The Jacaranda House, page 18
‘I’ve seen him working the streets, and that includes before he told us he was chucked out of his boyfriend’s place in Roslyn Gardens. I don’t think there ever was a boyfriend.’
‘I don’t think so, either,’ Polly agreed.
‘I think he’s probably in a squat somewhere round here, living off hustling and whatever he can scrounge.’
‘And thieve.’
‘And no one does that for fun, do they? And I think he’s probably desperate for a steady job and that’s why he pestered the others about Les Girls. But being Terry he doesn’t want to start at the bottom: he wants to be the fairy at the top of the Christmas tree straight off. I think he’s probably always been like that.’
‘So are you saying he is an arsehole?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure it’s his fault. On the other hand, you don’t steal off people who welcome you into their home.’
‘Well, he’s never welcome in this one again,’ Polly said. ‘Come and help me pick a dress for tonight. I’m supposed to wear something sophisticated.’
‘Has Adler given you a dress allowance?’
‘No.’
‘Cheapskate.’
Evie followed Polly into her bedroom, where Polly poured them both brandies.
‘Just a small one for me,’ Evie said. ‘Look, do I have to say this?’
‘What? Don’t go to work pissed or wasted and blow my new job?’
‘Yes.’
‘I won’t!’ Polly snapped. ‘God!’
‘Don’t “God” me, Polly. I’m just trying to look out for you.’
Polly lit a cigarette. ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry.’
She opened her wardrobe door and surveyed its contents. ‘I haven’t bought any new dresses for ages. All I’ve got are my escort outfits. They were sophisticated when I bought them, and I bloody paid enough.’
‘They’ll be fine. It’s not as if you worked on the streets. Get a few things out and let’s have a look. Not the ones with the big skirts. They’re a bit old-fashioned.’
Polly laid the rest of her ‘escort’ clothes out on the bed.
‘The black one will work,’ Evie said, pointing to a sheath dress with a slim silhouette, a fitted waist, a fairly modest neckline and narrow three-quarter sleeves. ‘Wear it with black heels and put your hair up. It’s a bit severe, maybe, but don’t wear any jewellery with it. Just take care with your make-up.’
‘I was thinking a red lip,’ Polly said.
‘Perfect.’
‘What about this?’ Polly held up another sheath dress in emerald satin, this one sleeveless with a low back. ‘Or maybe not, with the satin. And I could hardly sit down in it last time I wore it. The top half was OK but it was a bit snug across my arse.’ She whipped off her shirt and jeans and slipped on the dress over her head. ‘Do me up?’
Evie obliged with the zip. ‘There you go.’
Polly did a couple of turns in front of the mirror then sat on the bed, frowning. ‘It’s much bigger than it used to be.’
‘No, you silly tart,’ Evie said, ‘you’re smaller. Haven’t you noticed? When was the last time you weighed yourself?’
‘I never get on the scales.’
‘I reckon that’s half the reason Adler fired you. You’ve lost too much weight. Not enough curves.’
‘My tits have gone a bit like socks with wet sand in them,’ Polly admitted.
‘Well, eat more, then.’
‘You have to be hungry to eat.’
‘No, you have to eat to be healthy. Stop taking so many bloody drugs.’
Polly changed the subject. ‘I don’t think I like the green satin. It’s a bit tarty.’
‘What about the gold one with the Chinese embroidery? That’s quite nice.’
Trying it on, Polly said, ‘It’s a bit loose.’
‘Get Rhoda to take it in. If I were you I’d get a couple made in the same style as the black, and just rotate them, like a uniform.’
‘Maybe, in cobalt and maroon?’
Evie nodded. ‘They’d be good colours for you. I can make them for you, if you like. I’ll just draw up a pattern off the black one. I’ll have to take your measurements, though. Do you want to buy the fabric or shall I? You’ll want something in cotton or silk or linen, though silk’s expensive and linen wrinkles like a bastard. You could look at these new fabrics coming in, like polyester, but I’ve noticed that does tend to hold on to body odour.’
