Jennie Ensor - The Girl in His Eyes

‘Will you dance for me, Sarina?’

‘Naked or G-string?’

His tongue darted, lizard-like between his lips. ‘As naked as possible, honey.’

He slipped some rolled notes under her garter. Laura removed her wrap. She didn’t want to dance for this jerk. The guy was a sleazeball. That didn’t make any difference, though – you were supposed to accept every offer of a dance, or risk a fine from Zoe. She’d never seen a girl turn down a request for a dance since she’d started at the club. Everyone seemed to care only about making as much money as they could by the end of the shift.

She steeled herself and began. Her nipples skimmed his shirt. She stepped back and moved her hands lightly over her breasts.

Pete leaned back in his chair, his lips parted.

‘Come on, baby,’ he said. ‘Let’s see the rest of you.’

She removed her G-string and finished the dance as quickly as she could.

When it was over, she put her things back on. The sooner she was away from him, the better.

‘Do you do any extras?’

She shook her head.

‘Could we go somewhere private?’ He leaned closer, so she could smell the booze on his breath, and whispered. ‘I’d make it worth your while.’

‘No, I’m sorry, we don’t have a private room anymore.’

He shrugged, making a disappointed face.

It was what she’d been told to say if anyone asked. Some undercover police had been nosing around, making trouble, someone had said, so the private room had been closed. But she was pretty sure it was still in use. She’d seen Noelle leave the main area once, with an evening bag on her shoulder, and return forty minutes later.

Near the end of the evening, Zoe told her to go and speak to Ken in reception. She found him arguing with an unhappy customer and waited until the man had reluctantly backed down and left.

‘Sarina. A word, please.’

Ken was wearing his usual well-cut suit and shiny black shoes. He gave her a cool smile.

‘That punter you were with earlier – Pete – the American. He’s asked if he can go to the private room with you.’ Ken waited for her to speak then went on. ‘It’s a room we only use for special customers. Those we decide to offer an extra service, if you like.’ His narrow lips stretched into a leery curve. ‘Come with me, I’ll show you where it is.’

She followed him along the corridor. She wanted to go home now. She was tired, she wasn’t interested in the private room. But she couldn’t tell him that. He stopped at the door next to the office, took out a key and unlocked it.

Two low, black leather sofas faced each other across a shiny parquet floor, which was lit by spotlights in the walls and ceiling. There was a hi-fi cabinet against one wall. A large mirror and framed café scenes hung on the others. The glass table beside the sofa was empty except for a box of Kleenex.

She looked at Ken.

‘You won’t be disturbed, darling. The security guards don’t come over here. You can do a dance for him, as usual, then ask if he wants you to do anything else.’ Ken had spoken casually, as if he was talking about offering a cup of tea.

‘Sex, you mean?’

‘You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.’ He moved closer, so she could smell the scent on him. The pockmarks in his cheeks looked uglier than ever. ‘What you do is up to you.’

She nodded, trying not to show her alarm.

‘It’s not prostitution, just consenting adults in private. You don’t ask for any money up-front.’ A hint of eagerness entered his voice. ‘They’ll pay you afterwards, before they leave the room. You’ll earn good money from it.’ He waited for her to speak and when she didn’t, glanced at his watch. ‘Pete is waiting out there, shall I bring him over? There’s a bathroom through that door where you can freshen up.’

‘No, please don’t,’ she said, a little too quickly.

Ken’s eyes widened in surprise. He hunched a shoulder.

‘It’s up to you, darling. I thought you might appreciate the chance to top up your earnings. But no worries, there’s plenty of others who’ll do it.’

The changing room was empty except for Sam and Heather. Both seemed to work practically every night.

Laura stood in front of the mirror and began to wipe off her make-up. Ken had expected her to say yes. But she earned enough from dancing. She wasn’t one of those girls who’d do anything.

‘What’s the matter?’ Sam bit off a chunk of her fruit bar.

‘Ken asked if I wanted to go in the private room with someone. The American guy I danced for.’

‘Pete, you mean? He’s a mate of Ken’s – they have a business thing together. We’ve both done him a few times. He likes new girls better though.’

‘You told Ken you didn’t want to?’ Heather spoke sharply. Her face looked thinner and older without make-up.

‘I said I’d think about it.’ Embarrassed, she looked from Heather to Sam. ‘You both go there, then? To the private room?’

Sam rolled her eyes. ‘We’re the biggest tarts in this place, darling.’ She sighed and inspected the side of her nose in the mirror. ‘Damn, my skin is always full of blackheads! Ken knows we’ll do extras – and he trusts us. Anyhow, I need the money.’ Sam met Laura’s eyes in the mirror. ‘I have expenses, you know.’

‘Drugs, you mean?’

‘Only booze and fags. I wish I could get off them.’

Heather gave a caustic laugh. ‘Come on, Sam, admit it. You like a good shag, don’t you?’

Sam smiled. Her eyes were serious, though. ‘Yeah, that’s right, Heather. Insatiable, that’s me.’

Laura kept looking at Sam, curious. The girl was about her age.

‘How long have you been working here?’

‘Three years, nearly four.’

‘Do you enjoy it?’

A look of horror. ‘God, no. I don’t know why I’m still here, I should be doing something else with my life. But I can’t just walk into a decent job, not with three GCSEs. I’ve got to get money somehow – I’ve got a mortgage to pay and a five-year-old kid to look after.’

She couldn’t hide her shock at the idea of Sam being a mother. She looked so young. What did she tell her child? But, of course, these days, with the recession and everything…

Sam shrugged. ‘A lot of the girls here are supporting their kids or working their way through uni. Or they have money problems—’

‘Not Lucy,’ Heather interrupted.

‘No, Lucy likes it here. She doesn’t do it for the money, she gets off on guys lusting after her. She told me her mum’s boyfriend started screwing her when she was fourteen, and her mum was too off her face to do anything about it.’

‘You shouldn’t repeat things like that, Sam.’

‘Oh, Lucy wouldn’t mind. She tells everybody everything, doesn’t she?’

Laura finished dressing and picked up her bag. Suddenly, she was fed up with this place and everyone in it. The private room, the sordid stories – everything. On the surface, it was as glitzy and alluring as a Paris boulevard at night, decked with glittering cafés and scented women in their finery. But something nasty hung around underneath, occasionally rising like a foul smell from a drain.

‘See ya Saturday,’ Sam said.

On impulse, Laura leaned forward and called out to the cab driver. She couldn’t go home yet, despite the fact she was wearing her grungy jeans and flat shoes, and tiredness dragged on her eyelids.

‘Excuse me, would you mind pulling up along here?’

It was a nightclub. She had never been inside it, or even thought about going inside. It wasn’t exactly inviting – a windowless brick wall with a heavy steel door barred by two surly bouncers. Inside was equally unappealing – a large room, with black painted walls, that was noisy, crowded and dark. But there was plenty to drink, and she wouldn’t have to be on her own. The solitude and silence of her flat always made everything worse. Sometimes, without warning, she would experience the wrongness of what she was doing – the shame and the stupidity of it – magnified over and over. Then the only way to escape was to fall asleep, exhausted, or drink something strong, until the alcohol smoothed away all her troublesome thoughts.