Georgia

  ‘No,’ Georgia giggled.

  Janet sat on the broken chair and lit up a cigarette.

  They were all reluctant to see Georgia leave. In Janet’s case it was a protective instinct. Georgia was only a child, still limping mentally from what that man had done to her. ‘Come off it, love!’ she raised one eyebrow. ‘I know you’ve got the screaming hab-dabs about something. What is it?’

  ‘I’m just a bit worried about being alone with seven men,’ Georgia giggled and looked at her hands.

  Janet studied the younger girl as she sat on a bale of cloth, one leg tucked beneath her. She looked so pretty and fresh, the excitement of the phone call had put a pink glow in her cheeks, matching her gingham dress. Her hair curling over her shoulders like a doll in a toy shop. Somehow she had to give Georgia confidence, yet warn her gently too.

  ‘You must make it clear from the start that you aren’t available,’ Janet said carefully. ‘Men aren’t all rapists. But most of them will seize any opportunity going!’

  ‘How do I do that?’ Georgia’s eyes were full of fright.

  ‘Keep your distance,’ Janet puffed thoughtfully. ‘Get to know them individually. Men as friends are more truthful than women I’ve found. Don’t have a dabble with one of them unless you’re sure he’s the right one.’

  ‘How do I know that?’ She leaned forward to Janet, taking her hand. ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘When it’s right you’ll know,’ Janet smiled, stroking Georgia’s face. ‘Pick someone gentle and caring. Mother nature will do everything else.’

  ‘I wonder if I’ll ever be as wise as you,’ Georgia said wistfully.

  ‘Wisdom comes through suffering or old age,’ Janet smiled. ‘Don’t wish either of them on yourself.’

  *

  Max’s office was in an elegant town house in Berkeley Square. Smart iron railings, white steps led up to gleaming mahogany double doors. Up a graceful thickly-carpeted staircase with polished wood banisters to a door marked ‘Menzies Enterprises’.

  A receptionist sat just inside. She barely looked up and continued to paint her nails a vivid pink.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve an appointment with Mr Menzies,’ Georgia said in a small voice.

  ‘He’s with someone,’ the girl said rudely. ‘Sit down and wait.’

  It seemed to Georgia that she was there for hours, but at least it gave her an opportunity to look around.

  Beyond the sulky, dark receptionist and her switchboard, she could see several rooms going off the corridor. In one a girl was busy typing, another girl beside her was getting the post ready.

  The whole place was decorated in mossy green with white doors. Autographed photographs hung on every wall. Brenda Lee, Gene Vincent, Shirley Bassey and Jerry Lee Lewis.

  A door opened further along the passage and she heard Max’s voice boom out, breaking the silence.

  ‘An audition won’t be necessary I assure you,’ he was saying to someone she couldn’t see. ‘I didn’t get an office in Mayfair by selling crappy bands.’

  A small man in a grey suit came scurrying back along the corridor, he looked at Georgia and nodded.

  ‘You can go in now,’ the receptionist still didn’t look at Georgia. ‘The far end of the corridor.’

  Max was sitting behind a huge desk as Georgia looked round the door tentatively. The window behind him overlooked the square.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, waving a cigar towards a chair and opening a desk diary.

  Thick carpets, solid wood furniture and a huge cocktail bar in one comer, were even more evidence of his success.

  Georgia looked up, a strange creepy sensation tickling the back of her neck.

  In one corner of the room was a gold spider’s web, complete with large gold spider, advancing on a gold fly.

  Max put the diary down, glancing up to see what she was looking at.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘It’s real gold.’

  ‘I think it’s awful,’ she said and immediately blushed scarlet at her rudeness.

  ‘It cost a fortune,’ he said in its defence, his thick lips curling a little. ‘I designed it myself.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s very clever and beautifully made,’ she was almost trying to apologize. ‘I just don’t like spiders. They give me the creeps.’

  Max got up and went over to the bar.

  ‘Like a drink?’ he said, over his shoulder.

  She knew he was insulted. Just the stiffness in those wide shoulders warned her.

