Jazz Baby (6 page)

‘That's about it.' Jack dropped his head into his hands. At least he'd been right about one thing. Millie had got to the bottom of the problem — like a knife through warm butter straight to the dish — the bit about Ted anyway. As far as carrying a torch for Dolly she couldn't be further from the mark. Dolly was like a younger sister to him and to suggest there was anything more to his concern was nonsense.

Millie pulled the pencil from behind her ear and patted down her hair. ‘Seems to me you need to find the bloke. Or at least find out what happened and how he got back here. Where did you see him?'

‘Susie's. Playing two-up.'

‘Right. Get back there and ask to talk to Blue the Ringy. You can't miss him. He's built like a brick shithouse. Tell him Millie sent you and it's payback time. He knows everyone and he owes me.'

Jack stood up. Millie was right. He had to find Ted and then he'd be able to make a decision about how to tell Dolly. There was no point in getting her hopes up, especially if Ted had truly gone to ground. ‘Thanks, Millie. I appreciate it.' He delved deep into his pocket. ‘I was wondering if you could do me another favour?'

‘Hmm?' She rolled her eyes.

Jack pulled a crumpled note out of his pocket. ‘Can you give this to Dolly? Just so she's got some money. Let her think you gave it to her. Tell her it's to buy something nice. She deserves it.'

Millie winked and took the five pound note Jack held out.

‘I'll let you know how things pan out,' he said, ‘and thanks.'

‘My pleasure. And in the meantime I'll keep an eye on your bit of fluff for you.'

‘Bullshit,' Jack muttered under his breath as he left.

Dolly sat on the bed staring down in disbelief at her lapful of money. Not just coins — paper money too. She held up the five pound note to the window and turned it over and over. Never before in all her life had she had money of her very own. Not just one note — more, and a whole load of coins. Gathering her apron together she made a pouch and weighed it in her hand, loving the sound of the coins clinking together. Mrs Mack offered to pay her every week but she'd asked her to look after her wages until today, and then she'd given her all this money and the five pound note. Five quid! She decided she'd do what Mrs Mack suggested and buy something pretty.

Today she was going shopping with Alice — if Alice ever woke up. At the crack of dawn she'd got up as usual and raced through all of her jobs. They were going to walk all the way along Oxford Street and go to the new department stores
and
she was going to buy a step-in, a petticoat and some stockings
and
, if she had some money left over, a new frock
and
…she squeezed the little round pouch of money. How far would it go?

‘I suppose you're champing at the bit. Ready to go, are you?' Alice yawned, her voice still thick with sleep.

‘I would like to soon.' She tried to resist the temptation to shake Alice fully awake. ‘In fact, now. I want to go now. I don't think I can wait a moment longer.'

Her newfound wealth pocketed, Dolly stripped off her apron and pulled on her hat and coat. ‘I'll wait outside for you.' She closed the door behind her, ignoring Rosa's muffled protests from the other bed.

A quick glance at the clock in the kitchen made her want to scream in frustration. While she waited for Alice to appear she dawdled up and down the hallway, examining the gold framed pictures. Three weeks ago the assortment of naked women posing for the camera had shocked her, but now they intrigued her. She studied her favourite picture. The woman wearing high-heeled shoes, rolled stockings and not much else lounged against a piano with such a satisfied look in her eye.

She missed singing. Going to church had never been her favourite pastime but the singing got her there. She loved it, and sometimes on a Sunday afternoon at the hotel half of Wollombi would gather around Alf's Pianola and they'd have a real knees-up. Music and dancing seemed to be an important part of the entertainment at Mrs Mack's too, though she'd never been invited to join in. If she left the door to her room open at night she could hear the music. Some of the songs she knew and they made her feet itch to dance. Humming the words to one of the tunes, she strolled back down the hallway just in time to see Alice appearing from their room.

‘Are you ready to go?' Alice slipped her arm through hers. ‘Let's go out the front door and get ourselves in the mood. We're off shopping.'

Dolly giggled and pranced down the steps. She'd hardly seen anything of Sydney; just the walk from the station on that first day and she'd been too terrified to notice anything other than the names of the streets as she'd followed Alf's directions. She'd worked every day and never set foot outside Number Fifty-Four.

