‘I’ll risk it,’ Caddy said, to my relief. ‘Can you please piss off?’
They gave up, and without a further word of protest headed to the bar to look for other prey. We looked at each other and giggled.
‘I went to the club to practise this afternoon,’ I said. ‘I met this hulking great bloke called Dylan. Wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of him.’
‘Oh, Dylan’s alright,’ she said. ‘He’s pretty decent once you get to know him.’
‘Really?’ I was remembering the one-sided telephone conversation – something about someone getting a kicking.
‘Yeah. At least he sticks to the rules. The others, and most of the doormen – they take back-handers from the foreign girls. They turn a blind eye to things in the VIP suite – and they keep an eye out for the regulars, give the girls a nod so they don’t miss out.’
‘Don’t they do that anyway?’
‘Not unless you give them twenty quid every night.’
‘Is it worth it? Surely we can keep an eye out for our own regulars?’
‘It can give you a boost if you need more cash one month,’ she said. ‘And it’s not just your regulars. They know who the big spenders are. When the club’s busy, if you get stuck talking to someone and you don’t notice who’s come in… or they come over and let you know who’s just arrived, who’s in the cloakroom before any of the other girls see. Gives you a bit of an advantage.’
It was looking more and more like sales and less like a girls’ night out.
‘But Dylan doesn’t do that?’
‘Not that I’ve ever seen. That’s why the foreign girls all steer clear of him. Plus he doesn’t serve up drugs to them; they have to go to Gray for that.’
‘Gray’s a drug dealer?’
She laughed at me. ‘You’re so funny! No, he’s not really a dealer. He just gets stuff for you if you need it. They don’t take on girls who’ve got a serious habit, but if you need a bit of a hit to put the sparkle back in your eyes Gray is the man to ask.’
‘I like Dylan a bit more now,’ I said.
Caddy went to the bar and got us some more drinks, although it didn’t look as though she’d had to pay for them, judging by the sweet little flirtatious chat with the barman and the wiggle as she walked back to our table.
‘He’s a cutie, that guy behind the bar,’ she said to me.
‘I guess he’s fair game,’ I said, ‘since he’s not a customer.’
‘You think I should give him my number?’ she asked, sipping her drink.
‘Why not?’
She didn’t answer, just glanced back across the room to where the barman was still watching. She looked sad for a moment, thoughtful.
‘You’ve got someone,’ I said.
‘No,’ she said, quickly. ‘But it’s not easy to keep a relationship going with our line of work. Ask Chanelle.’
‘How did you get into dancing?’ I asked then, curious.
‘I started doing it to earn some extra cash,’ she said. ‘I was waitressing at the weekend; one of the girls there started and after a couple of weeks she left the restaurant. I bumped into her in a bar a few weeks later; she was raving about it and going on about how much money she was making. She made it sound so easy.’
‘So you started at the Barclay?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I started working in a strip pub. Very different sort of place from the Barclay. Still good fun, just not quite so – refined. And you can earn good money because there isn’t a house fee. You only pay commission to the bar.’
The barman was still looking. Caddy was ignoring him now.
‘Anyway, did you seriously turn up at the Barclay to practise? What did Dylan say?’
‘He was kind of giving me tips,’ I said.
Caddy laughed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. ‘I bet he thought all his Christmases had come at once. Did you strip for him?’
‘No!’ I said, shocked. ‘I just did a bit on the pole. I wanted to try keeping my shoes on.’
‘And?’
‘I’ll get there. Feels weird, especially inverting. The shoes make my legs feel heavy.’
I thought back a few hours: Dylan sitting by the side of the stage, watching me. His face expressionless, waiting for me to hurry up and finish so he could get back to whatever business he’d been dealing with before I’d rung the doorbell. ‘What does he actually do?’
‘Who?’
‘Dylan. Is he a doorman?’
‘No. He helps them out sometimes when the club’s busy – they all do, if they have to. Dylan works for Fitz, not for the club. He’s been with Fitz for years.’
‘Doing what, exactly?’
Caddy shrugged, smiling at the barman again in preparation for getting us another round. ‘I guess he’s like Fitz’s enforcer.’
Twelve
After I left Joanna, I went up to the office to check my mailbox. The rain had passed over and the sun was shining. It was almost warm.
Cam was in his office, feet up on the desk, talking to Maureen. She was standing in the doorway with her arms folded. They had conversations like this on a regular basis: Maureen would be complaining about something, Cameron would placate her and do nothing, and so things went on as normal.
‘…all I’m saying is, you should be doing something about it, not just sitting there.’
‘And, as I said, I’ll get some quotes. I can’t do it overnight.’
I turned the key in the lock of the mailbox and Maureen noticed me for the first time.
‘Ah, Genevieve! You think we need locking gates, don’t you?’
‘Um – well, I…’
‘After what happened. We could all end up murdered in our beds, like that poor girl.’
‘She wasn’t murdered in a bed,’ Cameron said helpfully.
My mailbox was full of junk as usual – free newspapers and pizza adverts – even though I had a sign on my box which expressly requested post only. I sifted through them in case something important had slipped in.
