Besides, it cost too much to pay the bastards off.
He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing down a piece that was sticking up.
Be careful or you'll have the whole lot in your lap, thought Scott.
Plummer got to his feet.
'I've got to go, Jim,' he said. 'Other calls to make.' He shook hands with the younger man. A firm grip.
'I'll walk out with you,' Scott said.
'No problem; you stay here, finish your work. I might, have a look at the show on the way out.' He smiled. 'Maybe that Carol, or whatever her name is, will be on.' He winked and was gone.
Scott glared at the closed door, then pulled the bottle of Southern Comfort towards him and poured a large measure. He downed it in one, bringing the glass down so hard on the table it almost cracked.
Beyond the closed door the thud of the music continued.
ELEVEN
Zena Murray pulled off her stockings and balled them up, tossing them into the waste bin nearby. Then she took off her basque and G-string and sat naked in front of the mirror, taking her make-up off. Beside her, Carol Jackson was busy applying hers. The two women sat in front of the mirror which stretched the length of the wall in the dressing room. The term was rather grand for what was little more than an enlarged cupboard with lights and a mirror. Clothes were hung on hangers and suspended from hooks on the peeling walls. The lightbulbs which surrounded the mirror were flickering in places; some had blown completely. A drawer beneath the dressing table contained the girls' props, a selection of vibrators and dildos. There was a pay phone on the wall. One of the other girls had stuck a postcard of Mel Gibson on the side of it. There were other pictures sellotaped to the wall by the phone, cut from magazines. One of Jon Bon Jovi, another of Mickey Rourke.
'I'll be glad to get home tonight,' said Zena, wiping eyeshadow from her top lid with a cotton ball. 'Did you hear what happened with that bastard earlier on? Ruined my stockings, then didn't want to pay.'
'I heard,' Carol affirmed.
'Scotty gave me the money for another pair. He's a nice bloke.'
Carol smiled into the mirror. The gesture looked strained, artificial.
'Are you still seeing him?' Zena wanted to know.
'Sort of,' Carol said, applying the thick red lipstick she always wore when she worked.
'Either you are or you aren't. You've been going out with him for a while now, haven't you?'
Too long.
'It's not like it used to be between us, but I don't think Jim realises that,' said Carol.
'Then don't you think you ought to tell him?' Zena said, looking at her companion in the mirror.
'Tell him what? That I don't want to see him any more? It's going to be a bit difficult while we're working together.'
'So you're going to keep the poor bastard hanging on? Thinking that you still feel something for him, just because it's not convenient for you to split up with him. Is that it?'
'It's not as simple as that, Zena. I like him. He's a nice guy. But he's going nowhere and he doesn't even realise it.'
'And where are you going, Carol?' She looked at her companion. 'Out in front of another audience, just like you do most nights. Just like you will be doing until your tits sag and your bum drops and you get fat and no one wants to come and see you any more. Then you'll probably start working the hotels and the streets full-time. Just like the rest of us.'
'Are you telling me I'm wrong to want more out' of life?' Carol snapped. 'Do you honestly enjoy what you do here, Zena?'
'No, but it pays the rent, and that's all that matters to me at the moment. Look, Carol, it might not be much of a life but it's all we've got.'
'That's shit, there's more to it than that. There has to be.'
Zena wiped some foundation from her cheeks with a moist tissue.
'So, Scotty's only crime is that he's going nowhere. Is that it?' she said.
'I don't know how to tell him it's over. I don't know how he'll react. I know he thinks a lot of me. He's told me he loves me. I don't want to hurt him, Zena.'
'Well, you're going to hurt him a fucking sight more the longer you leave it,' Zena snapped. She got to her feet and started to dress, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, stepping into a pair of ankle boots.
'Am I wrong to want more out of life?' Carol asked the other girl again.
'No, but I think you're dreaming, Carol. I'm not sure there is that much more. And if there is, it wasn't meant for the likes of you and me.' She smiled thinly, then opened the door of the dressing room. The sound of the music was suddenly louder as Zena paused there.
'… skin tight leather on satin sheets…'
'Don't hurt him, Carol. He doesn't deserve it,' Zena said, smiling.
'… Now she's got me surrounded…'
Zena said goodbye and closed the door, shutting out the music once more.
Carol turned back to the mirror and studied her own reflection. She ran both hands over her breasts.
Starting to sag yet.
She reached for a cigarette and lit it, sucking hard, allowing the smoke to burn its way to her lungs.
There is more. There has to be.
The clock on the wall ticked soundlessly, the hands crawling around inexorably. Showtime.
She would tell Scott it was over. Zena was right. She shouldn't hurt him. She would tell him.
Eventually.
The phone rang.
For a moment Carol was startled by the ringing, then she turned and picked up the receiver.
She recognised the voice immediately.
'Hi. I'm just about to go on,' she said.
'I know,' the caller said. 'Where shall I pick you up tonight?'
'Same place as before.'
'Same time?'
'Yes. Look, I'd better go.'
'See you later.'
She hung up.
***
In the back of his Mercedes Ray Plummer was smiling as he replaced the car phone.
TWELVE
Scott was still in his office when 'Loveshow' closed. He had some paperwork to finish but decided it could wait until tomorrow. He glanced at his watch, saw it was just after 11.30 and rubbed his eyes. He had to take the money from the bar and the hostesses round to the night safe and deposit it before he went home. The money taken at the door and that collected from the sale of books and videos upstairs in the shop was kept in the building until the next morning. Best not to bank the whole lot at once.
The bar takings were laid out before him, as was the money taken by the hostesses. Over eight hundred pounds in cash, all neatly arranged in piles according to denomination. Scott wound the piles securely with elastic bands and put them into the bag intended for the night safe.
Don Lloyd, the barman, stuck his head around the door and said goodnight. Scott waved and smiled, then looked at his watch again. After a moment or two he got to his feet and wandered down the corridor from his office towards the dressing room.