doing good business and if anything, the atmosphere grew even more thick with smoke from the many cigars being lit up by customers. Two or three musicians wandered in and began to set out their music and various instruments, tune up and generally shuffle themselves into position.

  Kitty’s heart felt like lead. First impressions were not reassuring. Esme surely deserved better than this. It was surprising really that, despite the evidence of a good deal of money changing hands, more wasn’t spent on tidying the place up.

  Lights dimmed and went out, footlights flickered on, uncoordinated notes were heard and a lively overture struck up. As the curtains opened there was a ripple of lukewarm applause.

  Kitty gazed upon the scene in stunned amazement. Never, in all her life, had she seen anything like it. Six girls stood as still as statues, which was presumably what they were meant to be. Their arms were raised as if in supplication, their heads thrown back or tilted artistically to one side. They looked exactly like Grecian Goddesses, except that they wore no clothes. They were completely naked, their pale nude bodies glimmering like silver in the footlights.

  Charlotte muttered something about knowing all along that it was a mistake to come and Archie coolly remarked that as long as the girls didn’t move, this was considered to be a new form of Art.

  Kitty cast him a look of quelling disbelief.

  Only one girl was dressed. Wearing a flowing gold cape over a silver satin gown she knelt centre stage, head bent, long fair hair falling forward so that it swept the bare boards.

  As the music gradually slowed and changed its beat, she rose from her crouched position, lifted one arm and flung back the hair to reveal eyes like bruises in a painted face, scarlet lips that smiled bewitchingly at her audience. She moved forward onto the projecting rostrum and began to dance. Stunningly graceful, bewitchingly rhythmic, the dance was utterly and erotically sensual. And as she moved, the girl unclipped and discarded the cape. Next, she began to slip the gown from her shoulders. Ribbons were untied, hooks unpinned, silken layers peeled away one by one, a garter tossed into the cheering audience, followed by a sheer silk stocking. Kitty found, to her complete shock and horror that she was watching a young girl disrobe in public, before her very eyes. Worse, she’d finally discovered the answer to the question which had haunted her for so long. She now knew exactly what had become of her dear friend.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ‘How can you do this? How can you sink so low?’ Kitty’s instincts were to gather Esme in her arms. But this woman seated before the fly-specked mirror bore no resemblance to her dearest friend. This woman’s face was hard-edged and brittle, with no sign of emotion or vulnerability. This woman was a stranger.

  Esme reached for another costume, bright orange, liberally trimmed with feathers and even more tawdry close to, than the one she had so beguilingly taken off moments before on stage. Slipping it on she began to fasten up hooks and dozens of tiny glass buttons. No one came to assist her, so Kitty got up to help, only to be brusquely informed that she wasn’t needed, thank you very much.

  ‘We can’t all make it big you know. We can’t all become the glorious Charlotte or be the indomitable Kitty Little, Nightingale of Flanders. Oh yes, I’ve heard about your success overseas. Bully for you.’

  ‘But this?’ Kitty lifted her hands to indicate the stiflingly small dressing room, filled with what seemed like dozens of girls in various stages of undress, then let them fall to her sides again in despair. Kitty turned to Charlotte. ‘For goodness sake, you say something. Talk some sense into her.’

  It was the interval and Archie had remained in the wings back stage, no doubt on his third cigarette by this time, while the two girls attempted to talk some sense into their friend. They weren’t making much headway. But then most of the effort had come from Kitty. Charlotte sat with a handkerchief soaked in Eau De Cologne pressed to her nose, as if she had never in her entire life endured such conditions. Now she remarked that really Esme had only herself to blame. ‘You always suffered from low esteem my dear, which is pretty stupid. If you don’t respect yourself, who else will, that’s what I say.’

  Kitty could not fault the argument, but the satisfied manner in which Charlotte delivered these words, somehow left a nasty taste in her mouth.

  ‘And where were you with your damned advice when I asked for it?’ Esme said, not attempting to disguise the bitterness in her tone.

  Kitty picked up on this instantly. ‘When did you ask for advice? Was it of Charlotte?’

  ‘Yes, it was of Charlotte. She preferred to ignore me. Too busy playing Lady Bountiful.’

  Kitty felt weak with exasperation. ‘Drat the pair of you. You, Esme for never answering my letters, of which I wrote dozens, and you, Charlotte, for not telling me that you’d had another letter from Esme.’

  Charlotte shrugged elegantly. ‘What could you have done? You were in France for heaven’s sake. And if she stays in this rat hole, it must be because she enjoys the work.’ She spoke as if Esme wasn’t even present, then she turned to her and asked,’ Do you offer other services? More lucrative ones, shall we say?’

  Esme’s face became ashen while Kitty leapt to her feet in a fury. ‘That’s enough, Charlotte. If you can’t say anything useful...’

