‘In the long run, you’re saving money,’ Coleman said. And he was right. It just meant that Chevron found that while the girls were polite, and sometimes even flirty with their big boss, they weren’t as forthcoming as he would have liked.
Still, there was only one of them he was really interested in.
Chevron had had his eye on Shirley for years, but kept his distance after she married that north London psycho, Handsome Devers. Handsome was small time. A bully boy, flitting about doing jobs for the big boys, but no firm wanted him full time. Handsome was a nobody but he could be dangerous, and no bird was worth risking a beating for.
Coleman came over with a bottle of whisky and two glasses. He put them down in front of them, pinching the fabric on his suit trousers before sitting down.
Chevron smiled. ‘I taught you that,’ he said. ‘Bought you your first suit. Remember?’
‘Yeah,’ Coleman said, embarrassed. ‘I remember.’
Bobby would never let him forget.
Bobby Chevron found Coleman stealing from a bin in Stepney at the back of one of his knocking shops. The scrawny thirteen year old had been moved from orphanage to foster home. He was nicknamed Coleman, after the mustard, because his punch was like being hit with a hot poker. Chevron took the kid home, fed him, cleaned him up and introduced him to his mother, Molly. For the next eight years Coleman slept on a chair in Molly Chevron’s small kitchen and ran errands for Bobby. Bobby cast himself as Coleman’s hero – a father figure.
Bobby had made good on his promise that young Coleman would never go hungry or homeless again, but he was no hero. Coleman was nonetheless loyal to him, but he understood that their relationship was conditional on him staying grateful. Sometimes that was difficult. When Bobby acted like a prick, it got even harder.
Bobby lifted the glass to his fat lips, took a sip, and sighed. ‘Where’s Shirley tonight? God, I’d give that woman one if she wasn’t with that tosser Devers.’
‘They split up,’ Coleman said, looking out at the floor, always working, ever watchful for trouble.
‘Nah? Gave her one hiding too many?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine she’s a bit feisty alright. Well, you tell her I said if she ever needs protection, or him sorting out – she only has to ask.’
Coleman nodded but said nothing. Bobby wriggled with frustration. Coleman’s enigmatic, hard-man demeanour made him an ideal club boss. He had natural authority and that kept the action down. Less action meant less mess and less cleaning up. But it didn’t always make for great conversation.
‘Well, tell Shirley I was asking for her won’t you?’
‘I will,’ said Coleman.
Bobby chewed on his cigar and let his eyes wander over the club. It was different in here tonight. A new crowd. Younger, fresher. A few women punters out there, and not just the regulars’ wives. A couple of girls in short skirts with short hair were standing at the bar, like blokes. Pretty girls always kept the punters happy, waitresses or not. He liked it. Something else had changed too, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
‘These floor girls all new?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Coleman, ‘but their uniforms are.’
Bobby clicked his fingers. ‘That’s what it is.’
‘Everything all right, gentlemen?’ Kim, their youngest waitress came over with a bowl of peanuts.
‘Lovely, darling, thank you,’ said Chevron with a flourish. He could be a gentleman when he wanted to.
As she walked off he took a good look at her back and said, ‘I like them. Draws the eyes to all the right places.’
‘We had them designed especially. One offs. No other club has them.’
‘Exclusive,’ Chevron said. ‘I like it.’
‘The designer works here. She’s brought in a lot of new punters.’
Bobby perked up at the mention of business.
‘They cost a fortune?’
‘Cheaper than the bought ones, and good quality. And the girls love them.’
‘Fuck the girls, what about the punters?’
‘Look at it, Bobby,’ Coleman said, nodding out at the packed room. ‘The place is buzzing.’
‘Don’t see many of the old faces.’
As if on cue, Chevron’s old pal, Derek Malone walked past and nodded. He knew not to interrupt Bobby when he was talking business.
