The Exciting Life (9 page)

‘
The trouble with them ones,’ Veronica said in the strong
Lancashire accent that belied her porcelain doll features and
glossy red hair. ‘Is that they're a bit high. I'm not too good with
heels.’

‘
Go and change into the other pair will you' Iris?’ Annie asked
with a fake smile.

Iris
turned and hobbled out of the salon, into the 'dressing room' which
had once been the broom cupboard when it was a hotel. On one of the
shelves was a 'Glass of Whitechapel' box and in there lay the other
shoes - a black court shoe with purple jewels running along the
side. Iris slipped them on and they were far more comfortable. The
heels were lower and they were a size five. She was glad it wasn’t
too warm today and she could wear a long sleeve blouse. Leo had got
quite rough the day before and she had bruises around her wrists
that were testament to it. She didn’t know how she was going to
explain it to Patrick. In fact, she didn’t want to think about the
two men at the same time. She felt slightly ashamed of what she’d
got up to the previous day and it tainted her relationship with
Patrick.

She left
the changing room and walked into Annie’s salon. She almost wobbled
over in shock when she saw Patrick standing between Annie and
Veronica and sharing a joke. Iris subconsciously pulled her sleeves
even further over her hands.

‘
Hello Patrick,’ she said – he hadn’t even noticed
her.

‘
Hello Sweetheart,’ he smiled, coming over to her and kissing
her on the cheek. ‘You left a message with Stewie, saying you
wanted to talk to me about Bruno’s. I was in the area, so I thought
I’d drop in and talk to both of you.’ He looked at Veronica and
laughed. ‘I didn’t realise you had company.’

‘
Oh don’t mind me luv,’ Veronica said with a wave of the hand.
‘I’ve got to be at the Garrick in an hour. I’m just choosing me
shoes.’

‘
Why don’t you wait in my office Patrick?’ Annie suggested.
‘Iris will be with you in a while.’

‘
Will do.’

He
kissed Iris once more and left the room. Iris could see the wonder
on Annie’s face as she tried to work out what he was up to. But she
didn’t say a word, just continued walking up and down in the room
that Annie had had decorated like some sort of tart’s boudoir; with
a chaise lounge, drapes and Turkish rugs.

‘
Aye they’re lovely,’ Veronica said. ‘I’ll take a
pair.’

‘
Fantastic!’ beamed Annie. ‘I’ll take your measurements and
we’ll get to work.’ She looked at Iris. ‘That’s all thanks Iris,’
she said. ‘Why don’t you go and see what Patrick wants?’

Iris
almost felt like doing a little curtsey and walked out of the
salon, and as soon as the door was shut, she kicked the shoes off
and returned them to the dressing room, slipping into the ballet
pumps she liked to wear when she was working. Annie’s office was on
the next floor up. It was the only occupied room on the whole
floor, and Iris often wondered what the hell she expected to do
with the rest of the space.

Patrick
was sitting on the window-sill, looking out at the back of Regent
Street, and the unglamorous back yards containing discarded
cardboard boxes and massive dustbins – the part visitors to London
never saw.

‘
I didn’t realise Veronica Owen was common like that,’ he said,
standing up.

‘
It astounds me how she hasn’t been made to go to elocution
classes,’ Iris replied, sitting in the chair by Annie’s desk. ‘I’ve
known plenty of actresses and they were made to get rid of their
accents as soon as they got their first job.’

‘
Probably her agent’s idea of being modern,’ Patrick said,
pulling out one of the many tea chests that littered the room and
sitting on it. ‘What did you want to see me about anyway? Did you
get anywhere with Kenneth Holland?’

‘
Yes. I want to hold a fashion show at Bruno’s.’

‘
A fashion show?’ he laughed. ‘Would old Kenny approve of that?
Isn’t he a bit pious?’

‘
I won him round eventually, by pretending that I care about
his charity. We can make sure some journalists are there, and it’ll
be in the papers the next day. Then Oscar’s father will get to see
it and think you’re the right person to make a film with his
son.’