Bouncing on her tiptoes she patted the money in her pocket and giggled aloud. ‘So where are we going, Alice?'

‘Down here, past the Courthouse. You want to steer clear of that place,' Alice said, pointing to the imposing building with its row of Grecian sandstone columns and vast timber doors. ‘More people have got their comeuppance there than I'd like to count.'

Dolly shuddered, not wanting any thoughts of courts and jails to spoil the day. She grabbed hold of Alice's arm. ‘So we walk all the way down Oxford Street, then where are we going?'

‘I thought we'd go to David Jones. They say you can get anything there from a front door mat to the latest French perfume, and then maybe The Piazza, Mark Foy's. There's always a lot to see. Is there anything special you want to do?'

‘Yes.' A blush crept across her face. ‘I want to buy some…buy a…step-in and a petticoat to wear under my frock.'

‘A petticoat?'

‘Yes. I hate the way you can see straight through when the light's behind me.'

‘And what about a new dress?' Alice said the words Dolly didn't dare.

She so badly wanted a new frock, not a sensible, cotton one with little flowers on it. If she had her way she'd never ever wear one like that again. She wanted something modern, something different to reflect her new life. Bright and exciting — with beads. ‘Oh, I'd love a new frock.' Dolly sighed, squashing the thought that she should keep her money in case something unexpected happened.

‘Well, you can't have spent much, you've hardly been outside the door. I'm sure we'll find something.'

‘Maybe I should save some. What do you think?'

‘Live for the day, I say. Let's see what we can find. We need to cross over here.'

They ducked and weaved their way across the busy roads, skipping over the rail lines, avoiding a clanging tram by inches. The cloud of exhaust billowing from the back of a grocer's van filled her mouth and she jumped onto the footpath and stopped dead. A massive building dominated the block ahead. With its turreted mansard roof and gold embellishments it looked like a palace. ‘Are we going in there?'

‘That's right. Now, shoulders back, look like a lady. We're going to find you a new dress.' Alice grinned and led the way.

The massive glass door reflected her image as the uniformed doorman held it open and she swept inside feeling for all the world like royalty.

Two hours later Dolly emerged from David Jones, her body tingling with elation and a rush of moisture filling her eyes. Alice's kindness overwhelmed her. She'd never had a friend before, never been shopping and never had so much fun. Her arms were full of parcels and her heart about ready to burst.

Almost every penny had gone, including the five pound note Mrs Mack had given her. If it hadn't been for the loan Alice insisted on making her she'd never have been able to afford the frock. In her head her mother's voice chanted —
never a lender or a borrower be
— but she didn't care. She knew where her next meal was coming from, she had a roof over her head and next week she'd earn more money and repay Alice.

‘So, are you pleased with yourself?' Alice grinned at her and grabbed at one of the bags as it slithered to the ground. ‘Here, I'll carry that. We can't have you dropping your beautiful new frock. Let's walk through Hyde Park.'

They crossed the road by Museum Station skirting the great hole in the ground. ‘What's that?' Dolly peered between the hoardings.

‘It's going to be the railway line that'll meet up with Mr Bradfield's new bridge across the harbour. It's going to span the whole distance, nothing holding it up in the middle, you know, just pillars at The Rocks and over the other side at Milson's Point. Reckon it'll fall down if you ask me.'

Dolly couldn't even imagine the harbour, never mind a bridge going across it. She definitely needed to get out and see some of these wonders. What was the point of leaving Wollombi if she only saw the inside of Number Fifty-Four?

‘Shame you didn't have enough money for a haircut.' Alice yanked her arm and pulled her across the road, ignoring the frantic honking and rude-looking hand signals, to join the footpath running next to the park. ‘I reckon we can fix that up when we get back to Mrs Mack's. Rosa's handy with a pair of scissors. A new style will set your dress off to a tee.'

‘Do you think Rosa would do it for me? I'd love to have all this rubbish cut off.' Dolly swung her head around and blew an errant strand of hair from her face, imagining a neat bob and maybe even some earrings.