  ‘Just an orange juice,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay long.’ She hadn’t anywhere to go. It was just something to say, but the moment the words were out of her mouth she knew that was wrong too.

  He wheeled round, an angry flush across his cheeks. He reached her in two giant strides and put one great paw on her small shoulder.

  ‘I think we have to get one thing straight,’ he said gruffly. ‘If I’m to spend time, trouble and money on you, I expect total commitment from you. You sing when I make bookings for you, even when your grandmother has invited you out for tea. You don’t tell me you have other plans!’

  Until now Georgia had thought her days of being answerable to anyone were over. But one look at Max’s stern face told her this wasn’t so.

  His jacket was off, draped over a chair, she saw the double ‘M’ monogram on his silk shirt, glanced up at the gold spider, and felt a tremor of fear.

  Even his face wasn’t so inviting. He had dark stubble on the strong chin, his mouth looked bad-tempered and tough, every line in his big frame told her this man would be nothing like Pop.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurry you or anything. And I won’t ever let you down.’

  ‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ his dark eyes narrowed, looking right into hers.

  ‘No,’ she said, feeling very uncomfortable.

  ‘Well that’s something. I don’t want you preoccupied with any man at this stage.’ He sat down again at his desk, tilting back his seat, playing with a pencil.

  ‘I’m only serious about singing,’ she said, wishing she dared to tell him it was none of his business.

  ‘That’s good,’ he said, a faint smile playing at his lips. ‘You see Georgia, joining a band isn’t like any other job. These boys will soon be like your family. If you can’t get on with them, really like them, you won’t bring out the best in one another.’

  ‘I understand that.’

  ‘You may think you do now,’ he smirked. ‘Just wait until you’ve put up with smelling their socks. Listened to them farting in the van. Watched them snogging with girls when you are anxious to get home. That’s the stuff that takes the fun out of it.’

  Georgia tried hard to look serene. She was sure he was exaggerating.

  ‘I’ll cope,’ she said, more confidently than she felt.

  ‘Now for the music,’ he picked up a small pile of records. ‘I want you to play these until you know every word. We haven’t got the music for these songs, the boys play them by ear. Make sure you really know them by next week.’

  ‘I haven’t got a record player,’ she whispered.

  Max looked up, surprise on his face. ‘You’re joking? All kids have record players!’

  ‘I can’t afford one,’ she replied, wringing her hands together, wishing she was anywhere but here alone with Max.

  She felt him move, coming round to sit on his desk in front of her. For a moment he said nothing, just looking down at her.

  Max had that same feeling he’d had in the Acropolis. A tightening in his gut, a prickle in his heart. She looked so pretty, like a little Sunday school teacher in her pink, checked dress, her hair tied up with a ribbon. He remembered a day when he was fourteen being forced to admit he hadn’t any boxing gloves for the same reason, and that prickle grew stronger.

  ‘I’ve got one you can have,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get it and give you a lift home.’

  As Max climbed the stairs to Georgia’s room carrying the Da
nsette record player he kept in the office, he felt as if he were going back some twenty-five years.

  The smell of damp, a glimpse of the hideous bathroom, the worn, dusty carpet, the poverty. It was just like the place he lived in as a child. This place was silent, as if they were alone, yet he could almost hear the sounds that had filled his childhood. Babies crying, children shouting and adults screaming at each other, mingled with a stench of boiled cabbage and toilets.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked, trying hard not to reveal his thoughts as she unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.

  ‘Over a year. It’s not so bad inside and at least it’s near everything.’

  She ran in ahead of him, turning on a small lamp. He understood why, she wanted to soften the bareness.

  Max put the record player down. He felt huge against the low, sloping ceiling. ‘You’ve made it nice,’ was all he could say. He guessed she had painted it, wondered how she had come here, and above all whether the activities so close to this room had touched her.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ Georgia was flushed with embarrassment, she was moving her weight from one leg to the other, hoping he’d refuse and go.

  ‘I must get home,’ he wanted to take her out to dinner, but in the mood he was in he might do or say the wrong thing. ‘Shall I plug this in for you first?’

