Georgia (32 page)

‘They aren’t as bad as they seem,’ he said as they crossed the High Street. Flynn’s had bright lights over the door now and a big flashing neon sign had been switched on. It was dusk, and the street was full of groups of young people, giving the road a feeling of excitement that had been lacking earlier in the day. ‘Believe it or not Georgia, they are merely trying to get you to open up. Until you do they’ll keep it up.’

‘What do they want me to say?’ she asked as they reached the club door. A small desk had been set up at the top of the stairs, but as yet there was no one manning it. ‘Do they want me to say I had five men last night?’

‘No.’ Ian laughed. He turned to her, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. ‘They just want to know if there’s a man in your life. Has Max come on to you. Where you come from and why you say so little.’

Silence hadn’t been intentional. She had been so busy listening to them she hadn’t considered they might want to know about her. But even if she wanted to open up, how could she? One bit would lead to other bits she wanted left buried.

‘There isn’t a man,’ she hung her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean about Max. I’ll tell you about my past when I feel safe, and I don’t talk much because you lot all do it for me!’

Ian’s hand came up, with one finger he lifted her chin, leaned forward and kissed her on the nose.

‘That’s enough for me.’

He had the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen on a man. Saxe blue with tiny flecks of grey. Despite his blond hair, his eyelashes were thick and dark. But then there was a great deal to like about Ian. He was gentle, sensitive and his face held all the purity of a child. He was too thin, too pale. In a teeshirt and jeans he was like a rasher of bacon. Yet he had an adult quality which the other boys didn’t share.

Together they went downstairs. The club looked completely different now. The strip lighting replaced by coloured spots on the walls, and the bar lit up. Only now did she appreciate that the rough wood on the bar was intentional, intended to look rustic. Even the floor didn’t look dirty any longer, the smell of dustbins replaced by some kind of lavender smell.

‘Sid’s been spraying the place for cockroaches,’ Ian sniggered.

Georgia stood up on tip-toe, peering into the gloom suspiciously.

‘Not really, chump,’ Ian laughed. ‘It’s just some kind of air freshener. Now get changed before the others get back.’

The dress was gold lurex. The top, boned and strapless, the skirt a full circle with layers of net underneath which scratched her legs unmercifully.

Georgia tried to see herself in the cracked mirror, holding the dress closed with one hand. She had been struggling to zip it up for five minutes, and now music was playing out in the club she could hardly go out and search for Ian to help her.

The shape of the dress was quite nice, but any yellow or brown tones didn’t bring out the right colour in her face. She looked brassy. More suited to ballroom dancing than a soul band.

‘Can we come in now?’ Rod’s voice came through the door. ‘Are you decent?’

‘Yes,’ she backed up against the wall holding the dress closed behind her.

‘Blimey,’ Rod whistled. ‘Where on earth did Miriam dig that one up?’

Georgia could feel her lips quivering. She had hoped they would insist it was nice. Speedy and Alan pushed by Rod, pulling off their shirts as they went. Ian came in next.

‘I can’t do up the zip,’ she whispered to him, turning her back to him while clutching at the top.

Ian smiled. Her small narrow back reminded him of his younger sister’s, little shoulder blades sticking out like tiny wings, skin so smooth and silky he was tempted to stroke it.

‘Zip it, don’t kiss it,’ John said behind him. ‘You’re supposed to be the gentleman.’

‘It’s horrible isn’t it?’ Georgia turned back to Ian once he had fastened the hook and eye on the top. ‘Do I really have to wear it?’

‘I can only suppose she thought it would contrast with our red suits,’ Rod’s deep voice chimed in. Georgia looked round and found him wearing only the scantiest of underpants barely covering a terrifying bulge. Undressed he looked like a man, broad shoulders and a sprinkling of dark hair on his chest. She blushed furiously.

‘It will have to do for tonight,’ Ian realized her discomfort and distracted her. ‘You’ll look fine on stage.’

‘You can’t wear stockings,’ Speedy said in his slow, almost dreamy way, gazing at her legs with a slight leer as he too removed his jeans. ‘They’ll all be peering up your dress all night. Take them off.’

Georgia wanted to die. Nothing had prepared her for being cooped up in this tiny airless room with seven men only half dressed. Now they expected her to remove her stockings in front of them.