‘They’re all here,’ Coleman said, ‘just brought in a few new ones as well. Mixing it up a bit with Lara, and these new uniforms attract the fashion crowd in. Nobody’s complaining. Matter of fact, the books are well up on last year. It seems like everyone wants a piece of the action when it comes to fashion.’
Chevron shrugged his approval.
‘You’ve got to move with the times. I’ve always said that.’
He had never said any such thing. In fact, Chevron despised newness – men dressing like nancy boys in jeans and blouses. It was disgusting. He was pleased that Coleman was making him money but at the same time it was important that he was seen as boss. When a right-hand man got up himself and thought he was in charge… that was how trouble started.
‘Yeah.’ Coleman kept his eyes looking out at the club, into the middle distance, as if making a throwaway remark. ‘That girl Lara has got talent. A good eye. She’s hardworking. I was thinking of backing her,’ he looked over at Bobby now, right into his eyes, ‘in a shop. Starting a fashion label.’
He took a sip of his whisky. He knew Bobby wouldn’t like that. He did not like people that worked for him getting involved in other ventures. He also did not like anyone coming to him directly asking for money to back anything that was not entirely his own idea.
When Coleman said he was thinking of backing her, he knew Bobby would take it as an invitation. Coleman didn’t have the money to back her, and if he did? That meant Chevron was paying him too much.
On the other hand, Bobby was no fool when it came to business. He liked money too much to look a gift horse in the mouth.
They sat, looking at each other for twenty seconds or so. Long enough for a waitress to swerve past their booth, and for Derek Malone to nudge his drink aside to look over and smell the tension.
Finally, Bobby said, ‘Talk to me.’
Coleman was prepared. He talked about how the women that worked in the club used to buy a new dress once or twice a year. Now they were buying a new outfit every week. Styles were changing so fast and people were spending their money just keeping up. They wanted the latest trend, the shortest skirt, the coolest cut of jacket. Fashion was a growing industry but you had to know what you were doing, and this girl really did. Mary Quant, Biba – these birds were making a fortune and those arty types were usually out of bounds to businessmen like them. But now, this girl was in their club. She made her scene their scene. This was their chance to cash in. Coleman told Chevron, he really believed that this chick, Lara, had what it took to make a fashion label work.
‘Now, that,’ Chevron said, pointing his cigar at Coleman’s face when he was finished, ‘is a very good idea, my son.’
Coleman nodded. Inside he was smiling. Despite himself, part of him still craved Chevron’s approval.
‘What’s it gonna cost me?’
Coleman had the whole thing worked out and ran through the figures. There was a place available on the Kings Road, a few doors down from the club. It was the wrong end of the street for fashion retail but with the right clobber, it could become the right end. He cited kids currently flocking to a far-out boutique called Granny Takes a Trip around the corner on World’s End. Bobby would come up with the start-up money for kitting it out and stock. After two years payback (quicker if they could) Bobby would own 20 per cent of all profits as a silent partner.
‘Well, I want in,’ Bobby said, smiling a broad grimace punctuated by frantic puffs of cigar smoke. ‘But you know I can’t take that deal, Coleman.’
Coleman knew Bobby would negotiate the hell out of him so he had started
low. Apart from the fact that he wanted to help Lara, Coleman saw this as an opportunity for him too. He had been running Chevrons for ten years. Bobby spent most of his time in Spain these days. He didn’t need the club or its money any more. But, equally, Coleman knew he wouldn’t let it, or Coleman, go out of sentiment or stubbornness. At least if Coleman could carve out a business interest of his own, it might give him a better chance of breaking free. He might even earn a bit of Chevron’s respect, which, despite everything, was still important to him.
‘The way it is, Coleman, is this. I put in 100 per cent backing, I own 100 per cent of the business, I take 100 per cent of the profits.’
He was stabbing the dead cigar across the table at him. Coleman felt bile rose in his throat.