‘You buy it, please. I don’t know what I’m doing in a fabric shop.’ Polly got dressed again. ‘You know he’s paying me double what I was getting for dancing, just for sitting on the door outside his new bar?’
‘But that’s not all you’re doing, is it?’ Evie finished her drink. ‘You be careful, Polly.’
‘I’m not worried about the cops.’
‘Neither am I, not really. I’m worried about you. I know you. You just make sure none of those packages go missing.’
*
Polly spent over an hour coaxing her hair into a smooth pile of waves and curls on top of her head and securing everything with dozens of hairclips and half a can of hairspray before deciding what a colossal pain in the arse it was, and that in future she would just backcomb it into a ponytail. Bugger Adler. She took extra care with her make-up, though, and by the time she’d changed into the black dress, tights and her black heels, she was quite pleased with the effect. Star and Rhoda both whistled when she went out into the lounge.
Gina said, ‘You look really pretty, Mum.’
‘Thank you, sweetie.’
‘I hope you’re not walking to work in those shoes,’ Star said. ‘You’ll be crippled!’
‘No, I’m getting a taxi.’
Polly kissed Gina on the cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. ‘You be good for Auntie Em, now, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
‘No staying up too late.’
‘No, Mum.’
‘She should be here by now.’ Polly was worried: what if Emmeline didn’t turn up? Rhoda and Star were leaving for work soon, too.
Her fears evaporated as she met Emmeline on the stairs, wearing a bright orange coat and a Ming blue hat pulled down over her ears like a boiled wool bucket.
‘I’m so sorry I’m a few minutes late, dear,’ Emmeline said. ‘My bicycle tyre developed a puncture. I say, you look glamorous.’
‘Thank you.’ With some alarm Polly spotted an extremely vintage pushbike propped against the wall in the foyer. ‘Is that yours?’
‘It is.’
‘Are you going to ride home on that? In the middle of the night?’
‘That is how one normally gets about when one’s mode of transport is a bicycle.’
How to be tactful? ‘But . . . you’re an old lady.’
‘And?’
‘I just thought . . . Look, I’d be happy to pay for taxis. How far away do you live?’
‘Paddington: not far at all. So thank you, but no. I’ve been riding a bicycle since the turn of the century and I don’t intend to stop now. Exercise, a healthy diet, and plenty of good friends are the staples of life.’
‘Oh, definitely. Well, Gina’s upstairs,’ Polly said. ‘See you tomorrow night.’
‘You will. Have fun, dear.’
I doubt it, Polly thought as she reached the bottom of the stairs then rang for a taxi. While she waited for it to arrive she sat on the wall at the front of the house, shoulders slumped, and had a smoke. She could have walked to the club and just changed into her heels when she got there, but she couldn’t be bothered. Also, looking the way she did, she’d probably be endlessly harassed by johns on Darlinghurst Road looking for a girl, and she most definitely could not be bothered with that. She crossed and uncrossed her legs about ten times, sighed, rolled her shoulders to get rid of the tension, cracked her neck, ground her fag end into the footpath, sighed heavily again, sat with crossed arms staring at the ground, then did what she’d told herself and everyone else she wasn’t going to do: she took two Dexedrine tablets.
By the time the taxi had crawled along Darlinghurst Road with the rest of the traffic and dropped her off at the Stiletto Club, she was full of sharp, glassy energy and hypervigilant, but also on edge and with a headache starting at the back of her skull – side effects she always got with speed.
She went in through the back door and thought about dropping into the dressing room to say hello to some of the dancers, then changed her mind. They’d obviously all been gossiping about her, so stuff them. Instead she made her way into the main bar where the big stage was, where she used to dance – empty at the moment because the club hadn’t yet opened – waved at the barmen getting ready for the evening, and turned into the alcove that held the stairway up to the new Alibi Room. God, Adler had really pushed the boat out. There was new carpet on the stairs, a new brass handrail, and some quite arty, soft-focus photographs of girls with most of their clothes actually on.
