Cold Shoulder (12 page)

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, hustlin’ 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.

Lorraine pulled off her creased shirt. ‘Well, he wanted my phone number in case he has some more work, so I think I’ll go.’

Rosie bashed the pillow. ‘Put my earrings back in the box! And ask next time — they happen to be real pearls. About the only thing my ex-husband ever gave me…’

Lorraine made a show of removing them and replacing them. Rosie watched her every move, irritated yet again by Lorraine’s confidence. She seemed to be getting herself back together, but instead of feeling pleased, Rosie felt jealous.

‘Maybe I’ll come with you.’

Lorraine switched on the shower. ‘Don’t force yourself. What’s the matter with you?’

Rosie sat up. ‘Nothing — but didn’t you think I’d be worried? Jake was, too.’

Lorraine unzipped her skirt. ‘Did you send him out to look for me?’

‘Of course I did. I didn’t know where the fuck you were — no note, nothin’ to tell me what you were doing.’

Lorraine stepped out of her skirt, and Rosie turned away, not out of embarrassment but with the shock of seeing just how thin and scarred Lorraine was. ‘What the hell happened to you?’ she asked softly. ‘All those scars…’

Lorraine wrapped a towel around herself. ‘I got them when I was too drunk to feel I was getting them. Some of them are cigarette burns — maybe I did them myself…’

Rosie sighed as she heard the shower running. She’d meant to tell Lorraine, and Jake for that matter, that she’d lost her job at the hospital. It was nothing she’d done: they were cutting back on part-time staff.

By the time Lorraine emerged from the shower, however, Rosie was fast asleep. Lorraine turned off the light and went into the lounge to make up the sofa bed. She sat, still wrapped in her towel, with the TV turned down low, smoking a cigarette. Another day without a drink — and a day when she felt she had done something positive. But what did it all mean, anyway? She closed her eyes as she leaned back. Was every day going to be like this? Tramping from one place to another looking for work? She got to thinking of how much Art and his two helpers had achieved in one evening. They had transformed that shitty little place, not into anything fantastic, but he was going to be able to open a gallery — maybe even make some decent money. What was
she
cut out to do? She wondered what Nula and Didi did. Maybe they worked in another gallery or a night club. She’d liked them, Art, too, and the music — maybe things
could
get better… Maybe the key was to do as Rosie and Jake said and take each day as it came, not try to think of any long-term future, just another day — and one without a drink. She was so tired she fell asleep almost immediately before any pictures of her past had time to squeeze across her mind. She had no reason to think that her past would catch up with her the longer she remained sober. Old memories long forgotten would resurface to haunt her, like her dead brother’s face. She had been able to deal with Kit, but there would be more, much more and she was not ready for it. The closer the past inched towards the present, the sooner she would have to face what she had obliterated by drinking.

Nula met up with Curtis for breakfast. She hadn’t seen Didi for hours so presumed she had scored either a hotel john or an all-nighter. Curtis was edgy. He’d been looking for Holly and kept asking everyone who came and went if they’d seen her. Nula said she’d seen her score but not since. She could tell he was pretty coked up so she downed her coffee, paid what she owed him and took herself off. It was almost five thirty and she was feeling strung out, worried that Didi hadn’t turned up.

Didi was at home, lying prone with an ice pack on her head. Nula leaned over her, concerned. ‘You okay?’

Didi removed the ice pack to show a bruised eye. ‘What do you think? Look at me, I got a black fuckin’ eye and my foot, I twisted my ankle when I got out of the car, it’s all swollen up.’ Nula brought more ice and wrapped it in a tea towel to place on Didi’s foot. She was concerned: the bruised face could always be taken care of but if Didi couldn’t walk, that blew it for picking up customers and people would start asking questions.

Didi sighed, shifting the ice pack on her head. ‘Oh, I remembered where I saw that Lorraine…’

Nula was creaming her face. ‘Where?’

‘AA meeting, we were both there, few days back.’

‘So, that’s that, then.’ Nula wiped the tissue over her chin, looking at the blur of grease and make-up removed from her stubble-free face. She touched the soft skin lovingly. Odd that she hadn’t remembered Lorraine from the AA meeting. She was usually good with faces.

‘I’m gonna look terrible for the opening,’ Didi moaned. ‘Art won’t let me in, I’ll look so bad — you know the way he is.’

Nula looked at her. ‘I wondered where you’d got to. I was worried, then I thought you might have scored. Curtis was strung out, lookin’ everywhere for Holly.’

‘I couldn’t walk, could I? And my face, Jesus Christ, look at my face. Be hard pushed to score anything looking like this.’

‘You’ll be fine. I’ll cover those bruises and your foot’ll go down. I remember once I had a john punched me straight in the nose. I thought I was gonna die, two black eyes, but I got a real cute nose afterwards.’

Didi stared at her as if she was crazed and then eased the ice pack over her face. She started to cry but Nula said nothing. She put Didi’s discarded clothes in the wardrobe with distaste. They were stained, and would have to be laundered. Suddenly she saw the car keys on the dressing table and whipped round. She began to panic. Why had she brought the car keys back?

‘Where’s the car?’ she asked and Didi slowly removed the ice pack. ‘What did you do with the car?’

‘I just had to leave it outside, I couldn’t walk back.’ Nula swore. She could have slapped Didi but instead she snatched up the keys and walked out slamming the door. Didi flopped back onto the pillows. Sometimes Nula really freaked her — she had no feelings. She cuddled down under the sheets, feeling sorry for herself. Then she felt beneath the pillow for the big topaz ring and slipped it on her finger. It made her feel better, more secure. At least she’d kept that safe.

The morning was bright and clear with the sun bringing a deep low orange glow that seemed to pinpoint the beige, highly polished metal of the Lincoln. A police car drew alongside it, as the two officers noted it had been left in a no-parking zone. That was the only reason they stopped. One officer got out and looked at the front of the car: he noted down the licence plate and returned to his car. He glanced back, which was when he noticed the pink material sticking out from the trunk.

The car had not been reported stolen but both officers walked over to it. One tried the doors. They were unlocked. He peered inside as the second officer pressed open the trunk.

She lay curled up on her side. One glance was enough. Her face was grotesque, beaten so badly that hardly a feature remained intact, and there was a gaping wound at the back of her skull. No one could have recognized her easily, but the tiny anklet she wore with a name engraved in gold letters made them think she was possibly called Holly.