Georgia (30 page)

‘But if she is good,’ John surprised them by speaking up. ‘Maybe we can swing it to make a record.’

‘And you Rod?’ Ian knew his old friend only too well, if he didn’t agree at this stage, there’d be trouble later.

‘It’s your funeral,’ Rod’s slanty eyes flashed a warning message to each of them. ‘Girls are trouble. We’ll be fighting over who’s going to screw her. She might even be Max’s tart. But I’ll agree to an audition. On our own, without Max sitting in. We’ll discuss it further when we’ve heard her.’

Ian raised his hand, Max sauntered back.

‘Well?’ He turned back to the bar, to order another round of drinks.

‘An audition, just us and her,’ Ian said. ‘We’re not going to agree to anything till then.’

‘Fair enough,’ Max smiled. ‘Monday week at the usual place.’

Georgia was filled with self doubt.

On Saturday everything seemed perfect. But once she got home, doubts began to crowd her mind.

How could she even think of getting up on a stage and singing with seven men she didn’t know. Living with them in digs, travelling hundreds of miles. She knew nothing about men and Brian kept popping back into her head.

She thought it was over, but now alone in her room he came back. His mouth slobbering on hers, his fingers digging into her arms and thighs. If a man she trusted could do that, how much more could a strange man do?

On Monday morning Max rang her before she’d even had time to sit down and start work.

‘I’ve talked to the boys, and they are happy for you to join them,’ he said, in that clipped decisive way he had. ‘I’m booking a rehearsal room for next Monday, can you make it?’

‘Yes,’ she said looking across the room at Pop, wondering how she could just tell him she was leaving.

‘Good. I want you to come to my office today, about five thirty. I’ve got some records here I want you to listen to. I’ll talk to you then about everything.’

Pop didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she told him her news.

‘I’m happy for you, my sweet,’ he said chucking her under her chin. ‘This place won’t be the same without you.’

‘I’ll be popping in to see you,’ she said leaning her face against his shoulder and holding him.

‘That’s what I was afraid you’d say,’ he teased her. ‘Just don’t make it too often?’

He had his reservations about Max, even if Miriam was an old friend. It was no secret he screwed every performer he got his hands on. But in the same way London had beckoned to him as a boy, the music world was calling to Georgia.

Janet listened carefully as Georgia recounted every detail of her day with the Menzies. She could see under Georgia’s excitement there was something troubling her.

‘Out with it!’ she said as she found Georgia alone at lunchtime in the tiny room adjoining the toilets. ‘Did Max make a pass?’

‘No,’ Georgia giggled.

Janet sat on the broken chair and lit up a cigarette.

They were all reluctant to see Georgia leave. In Janet’s case it was a protective instinct. Georgia was only a child, still limping mentally from what that man had done to her. ‘Come off it, love!’ she raised one eyebrow. ‘I know you’ve got the screaming hab-dabs about something. What is it?’

‘I’m just a bit worried about being alone with seven men,’ Georgia giggled and looked at her hands.

Janet studied the younger girl as she sat on a bale of cloth, one leg tucked beneath her. She looked so pretty and fresh, the excitement of the phone call had put a pink glow in her cheeks, matching her gingham dress. Her hair curling over her shoulders like a doll in a toy shop. Somehow she had to give Georgia confidence, yet warn her gently too.

‘You must make it clear from the start that you aren’t available,’ Janet said carefully. ‘Men aren’t all rapists. But most of them will seize any opportunity going!’

‘How do I do that?’ Georgia’s eyes were full of fright.

‘Keep your distance,’ Janet puffed thoughtfully. ‘Get to know them individually. Men as friends are more truthful than women I’ve found. Don’t have a dabble with one of them unless you’re sure he’s the right one.’

‘How do I know that?’ She leaned forward to Janet, taking her hand. ‘I’m scared.’

‘When it’s right you’ll know,’ Janet smiled, stroking Georgia’s face. ‘Pick someone gentle and caring. Mother nature will do everything else.’

‘I wonder if I’ll ever be as wise as you,’ Georgia said wistfully.

‘Wisdom comes through suffering or old age,’ Janet smiled. ‘Don’t wish either of them on yourself.’