Up she went to the small foyer at the top of the stairs, which had also received a makeover, including carpet, gold-flocked wallpaper and big mirrors, a couple of lush pot plants, and the tallest and largest bloke she’d ever seen. He was young, maybe in his early twenties, and wearing a suit, the jacket of which was clearly never going to close across his massive chest and which strained around his huge arms. The trousers had obviously been let down to their absolute limit. He also wore a black bow tie over a white shirt, which told Polly he was probably a bouncer.
‘Haven’t seen you before,’ she said.
‘Just started. Name’s Tevita but most of my mates call me David. That’s the English.’
‘Tongan?’
David nodded. ‘Though that Adler fella, the one who hired me, keeps calling me Sam the Samoan. Rude!’
Polly laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. He can’t tell a Polynesian from a Dutchman.’ Then she stopped smiling. ‘Mind you, he gets where I’m from wrong all the time and I don’t think that’s funny. I’m Polly.’
‘From New Zealand, eh?’
‘Is it my accent?’
‘More you look Maori. Which bit of New Zealand?’
‘Auckland.’
‘Yeah? I lived in Auckland for a few years. My family moved there from Tonga in 1958, but I came over here in 1962. Was at the Pink Pussycat before this.’
‘I’ve been here about eight years.’
‘You a dancer?’ David asked.
‘I’m working on the door. I’m supposed to be the hostess.’
‘Ooooh, the hostess,’ David said in a silly voice that made Polly laugh. ‘That must be your perch in there,’ he said, pointing to a little booth next to the entrance to the Alibi Room.
Polly’s heart sank. She was going to feel like Punch and bloody Judy sitting in there all night. ‘Have you been in the bar?’
‘Nup.’
‘Shall we have a look?’
David shrugged and followed her into the Alibi Room. ‘Hoo, flash!’ he said after a moment.
Previously, the smallish room had been a run-down, shabby space with a small bar in one corner and a few tables in the middle, which hardly any customers had patronised. Now, a gleaming bar backed by a ceiling-high mirror ran down one complete wall, the other walls had been redecorated, the carpet was plush, the furniture was a mix of sofas and low tables, and a small chandelier glittered in the centre of the ceiling. At the end of the room a small, intimate stage awaited, its wings concealed by velvet curtains. How Adler had achieved all this in just a week Polly had no idea.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You know it’s supposed to be exclusive?’
‘Then why’s he taking money at the door?’ David asked as they returned to the foyer. ‘That’s not exclusive. If you’re exclusive you pay a membership and just come and go. If you pay at the door anyone can get in. What an idiot.’
‘Well, yes, Joe Adler is an idiot.’ Polly wondered whether she should say more. ‘Um, did he mention his sideline?’
‘Eh?’
‘The product?’
‘The heroin? I’m not having anything to do with that. I told him that. My job’s just to keep the troublemakers out.’
‘Well, people who buy heroin probably only want a casual acquaintance with their connection, especially classy, clever people. They won’t want records kept or anything like that. They’ll turn up, go in the bar for a while, collect their drugs, then leave. So better to pay at the door, see?’
‘Where will they get it? Over the bar?’
‘Off me, actually,’ Polly said, feeling her face flush. ‘But I’m just handing it over, I’m not doing the selling,’ she added quickly.
‘He didn’t tell me that.’ David didn’t look very happy. ‘Doesn’t that mean there’ll be a line of drug addicts standing in front of your booth waiting to pick up their stuff?’
‘He’s not going to sell to people like that.’
‘I bet he does, but. Dealers sell to anyone.’
‘He reckons not. He’s a cut above, is Adler.’
David snorted. He was silent for a moment. ‘You know, I was raised Methodist. I don’t go to church much any more, but sometimes I think this town’s no good. It’s got no soul.’ He sighed. ‘The money’s all right, but sometimes I think I should just go back home. I’m thinking about it. My mum’s not that well. Hasn’t been for a while and she’s getting worse. She’s got this heart problem and she’s quite, well, she’s statuesque.’
‘Fat?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry,’ Polly said. ‘That was a bit rude of me.’
David shrugged. ‘It’s all right. She is.’
‘My mother’s got a heart problem, too.’
‘True?’
‘I wouldn’t go home just to help her, though,’ Polly said.
