Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

Maybe she could call Mr Taylor’s bluff, and stay without paying rent until she found an income. She was only three weeks overdue, not three months. Wasn’t he being a little harsh with her, threatening to kick her out so soon? Or, she could stay with someone for a while and stop paying rent on this place. Only no one she knew had a spare room, except her father’s reclusive aunt in Wales, who suffered from a long list of phobias, only washed once a week, and constantly complained about ‘young people these days’.

Or maybe she could borrow some money from her brother. Except he was always short of cash, and complained that it would take forever to save enough for a mortgage. He was paying an exorbitant amount of interest on a car loan, he’d told her recently. What about Rachel? Her friend had some money stashed away towards a deposit on her dream flat. She might lend her some, possibly. Not £900 though. That was too much to ask a friend – too much to ask anyone. How would she ever pay it back?

Had the time come to go to her parents for help? They would lend her the money, they would give it to her gladly, with no requirement to pay it back until she was ready. Yet the thought of asking made her cringe. It wasn’t just that she would be taking her father’s money, though that was bad enough, it would be yet another reason for her parents to sigh when they compared her with her brother. And it would be admitting to them that her life to date had been a failure.

No, borrowing money wasn’t the answer. She could maybe pawn the antique necklace of sapphires and diamonds that used to be her grandmother’s, which must be worth a few hundred pounds. But it was the only thing she had from her grandmother and it was the most beautiful piece of jewellery she owned. Anyway, she didn’t need a pile of cash that sooner or later would be gone, she needed a job.

She went back to the table, picked up the handwritten sheet with details of the jobs she was considering applying for, and studied each of them in turn.

The cleaning job in Shepherd’s Bush paid £7 an hour for a twenty-hour week. She could get there by Tube or bus. Only, the thought of getting up at 5.30am to clean dirty floors and toilets… anything, pretty much, would be better than that.

Tesco wanted someone to pack shelves three days a week. The bakery – mornings only – paid much the same, not much more than the minimum wage. Yes, she could swallow her pride, not mention she was a graduate, and apply for a job like that. But what was the point? A month ago, it might have been an option, but not now. It would take too long to earn the money she needed. She put down the sheet of paper. Suddenly, everything seemed hopeless. She imagined the summons to go to court for non-payment of rent, the burly man at her front door demanding that she leave immediately, the black plastic bags holding her possessions.

She went to the table and picked up the free local newspaper, which lay on the pile of papers beside her laptop. It was folded at the jobs page. She turned it over and searched for the small boxed advertisement, with a question mark beside it in ballpoint pen.

Laura reached for the phone.

‘Hello, Rascals. Can I help you?’ A woman’s voice, syrupy smooth.

‘Hello? I saw an ad, it said you were looking for girls.’

‘We’re always interested in taking on new girls,’ the woman replied in a gruff tone. ‘If they’re suitable. Have you got experience?’

‘No, but I’m a quick learner. I’m good at dancing.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-two.’

A sniff at the other end. ‘You’d have to come in first and try out. We’re selective about who we take on.’

‘When can I come in?’

A long pause filled with rustling paper. ‘Friday afternoon, does that suit?’

‘You couldn’t make it any sooner, could you?’

Another long pause. ‘Four thirty tomorrow, then.’

Laura wrote down the details and hung up. Suddenly, the world didn’t seem so grim. They’d take her on, wouldn’t they? She could dance, she was good looking. She had a flat stomach and curvy breasts – not big, but big enough. Whatever she had to do, she would learn.

She opened her underwear drawer and rifled through the contents. Wear nice underwear, the woman had instructed. She took out the black lace bra and pants and held them up. Yes, they’d do. A surge of nervous anticipation went through her as she put them on the back of the chair, ready for tomorrow.

‘Pleased to meet you, Laura. I’m Zoe, the supervisor here. I look after the girls and make sure everything goes to plan. You’ll meet the manager another time, if you come back.’

Laura smiled back and shook the offered hand. She was starting to sweat. She felt fake in this outfit, not herself at all. The shoes she was wearing, the newest and smartest pair she owned, were beginning to rub at the toes. Her skirt was too tight around the thighs to be comfortable and made walking awkward. Her bra was visible under her white shirt, which she’d discovered too late to be the only washed, ironed and vaguely suitable garment in her wardrobe.

Zoe was jotting down something on the large sheet of paper in front of her. She had a heavy chin and opaque, humourless eyes. Her hair was expensively cut, scooped behind one ear, and her nails were professionally done. She looked about forty. There was a faded glamour and a certain hardness about her.

‘So, you haven’t had any experience of this sort of work?’

‘Not really.’

‘You have, or you haven’t?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well, before we go any further,’ Zoe put her pen down on the desk of the cramped, untidy office, ‘this isn’t a big chain, like Spearmint Rhino.’ She said the name disdainfully. ‘We’ve got our own way of doing things here, we pride ourselves on offering a good service, on giving our customers what they want. We’re looking for girls who will be responsive to those needs. We’ll treat you well in return, so long as you don’t step out of line.’ A brisk smile. ‘Anyway, Laura, let’s get down to basics. You seem like a nice, well brought-up girl. Do you think you’ll be OK to go up on stage wearing only a G-string?’ Zoe’s eyes probed her face. ‘And some of the time you may have to be completely naked. To put it bluntly, Laura, men are going to get a good look at you. Some girls find that difficult.’

Laura held Zoe’s gaze. ‘I could do it. I’m not embarrassed about letting people see my body.’

Zoe nodded briskly and checked her watch.

‘OK then, follow me. I’ll introduce you to Noelle. You can show us what you can do up on stage.’

They went down a corridor, into a room with small glass tables and fake leopard-skin sofas. It looked like a nightclub, with a stage at one end and a huge mirrored ball hanging from the ceiling. All the walls were mirrored too, making the place look huge. Her heart beat faster. Zoe stopped at a sofa in front of the stage.

‘Take off your clothes, Laura,’ Zoe commanded, easing herself into the sofa and languidly crossing one leg over the other. ‘You can keep your underwear on.’

There was nowhere to change. Was she meant to undress right here, in front of Zoe? Fingers fumbling, she stepped out of her shoes then removed her shirt, skirt and tights and placed them on the arm of the sofa, trying not to fidget while Zoe looked her slowly up and down, expressionless.

Was her body good enough? Her breasts would have stuck out more if she’d worn the other bra.

Zoe nodded and motioned for Laura to stand aside. Her attention had shifted to something else. Laura turned to follow Zoe’s gaze. A leggy black girl loped towards them, wearing a skimpy Lycra top and equally skimpy shorts. A mass of dyed-blonde braids fell behind her back.