‘I don’t see what the problem is,’ Maureen said, her voice rising. ‘Surely it’s a straightforward thing to do. Lord knows we pay enough to live here; the least you can do is make sure we have some degree of security. And that man, last night! Honestly, it’s the final straw…’
‘What man?’ I asked.
Maureen turned to me again. ‘Pat saw a man hanging around in the car park yesterday evening. She called the police, but by the time they got here it was pitch black; there was no sign of him.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘She didn’t get a good look. He was standing by the side of the office, just out there, skulking around. Obviously up to no good.’
‘Probably one of those journalists,’ Cameron offered.
‘It doesn’t matter who he was!’ Maureen said. ‘It’s that he was there at all, and he had no business to be. If we had proper gates, it wouldn’t have happened!’
‘What did the police say?’ I asked. ‘Did they have a look around?’
‘Well, no, I don’t think they did. They were here for about twenty minutes. Then they said they would keep an eye on the place overnight. Not good enough, really, but of course what can they do?’
‘I’ve fixed the lights again,’ Cameron said, ‘and I’ll ask for some quotes for the gates. These things aren’t cheap, you know.’
‘You can’t put a price on safety,’ Maureen said.
Cameron’s mobile phone rang then and I thought that would be the end of the discussion, but Maureen showed no signs of moving. While he spoke to someone on the other end of the line about booking the crane for a hull inspection, Maureen turned her attention to me.
‘We should put some sort of petition together,’ she said.
‘A petition? To Cameron?’
‘To make him get some proper gates!’
I left them to it then, despite Cameron flashing me a pleading look. As I locked my mailbox again he swivelled in his chair to face the
wall.
On the pontoon Oswald the cat was enjoying the sunshine, stretched out with the end of his tail flicking. His eyes were half-closed but I could tell he was watching the young gull sitting on the roof of the Scarisbrick Jean. When I approached, the gull flew off and Oswald jumped up and wound himself around my legs, the way he always did whenever anyone came near. I scratched the top of his head.
‘Hello, old mate,’ I said. ‘Is it nearly dinnertime?’
He followed me to the Revenge and sat at the bottom of the gangplank, twisting to lick his shoulderblade.
The cabin was chilly, despite the sun. I put the kettle on the burner and turned on the radio for some company.
Pat had seen a man outside yesterday evening, near the office. Could it have been Dylan? Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to speak when he called me last night. Maybe he had been outside, waiting for the right moment to come to the boat, and instead Pat had called the police and he’d had to go away.
I didn’t go back to the Barclay to practise again. I got used to working there, just as I got used to walking and dancing in the heels. I learned the best and quickest ways to make money, too. And I learned that being a good pole dancer opened up opportunities to maximise my income.
For a start, I realised pretty quickly that I was one of the best dancers on the pole. Caddy was good, too, but she was better at the lap dances. A lot of the girls had never bothered to learn to pole dance properly, and mostly what they did was walk around the pole, snake against it and do an occasional easy spin.
The real money was to be made on lap dances and in the VIP area, so for most of the girls dancing around the pole was a waste of time, tolerated only because they could spot their regulars from the stage and head straight for them as soon as they finished.
But the pole was the best part of it for me, and, although some of the girls thought I was mad, I got more adventurous as my confidence grew. My pole routines attracted more attention and as a result I found it easier to approach people afterwards. I was getting better at the lap dances, but I was still no better than average. So I increased my chances of getting private dances by impressing them on the pole.
Two weeks after my afternoon practice session, I saw Dylan again in the club. I was doing my first pole dance of the evening, warming up with some swings and wriggles, waiting for the beat to kick in so I could climb and spin, all the while looking out for the potentially lucrative customers. And there he was – sitting at the back in one of the VIP booths. I saw him first because he was watching me, and then I realised he was sitting with Fitz, who was busy talking to another guy to his right – the bloke with the tattoo on his neck who had let me in when I’d come for the audition. With them were several other men, on the table a bottle of vodka and several ice buckets holding half empty bottles of champagne.
I hadn’t seen Fitz since my first visit to the club.
I got a ripple of applause and a few cheers when I climbed the pole and inverted – I think they all expected me to fall off, to be honest – and then did an inverted splits. They loved that one. I was keeping my eye out for one man in particular, someone I’d met here last Friday. Karim had ended up spending the rest of the evening with me in the VIP area, telling me about his business and buying me bottles of champagne and not noticing that he was drinking most of it. At the end of the evening he’d promised to come back.
By the time the music slowed and I went into my second dance, the one where the clothes came off, Fitz and the other guys were paying attention too. I saw Dylan say something to Fitz, who was nodding.
At one of the other VIP booths, a group of guys in suits were applauding me enthusiastically, much to the disgust of two of the girls who were sitting with them. I blew them a kiss, and when the song finished I grabbed my clothes and scooted off to get dressed again.
When I came out a few moments later one of the girls had given up and moved on to try her luck at the bar. I sauntered past Fitz and Dylan, feeling their eyes on me, and put a hand on the shoulder of the nearest, drunkest of the group. ‘Hi, guys,’ I said, ‘are you having fun?’