‘You wouldn’t?’ David looked shocked. ‘But she’s your mother.’
Polly lit a cigarette. ‘She wouldn’t accept it. We don’t see eye to eye.’
‘That’s a shame. Sorry to hear that.’
It was Polly’s turn to shrug. ‘She’s got ten other kids to look after her.’
‘Well, you know, we all need family,’ David said.
Polly said, ‘Mmm,’ and wandered off to have a look at her silly little booth.
*
By midnight the Alibi Room was packed. It seemed that Joe Adler had planned opening night as some sort of gala event, as punters had arrived in evening wear and Polly spotted some notable faces. Sammy Lee had come, and Abe Saffron, though she wasn’t sure if either had been invited and certainly neither paid at the door. They were probably just there for a stickybeak, though she noted Adler nearly fell over running out to greet them. The noise was terrific and the air thick with tobacco smoke, and her headache had reached epic proportions so she’d been forced to take a morphine tablet, which was easing the pain but also taking the edge off her Dexedrine high. Punters arrived in groups, or as couples, and now and then individuals came through the door, and Polly was pretty sure she knew which ones were on Adler’s payroll. Some of the girls she actually knew, but none of the boys.
Except for Terry.
‘You, you thieving little shit,’ she said as he sauntered across the foyer.
Approaching her booth, he leant his elbows on the ledge and looked inside. ‘This looks cosy. Are you stuck in here all night?’
Polly grabbed him by the silk scarf he’d knotted around his neck and hauled him even farther into the booth. ‘Where are my drugs, you little bastard?’
Arms flailing, Terry lurched backwards and out of Polly’s grasp, clutching at his throat and gasping. ‘Did you see that?’ he demanded of David. ‘She tried to strangle me!’
David nodded and didn’t move.
‘Fuck off, Terry,’ Polly said, checking to make sure she hadn’t broken any fingernails. ‘You’re not wanted here.’
‘I am! I’m working for Joe Adler. I’m a male escort.’
‘Bum boy, you mean. You’re a hustling little thief and you stole from me and the girls, who were so lovely to you, and you’re not wanted, so fuck off,’ Polly repeated.
‘You’re not the boss.’
‘That’s right,’ Polly agreed.
Terry looked to David again for help, but David was studying the pot plant.
‘Well, fuck you,’ Terry said, and walked past Polly in her booth and into the Alibi Room, throwing up a two-fingered salute behind him.
Polly looked at David. ‘Sorry. He ripped me and my flatmates off not long ago. Stole some belongings and money and my . . . medications. Poisonous little piece of work.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ David said. He cleared his throat then made a face. ‘Male prostitutes? Boys for men? I mean, I know it happens on the streets, but, you know.’
‘He’s trouble, that one,’ Polly said, scowling and lighting a cigarette. ‘I mean it. Keep an eye on him.’
Chapter Ten
‘I’ll kill that girl if I ever see her again,’ Awhi Manaia declared. ‘You mark my words.’
Sonny sat at the table in his mother’s kitchen, watching her alternately rant on and weep into her hanky. He truly felt for her but she was winding herself up yet again, which wouldn’t be good for her heart. Or the limits of his patience and tolerance. This had been going on for two weeks now. Polly had taken Gina to Sydney. No one knew exactly where they were or had heard from them. No one could get in touch with them and the police couldn’t help. And there was only one thing he could think of to do.
‘Stop that, Mum. You’ve said it a hundred times already. I don’t want to hear it any more.’
Awhi whipped her hanky away from her blotchy face. ‘What am I supposed to say? That witch stole my Gina! I’m bereaved! I’m grieving! She deserves killing.’
‘Oh, don’t be so childish.’
‘Don’t you speak to me like that!’
Sonny sighed. They’d been over this dozens of times but his mother just couldn’t seem to let it go. ‘Look, I know you’re heartbroken about Gina, we all know that, but it’s done, Mum. It’s done.’
‘You’re on her side, aren’t you?’ Awhi accused. ‘I might have known you’d be on her side. You always were as thick as thieves.’