Patrick
smiled and leaned forward, chucking Iris under the chin.

‘
What would I do without you and your deviousness?’ he
laughed.

The door
opened and as Annie entered, Iris noticed Patrick automatically
spring back – as if he didn’t want her witnessing the moment of
intimacy between him and Iris.

‘
I can’t believe Veronica Owen is going to be wearing a pair of
my shoes,’ she said as she sat down at the desk. ‘It’ll get us so
much publicity.’ She sat back and looked at Iris and Patrick. ‘So
what’s this about Bruno’s?’ she asked.

‘
I want to hold a fashion show there, in aid of your brother’s
charity,’ Iris said.

‘
I beg your pardon?’ Annie uttered.

‘
Iris wants to do me a favour,’ Patrick interjected. ‘I’ve got
the chance to invest some money in a film being made by an
acquaintance called Oscar London. Trouble is, his father is a
manager of a department at the BBC and he isn’t going to want his
son being associated with the son of a villain. Iris came up with
the idea that if I did something charitable, it might just be
enough to change his mind.’

‘
And I think that’s a wonderful idea,’ Annie said. ‘But can’t
you support another charity?’

‘
Don’t you want to help your brother?’ Iris asked innocently.
‘Only when I met up with you both that time, he was accusing you of
being selfish. I thought if you did something like this for him at
your nightclub, it might change his opinion of you.’

‘
Nothing will change Kenneth’s opinion of me,’ Annie sighed.
‘But thank you for trying to help.’

‘
Oh come on Annie,’ Patrick urged. ‘It’ll be great publicity
for Bruno’s too. You don’t like it when people accuse us of just
running a dive for crooks and low-life’s. If a charity fundraiser
was held there, it would change what people think of
it.’

‘
I suppose so. But who’s going to provide the clothes and the
models?’

‘
Leave that all up to me,’ Iris said. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘
You’re lucky to have such a supportive girlfriend,’ Annie said
to Patrick. ‘She obviously wants to see you do well.’

‘
And you as well,’ Iris replied. ‘You’ve been such a good
friend to me Annie. I want to repay you for giving me the job
here.’

‘
Okay,’ Annie smiled. ‘Why not? Maybe it’ll be the thing to
bring Kenneth and I closer together.’

Iris
went for her lunch break soon afterwards, leaving Annie and Patrick
alone to talk business. This left a bitter taste in her mouth, as
she was perfectly aware that Patrick respected Annie far more than
he did her; and they had so much more in common. Iris wasn’t even
sure if she was in love with Patrick – he didn’t excite her like
Leo, and most of the time he just treated her like a pretty
accessory on his arm. But she couldn’t sit back and see Annie
Holland steal him from beneath her nose. Annie always got the long
end of the straw - leaving Iris to get the dregs, and she was
determined this wasn’t going to happen again.

She went
to a telephone box on Piccadilly Circus and called the offices of
Tanner Beresford. This time she got put straight through to
Kenneth’s office.

‘
Hello Iris,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

‘
I’ve just told Annie about the fashion show,’ she replied.
‘She wasn’t happy about it. She doesn’t like the idea of helping
Tanner Beresford.’

‘
Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he sighed.

‘
It took a lot of persuading on my part. To be honest with you,
I think she’s only doing it for the free publicity. But don’t tell
her I said that. I don’t want to cause any more bad blood between
you.’

‘
I don’t think that’s possible Iris. But thank you for being so
considerate.’

After
work, Iris walked to Soho and it was like stepping back in time.
For a couple of years, from 1953 to 1955, she rented a room here
that she worked from. Even back then though, she hadn’t been like
the other tarts - with a ready stream of seedy men from all walks
of life queuing up to be serviced. Iris still got a better class of
punter. Maybe it was because she kept her flat in a more acceptable
condition than the other girls. Maybe it was because her maid was
an art school graduate who’d fallen foul of heroin and had to pay
her way by looking after Toms; or maybe it was because she had that
trait that was so inherent in her family - to survive and better
herself, and the men who visited her could tell this.