‘You get a salary and so does your…’ He was going to say ‘slag’. He felt like shouting it. SLAAAAAG! See how Coleman liked his new girlfriend being called that? Chevron took a deep breath and calmed himself down. There was no point in getting upset – this was business and there was money to be made. No sense in losing the rag. Not with Coleman. Not with his boy.
‘Your designer lady. Big salaries, Coleman. You name your price. Whatever you like. I won’t quibble.’
Coleman felt sick. Sicker than he had ever felt in his life. If he had felt trapped by Chevron before, he had tightened the chain himself. Worse, he had made Lara a part of it.
‘You know me, son. I don’t do partnerships. Never have. Never will.’
Chevron’s tone was conciliatory, almost apologetic.
‘I’m a lone wolf. I can’t help it. But, if I was ever to go into partnership with anyone, my son,’ and in the moment he said it, Bobby’s voice softened as if he believed what he was saying, ‘it would be you.’
‘Maybe we should forget the whole thing,’ Coleman said. The thought of Lara being implicated so thoroughly into Chevron’s grubby world was too much. This had been a bad idea; he should have foreseen it. He should have known better than to ask.
‘No, no, son,’ Chevron reassured him. ‘It’s a good idea. Plus, it’s good to diversify, you know? You go ahead. Set it up. Good lad.’
The partnership suggestion was forgotten. Coleman had found a way of making him more money; all was good in Chevron’s world again. He relit his cigar, poured himself another whisky, then picked up the bowl of peanuts and poured them directly into his mouth.
‘Call that sexy blonde bit over again. Tell her I need some more nuts.’
Business always gave Bobby an appetite. For everything.
11
‘Your salary, both our salaries, will be small, initially, but once Chevron’s initial investment has been paid off, we can look at restructuring.’
Lara could not believe her luck. When Coleman asked to see her in his office a few minutes ago, she thought he was going to fire her. He had been quite distant and standoffish since that evening when she collapsed and woke up in his office. She thought that maybe he was finally giving Shirley her way and getting rid of ‘Irish.’
Instead, with an inscrutable look on his face Coleman had told her that he would like to back her in starting her own boutique on the Kings Road.
‘Mr Chevron has agreed to put up some seed money to fit out the shop and buy the initial stock.’
Lara was utterly dumbfounded. It was a dream come true. Of course, she could not let Coleman see that. He was a gangster, and would surely walk all over her.
‘I’m interested,’ she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. ‘What did you have in mind?’
He told her about the premises and outlined the deal. She could have her own shop! All the work she had done over the past few months, working around the clock, her hands turning to callouses from all the sewing. She would be able to employ people to sew for her, maybe buy in some stock from abroad to supplement her own designs. She could hardly believe that this opportunity was falling into her lap. The premises they were proposing were just around the corner from Granny Takes a Trip, which was bringing the in-crowd up to World’s End in their droves. It couldn’t be more perfect. She could have got up and kissed her boss on his handsome, grumpy face over and over again. At this stage, Lara didn’t care a jot if she didn’t make a penny out of it. Just to get her designs out there and have the space to display them properly was beyond her wildest dreams. However, she couldn’t look too keen.
‘Why do I only get 30 per cent if I’m doing all the work and providing all the expertise?’
Coleman sighed and raised his eyebrows. He had worked it all out so carefully. There would have to be two sets of books, one for Chevron – which was the real story – and one for Lara – which was the pretty fiction. By forgoing all of the large salary that he would claim for himself and altering Lara’s salary from high to low – he would be able to fiddle around with the figures so that it would look like she was taking a percentage share of the profits. He would get nothing out of it at all, except the pleasure of knowing he had done this for her. Coleman had been hoping that Lara might fling her arms around him in a display of untrammelled joy and gratitude. Instead of which, she was breaking his balls.
His new partner was going to be more on the ball about that side of things than he had been banking on. Another thing he might have foreseen before he went jumping in.