‘You’re good at dancing,’ one of them said. He was wearing a decent suit. I was getting better at spotting them.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘May I join you?’
I sat down in between two of them. Across the table, another girl, Crystal, was busy chatting up two of the younger guys, laughing at them and swigging down the champagne.
One of them poured me the last of their bottle of champagne, and another bottle was ordered – and I sipped mine while topping up their glasses, pretending to drink more than I was. Crystal wasn’t so cautious. Some of the girls knocked it back then did a couple of lines of coke to sober themselves up every now and again. I aimed not to get drunk in the first place.
‘Come and have a dance,’ I heard her saying to one of the guys.
‘I’ve got no money left,’ he protested.
‘You’re a fibber, Jason, I just saw your wallet! You’ve got cards.’
He made a noise of weak protest, but she was winning him over.
‘You can get tokens at the bar. Come on – you know I’m the best,’ she said, with the good grace to give me a wink.
‘We should have a competition,’ I said to the table in general. ‘Crystal and Viva, you decide the winner!’
We took them off to the private area one after the other and Crystal and I danced side by side for each of them in turn. A nice little earner, and an hour or so later we’d depleted their credit cards and the score – thankfully – was determined to be a dead heat.
I got a glass of iced water from the bar and drank it quickly, scanning the room for my next target. Still no sign of Karim.
Dylan appeared beside me, his bulk putting me in shadow. ‘Fitz wants a word.’
I followed him over to the booth. Two other men had joined the group, and Caddy was there too, sitting on Fitz’s right side and sipping champagne. She gave me a smile and a wink.
‘Viva! Come and join us,’ Fitz called when he saw me, patting the seat next to him. ‘Guys, this is the lovely Viva. She’s just been here a couple of weeks.’
Fitz poured me a glass of champagne while I said hello to them all. I wondered if any of them were Caddy’s regulars. I didn’t want to tread on her toes.
‘So, are you enjoying yourself, Viva?’ Fitz asked.
‘Oh, definitely,’ I said. ‘It’s like having a brilliant night out with your mates every week.’
I wasn’t exaggerating. I’d had a laugh every night I’d worked so far, particularly when I was working with Caddy. The downside was that it was a bugger to get up for work on a Monday morning, but other than that I was having the time of my life. And earning money doing it.
‘That’s good,’ Fitz said. ‘I like to know my girls are happy.’
‘Viva,’ Caddy said, ‘your mate’s just turned up.’
I followed her gaze and saw Karim at the bar. He was watching me and I felt a fizz of excitement. I gave him a little wave. ‘Would you excuse me?’
‘Of course,’ Fitz said. ‘We mustn’t keep you.’
I stood and went over to the bar, smiling my best Viva smile.
Karim was my first ‘regular’. Over the following weeks, I collected quite a few more, but he was the one who earned me the most. Some of them, Karim included, became good friends: people I liked and trusted and respected. And, as Caddy had said, the more regulars I had, the easier it was to make big money.
Thirteen
In the middle of January, the club was quiet and I found myself bored for the first time.
There were so few customers that the girls almost outnumbered them. I was sitting at the bar talking to one of Caddy’s regulars, trying to persuade him to come for a lap dance with me. He was so drunk he could barely stand, and making conversation with him was hard work.
‘So where’s Kitten tonight?’ he asked for the third time, breathing over me.
‘She’s on h
oliday,’ I explained again. ‘She’ll be back next week, though, Pete. And in the meantime I promised her I would take good care of you if you came in…’
I saw Dylan out of the corner of my eye, crossing the floor of the club directly towards me. He stood the other side of Pete at the bar and Tracey put a drink in front of him.
A few moments later, Pete stumbled off in the direction of the gents’ and I turned back to my glass of water.
‘It’s so quiet in here tonight,’ I said to Dylan.
‘It’s always like this in January,’ he said in reply. ‘Won’t get any stags in till they get paid. Anyway, I came to find you. Fitz wants a word.’
I wondered if I was in trouble. I followed Dylan up the stairs, struggling to keep up in my heels. I heard voices and laughter from up the corridor, faint, deadened by the heavy fabric and thick carpets.
‘…like he said, he needs to learn who’s in charge…’
‘…not this time, not after what happened…’
‘…look, boss, we can fucking do it in an hour. Just give us the nod, alright?’
‘…lads, lads. All I’m saying is, he owes me, right? It’s not about the money. It’s about the respect.’
Dylan was at the door. ‘Fitz.’
‘Genevieve! Come in, come in.’
I gave him a wide, innocent smile that should have fooled no one, least of all him. He put an arm around my bare shoulder, and drew me into the office. It smelled of whisky and testosterone.
They were all in there, comfortably lolling in armchairs and sofas. The desk held a bottle of aged malt, three-quarters gone, and piles of cash in bundles.
‘Nicks, Gray, this is our new star, Genevieve. You know Dylan already, of course.’
Gray was the man with the tattoo on his neck, the one who’d let me in on the first day. The guy next to him must have been Nicks – smart suit, leaner than Dylan and Gray, but his eyes said he wasn’t someone you should consider messing with.
Fitz had been drinking; I could tell how by unsteady he was on his feet.