Dance little girl dance...

Why the fuck is little Claire sobbing in the corner?

Shane has his arm around me.

Like he owns me.

Like there's any left of me to own.

Fiend still in the pool, Claudia stood in the doorway. Little Claire sat in the corner and me being groped by this lad who thinks me nice.

'I'm off to get the bus now if you fancy coming with me.' Said Claudia the pink of last night's spikes misshapen and bent by sleep.

Shane rubbed my arm affectionately, 'Why don't you stay a couple of days?'

'Nah, I think I better get her home.' I looked over at the sobbing mess. 'Come on Claire Bear. Let's go get that bus.'

I had no intention of getting on a bus at all. Padding back down the carpet I stopped by the open door at the end and caught sight of the girl on skates without them. She smiled as we passed. Needle in hand, tourniquet pulled tight in teeth, but still she managed a smile.

We closed the door of blue on a promise to meet up with Shane again in a few days. Half way down the stairs we met the boy with the Batman Pajamas. He was pissing against the wall.

'Hey, that's fucking disgusting. Go upstairs and use the toilet next time.' Shouted Claudia.

'Fucking Junkies.' He cried back in retaliation.

I wasn't sure if the policemen slept during the day too, so again I left the estate quietly.

Claudia told us to flash our tickets quickly and to walk on with attitude. It worked. The driver either didn't notice yesterday's date or he didn't care to argue. We sat on the top of the bus and begged a cigarette to share from another passenger.

'Did Fiend really eat the puppies?' I asked Claudia.
'Fuck knows.' She said. 'But I guess if he's dumb enough to smoke antibiotics when he needs a fix - then he's dumb enough to fry a puppy when he's hungry.'

She had a point.

Claudia took us all the way to Victoria Station. 'You can usually find me down Piccadilly Circus at Eros Statue. If I'm not there, someone there will know how to find me.' I gave her a big hug. Looks like both she and I knew that I would soon be back.

When Claudia left I turned my hugs to Little Claire. 'Here's your ticket. Get on the bus. Go home. If I were you, I'd go all the way home. Don't even stop at Bath.' Then I hugged her again. 'I'm staying here for now.'

'I'm sorry.' She said 'I was just scared that's all.'

'That's OK girl. It's good you were scared.' And with that I waved goodbye.



I begged for about four hours, then bought some makeup, shampoo and soap. One good feed and a can of lager later and I decided to try Claudia's idea for nicking shoes. All of the shops round here only put out one shoe from each pair to prevent theft, but Claudia had noticed that the Clarks shop on Regent Street put out only the left shoes, whilst the Clarks shop on Shaftesbury Avenue put out only the right.

The girl was a genius.

I am now three inches taller and the proud owner of some patent black stiletto shoes.

I take the tube back to Victoria Station to get cleaned up. I had spotted the sign for showers there when we passed through yesterday. Two pound fifty bought me the right to wash and a three pound deposit bought me the the lend of a towel. Hot water and waxy soap. Some days there is no feeling like it.

I nicked the towel, figuring it a pretty good deal for three quid, then left the toilets and headed for the bar next door. It was a tiny open fronted room that faced out onto the Station Concourse. Its customers mostly transient, but peppered with the occasional regular that took the same train every day and scheduled this place as a pit stop. I chatted for a while with the bar man, filling time until the doors of Soho would begin to open. Then off I went, heels tapping, mind in overdrive.

___________________________________________________

'It's my birthday.' I said to the bouncer in the overcoat. He smiled and passed me a cigarette.

'Its not your fucking birthday.' He said.

'Who's Raymond?' I asked, leaning in for the light he offered.

'He's the King.' A group of men approached the door and my bouncer stood back to let them in. 'Have a good night lads.' He called out after them. Then he said it again, 'He's the fucking King of Soho.'

I bit my lip and hoped for bravery.

'I'm clean!' I said, waving a hand down my body to parade this achievement. "And it's my birthday. I'm eighteen today. I was looking for some work.'

'It ain't...' He winked at me, 'Yer fucking birthday. And you ain't eighteen yet.'

'I've got shoes.' So I showed him those.

'Very nice shoes.' He smiled.

The next group of men nodded to him and called out to me as they entered 'Nice ass darling. Coming in to give us a dance?' I looked hopeful and smiled at the coat.

'I dunno. Am I working tonight Steve?' I asked him.