  ‘I can do it,’ she said, watching as he placed it on a spindly coffee table. ‘As soon as I earn some money I’ll buy another and give you this back.’

  ‘Keep it,’ he took her two hands in his, unable to control himself. ‘It’s a present.’

  She just stood there looking at him. Her lips slightly parted, eyes like two dark pools.

  ‘Don’t be embarrassed by having nothing darling,’ his voice was husky. ‘I started out like this too. There’s no shame in it.’

  No one had ever touched him like this. He’d had dozens of young girls with less than her, and never once wanted to give them anything. Max took what he wanted. Whether it was their youth, their talent or just their virginity. A meal or a night out in a hotel was the extent of his generosity.

  He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt. Yet somehow he knew if he touched her she’d back away and maybe she’d be lost to him forever.

  ‘It’s not that,’ she dropped her eyes from his. ‘I’ve never brought a man up here before. It feels strange.’

  She broke all the rules. Max understood girls who flirted and pretended to know everything, or even ones who ran a mile from being alone with him. She just stood there, still with her little soft hands in his, half child, half woman, too innocent to realize that this older man’s interest in her was far from professional.

  ‘You’ve no need to feel strange with me Georgia,’ he squeezed her hands then let them drop. ‘I’ll be going now, learn all the words, and I’ll meet you at ten next Monday, outside Peter Robinson’s in Oxford Street. Don’t be late!’

  ‘Thank you Max,’ she smiled took a step nearer him and standing on tip-toes kissed his cheek. ‘You can’t imagine how lovely it will be to hear music again.’

  He heard the opening chords of ‘Soul Train’, even before he reached the street. Max put one hand up to his cheek where she’d kissed it and paused for a moment.

  This was going to be tough. She wasn’t going to fall into his arms like an over-ripe peach and just this once perhaps it would be him who got hurt.

  ‘I can’t bear to leave you!’ Georgia sobbed.

  All week she had been in a state of hysterical excitement, but now as her last day at Pop’s was almost over, she realized just how much they all meant to her.

  Janet’s lips quivered, Sally was chain-smoking, the other women had fussed around her all day, giving her little treats. Myrtle had even run her up a pair of warm pyjamas.

  ‘You can always come back,’ Pop said gently. ‘The door will always be open for you. Good luck!’

  He hadn’t rebuked her all week, just long-suffering sighs at her high spirits. His sad, clown-like face was suddenly very dear to her.

  ‘Thank you for everything,’ she said, running to hug him one last time. ‘I’ll never forget any of you.’

  Pop held her tightly, his lips quivering.

  ‘You’ll never be far from our thoughts. We’ll be watching to see your name in lights.’

  ‘None of this would have happened without you.’ She lay her head on his shoulder, fresh tears filling her eyes. ‘I want to sing, but I’ll miss you all.’

  ‘You’ll make new friends,’ he said softly against her hair. ‘Not broken reeds like us lot.’

  ‘Drop us a line when you are singing in London,’ Janet’s voice was husky with emotion. ‘And remember all the things I’ve taught you about men!’

  Georgia sat hunched up in Max’s Jaguar, shaking with fear. In jeans and a sweater, her hair tied up in a pony tail she looked about fourteen.

  ‘Now don’t let any of them make passes at you,’ Max said gruffly. ‘Don’t start making them tea and stuff otherwise you’ll end up becoming mother to them all, and if you have any problems phone me, either at the office or home.’

  ‘What will I wear to the gigs?’ she asked.

  ‘Miriam has all that in hand. I’ll be popping in on Wednesday during the day to see you.’

  The church hall was near Aldgate. Dilapidated and sad with ferns growing out of the roof, the wire-covered windows mostly broken.

  As they got out of the car Georgia could hear music blasting out, surprising passers-by.

  ‘That’s good,’ Max said, grinning broadly. ‘They’ve set up. Now don’t be nervous, just sing and forget about everything else.’

  As Max swept her into the dingy hall she almost laughed with relief. She had imagined strong, fierce men, but all she saw were boys, weeds in jeans and sweaters, cigarettes hanging out of their lips.