*

Max’s office was in an elegant town house in Berkeley Square. Smart iron railings, white steps led up to gleaming mahogany double doors. Up a graceful thickly-carpeted staircase with polished wood banisters to a door marked ‘Menzies Enterprises’.

A receptionist sat just inside. She barely looked up and continued to paint her nails a vivid pink.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve an appointment with Mr Menzies,’ Georgia said in a small voice.

‘He’s with someone,’ the girl said rudely. ‘Sit down and wait.’

It seemed to Georgia that she was there for hours, but at least it gave her an opportunity to look around.

Beyond the sulky, dark receptionist and her switchboard, she could see several rooms going off the corridor. In one a girl was busy typing, another girl beside her was getting the post ready.

The whole place was decorated in mossy green with white doors. Autographed photographs hung on every wall. Brenda Lee, Gene Vincent, Shirley Bassey and Jerry Lee Lewis.

A door opened further along the passage and she heard Max’s voice boom out, breaking the silence.

‘An audition won’t be necessary I assure you,’ he was saying to someone she couldn’t see. ‘I didn’t get an office in Mayfair by selling crappy bands.’

A small man in a grey suit came scurrying back along the corridor, he looked at Georgia and nodded.

‘You can go in now,’ the receptionist still didn’t look at Georgia. ‘The far end of the corridor.’

Max was sitting behind a huge desk as Georgia looked round the door tentatively. The window behind him overlooked the square.

‘Sit down,’ he said, waving a cigar towards a chair and opening a desk diary.

Thick carpets, solid wood furniture and a huge cocktail bar in one comer, were even more evidence of his success.

Georgia looked up, a strange creepy sensation tickling the back of her neck.

In one corner of the room was a gold spider’s web, complete with large gold spider, advancing on a gold fly.

Max put the diary down, glancing up to see what she was looking at.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘It’s real gold.’

‘I think it’s awful,’ she said and immediately blushed scarlet at her rudeness.

‘It cost a fortune,’ he said in its defence, his thick lips curling a little. ‘I designed it myself.’

‘I’m sure it’s very clever and beautifully made,’ she was almost trying to apologize. ‘I just don’t like spiders. They give me the creeps.’

Max got up and went over to the bar.

‘Like a drink?’ he said, over his shoulder.

She knew he was insulted. Just the stiffness in those wide shoulders warned her.

‘Just an orange juice,’ she said. ‘I can’t stay long.’ She hadn’t anywhere to go. It was just something to say, but the moment the words were out of her mouth she knew that was wrong too.

He wheeled round, an angry flush across his cheeks. He reached her in two giant strides and put one great paw on her small shoulder.

‘I think we have to get one thing straight,’ he said gruffly. ‘If I’m to spend time, trouble and money on you, I expect total commitment from you. You sing when I make bookings for you, even when your grandmother has invited you out for tea. You don’t tell me you have other plans!’

Until now Georgia had thought her days of being answerable to anyone were over. But one look at Max’s stern face told her this wasn’t so.

His jacket was off, draped over a chair, she saw the double ‘M’ monogram on his silk shirt, glanced up at the gold spider, and felt a tremor of fear.

Even his face wasn’t so inviting. He had dark stubble on the strong chin, his mouth looked bad-tempered and tough, every line in his big frame told her this man would be nothing like Pop.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to hurry you or anything. And I won’t ever let you down.’

‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ his dark eyes narrowed, looking right into hers.

‘No,’ she said, feeling very uncomfortable.

‘Well that’s something. I don’t want you preoccupied with any man at this stage.’ He sat down again at his desk, tilting back his seat, playing with a pencil.

‘I’m only serious about singing,’ she said, wishing she dared to tell him it was none of his business.

‘That’s good,’ he said, a faint smile playing at his lips. ‘You see Georgia, joining a band isn’t like any other job. These boys will soon be like your family. If you can’t get on with them, really like them, you won’t bring out the best in one another.’

‘I understand that.’

‘You may think you do now,’ he smirked. ‘Just wait until you’ve put up with smelling their socks. Listened to them farting in the van. Watched them snogging with girls when you are anxious to get home. That’s the stuff that takes the fun out of it.’

Georgia tried hard to look serene. She was sure he was exaggerating.

‘I’ll cope,’ she said, more confidently than she felt.