‘Your hair's thick enough. It'll look a treat.'

Leaving the tranquillity of the park behind Dolly followed Alice back down Oxford Street with a sense of accomplishment. Not only had she been shopping but she also knew the way home.

‘We need to get a move on. It's four o'clock and if you want to show off your new clothes at teatime we'd better hurry,' Alice said, walking briskly down the road.

‘Holy hell!'

The two words stopped the entire room. Unlike the first time, Dolly cruised into the dining room throwing her shoulders back and performing a neat twirl. To thunderous applause and wolf whistles she made a neat curtsy.

‘Well! Hello Dolly,' someone shrieked.

‘Blimey, look at you.'

‘Turn around again.'

With all the make-up Alice had plastered on her no one noticed the flush covering her face; she puckered her painted lips and gave the kind of shimmy she'd been practising since she'd first seen Cynthia, then spun around again. Her short skirt flared from the drop waist and she gave the belt a swing before batting her sooty eyelashes and gliding to the nearest empty chair.

With her heart pounding nineteen to the dozen she barely focused on the group of thunderstruck faces. She'd done it! A thrill of energy shot through her as she settled into the room with all the other brightly-clad girls, no longer feeling like a dowdy sparrow.

‘Well, ugly duckling doesn't crack it anymore,' said Mrs Mack from the far end of the table. ‘Good on you, love. I suppose you'll be wanting a new job soon.'

‘Oh no,' Dolly stammered, the purple feathered gown in the upstairs bedroom flashing through her mind. ‘I'm quite happy with my job, and with my wages.' She giggled. ‘Alice and I went shopping.'

‘And who did your hair? It's bloody marvellous,' someone said.

‘Rosa.' Dolly smiled down the table and patted the back of her cool, bare neck. Without the heavy swathe of hair she'd had for as long as she could remember she felt almost naked, yet the sense of freedom and lightness made her want to leap up and dance.

The conversation rose and fell around her. Her haircut must have been a hit because the other girls vied for Rosa's attention and fingered their own hair. Mrs Mack sat in her customary position, chin resting on her hands and her cinnamon eyes fixed on Dolly. She gave a tentative grin and Mrs Mack lifted her head and beckoned to her with a single manicured finger.

Dolly pushed back her chair and walked to the head of the table. ‘Yes, Mrs Mack?'

‘What was that little song I heard you singing this morning?'

Dolly swallowed and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don't know. I sing most of the time — while I'm working. I'm sorry, I didn't think it disturbed anyone.'

‘It doesn't. I have a feeling you might be hiding your light under a bushel so to speak.'

‘I'm sorry?' Puzzled, Dolly tried terribly hard to remember what she'd been singing and when or whether she could possibly have offended anyone.

‘Something about a saxophone and wiggles. Like that little shimmy you did when you walked in the room.' Dolly followed Mrs Mack's finger as she pointed to the end of the table, almost as though she could, with a snap of her fingers, summon Dolly to perform the shimmy again.

‘Oh.' Dolly cleared her throat. The thought that Mrs Mack had been listening to her while she passed the time with her dusting and polishing made her want to curl up and hide.

‘Well?' Mrs Mack said.

‘It's just a song I heard them singing the other night in the Blue Room.' No amount of make-up could cover the bright red of her cheeks now. She stared down at the ground, willing it to open up and swallow her. Why, oh why, had she made such a spectacle of herself? And now this!

‘Sing it for me.'

Dolly's mouth gaped as she shook her head, unable to drag enough air into her lungs to breathe, never mind sing.

‘I can't. Not in front of all these people. I only sing to amuse myself — pass the time.'

‘Today you might just have to do what you're told and sing for your supper.' Mrs Mack's eyes narrowed and the firm line of her lips showed she meant business.

Dolly swallowed the surge of nausea coursing up her throat. ‘Mrs Mack, please.'

‘I'm the boss, Dolly. When I ask you to do something you do it. Otherwise…' Mrs Mack opened her hands and shrugged her shoulders. Her meaning was clear.

Otherwise she wouldn't have a job.