‘I’m not on anyone’s side, unless it’s Gina’s.’
‘I don’t think so, either,’ Polly agreed.
‘I think he’s probably in a squat somewhere round here, living off hustling and whatever he can scrounge.’
‘And thieve.’
‘And no one does that for fun, do they? And I think he’s probably desperate for a steady job and that’s why he pestered the others about Les Girls. But being Terry he doesn’t want to start at the bottom: he wants to be the fairy at the top of the Christmas tree straight off. I think he’s probably always been like that.’
‘So are you saying he is an arsehole?’
‘Yes, but I’m not sure it’s his fault. On the other hand, you don’t steal off people who welcome you into their home.’
‘Well, he’s never welcome in this one again,’ Polly said. ‘Come and help me pick a dress for tonight. I’m supposed to wear something sophisticated.’
‘Has Adler given you a dress allowance?’
‘No.’
‘Cheapskate.’
Evie followed Polly into her bedroom, where Polly poured them both brandies.
‘Just a small one for me,’ Evie said. ‘Look, do I have to say this?’
‘What? Don’t go to work pissed or wasted and blow my new job?’
‘Yes.’
‘I won’t!’ Polly snapped. ‘God!’
‘Don’t “God” me, Polly. I’m just trying to look out for you.’
Polly lit a cigarette. ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry.’
She opened her wardrobe door and surveyed its contents. ‘I haven’t bought any new dresses for ages. All I’ve got are my escort outfits. They were sophisticated when I bought them, and I bloody paid enough.’
‘They’ll be fine. It’s not as if you worked on the streets. Get a few things out and let’s have a look. Not the ones with the big skirts. They’re a bit old-fashioned.’
Polly laid the rest of her ‘escort’ clothes out on the bed.
‘The black one will work,’ Evie said, pointing to a sheath dress with a slim silhouette, a fitted waist, a fairly modest neckline and narrow three-quarter sleeves. ‘Wear it with black heels and put your hair up. It’s a bit severe, maybe, but don’t wear any jewellery with it. Just take care with your make-up.’
‘I was thinking a red lip,’ Polly said.
‘Perfect.’
‘What about this?’ Polly held up another sheath dress in emerald satin, this one sleeveless with a low back. ‘Or maybe not, with the satin. And I could hardly sit down in it last time I wore it. The top half was OK but it was a bit snug across my arse.’ She whipped off her shirt and jeans and slipped on the dress over her head. ‘Do me up?’
Evie obliged with the zip. ‘There you go.’
Polly did a couple of turns in front of the mirror then sat on the bed, frowning. ‘It’s much bigger than it used to be.’
‘No, you silly tart,’ Evie said, ‘you’re smaller. Haven’t you noticed? When was the last time you weighed yourself?’
‘I never get on the scales.’
‘I reckon that’s half the reason Adler fired you. You’ve lost too much weight. Not enough curves.’
‘My tits have gone a bit like socks with wet sand in them,’ Polly admitted.
‘Well, eat more, then.’
‘You have to be hungry to eat.’
‘No, you have to eat to be healthy. Stop taking so many bloody drugs.’
Polly changed the subject. ‘I don’t think I like the green satin. It’s a bit tarty.’
‘What about the gold one with the Chinese embroidery? That’s quite nice.’
Trying it on, Polly said, ‘It’s a bit loose.’
‘Get Rhoda to take it in. If I were you I’d get a couple made in the same style as the black, and just rotate them, like a uniform.’
‘Maybe, in cobalt and maroon?’
Evie nodded. ‘They’d be good colours for you. I can make them for you, if you like. I’ll just draw up a pattern off the black one. I’ll have to take your measurements, though. Do you want to buy the fabric or shall I? You’ll want something in cotton or silk or linen, though silk’s expensive and linen wrinkles like a bastard. You could look at these new fabrics coming in, like polyester, but I’ve noticed that does tend to hold on to body odour.’
‘You buy it, please. I don’t know what I’m doing in a fabric shop.’ Polly got dressed again. ‘You know he’s paying me double what I was getting for dancing, just for sitting on the door outside his new bar?’