'Not on my shift love.' And he ruffled my hair. Which burned. I felt like crying.

'I need the money.'

I needed something.

'Try Rupert Street love. That's the only place you'll get work round here.'

I walked off dejected.

'And have a happy birthday.' He called out after me.

Rupert Street?

The man that stood at the entrance booth, flicked through a pile of sex cards before looking up at me. 'Well lookie what I got me!' he grinned. 'Fresh fanny.'

I was shown down the steps to the main room. There was a small stage with two poles at the back, mirrored tiling, a small bar area to the right and some booth seating to the left. An angry looking girl in a tasseled bikini top and hot pants leaned against the bar and stared at us. She was the only other person here.

'Who the fuck is this?' She sniped in an Italian accent.

'It's the new girl.' Said the man from the booth.

'Fucking place is empty. We don't need a new girl.' She went behind the bar and poured herself a drink. 'We don't need her,' and she looked me up and down 'We don't need her at all.'

'Maybe,' said the man 'If we had a new girl, the place wouldn't be so fucking empty. You fucking junkies put off the punters. I ain't got a single girl left that can show some flesh without bleeding all over my floor.'

The Italian looked me up and down a second time. 'How old are you?'

'I'm Eighteen.'

'You worked in a place like this before?' She asked me.

'No.' I answered honestly 'But I learn fast.'

She came back round to our side of the bar and motioned for us to join her at a booth table. I sat down on the sticky red velvet between them. Then wondered why they played such terrible music. It sounded like elevator music.

'You even told her what a Clip Joint does?' Asked the Italian, who introduced herself as Mia.

The man from the booth lit a cigar and handed it to her. 'No Babe.' He smiled at me 'I thought that I would leave that job to you.'

So here was the deal. There were two door girls that worked the entrances. Short skirts and smiles worn to get the blokes in. Martin, the guy I'd met was the muscle and he worked his door and the floor along with a second bloke called Michael. Downstairs the room was worked by between three and eight girls, depending how many turned up on the night. Once the punters paid their entrance fee (which was shared between the door girls and the men) and got their voucher offering fifty percent off the price of the first drink, they came downstairs to the bar/dance area. They would then be asked to pick a girl and she would sit with them at a booth. A half price drink would be suggested and one of the other girls would come over to take the order, that made at least two girls in the booth. She would then shout the order back to the bar and join us. The girl behind the bar would then bring the drinks over, making three girls in the area and we would stay and flirt whilst the punter drank his drink.

From there the evening could go one of several ways.

One week later...

There were several people screaming in the bar. The crap elevator music still played but it was definitely drowned amidst the screaming.

'I'm not fucking paying five hundred quid for two fucking drinks!' Protested the middle aged man in the business suit.

Martin held one arm and Michael the other. The suit's hair was in disarray and his glasses were knocked askew.

'You ran up the bill, you fucking pay.' Screamed Martin as the man struggled to get free.

'This is assault. You can't do this. I only had two drinks.'

'Two fucking drinks, three girls and a lot of looking you bastard. Get his fucking Filofax Mikey.' Mikey gabbed the black leather bound book. 'Look up his fucking wife. Or better still, his fucking Mother. You still got a fucking Mother big guy?'

And they threw him to the floor.

'I'm not paying.' He tried a final protest.

'You're on film you cunt.' Screamed Michael, giving him a good kick in the side. 'Now either pay, come with us to the fucking cashpoint or get the living shit kicked out of you.' And he kicked him again.

The man found the money after all.


The Japanese guys were always best. They bowed and paid and quietly left. I learned the trade quickly. Looked out for wedding rings, lone tourists, picked the fools and left the wise.

I slept at Mia's for the next month. Lay amidst the film star posters and the discarded piles of perfume soaked clothes that filled her room. We shared a bed but nothing more.

One day, I found myself.

I found myself stood in this seedy little shit hole of a club and I watched once more as a strange little man struggled for his rights and the skinny girls screamed. And I just decided that I had had enough of all this crap, so I took off my heels and I threw them in the corner of the booth. I padded barefoot, unnoticed, up the stairs and to the street. I thought of Claudia.

Of being barefoot again and all the world might offer.

'See ya Steve.' I called out to my man in the suit and coat from the Raymond Revue. 'I'm fucking off out of here.'

'Take care of yourself Babe.' He called out. 'You had that birthday yet?'

Continued...