  ‘…I should take my leave. I’m most happy to do so. It is really no concern of mine how Esme chooses to disport herself. Its only sex, after all, of which apparently, she is an expert.’ Charlotte rose gracefully to her feet, aware that as she pushed her way through the crowded room, several pairs of envious eyes swivelled to watch her go. At the door she paused, smiling back at them all with the superiority of knowing that she could pamper her body with pure silk and genuine furs, not crepe de chine and rabbit. ‘As a vicar’s daughter, you should try wearing a dog collar or cassock, that would really turn your customers on.’ Then she swept out and, as usual, her exit was superb.

  Esme actually laughed. ‘Good old Charlotte. She doesn’t change, does she?’

  ‘Esme, love, please come home with me. You can stay at Laburnum House. Everyone’s there and would love to welcome you back. We’re working on a Benefit Night, for the wounded soldiers. We’ll give that a short run this summer, have a bit of a rest then head back to France come September. Please join us.’

  ‘And get myself blown to smithereens? No thanks.’

  ‘But you cant stay here. I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’ve told you. Archie is the only good thing that has ever happened to me. Without him, I have nothing. So what does it matter where I work, or what I do?’

  ‘What about our friendship? Does that count for nothing?’

  For a second the old Esme was visible behind the tears that welled in t
he pale grey eyes. But before she was able to respond, a booming voice came out of nowhere, making everyone jump and the room to fall silent.

  ‘Esme! Why the hell aren’t you on stage? One minute to your number. Fifty seconds for the rest of you.’ The man was massive with a shiny bald head and hairy chin, about as wide as he was tall and seeming to fill the tiny room. Like a huge block of granite half filling the doorway, he clearly had no intention of moving as the girls squeezed past him one by one to get to their places on stage. And as each struggled through the impossibly small gap between his stomach and the door jamb, his hands would slide over their thighs, squeeze their rump or pat their breasts. Kitty found herself holding her breath along with them, and sharing their relief whenever they wriggled free of his odious presence.

  ‘So that’s who you work for. Is that how it is?’

  Esme snatched up a powder puff, flicked it over her nose then tossed it aside. ‘You don’t know a damn thing about how it is. Go home Kitty. Don’t you preach to me. Just leave me alone.’ And as she swept out, the huge man surprisingly stepped politely out of her way.

  Kitty couldn’t bear to watch the rest of Esme’s performance, nor could she bring herself to leave and go home, despite both Charlotte and Archie urging her to do so. They returned resignedly to their table to order more champagne while Kitty hid her distress and embarrassment by hovering in the foyer, peeping through a crack in the door from time to time to see if the show was over. When it finally was she urged Archie to try his luck.

  ‘Persuade her to come home with us. Perhaps she’ll listen to you. You were always the one with influence, and she still adores you. Please, please try.’ She was desperate for him to get Esme on her own while the fat man was still occupied Front of House.

  Archie’s response was that there was little point in trying and Charlotte declined to get involved, yet as Kitty was so insistent, he finally gave in. ‘All right old thing. I’ll give it a shot, but you stay here with Charlotte. Let me try on my own.’

  ‘I want to come with you.’

  ‘No. You must trust me to deal with Esme. I’ll try my best, I promise.’

  ‘All right. Only do it. Please.’ Kitty would have agreed to anything.

  After he’d gone, she and Charlotte sat unspeaking for several long moments. Having had time to give much thought to the situation, Kitty finally asked, ‘Why didn’t you answer that letter she mentioned, when she asked for your advice? Why didn’t you respond to her cry for help? Or tell me at least, so that I could’ve done something.’

  Charlotte gave a brittle little laugh. ‘You would have coming rushing home from France, would you?’

  Kitty knew she couldn’t have done any such thing, nevertheless it pained her that Esme had written, asking for help and clearly getting none. ‘But why do nothing?’

  ‘Because I owe her nothing. I did explain why I had no wish to find her.’ Charlotte topped up her glass with the last dregs of champagne, her every movement declaring that she was bored sick with the whole business. ‘Esme Bield can do as she pleases so far as I’m concerned. She makes her own choices, as do we all. She doesn’t have to stay in this flea pit. She could leave. Now if she wished. She’s her own woman with a mind of her own and I’m not her nursemaid.'

  There was such a painful truth behind these harsh words that Kitty couldn’t bear to listen to them any longer. She got up and fled back stage, relieved to discover that most of the chorus girls were making their way home. Perhaps Archie would have more success than she. If only the fat man would stay away for a while longer. She put her ear to the door and began to listen.

  It was Archie’s voice she could hear. ‘I thought we might be happy but now even she doesn’t care a jot for me. Old Archie, the weak-kneed old bore. Isn’t that what you all think of me?’ Kitty heard him chuckle, as if he were trying to make light of it.

  Esme’s voice now, coming out in a strangled little croak. ‘Archie, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy. I didn’t care who with. No, that’s not true. I desperately wanted you to choose me. But when you clearly preferred Charlotte, I respected your choice. I wanted you to be happy with her. I remember your telling me that was partly the reason why you ran off with her, because you were so good together. And why would you not be? I know she’s highly strung, but Charlotte’s a lovely woman and extremely talented.’

