Bobby's Girl (14 page)

A girl was leaning against a building across the road. She pulled her skirt to her waist every time a man walked towards her, and she wasn't wearing underwear.

‘Welcome to New York.' Bobby left the bed. Naked, he stood behind her and locked his arms around her waist.

‘I can't believe what I'm seeing.'

‘The homeless guy bedded down outside that building?'

‘I hadn't noticed him. He looks young.'

‘Probably is.'

‘Don't you have hostels for the homeless in this city?'

‘Not enough to accommodate them all. And most of our homeless have drink or drugs problems as well as the biggest problem of all. Poverty.'

‘I feel sorry for him.'

‘Don't. As you see, he has a brown paper bag that he's lifting to his mouth. My guess is cheap whisky. And while he has oblivion he doesn't need your sympathy.'

‘That girl …' Penny watched her lift her dress again. A man walked up to her and stood in front of her, blocking her from view of the street.

‘The hooker?' Bobby asked.

‘It's public. What about the police …?'

‘The police have better things to do than round up hookers at this hour of the morning. Besides, they'd
never succeed in running all of them in. If they did they'd have to turn Central Park into a cell. Even then, I doubt it would be big enough to hold every working girl in the city.'

‘But that's so blatant.' She watched in disbelief when the man stepped back from the girl and zipped up his trousers.

‘You have hookers in London and Oxford. I've seen them operate.'

‘Not openly on the streets like that.'

‘Yes, openly on the streets like that. But you do have to look for the streets in the UK. You Brits like things neater than us Yanks. We believe in free enterprise and allowing our hookers to operate anywhere.' He brushed her hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘You shock easily. I like that in a woman. Shows your innocence.'

‘Innocence …' she summoned her courage. ‘We didn't talk about my boyfriend earlier. I want you to know, I've only had one and we were together for seven years. We were almost engaged …'

‘He's history. I'm here.' He turned her round until she faced him.

‘I don't want you to think I'm the sort of girl who makes a habit of sleeping with boys the day she meets them.'

‘You didn't, we met months ago.' He locked his hands around her waist.

‘We haven't seen one another since.'

‘Only because we were on different continents. And, as we're in a confessing mood, I haven't lived in a monastery since I returned from Oxford.'

She smiled. ‘I'd love to see you in a monk's habit with a tonsure.'

‘Kinky. I'll see what I can find.' He bent his head to hers and kissed her slowly and lovingly. ‘Why are we standing here, having this conversation in front of a hotel bedroom window with the curtains open in full view of the street at three-thirty in the morning, when we could be doing something far more interesting in bed?'

‘I couldn't sleep. I thought I'd see New York by night.'

‘I hated waking up and discovering you gone.'

‘I was still in the room.'

‘But not next to me.' He led her back to the bed and caught sight of the clock. ‘Four hours before we have to get up. At least you can sleep while I deliver my talk. I, on the other hand, have to think of something to say that will fill twenty minutes.'

‘Do you know what?'

‘I haven't a clue.'

‘Shouldn't you make some notes?'

‘Not now.' He pushed her back on to the bed. 

Surrounded by jet-lagged students and jet-lagged herself, she couldn't stop yawning the next morning. But exhausted as she was, she couldn't stop looking at Bobby while he delivered his introductory talk. And smiling at the memory of the night – and morning – they'd shared. She flushed in embarrassment when she realised Kate had been watching her while she'd been mentally undressing Bobby.

Kate whispered in her ear. ‘You're besotted.'

She saw Bobby watching them. ‘Ssh.'

‘Admit it.' Kate persevered.

She dug Kate in the ribs with her elbow.

‘Jobs in the States aren't that difficult to come by, well-paid ones are.' Dressed casually in jeans and check shirt Bobby concluded his lecture to the students on the orientation course by stating the obvious. ‘If you're asked at an interview if you've experience in a particular field,
or can operate a specific piece of machinery, the answer you give is a resounding and confident “yes”. When you're faced with a machine or the task in hand, you smile,' Bobby bared his teeth in an insincere Hollywood grimace, ‘and say, “Ours are different in Europe. Please show me how this one works.” You have a question?' Bobby pointed to Joe Hunt who'd raised his hand.

‘And if we break the machine or the system or whatever it is we're supposed to be operating?'

‘You won't if you don't touch whatever it is until they show you how to manage it.'

‘Isn't that somewhat optimistic?' Kate chipped in.

‘Not if you insist on being fully briefed before you put a finger on anything that looks complicated or dangerous,' Bobby replied.

‘So what if I get a job as a nuclear physicist?' Joe asked.