  ‘Hallo Georgia!’ One of them jumped down off the stage, his pale face brightened by a wide smile. ‘I’m Ian. Has Max filled you in on the music?’

  ‘I’ve played the records,’ she blushed. Her voice seemed to echo round the hall too loudly now the rest of them had stopped playing and just stared silently at her. ‘I know all the words, I think.’

  ‘Well, that’s more than I do. I often ad lib.’

  ‘I’ll shoot off now,’ Max said, backing towards the door. ‘Ring me tonight at seven, Ian. We’ll talk then.’

  He was gone in a flash, the doors shuddering behind him.

  For a moment Georgia just stood there, eyes downcast. She knew this feeling so well, just the way it had been the first day Celia left her at the new school. Play interrupted as the other kids stared at her, then moving on, forgetting her.

  ‘Nervous?’ Ian touched her shoulder lightly. ‘Don’t be, love, we all know what it’s like. Come and meet the others.’

  She knew it would take forever to remember their names. Ian with his gentle ways and angelic face stood out, and Rod the drummer for his dark brooding looks, but the others seemed so alike.

  ‘Speedy’s really called Patrick,’ Ian waved his hand at the auburn-haired, fresh-faced one nursing his bass guitar. ‘You’ll find out why we gave him that nickname. Norman on organ, an arrogant little shit-stirrer. Les on lead guitar, thick as two short planks and finally John and Alan the brass section.’

  Why did they stare so hard? Was it because Max hadn’t told them about her colour?

  ‘Let’s get on with it!’ Rod shouted irritably, banging on his side drum.

  ‘We’ll start with “Soul Train”. Norman sat down at the organ. ‘I’ll play it through to refresh your memory. It might be a good idea to sing by me so you don’t get thrown by the backing.’

  Clammy cold hands, butterflies in her stomach and as the introduction started her face broke out in a sweat.

  ‘I’m on the Soul Train, don’t know where I’m going,’ the first line came out as no more than a croak. She kept her eyes on Norman’s hands dancing over the keys. The second line was easier, by
the third she had forgotten her fears, throwing back her head for the chorus.

  ‘Soul train take me with you,’ she sang moving back away from Norman, microphone in hand.

  The trumpet and sax were playing thrilling little riffs, Rod’s drums sent out a heavy beat and she could hear Speedy and Les joining in with vocals. Tingles went down her spine, she turned to sing to them, forgetting that she’d never seen or heard of them till a few moments ago.

  As the music died away she looked round.

  All seven of them were staring at her.

  ‘Did I do it wrong?’ she asked turning pink with embarrassment.

  ‘You did it as good as perfect,’ Ian grinned. ‘Now let’s do it again and I’ll do some harmonies.’

  As the day wore on she had a glimpse into each personality. Rod the drummer was the most dangerous, his slanty eyes seemed to be watching her closely. He oozed raw sexuality which made her uncomfortable, when he spoke it was a mere growl. Norman knew his music. Speedy was the calming member of the band and John, Les, and Alan were the quiet ones. But the biggest surprise of the day was Ian. When Max described him as the weak link, he couldn’t have been further from the truth. His sweet face, the baby-soft, yellow hair and big blue eyes, hid a committed musician. He made the decisions, knowing each member’s strengths and weaknesses and he balanced them like a juggler.

  ‘Sing from the groin,’ he said at one point in the morning, making a thrusting gesture. ‘This is rock not choir practice. You’ve got to sell yourself, not just your voice.’

  ‘Let’s go down the pub for a few jars,’ John said at two, packing away his trumpet before anyone could argue. ‘This is the nearest thing we’ll get to a holiday for months, so let’s make the most of it.’

  *

  ‘We pool our money,’ Ian smirked as Georgia watched him take a brown envelope out of his pocket to pay for the drinks while the others stood watching. ‘We keep a fiver each, and the rest goes in here for our rent, food, fags and beer. If there’s any left at the end of the week we divide it up.’

  ‘So what do I do?’ she asked wondering if this meant she had to hand hers over too.

  A wall of hostility seemed to spring up round her.