‘Mr Chevron is a shrewd businessman who doesn’t give his money away easily. In addition to loaning the setup money at a percentage payback, he needs to take a cut of the profits to make it worth his while.’
When you are lying, it’s best to stick as close to the truth as possible.
‘And the same goes for me.’
Although – it’s still a lie.
Lara looked at him and, for a moment, wondered if this was a good idea. By his own admission, Coleman didn’t know anything about fashion or retail. In addition to that, his personality and demeanour were impossible to read. Was it a good idea to go into business with someone like that? Bobby Chevron, whom she had never met, was an established gangster. That meant that her business would probably be founded on criminal money. For a moment Lara wondered if it was a good idea. However, before her conscience took over, Lara’s heart lured her back to a shop front on the Kings Road, with a glittering display of her fashions in the window.
‘And when do you hope to start?’
‘The lease on the premises is ready to sign.’
When the landlord heard that Bobby Chevron was interested in leasing the premises, he shaved 20 per cent off the rent, without being asked, and had the papers drawn up immediately. You didn’t mess with Chevron, and the handsome henchman who managed the club for him drove a hard bargain.
How thrilling! Lara felt like jumping up and punching the air with delight.
‘You won’t move on the 30 per cent?’
Coleman gave another, exhausted sigh. Had Lara no idea who she was dealing with here? Was she that stupid? He knew she wasn’t. Just feisty and determined, and prepared to dig her heels in. Irish.
‘We can look at it in a year’s time if Chevron’s part of the loan is paid off.’
‘When it’s paid off,’ she reminded him. Then she smiled and reached over the desk for his hand. ‘It’s a deal. Do I call you partner?’
Coleman’s lips hesitated on the word, then he nodded and said, ‘Partner.’ She thought she saw light flicker across his dark eyes. Then, it was gone.
12
Cork, Ireland, 1966
Noreen felt quite certain she had just had an orgasm. It was not what she had been expecting from only her third time making love with John. The first time had been somewhat uncomfortable and awkward, as they had both been expecting. The second had been pleasant enough but really they were just getting into the swing of it. Then today, their third time. Well, it had been something else altogether. An orgasm. What else could that mighty, shuddering, glorious cacophony of ecstasy have been?
Noreen flopped across her fiancé’s chest, smiled broadly and laughed a little. After a minut
e she leaned on one elbow to look at him. John was looking very pleased with himself indeed. As well he might.
‘Ouch,’ he said, ‘that elbow’s sharp.’
Her elbow was the only thing about Noreen that was angular. Fully dressed, she had a broad, traditional build, which, while it didn’t suit all of the fashions of the day, made her perfectly delicious when she was naked. At least John thought so. She was boundlessly sexual, with mound after glorious mound of flesh, as white and soft as powdered sugar. Irresistible. John considered himself something of a saint to have held strong as long as he had. Nearly a whole year ago they got engaged and, in the end, they were only here on her insistence. With broad features in an honest, open face Noreen wasn’t considered the most beautiful girl in Carney but John didn’t care too much about that and neither did she. She was clever, funny and kind. She was all he ever wanted. Noreen was John’s girl. And now she always would be. She gave him a playful dig with the offending elbow and reached across him for the cigarettes.
‘Just tell me. Did I have an orgasm, John?’
‘Jesus, Noreen. Isn’t it enough for you to be doing the thing without talking about it as well. Who cares?’ Sex had been Noreen’s idea. Of course, John had wanted to do it. He was a man, after all. But sex before marriage was a risky business. She might get pregnant, too early to pass it off as post-marital.
She gasped with exaggerated horror. ‘I can’t believe you just said that. Everyone cares. Every woman is entitled to an orgasm every time she has sex.’
‘Who says? I never heard that.’
‘That’s because you never read the Yanks.’
‘Ah, that’s grand. It wasn’t Father Carney then. Phew. Thought I’d missed something there.’
That Girl Page 8