‘Now for the music,’ he picked up a small pile of records. ‘I want you to play these until you know every word. We haven’t got the music for these songs, the boys play them by ear. Make sure you really know them by next week.’

‘I haven’t got a record player,’ she whispered.

Max looked up, surprise on his face. ‘You’re joking? All kids have record players!’

‘I can’t afford one,’ she replied, wringing her hands together, wishing she was anywhere but here alone with Max.

She felt him move, coming round to sit on his desk in front of her. For a moment he said nothing, just looking down at her.

Max had that same feeling he’d had in the Acropolis. A tightening in his gut, a prickle in his heart. She looked so pretty, like a little Sunday school teacher in her pink, checked dress, her hair tied up with a ribbon. He remembered a day when he was fourteen being forced to admit he hadn’t any boxing gloves for the same reason, and that prickle grew stronger.

‘I’ve got one you can have,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and get it and give you a lift home.’

As Max climbed the stairs to Georgia’s room carrying the Dansette record player he kept in the office, he felt as if he were going back some twenty-five years.

The smell of damp, a glimpse of the hideous bathroom, the worn, dusty carpet, the poverty. It was just like the place he lived in as a child. This place was silent, as if they were alone, yet he could almost hear the sounds that had filled his childhood. Babies crying, children shouting and adults screaming at each other, mingled with a stench of boiled cabbage and toilets.

‘How long have you lived here?’ he asked, trying hard not to reveal his thoughts as she unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.

‘Over a year. It’s not so bad inside and at least it’s near everything.’

She ran in ahead of him, turning on a small lamp. He understood why, she wanted to soften the bareness.

Max put the record player down. He felt huge against the low, sloping ceiling. ‘You’ve made it nice,’ was all he could say. He guessed she had painted it, wondered how she had come here, and above all whether the activities so close to this room had touched her.

‘Would you like some tea?’ Georgia was flushed with embarrassment, she was moving her weight from one leg to the other, hoping he’d refuse and go.

‘I must get home,’ he wanted to take her out to dinner, but in the mood he was in he might do or say the wrong thing. ‘Shall I plug this in for you first?’

‘I can do it,’ she said, watching as he placed it on a spindly coffee table. ‘As soon as I earn some money I’ll buy another and give you this back.’

‘Keep it,’ he took her two hands in his, unable to control himself. ‘It’s a present.’

She just stood there looking at him. Her lips slightly parted, eyes like two dark pools.

‘Don’t be embarrassed by having nothing darling,’ his voice was husky. ‘I started out like this too. There’s no shame in it.’

No one had ever touched him like this. He’d had dozens of young girls with less than her, and never once wanted to give them anything. Max took what he wanted. Whether it was their youth, their talent or just their virginity. A meal or a night out in a hotel was the extent of his generosity.

He wanted to kiss her so bad it hurt. Yet somehow he knew if he touched her she’d back away and maybe she’d be lost to him forever.

‘It’s not that,’ she dropped her eyes from his. ‘I’ve never brought a man up here before. It feels strange.’

She broke all the rules. Max understood girls who flirted and pretended to know everything, or even ones who ran a mile from being alone with him. She just stood there, still with her little soft hands in his, half child, half woman, too innocent to realize that this older man’s interest in her was far from professional.

‘You’ve no need to feel strange with me Georgia,’ he squeezed her hands then let them drop. ‘I’ll be going now, learn all the words, and I’ll meet you at ten next Monday, outside Peter Robinson’s in Oxford Street. Don’t be late!’

‘Thank you Max,’ she smiled took a step nearer him and standing on tip-toes kissed his cheek. ‘You can’t imagine how lovely it will be to hear music again.’

He heard the opening chords of ‘Soul Train’, even before he reached the street. Max put one hand up to his cheek where she’d kissed it and paused for a moment.

This was going to be tough. She wasn’t going to fall into his arms like an over-ripe peach and just this once perhaps it would be him who got hurt.

‘I can’t bear to leave you!’ Georgia sobbed.

All week she had been in a state of hysterical excitement, but now as her last day at Pop’s was almost over, she realized just how much they all meant to her.

Janet’s lips quivered, Sally was chain-smoking, the other women had fussed around her all day, giving her little treats. Myrtle had even run her up a pair of warm pyjamas.