Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

I could go home now. It’s not too late to change my mind.

No, she couldn’t chicken out now. What would she do if she was kicked out of her flat? She pressed the buzzer.

A voice blared through the intercom. ‘Rascals, good evening.’

She wet her lips. ‘I’m Laura, Sarina, I mean. I’m starting work tonight.’ Sarina was her working name. Noelle had suggested it, saying most of the girls had one, and Sarina sounded more exotic than Laura.

There was a loud buzz. She pushed the door and went in. A heavily made up girl in a strappy black dress eyed her from behind the reception desk.

‘Zoe, there’s someone new starting, can you come?’

Laura pulled the water bottle from her bag and recovered her breath. She drank some water and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. For the first time, she noticed the shiny potted plants and the black leather sofas in the entrance area. The receptionist stared at her for a few seconds then switched her attention back to her magazine.

‘Laura?’ Zoe wore black leather trousers and a low-cut top. Her neck and arms were strewn with gold.

‘Sorry I’m late, my train was delayed.’

Zoe’s face stayed stony. ‘Come in, I’ll show you where to change.’

They went down a dimly lit passage, past framed drawings of nudes. Zoe opened a door and motioned for her to go inside. The air was overloaded with perfume, its sweetness offset with a sprinkling of stale sweat. There was scarcely room for anyone else to fit in the room. Benches and pegs disappeared under heaps of discarded clothes. Shoes, bags, towels and toiletries almost hid the floor. The place didn’t look particularly hygienic. A patch of pale flakes garnished the floor where someone had been eating a croissant, and the waste bin was overflowing with blood-stained tissues. Girls in various stages of undress clustered around a mirror above a row of washbasins, applying make-up and false lashes and spraying hair. In one corner, a girl with vampish nails, a shiny black corset, a jet choker, and the shortest of shorts, sat cross-legged on the floor, peering into a thick volume that was open in front of her, as if she were quite alone. A cross-section of a heart stared out from the page.

The door closed. Laura hesitated. She felt like the new girl at school. She tried in vain to find an empty spot to put her things.

‘Hello, darling. Squeeze in beside me, if you like.’

A girl with big brown eyes in an elfin face grinned at her. She had pink-streaked, jaw-length hair, and was wearing false lashes, a sparkly red bra with matching briefs, and dangerously high red platforms. A black and yellow striped snake with outstretched fangs coiled around her belly button.

‘Hi, I’m Sam.’ The girl plucked a dried apricot from the packet she was holding and put it into her mouth. ‘This is your first time?’

Laura nodded. ‘Yes, I’m Laura, I mean, Sarina.’

‘Hi, Sarina. Sam’s my real name, by the way. I couldn’t be bothered to think of another one.’

Sam made space on the bench so she could put her bag down then bent to examine a shoe. A small blue butterfly flapped over the left cheek of her bottom.

Laura removed a smelly towel from the peg nearest her, the only one not burdened with clothes, and hung up her jacket. She sensed a multitude of eyes flicking in her direction, like curious animals watching a human who’d strayed into their territory. Someone bumped her from behind as she took off her T-shirt.

It was far too hot in this place. She sat down and wiped her palms on her jeans before taking them off. Everyone seemed to be ready, except for her, adding finishing touches to their faces or adjusting straps on their heels and lingerie. She took another swig from her bottle and removed her pants, snatched her G-string from her bag and wriggled into it. It was even more uncomfortable than when she’d tried it on. She put on her lace lingerie set, dragged the fishnets up as high as they’d go and attached them to her garter, and tied the black silk gown around her waist. Then she fastened her platforms and tottered over to the mirror, swaying from one foot to the other.

Yes, she looked different. Sleekly, decadently glamorous, as captivating as the others. The high heels made her legs look incredibly long. They were difficult to walk in, though, let alone dance.

‘Hey, Laura,’ Sam called. ‘Put some blusher on, darling. And you need some redder lipstick. Here, have some of mine. You’ll earn more if you look sexy.’

Laura took the lipstick. Reluctantly, she pressed it over her lips, brushed Sam’s blusher onto her cheeks and stared the girl in the mirror. Her face looked gaudy, a tart’s face. She took out the little zippered, elasticated pouch from her bag, and positioned it above her elbow, as Sam had done with hers.

‘Girls, are you ready, is everyone sorted? Josie, have you put on weight again?’ Zoe strode towards a big-breasted girl, who was wearing a see-through top over tight hot pants that accentuated the flesh beneath. ‘I know the men like big boobs, but I don’t think they’re so keen on big bums.’

A few girls laughed loudly, turning to examine the culprit.

‘I’m going on a diet, Zoe,’ mumbled the girl under scrutiny. ‘I’m going to lose five kilos by next week.’

Zoe moved on. ‘Anabelle, that bra makes you look frumpy. It looks like something my granny would wear. Can anyone lend her something else?’

There was a flurry of activity while another set of lingerie was found, then silence as Zoe examined the rest of them. Laura felt Zoe’s gaze on her own body, before the woman turned away without making any further comments. She breathed a sigh. She’d passed the night’s first test. Everyone moved towards the door, except for herself and Sam.

‘Don’t look so worried, darling, you’ll be fine.’ Sam stuffed the last of the dried fruit into her mouth and tossed the empty bag to the floor. ‘Stick with me, if you like, till you get the hang of it.’

The club was almost empty. Clumps of men in suits sat around tables in twos and threes, talking and drinking. Most were in their twenties and thirties. Zoe flitted about, businesslike, chatting to her customers. A burly guy in jeans and a dark shirt stood near the entrance to the room, looking bored. Girls strategically positioned themselves near the men, whom they greatly outnumbered, either alone or in pairs. Every so often, a girl went over to a table, sat down and started up a conversation. A minute or two later they’d move off to another table. No one wanted a dance yet.

Laura clasped her hands behind her back. The monotonously heavy beat of the dance music reverberated through her body. She was conspicuous here, standing under these bright lights so close to the stage. Though she didn’t want to leave Sam, she’d prefer to stand in the darker area at the back. Here, she was on display. Every few minutes a man would look her up and down as if she were a car in a dealer’s yard. Were her wheels scuffed? Was her steering off? She pulled down her garter a little, so it was less tight.

‘Come with me,’ Sam suddenly hissed, nodding at the nearest sofa where two guys lounged in business shirts, ties off and collars undone, their glasses empty. ‘They’ve refused everyone so far. But we might get lucky.’

As they approached, one of the guys gave her a lingering look with no hint of a smile. He had small, deep-set eyes and an oddly pronounced forehead.

The other one was better looking. ‘Hi, girls,’ he said, introducing himself as Dave and the other as Roger.

Sam sat in the armchair near Dave. ‘Hiya, guys. How’re you this evening?’

Laura hesitated and sat down on the sofa beside Roger, the only spare seat. She let Sam do the talking. They hadn’t been here before, someone at work had suggested they give it a try. They were traders for an American bank in the City.