Bobby waited until the laughter in the room subsided. ‘There's a shortage of skilled workers on the eastern seaboard. Possibly that includes nuclear physicists. But I would presume a nuclear physicist's position to be a permanent one. I assumed you were all looking for temporary seasonal work.'

‘We are.' Kate made a face at Joe.

‘However, if I hear of a vacancy for a nuclear physicist in the city I'll be sure to contact you, Mr …'

‘Hunt. Joe Hunt.'

‘And if we can't help you to find a job as a nuclear physicist your second choice would be?'

‘Bar work,' Joe conceded.

‘You have experience?'

‘Only from the customer side,' one of Joe's housemates shouted from the back of the room.

‘Then it's bar work with training for you, Mr Hunt, if we can find it.' Bobby declared. ‘It's time for a coffee break. Some employers in search of temporary workers are in the suite next door. More will be arriving at three o'clock this afternoon. They'll give you an idea of the type of work on offer in the city and the surrounding areas. They'll also be able to answer any questions you have about working conditions, hours and salaries. If you need assistance finding accommodation our counsellors will be on hand at two-thirty in the green suite. Thank you for listening.'

‘Bobby's lecture was as much help as a double
open-ended
sick bag on a plane.' Kate picked up her haggis. ‘You coming next door?'

‘I am.' She checked her watch. ‘But I'm surprised you are.'

‘I've been talking to people. Twenty dollars a week all found as an au pair sounds like slave labour.'

‘It is.' Bobby appeared at their side. ‘Which is why I've put the two of you down for positions at Camp Resonance. One hundred and twenty dollars a week all found and one day off a week. Does that appeal?' He looked to Kate.

‘Where and what is Camp Resonance?' Kate demanded.

‘The camp is built on a beautiful wooded spot on the banks of a lake in Connecticut. Ideal for swimming, sailing, canoeing and all water sports. It's a summer camp for children ranging in age from five to eighteen and is
designed to build participants' confidence, impart skills, and stretch their imaginations.' Bobby was obviously quoting the prospectus.

‘And what would we be doing there?' Kate asked suspiciously.

‘You would be working with the eight-to-twelve-
year-olds
. Organising group activities around your specialities, which are …?' He looked questioningly at Kate.

‘I'm studying English main with drama and social studies,' Kate divulged.

‘Perfect, you can coach the kids in drama and organise a play for parents' day. The work won't be too onerous,' he added when he saw a sceptical expression cross Kate's face. ‘There's a ratio of eight kids to one counsellor.'

‘There could be better paid jobs on offer next door.'

‘There could,' Bobby allowed, ‘but not when you take the cost of food and rent into consideration.'

Penny followed Kate out of the door. Bobby grabbed her arm.

‘You'll be working with the fifteen-to-eighteen-
year-olds
alongside me. So there's absolutely no need for you, or Kate, to talk to anyone. Take it from me, you'll love Resonance.'

She recalled Kate's advice about the Sixties and her resolve to live the free emancipated life of a modern woman. The night had been wonderful, but apart from Bobby's determination to entice her to work alongside him for the duration of the summer, there'd been no promises. Nor did she expect any one day into a relationship. But Bobby had already soothed the emotional bruises Rich had inflicted. And after the
few hours they'd spent together, she knew that if she allowed him to get any closer he could easily break, not just bruise, her heart.

‘I hope you didn't put yourself out. I really do want to stay in the city,' she explained more coolly than she felt.

‘By all means look,' Bobby said as she joined Kate in the room that had been assigned to employers, ‘but you won't get a better offer than me and Camp Resonance.'

‘We're experienced waitresses and barmaids,' Kate assured the middle-aged woman manning the reception desk in the suite where prospective ‘employers' were sitting behind tables stacked with application forms and brochures. Kate was stretching the truth. At fifteen they'd both found Saturday jobs as waitresses in one of the Italian cafés in Pontypridd. But whereas Kate had stuck it out until they'd left for college, Penny'd given up after a few months to take a Saturday job in Marks and Spencer's. Without the tips, it was less money, but it was also easier work and shorter hours.

A middle-aged balding man with a paunch left his table and approached Kate. ‘Did you say you were an experienced waitress?' he leered.

‘Yes.' She gave him a look that would have frozen a curry.

‘I'm Roland Black, the assistant manager of the hotel—'

‘Assistant manager?'

Roland ignored Bobby's sceptical interruption. ‘If you girls want to stay in the city, you should work
here. You've seen first hand the clientele we cater for.' He waved his hand around the room as though he were personally responsible for the decor. ‘We need a waitress and a switchboard operator.'

‘I can't operate a switchboard. What are the hours and wages for the waitress?' Kate enquired briskly. Early widowhood, coupled with a stunning figure and the blonde hair and grey eyes she'd passed on to her daughter, had taught Kate's mother how to deal with lechers. It was a skill she'd taken care to teach Kate.