‘But that’s not all you’re doing, is it?’ Evie finished her drink. ‘You be careful, Polly.’
‘I’m not worried about the cops.’
‘Neither am I, not really. I’m worried about you. I know you. You just make sure none of those packages go missing.’
*
Polly spent over an hour coaxing her hair into a smooth pile of waves and curls on top of her head and securing everything with dozens of hairclips and half a can of hairspray before deciding what a colossal pain in the arse it was, and that in future she would just backcomb it into a ponytail. Bugger Adler. She took extra care with her make-up, though, and by the time she’d changed into the black dress, tights and her black heels, she was quite pleased with the effect. Star and Rhoda both whistled when she went out into the lounge.
Gina said, ‘You look really pretty, Mum.’
‘Thank you, sweetie.’
‘I hope you’re not walking to work in those shoes,’ Star said. ‘You’ll be crippled!’
‘No, I’m getting a taxi.’
Polly kissed Gina on the cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. ‘You be good for Auntie Em, now, won’t you?’
‘I will.’
‘No staying up too late.’
‘No, Mum.’
‘She should be here by now.’ Polly was worried: what if Emmeline didn’t turn up? Rhoda and Star were leaving for work soon, too.
Her fears evaporated as she met Emmeline on the stairs, wearing a bright orange coat and a Ming blue hat pulled down over her ears like a boiled wool bucket.
‘I’m so sorry I’m a few minutes late, dear,’ Emmeline said. ‘My bicycle tyre developed a puncture. I say, you look glamorous.’
‘Thank you.’ With some alarm Polly spotted an extremely vintage pushbike propped against the wall in the foyer. ‘Is that yours?’
‘It is.’
‘Are you going to ride home on that? In the middle of the night?’
‘That is how one normally gets about when one’s mode of transport is a bicycle.’
How to be tactful? ‘But . . . you’re an old lady.’
‘And?’
‘I just thought . . . Look, I’d be happy to pay for taxis. How far away do you live?’
‘Paddington: not far at all. So thank you, but no. I’ve been riding a bicycle since the turn of the century and I don’t intend to stop now. Exercise, a healthy diet, and plenty of good friends are the staples of life.’
‘Oh, definitely. Well, Gina’s upstairs,’ Polly said. ‘See you tomorrow night.’
‘You will. Have fun, dear.’
I doubt it, Polly thought as she reached the bottom of the stairs then rang for a taxi. While she waited for it to arrive she sat on the wall at the front of the house, shoulders slumped, and had a smoke. She could have walked to the club and just changed into her heels when she got there, but she couldn’t be bothered. Also, looking the way she did, she’d probably be endlessly harassed by johns on Darlinghurst Road looking for a girl, and she most definitely could not be bothered with that. She crossed and uncrossed her legs about ten times, sighed, rolled her shoulders to get rid of the tension, cracked her neck, ground her fag end into the footpath, sighed heavily again, sat with crossed arms staring at the ground, then did what she’d told herself and everyone else she wasn’t going to do: she took two Dexedrine tablets.
By the time the taxi had crawled along Darlinghurst Road with the rest of the traffic and dropped her off at the Stiletto Club, she was full of sharp, glassy energy and hypervigilant, but also on edge and with a headache starting at the back of her skull – side effects she always got with speed.
She went in through the back door and thought about dropping into the dressing room to say hello to some of the dancers, then changed her mind. They’d obviously all been gossiping about her, so stuff them. Instead she made her way into the main bar where the big stage was, where she used to dance – empty at the moment because the club hadn’t yet opened – waved at the barmen getting ready for the evening, and turned into the alcove that held the stairway up to the new Alibi Room. God, Adler had really pushed the boat out. There was new carpet on the stairs, a new brass handrail, and some quite arty, soft-focus photographs of girls with most of their clothes actually on.