‘Speedy’s right,’ Ian said quietly. ‘He could have been more tactful, but that’s Speedy for you. Do your hair and stop worrying.’

‘You’d have been better in red,’ John had already dressed, he was putting on a black shoe-string tie. ‘That colour makes you sallow.’

Georgia was on the point of tears.

‘What shall I do?’ she whispered.

‘Put plenty of rouge on your cheeks,’ Ian said. ‘And finish your hair, then we’ll see.’

Surreptitiously she tried to remove her stockings and suspender belt without anyone seeing.

It was a horrible feeling. If she bent forward her breasts popped out, her bare shoulders felt chilly. Suppose when she moved on stage the audience could see her knickers?

Somehow she managed to wriggle into the corner, bent over and scooped her hair up into a top knot. Miriam had suggested she wore a ‘beehive’, but she’d tried that already at home and all she succeeded in doing was making herself look like a tart.

‘To hell with everyone,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I’ll be me and if they don’t like it, too bad.’

She stood up, pulling up the front of her dress, then turned.

Ian’s face broke into a wide smile.

He could see the defiant look in her eyes. Her hair showered over her head in a mass of bubbly little curls. He stepped forward, and with one finger released a few tiny strands by her ears, curling them round his finger.

He was already in his suit. He looked bigger, the red contrasting well with his blond hair. His black shoes gleamed with polish, shirt dazzling white and a faint whiff of woody aftershave. Georgia could see now why he had such a big following of girls.

‘You need something in your hair,’ he said thoughtfully. He was standing so close to her she was sure he could see right down her dress.

Georgia shamefacedly got out a gold feather plume that was with the dress and held it out.

‘Who did she think she was dressing?’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘That makes you look like something out of the Moulin Rouge!’

‘What about a flower?’ Rod said, his arrogant face for once alight with interest. ‘There’s a vase full on the bar.’

‘Go and whip a couple, red ones,’ Ian said.

Rod returned in minutes with two roses.

Ian came close to Georgia and pushed them into the band holding her hair.

‘That’s better,’ he said, standing back and smiling. ‘Now put a bit more colour on your face, you might look like a clown in here, but up on the stage you’ll look fine. Do you want me to do it for you?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, by now so nervous she couldn’t do anything.

Ian stood in front of her carefully applying the rouge. He picked up a small eyeliner brush and added a little more.

‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Now use a lipstick brush and outline your lips in a darker colour.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked. She was surprised by his knowledge, and the way he handled her like a sister was very comforting.

‘Quite sure,’ he said gently.

‘I’m in a bit of a state,’ she whispered, not wanting the others to overhear.

‘Let me give you a cuddle?’ he smiled. ‘The best remedy for the collywobbles.’ He put his arms round her and held her tightly, his lips close to her ear. ‘I’m still nervous and I’ve been doing it for years. But it goes as soon as we get up there.’

‘Break it up,’ Rod shouted. ‘I thought Max said no passes were to be made?’

‘Not a pass,’ Ian laughed, looking round at the others without letting go of her. ‘Just a cuddle to banish nerves.’

‘You nervous?’ Rod sounded amazed. ‘If you can come along to rehearsals when you don’t know anyone, you’ll sail through this.’

‘Will I?’ she said, still clinging to Ian.

‘Of course you will,’ the boys all chimed in together.

‘Besides, we can get John to blast out on his horn if you can’t reach the high notes,’ added Norman.

Their faces touched something inside Georgia.

They were all seasoned professionals and she had been thrust on them whether they liked it or not. She was young, green as grass and she was holding them all up. Yet here they were being brotherly and kind, grouping around her offering her their support.

‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘I hope I don’t let you down.’

‘You’ve got five minutes to have a pee,’ Ian said with a lop-sided grin. ‘Don’t drop that net skirt in the bog.’

Flynn’s was filling up.

Georgia couldn’t bear to peer through the door as the boys were doing. She could hear raucous laughter, shouting and stamping feet, it was frightening enough just to listen, without gawping at them too. Hard, pale-faced girls with beehives and heavily made-up eyes in tight sheath dresses and stilettos. The men tough and broad-shouldered in Italian boxy jackets and winkle-pickers. They seemed an unlikely bunch to appreciate a band who didn’t play top twenty hits.

