Read Online West End Girls: The Real Lives, Loves and Friendships of 1940s Soho and Its Working Girls by Barbara Tate - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Tate
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realised I couldn’t very well leave him alone in the room where the money was. I feared he might clobber me while I wasn’t looking. Nervous, but putting on a brave face, I turned to face him again. So far, he hadn’t taken his eyes off me. Suddenly, he spoke.
‘You’re new,’ he said, as though I was guilty of a wilful deception. He returned to his oafish staring. After a while, he made another discovery: ‘Bit young, ain’t you?’
I was trying to think up a suitable answer when I heard stealthy movements on the stairs.
Oh Lord, not another one! I craned my neck round the kitchen door, just as a timid little man wearing glasses and a raincoat appeared at the top. My relief was palpable; I was no longer alone, and at least this one looked inoffensive.
‘Is she in?’ he whispered, darting little nervous glances about the place.
‘Yes, but she is busy,’ I answered, in a voice that I hoped would be loud enough for Mae to hear.
I was lucky. There were movements from the bedroom, and Mae’s voice sang out, ‘That someone for me? Tell him to wait a few secs. I’m just coming.’
I ushered the little chap before me into the kitchen. At the sight of the other man, he froze, and would have bolted except that I was behind him, resolutely blocking his exit.
So there we were: jammed like commuters in the rush hour, trying not to look at one another – until Mae got rid of her long-playing customer.
‘What’s this, a bleeding orgy?’ she exclaimed when she saw us. ‘Well, who’s first?’
The large man managed to squeeze his way through, and after taking a deep breath, I asked the timid one to sit down.
He spent this waiting period studying his nails and casting surreptitious fleeting glances in my direction whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. My jangled nerves began to calm down, and something akin to confidence took over as I lit a cigarette.
When the two men had been seen to and dispatched, I rushed into the bedroom, where Mae was pulling on her skirt.
‘Did I do the right thing?’ I asked anxiously, feeling very inadequate. ‘Or if there’s two, should I send one away and tell him to come back later?’
‘Just stick one of them in the waiting room,’ she replied, zipping herself up.
‘Waiting room!’ I gasped. ‘What waiting room?’
She stared at me, nonplussed. ‘Didn’t I show you the waiting room? I must be going round the bend.’
She went into the kitchen and I followed her. Opening a meat safe, she stuck her head in, fished around a bit and finally emerged triumphant, holding a mortise key.
‘Here, follow me-ee ,’ she said, in deep, sexy tones. She made her way in sinuous style across the landing to the battered door on the other side. This she unlocked and threw open with a loud crash.
‘Voila!’ she announced.
She stood back to allow me to peer in. My eyes took in a room of about eight feet by ten. I couldn’t help but wonder at the odd contents: a fitted cupboard, open and stuffed with ropes, strange old garments, a few tattered books and a number of rather bizarre objects. I decided to ask about this another time. Taking up about a third of the total space was a large office desk, and though I hadn’t exactly expected anything resembling the dentist’s or the doctor’s, I was glad to see that the waiting room did at least contain various chairs for those who would have to wait: a real granny’s armchair, covered in grubby chintz, a basketwork chair and a wooden stool. There was also an oil stove and an electric fire. In here, as in the bedroom, the curtains were closed.
‘Well that is handy!’ I said at last. I was relieved that at least the crush in the kitchen need never be repeated.
‘I should say it’s handy. Don’t know what we’d do without it some Saturdays, and as for kinks and things, well . . . !’ She paused eloquently.
My growing confidence wilted somewhat with her last sentence. There were innuendoes there that I didn’t understand,
‘You’re new,’ he said, as though I was guilty of a wilful deception. He returned to his oafish staring. After a while, he made another discovery: ‘Bit young, ain’t you?’
I was trying to think up a suitable answer when I heard stealthy movements on the stairs.
Oh Lord, not another one! I craned my neck round the kitchen door, just as a timid little man wearing glasses and a raincoat appeared at the top. My relief was palpable; I was no longer alone, and at least this one looked inoffensive.
‘Is she in?’ he whispered, darting little nervous glances about the place.
‘Yes, but she is busy,’ I answered, in a voice that I hoped would be loud enough for Mae to hear.
I was lucky. There were movements from the bedroom, and Mae’s voice sang out, ‘That someone for me? Tell him to wait a few secs. I’m just coming.’
I ushered the little chap before me into the kitchen. At the sight of the other man, he froze, and would have bolted except that I was behind him, resolutely blocking his exit.
So there we were: jammed like commuters in the rush hour, trying not to look at one another – until Mae got rid of her long-playing customer.
‘What’s this, a bleeding orgy?’ she exclaimed when she saw us. ‘Well, who’s first?’
The large man managed to squeeze his way through, and after taking a deep breath, I asked the timid one to sit down.
He spent this waiting period studying his nails and casting surreptitious fleeting glances in my direction whenever he thought I wasn’t looking. My jangled nerves began to calm down, and something akin to confidence took over as I lit a cigarette.
When the two men had been seen to and dispatched, I rushed into the bedroom, where Mae was pulling on her skirt.
‘Did I do the right thing?’ I asked anxiously, feeling very inadequate. ‘Or if there’s two, should I send one away and tell him to come back later?’
‘Just stick one of them in the waiting room,’ she replied, zipping herself up.
‘Waiting room!’ I gasped. ‘What waiting room?’
She stared at me, nonplussed. ‘Didn’t I show you the waiting room? I must be going round the bend.’
She went into the kitchen and I followed her. Opening a meat safe, she stuck her head in, fished around a bit and finally emerged triumphant, holding a mortise key.
‘Here, follow me-ee ,’ she said, in deep, sexy tones. She made her way in sinuous style across the landing to the battered door on the other side. This she unlocked and threw open with a loud crash.
‘Voila!’ she announced.
She stood back to allow me to peer in. My eyes took in a room of about eight feet by ten. I couldn’t help but wonder at the odd contents: a fitted cupboard, open and stuffed with ropes, strange old garments, a few tattered books and a number of rather bizarre objects. I decided to ask about this another time. Taking up about a third of the total space was a large office desk, and though I hadn’t exactly expected anything resembling the dentist’s or the doctor’s, I was glad to see that the waiting room did at least contain various chairs for those who would have to wait: a real granny’s armchair, covered in grubby chintz, a basketwork chair and a wooden stool. There was also an oil stove and an electric fire. In here, as in the bedroom, the curtains were closed.
‘Well that is handy!’ I said at last. I was relieved that at least the crush in the kitchen need never be repeated.
‘I should say it’s handy. Don’t know what we’d do without it some Saturdays, and as for kinks and things, well . . . !’ She paused eloquently.
My growing confidence wilted somewhat with her last sentence. There were innuendoes there that I didn’t understand,
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