Art occasionally leaned over her to see the list, but on the whole behaved as if she weren’t there. It was almost ten o’clock when Lorraine made the last call to a Craig Lyall. The deep, rather camp voice enquired if it could speak to Art. She covered the mouthpiece. ‘Art, it’s a Craig Lyall, he wants to speak to you.’
Art passed his brush to Nula. His whiter-than-white outfit was filthy, his round glasses speckled with paint. ‘This is he,’ he lisped into the phone.
Lorraine got up and stretched. Her back ached, and her mouth was dry again. She wandered towards the main room where Nula and Didi were unwrapping canvases and stacking them against the walls.
Art rang off, came across and put his arm around Lorraine. ‘Well that, my dear, was good news. Craig Lyall, sweethearts, is coming.’ He peered up into her face. ‘You can go now but I insist you’re here tomorrow. What on earth did you do to yourself? Car crash?’
Lorraine stepped away from him, her hand automatically moving to her scarred face. ‘Yes.’
‘You should have it fixed, dear. I know the best surgeon if you want his name...’ Art put his arm back around her waist and gave her a little hug, beamed, then released her to dig deep into his pants and took out a thin leather wallet.
Lorraine felt embarrassed as he counted out thirty dollars in ten-dollar bills, but she took the money and pocketed it fast. ‘See you tomorrow, then,’ she said, hovering at the doorway. All three smiled and Art accompanied her to the main exit, He unlocked the door, which buzzed as she stood on the mat. He tutted, ‘I’ll have to get this fixed.’
Lorraine turned back to see him inspecting the faulty buzzer, his bald head shining in the street lights. She intended to get a bus and was heading towards the bus stop, when a car travelling in the opposite direction tooted its horn. Lorraine looked over, and was relieved to see Jake at the wheel. ‘You want a lift?’ he called. By the time she had crossed the road, Art had closed the door and returned to Nula and Didi.
Nula looked at Didi and nodded. ‘Tell him.’
‘Tell me what?’ Art asked, his attention focused on the paintings.
‘I think I’ve seen her before though I can’t put my finger on where. I’ve been trying to remember all evening. How did you find her?’
‘She just walked in off the street. I thought she was from that agency I use, but she was looking for work at Sellers Sales.’
Nula studied her nails. ‘That’s been shut for months.’
Art said, ‘Didn’t you like her?’
Didi shrugged. ‘I’ve just got this funny feeling about her.’
Art wished they would pack up and leave as he liked to hang the paintings alone, taking his time to choose where each would go. ‘Isn’t it time you two left?’
Nula gave a camp, ‘Well, thank you...’ and started to put her stuff together.
Didi was almost ready, giving a last look around. ‘It looks good — be even better when I bring some more knick — knacks tomorrow.’
Art kissed them both, almost tearful with gratitude. ‘You’ll be here in the afternoon, won’t you? Are you working tonight?’
They both chorused ‘yes’ and he watched them walk off, arm in arm, high heels, tight skirts, only their rather broad shoulders giving any indication of their former masculinity.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Nula snapped, ‘I think you should have told him.’
Didi pouted. ‘Why didn’t you) It’s always me. We’ll have to sort it out between us. If he finds out he’ll go ape-shit, so we’ll sort it.’
Art watched them hail a cab then closed and bolted the door. He took out a tiny square envelope from his jeans pocket and carefully laid out a half-inch line of ice. This would see him through his all-night session. He snorted, blinked back tears as the ice burned his nostrils, then took a few deep breaths. No rush, nothing immediate like cocaine... he’d given that up. It would be a while before he felt any real benefit, so he placed the canvases around the room, then sat cross-legged in the centre of his little white gallery to appraise each painting. They were awful and he knew it.
Nula had showered and changed. She wore an overtly sexy outfit: stacked heels, tight leather mini skirt and, as she was well endowed, showed off her tits with an outrageous low cut bodice. She heard the door opening and turned from her make-up table. Didi dangled the car keys. ‘Ready, sweets? You’d better go and get on the pitch, I’ve got to change.’
‘Well, another night, dear. I’m ready and I’ll be waiting.’
The prettier of the two, Nula pouted at herself and dipped her fingers into thick moisturizing cream. She hated her big hands which, even with nail extensions, looked too large and mannish. ‘Funny the way I keep on thinking about her, that Lorraine. Do you think she’s a prostitute?’
Didi teased her hair. ‘I suppose you could always ask her. She said she’d be there tomorrow. You look lovely, now go on, get out or I’ll never be ready.’
Half an hour later Nula was on their patch, husdin’ her tricks, duckin’ and divin’ down to the cars that cruised past. Most drivers knew she and Didi were trannies — the area was known for it. Both had their own regular customers and both paid off a regular lookout. Curtis wasn’t actually a pimp, more of a minder, but he took a cut of every trick and seemed to know how many johns came and went. But Nula and Didi paid up without argument. It wasn’t worth the aggravation to protest. Besides, at times they were glad of his tips as he seemed to know in advance when the Vice Squad were in their area.
Tony de Savoy — nicknamed Curtis because he had an old-fashioned haircut like Tony Curtis used to have — strolled up smiling warmly. He kissed Holly, his special sweetheart, tapped her tight little ass for her to get moving, then turned to Nula.
‘Hi, how you doin’?’
Nula shrugged. ‘Bit quiet tonight. Tony, you know a broad called — oh, I can’t remember her name — Lorraine Page. Big tall blonde with a sort of beat-up face?’
‘She’s not one of mine, why?’
‘I just met her tonight, remembered her from some place.’
Holly folded a piece of chewing gum into her tiny mouth and chewed hard. Curtis looked at the wrapper. ‘Put it in the trash-can, slut.’
Holly pouted and bent down exaggeratedly to retrieve it, sashayed past and flicked it into a bin.
Curtis nudged Nula. ‘She’s a looker, isn’t she? And with a figure to match. Eh, Holly! Shake that tight ass.’
Holly giggled and twisted, showing off her tits, then flounced off, teetering on her high heels, swinging her ass.
Nula saw a car cruising and took off as Curtis slipped a comb through his slicked-back hair. ‘See you later. You just missed a trick — nothing gets by my sweet Holly.’
He laughed as she started to cross the road towards the john. ‘I’ll be at the Bar Q,’ he called out as she sidestepped an oncoming car and gave the finger to the driver.
Nula watched him stroll on down his territory, stopping to chat to his girls. It still needled her that she couldn’t remember where she knew Lorraine Page from. Holly was starting to get into the john’s car and Nula hurried across the road after her, giving a quick look back to see if Curtis was still watching. But he was chatting up two black chicks, laughing and still flicking his comb through his grease-mop hair.
‘This is mine, Nula baby. He wants a real woman, see ya.’ Holly laughed as she got into the passenger seat.
Lorraine sat in Rosie’s bedroom, telling her about Art and the gallery. She even gave her ten dollars towards the rent.
Will you go back for the show, then?’ Rosie asked.