She
headed to Tansy Topham’s shop on Old Compton Street. It was the
place where all the working girls went for their underwear and
props. Before the war Tansy had been a dressmaker for the theatre,
but after working as an ambulance driver during the Blitz, she’d
turned to drink and had ended up drifting over to the seedier side
of life. But she still had lots of contacts and would be the person
to help Iris.

Anywhere
else in London, the window to Tansy’s would have to been blacked
out. But this was Soho and anything went. Headless mannequins
modelled corsets and basques in vivid red with black lace trim.
There were a few dirty books on display, and even a pair of very
high stilettos with a steel heel took pride of place in the
middle.

Iris
stepped inside the door and was met with the smell of rubber and
leather and the sight of and racks holding whips and chains. Tansy
sat behind the counter looking like a caricature of a respectable
housewife in her twin-set and pearls. Her bright orange hair was
set just-so, but her pale face powder and gaudy pink lipstick aged
her and made her look hideous. She looked up and did a double take
when she saw Iris heading towards her.

‘
Well look what the cat’s dragged in!’ she gasped in her raspy,
cockney voice. ‘Where the fuck you been?’

‘
I’m barely on the game these days dear,’ Iris said, flicking
through a particularly grubby book of Victorian drawings that was
lying on the counter. ‘I’m a model now.’

‘
As I recall you were a model back in the old days,’ Tansy
smiled wryly.

‘
No, I’m a proper model now. I’ve got a job showing off shoes
at a design house on Regent Street.’

‘
How did you land that then?’

‘
My boyfriend’s the manager of Bruno’s the
nightclub.’

‘
Mario Stefani’s place?’

‘
Yeah, and Annie, his widow, has decided she wants to be a shoe
designer and I work for her, modelling shoes now and then. Thing is
I can’t stand her, so I’ve decided to get one up on her and
organise a fashion show at Bruno’s, but to do it I need your
help.’

‘
Oh yeah?’

‘
Yeah.’

‘
Alright, well meet me in The Brook in ten minutes. I’ll shut
up shop for half an hour.’

Entering
The Brook brought back memories to Iris. It was a local pub popular
with all the working girls in the area. Iris realised her new
respectable image would stand out a mile and part of her wanted to
run out. But the other part of her was proud to show off how far
she’d moved on from it all.

The
place was half empty, just a couple of Toms she didn’t recognise,
sitting at the bar drinking their gin and tonics and no doubt
discussing business. In a corner by herself was Rene, who - rumour
had it - had been born a man and had cut his cock off with a razor
blade because he wanted to be a woman. No one knew if it was true,
or even bothered to look. But Rene was rather large and muscular
for a woman. The other punters were just elderly men nursing their
pints; probably hoping to hook up with some young girl who fancied
making a few bob.

Iris
found a table close to the jukebox and waited for Tansy to come and
join her. She thought about the fashion show, and how she hoped it
would be a success. There was nothing more she wanted than to get
Kenneth Holland on side. The more bad blood she could create
between him and Annie, the better. She had no time for either of
them, but at least Kenneth had some gratitude for what had been
given to him. Annie paraded around behaving like someone who’d been
born to money and privilege, and it stuck in Iris’s
throat.

The door
opened and Tansy came in. All her years of drinking had given her a
wobbly gait and she looked prematurely old. Iris guessed she wasn’t
even fifty, but she walked like someone twenty years older. She
came over to the table and put her crocodile skin bag onto the
chair next to Iris.

‘
What can I get you love?’ she asked.

‘
Gin and tonic would be nice, thanks.’

‘
Coming up.’

Tansy
hobbled to the bar, and Iris could only look at her and decide she
never wanted to be like that. She was going to be rich. She wasn’t
sure how she was going to go about it, but she never wanted to be
poor or hungry again. One day she would come through Soho with her
head held high, and no one would know who she was, and they’d
accept the pound notes she’d graciously hand out.