Up she went to the small foyer at the top of the stairs, which had also received a makeover, including carpet, gold-flocked wallpaper and big mirrors, a couple of lush pot plants, and the tallest and largest bloke she’d ever seen. He was young, maybe in his early twenties, and wearing a suit, the jacket of which was clearly never going to close across his massive chest and which strained around his huge arms. The trousers had obviously been let down to their absolute limit. He also wore a black bow tie over a white shirt, which told Polly he was probably a bouncer.
‘Haven’t seen you before,’ she said.
‘Just started. Name’s Tevita but most of my mates call me David. That’s the English.’
‘Tongan?’
David nodded. ‘Though that Adler fella, the one who hired me, keeps calling me Sam the Samoan. Rude!’
Polly laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. He can’t tell a Polynesian from a Dutchman.’ Then she stopped smiling. ‘Mind you, he gets where I’m from wrong all the time and I don’t think that’s funny. I’m Polly.’
‘From New Zealand, eh?’
‘Is it my accent?’
‘More you look Maori. Which bit of New Zealand?’
‘Auckland.’
‘Yeah? I lived in Auckland for a few years. My family moved there from Tonga in 1958, but I came over here in 1962. Was at the Pink Pussycat before this.’
‘I’ve been here about eight years.’
‘You a dancer?’ David asked.
‘I’m working on the door. I’m supposed to be the hostess.’
‘Ooooh, the hostess,’ David said in a silly voice that made Polly laugh. ‘That must be your perch in there,’ he said, pointing to a little booth next to the entrance to the Alibi Room.
Polly’s heart sank. She was going to feel like Punch and bloody Judy sitting in there all night. ‘Have you been in the bar?’
‘Nup.’
‘Shall we have a look?’
David shrugged and followed her into the Alibi Room. ‘Hoo, flash!’ he said after a moment.
Previously, the smallish room had been a run-down, shabby space with a small bar in one corner and a few tables in the middle, which hardly any customers had patronised. Now, a gleaming bar backed by a ceiling-high mirror ran down one complete wall, the other walls had been redecorated, the carpet was plush, the furniture was a mix of sofas and low tables, and a small chandelier glittered in the centre of the ceiling. At the end of the room a small, intimate stage awaited, its wings concealed by velvet curtains. How Adler had achieved all this in just a week Polly had no idea.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You know it’s supposed to be exclusive?’
‘Then why’s he taking money at the door?’ David asked as they returned to the foyer. ‘That’s not exclusive. If you’re exclusive you pay a membership and just come and go. If you pay at the door anyone can get in. What an idiot.’
‘Well, yes, Joe Adler is an idiot.’ Polly wondered whether she should say more. ‘Um, did he mention his sideline?’
‘Eh?’
‘The product?’
‘The heroin? I’m not having anything to do with that. I told him that. My job’s just to keep the troublemakers out.’
‘Well, people who buy heroin probably only want a casual acquaintance with their connection, especially classy, clever people. They won’t want records kept or anything like that. They’ll turn up, go in the bar for a while, collect their drugs, then leave. So better to pay at the door, see?’
‘Where will they get it? Over the bar?’
‘Off me, actually,’ Polly said, feeling her face flush. ‘But I’m just handing it over, I’m not doing the selling,’ she added quickly.
‘He didn’t tell me that.’ David didn’t look very happy. ‘Doesn’t that mean there’ll be a line of drug addicts standing in front of your booth waiting to pick up their stuff?’
‘He’s not going to sell to people like that.’
‘I bet he does, but. Dealers sell to anyone.’
‘He reckons not. He’s a cut above, is Adler.’
David snorted. He was silent for a moment. ‘You know, I was raised Methodist. I don’t go to church much any more, but sometimes I think this town’s no good. It’s got no soul.’ He sighed. ‘The money’s all right, but sometimes I think I should just go back home. I’m thinking about it. My mum’s not that well. Hasn’t been for a while and she’s getting worse. She’s got this heart problem and she’s quite, well, she’s statuesque.’
‘Fat?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Sorry,’ Polly said. ‘That was a bit rude of me.’
David shrugged. ‘It’s all right. She is.’
‘My mother’s got a heart problem, too.’
‘True?’
‘I wouldn’t go home just to help her, though,’ Polly said.