Bobby Vee’s song ‘Rubber Ball’ was playing so loudly the speakers crackled, a smell of cigarettes, beer and cheap scent taking away all the oxygen she needed.

‘Never seen such a big crowd on a Thursday,’ a raw-faced bouncer in an evening suit poked his head round the door. ‘Looks like they all want to hear your new girl.’

‘And now, the moment you’ve all be waiting for,’ the record was halted and the club manager’s voice boomed out over the microphone. ‘Your favourite band,
Samson
!’

The boys pushed past Georgia, Rod blowing a kiss. Ian took her hand and squeezed it.

‘We go next,’ his eyes were full of understanding. ‘Don’t panic, let me lead you till you get into it. If you find you can’t sing, just move with the backing.’

A burst of applause and Rod played a roll on the drums.

Georgia felt a cold sweat breaking out all over her and she wanted to go to the toilet again.

‘You all know Ian McShane, but tonight you’re in for an extra treat. Meet the lovely Georgia James, the band’s new singer!’

Her legs refused to move, yet Ian was dragging her up the three steps on to the stage.

‘Smile,’ he said. ‘Head up!’

Norman played the opening bars. Georgia saw the expectant, upturned faces lining the stage only feet from her.

Somehow she made it to the microphone. Her mouth was smiling, but her stomach churned.

She reached for the microphone, and found her mouth and throat as dry as a desert.

‘Turn towards the band,’ Ian whispered as he adjusted his mike. ‘I’ll start.’

She forced herself to turn. Rod was smiling encouragement, John and Alan moved closer to cover any mistakes with their horns.

‘I’m on a soul train, don’t know where I’m going,’ she was mouthing the words but she could only hear Ian.

‘You can do it baby,’ Rod said, his eyes sympathetic. ‘Just keep singing till the voice comes back.’

She managed the second line a bit better, but by the time she got to the third, her voice came out despite her terror, and the fourth followed without even thinking about it.

She twirled down, a flash of gold net around slim brown legs. Mouth wide and red, teeth gleaming white. Her voice soared over the crowd.

‘I’m on the soul train and I’m coming baby to you.’

Towards the end of the first set something else had taken over. She was dancing, smiling, bending down to young men in the front row and blowing kisses. She forgot the scratchy underskirt, kicking off her shoes as she immersed herself even more into the music. Whenever she turned towards the rest of the band they were grinning like Cheshire Cats, egging her on.

Her voice found new heights, one moment deep and husky, raunchy and sexy, then sounds so pure she could hardly believe it was her.

Ian was better than he’d ever been at rehearsals. His singing was more punchy. As his head bent close to share the mike with her on some numbers, she knew he was putting his all into it.

The applause was deafening as the first set ended.

The D.J. ran on. ‘Well what can I say?’ he yelled, waving a hand at the departing band. ‘Can that little girl sing, or what?’

As Georgia reached the dressing-room door she saw Max.

‘You were great,’ his dark eyes shone like jet. ‘I’m knocked out!’

‘I didn’t know you were out there,’ she was breathless, panting like a dog after a ten mile run.

‘Would I miss seeing you get started?’ he said. ‘I even brought a photographer.’ He moved closer, taking her two arms in his big hands and squeezed them.

‘You were magic,’ he said, his eyes burning into her. ‘I’ve never seen the band so good.’ He looked round at the boys grouped behind her and smiled broadly. ‘Well done all of you. There’s a reporter from
Melody Maker
out there. If I’m not much mistaken you’ll get the best review of your careers this week.’

‘Do we get a drink boss?’ Norman as always was asking for something.

‘They’re set up in the back bar,’ Max grinned. ‘And you’ve earned them.

‘We’re privileged tonight,’ Speedy drawled sardonically. ‘This room’s usually closed off. They only use it for card games.’

A billiard table stood in one corner, covered with a cloth, in the middle of the room a large table had nine pints of beer standing on it.

‘Get a proper drink for Georgia,’ Max barked out at John tossing him a note. ‘And pay for that round while you’re at it.’

‘What’ll it be?’ John smirked. ‘Double champagne? Gin, brandy?’

‘Coke,’ she grinned. ‘And lots of ice.’

Georgia sat next to Ian.

‘Thank you for telling me to turn round,’ she said softly. ‘I thought my voice had gone for good.’