  There came the sound of weeping, and Kitty could imagine him gazing at Esme from out of dark, soulful eyes as he mopped up her tears.

  ‘Its all too much for me,’ he moaned. ‘Charlotte’s never satisfied. ‘She’s utterly grasping, I’ve learned that much. Never stops complaining or haranguing me, and rarely lets me touch her nowadays, not unless I’m prepared to fund her excesses in this social whirlpool she’s concocted. Almost as if she’s playing a role in a dratted play, an act that I have to pay admission for. I spend my life searching for fresh funds, as you know my sweet. It’s a nightmare.’

  ‘I’m sure she does truly does care for you, in her way. She stays, doesn’t she? Oh, and I do wish she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Ah yes, but what can we do sweetie? I married her. For better for worse, for richer for poorer.’ His voice was sharp with irony.

  ‘Preferably for richer if Charlotte has any say in the matter.’ They both laughed, though there was little mirth in the sound. ‘Oh Archie. What are we going to do?’ Silence followed this pitiful cry during which, to her shame, Kitty pressed harder against the panels of the door in a desperate attempt to identify the muffled sounds within. She could make little sense of this conversation, except that Esme was still potty about him and Archie was moaning as usual. When was he going to ask her to leave, to come away with them now, tonight?

  Eventually, when she had almost given up hope, Esme’s voice again, low and breathy. ‘I love you so much Archie. I’d have nothing without you. I don’t care if you feel you must stay with Charlotte, so long as you don’t stop coming to see me. You won’t, will you? You know how much I need you. You make my life bearable. I mark your visits in my diary. They’re my red letter days.’

  Visits? Red letter days! What was she saying? Kitty could hardly believe her own ears. Had Archie known where Esme was all along?

  Archie murmured, ‘always did love you best, Esme my sweet. Cared for all three of you gels, but you were special, even though I married Charlotte.’

  Behind the door Kitty felt as if someone had kicked all the air out of her lungs. Those self-same words had been used by Archie to herself when he’d called to see her at Laburnum House. He’d actually had the nerve to proposition her. What the hell was going on? Did all this mean what she thought it meant? They said eavesdroppers never heard any good of themselves, but this was the last thing she’d expected. Kitty took a step back from the door but then, unable to resist, again pressed her ear back to the door panel.

  Archie was still talking. ‘...so that is why, my own sweet darling, my visits here make life bearable for me too. We’ll always be friends, for ever and eternity. More than friends. You know how I’ve always loved you best. But I must go soon, my angel. We can’t risk the odious Terrence finding me here.’

  ‘Oh, not yet. Not yet. Please...’

  Again there followed a prolonged silence but this time the identity of the muffled sounds were only too evident to Kitty. They were making love. She could hear Esme’s little gasps of pleasure, Archie’s grunts of intense satisfaction. Kitty did now back away, staring at the door as if she could actually see the pair through its solid surface. Then she turned and ran.

  When Archie returned to their table some ten minutes later, as coolly immaculate as ever, Kitty had composed herself and was calmly discussing with Charlotte the relative merits of blue and gold against red and cream for the new curtains and decorations they planned for the Barn Theatre, just as if she had never left her seat. Kitty was saying how this place too, looked in dire need of a lick of paint.

  ‘Though it’s got character, in its own way. If only...
’

  ‘It were in a more salubrious neighbourhood. Quite. I doubt Shakespeare would bring the crowds flocking in here, do you?’ Charlotte finished with a wry smile, and even Kitty had to chuckle.

  She glanced up as Archie approached, with a frown of anxious enquiry. ‘Well, did you get anywhere? Is she coming?’

  Archie sadly shook his head. ‘Won’t budge. Think she’s afraid of the fat guy. Mr Terrence, they call him.’

  ‘No doubt she likes the money,’ Charlotte said, draining her glass and getting to her feet. ‘Now will you take me home this instant. I’m quite worn out.’

  Kitty said, ‘I’m not coming.’

  ‘What?’

  She was adamant that she’d stay on in Manchester for one more day, in order to make further attempts to speak to Esme. Archie surprised her by arguing forcibly against the notion.

  ‘Why won’t you leave poor Esme alone?’

  ‘Because she’s my friend. We struck a bargain years ago that we’d look after each other, that we’d never give up on our friendship, no matter what. I trust she’d do the same for me, if the situation were reversed. ‘Please warn the Misses Frost for me, won’t you? I’d hate them to worry,’

  But he wouldn’t let go of the argument. Never had she seen Archie so angry. He ranted and raved at Kitty, accusing her of being stubborn and interfering, obstinate and bossy, insisting that she was wasting her time. Charlotte said that Esme had the right to mess up her life, if that was what she wished to do.

  Kitty, however, remained resolute. ‘I can at least try.’

  Archie suddenly changed tactics. ‘In that case I shall stay with you.’