‘You wouldn’t?’ David looked shocked. ‘But she’s your mother.’
Polly lit a cigarette. ‘She wouldn’t accept it. We don’t see eye to eye.’
‘That’s a shame. Sorry to hear that.’
It was Polly’s turn to shrug. ‘She’s got ten other kids to look after her.’
‘Well, you know, we all need family,’ David said.
Polly said, ‘Mmm,’ and wandered off to have a look at her silly little booth.
*
By midnight the Alibi Room was packed. It seemed that Joe Adler had planned opening night as some sort of gala event, as punters had arrived in evening wear and Polly spotted some notable faces. Sammy Lee had come, and Abe Saffron, though she wasn’t sure if either had been invited and certainly neither paid at the door. They were probably just there for a stickybeak, though she noted Adler nearly fell over running out to greet them. The noise was terrific and the air thick with tobacco smoke, and her headache had reached epic proportions so she’d been forced to take a morphine tablet, which was easing the pain but also taking the edge off her Dexedrine high. Punters arrived in groups, or as couples, and now and then individuals came through the door, and Polly was pretty sure she knew which ones were on Adler’s payroll. Some of the girls she actually knew, but none of the boys.
Except for Terry.
‘You, you thieving little shit,’ she said as he sauntered across the foyer.
Approaching her booth, he leant his elbows on the ledge and looked inside. ‘This looks cosy. Are you stuck in here all night?’
Polly grabbed him by the silk scarf he’d knotted around his neck and hauled him even farther into the booth. ‘Where are my drugs, you little bastard?’
Arms flailing, Terry lurched backwards and out of Polly’s grasp, clutching at his throat and gasping. ‘Did you see that?’ he demanded of David. ‘She tried to strangle me!’
David nodded and didn’t move.
‘Fuck off, Terry,’ Polly said, checking to make sure she hadn’t broken any fingernails. ‘You’re not wanted here.’
‘I am! I’m working for Joe Adler. I’m a male escort.’
‘Bum boy, you mean. You’re a hustling little thief and you stole from me and the girls, who were so lovely to you, and you’re not wanted, so fuck off,’ Polly repeated.
‘You’re not the boss.’
‘That’s right,’ Polly agreed.
Terry looked to David again for help, but David was studying the pot plant.
‘Well, fuck you,’ Terry said, and walked past Polly in her booth and into the Alibi Room, throwing up a two-fingered salute behind him.
Polly looked at David. ‘Sorry. He ripped me and my flatmates off not long ago. Stole some belongings and money and my . . . medications. Poisonous little piece of work.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ David said. He cleared his throat then made a face. ‘Male prostitutes? Boys for men? I mean, I know it happens on the streets, but, you know.’
‘He’s trouble, that one,’ Polly said, scowling and lighting a cigarette. ‘I mean it. Keep an eye on him.’
Chapter Ten
‘I’ll kill that girl if I ever see her again,’ Awhi Manaia declared. ‘You mark my words.’
Sonny sat at the table in his mother’s kitchen, watching her alternately rant on and weep into her hanky. He truly felt for her but she was winding herself up yet again, which wouldn’t be good for her heart. Or the limits of his patience and tolerance. This had been going on for two weeks now. Polly had taken Gina to Sydney. No one knew exactly where they were or had heard from them. No one could get in touch with them and the police couldn’t help. And there was only one thing he could think of to do.
‘Stop that, Mum. You’ve said it a hundred times already. I don’t want to hear it any more.’
Awhi whipped her hanky away from her blotchy face. ‘What am I supposed to say? That witch stole my Gina! I’m bereaved! I’m grieving! She deserves killing.’
‘Oh, don’t be so childish.’
‘Don’t you speak to me like that!’
Sonny sighed. They’d been over this dozens of times but his mother just couldn’t seem to let it go. ‘Look, I know you’re heartbroken about Gina, we all know that, but it’s done, Mum. It’s done.’
‘You’re on her side, aren’t you?’ Awhi accused. ‘I might have known you’d be on her side. You always were as thick as thieves.’
‘I’m not on anyone’s side, unless it’s Gina’s.’