‘First you should think of the benefits.' The man ran his tongue around his lips. ‘You'll be living in the centre of New York city, all meals and accommodation paid. That alone is worth a fortune. And pretty girls like you will have the male members of staff queuing up to show you around New York in your free time. In fact, I may show you around myself when I'm off duty—'

‘The hours,' Kate interrupted.

‘Six days on, one day off. Forty-eight hours a week.'

‘What meals will I be covering?'

‘Breakfast, lunch and dinner but you'll have plenty of free time in between.'

‘You want me to work split shifts, starting early morning and finishing late evening,' Kate challenged.

‘Think of the time you'll have off,' Roland coaxed.

‘I know exactly how much free time I'll have. I worked split waitressing shifts last summer in a British holiday camp. By the time I left the dining hall and changed out of my uniform, I had less than an hour before I had to
change back and report to the hall to lay the tables for the next meal.'

It was their experience last year in Barry Butlin's that had made both her and Kate determined never to take a live-in job at a holiday camp, where they'd be at the beck, call and mercy of management, again.

‘The basic wage is eighty cents an hour but in a place like this you could make a couple of hundred dollars a week in tips,' Roland smiled.

‘How much would you deduct for living costs?' Kate asked.

‘Thirty-five dollars.'

Kate did a quick calculation in her head. ‘So, I'd be working for three dollars forty cents a week plus tips.'

‘As I said, smart girl like you could pocket a couple of hundred dollars a week. But I only have a vacancy for one waitress and one switchboard operator. You can operate a switchboard?'

Penny had no idea why Roland Black had singled her out for that job, after Kate's assertion that they were both experienced waitresses and barmaids. But with thoughts of living in the centre of New York and Bobby's inaugural lecture fresh in her mind, she answered confidently. ‘Of course.'

‘Ninety-five cents an hour, basic forty-eight-hour week, there could be overtime, but no tips and, like your friend, your accommodation and meals will be
thirty-five
dollars a week.'

Before she could point out that she'd be left with ten dollars sixty cents a week and no prospect of earning tips, Bobby stepped in.

‘If they take those jobs the girls will be worked to death. They may live in the centre of New York but they won't be left with a spare minute to see anything.' Bobby turned to her. ‘At least in the camp you'll be guaranteed a day off a week and can come into the city to see the sights.'

‘And sleep in the street because they won't be able to afford a bed.' Roland smirked. ‘I'll give you girls an immediate trial.'

‘I'd like to see the restaurant I'd be working in and our accommodation before I make any decision,' Kate said.

Roland Black snapped his fingers and a girl in receptionist's uniform came running from another table. ‘Show Miss …'

‘Burgess, Kate Burgess,' Kate introduced herself.

‘The restaurant and staff accommodation. While I take Miss …'

‘John. Penny John.'

‘Down to reception to give her a trial on the switchboard.'

While Roland Black's minion led Kate up the corridor towards the public rooms of the hotel, Roland Black steered Penny out of the room and hit the lift button. Before the doors closed Bobby stepped in beside them. As the assistant manager had been eyeing her the same way he'd been eyeing Kate, she was grateful for Bobby's presence.

‘Mind if I watch?' As Bobby was already in the tiny cupboard behind the reception area that served as the ‘telephone exchange' his question was superfluous.

‘I do,' Roland retorted.

‘As one of the staff responsible for orientation it would help enormously if we have positive outcomes that we can relate to the next intake of European students.'

‘Your presence will make Miss John nervous,' Mr Black snapped.

‘She looks a confident girl to me,' Bobby countered. ‘You don't mind, do you, Miss John?'

She shook her head because she couldn't trust herself not to laugh.

A sharp-featured middle-aged woman was sitting in front of a switchboard, headphones on, mechanically jamming plugs into various holes, while speaking in a high-pitched robotic voice.

‘Good morning, how may I help you? … One moment, sir … I'm connecting you … Connecting you now, madam … Room 652 on the line for you, sir … How may I help you, sir? … Connecting you to room service now, sir … Have a nice day, madam …'

Roland tapped the operator on the shoulder. ‘Miss Schumacher, would you mind giving up your seat to Miss John for ten minutes?'

‘You're the new relief?' Miss Schumacher looked delighted at the prospect.

‘It's only a trial.' She'd watched the operator for less than a minute but it had been long enough for her to determine there was no way she could man a switchboard.

‘If it means I won't have to work another double shift, you're welcome to my chair, my headphones and everything else that goes with the job, Miss John.' The
operator pushed one more plug home before leaving her seat.

She stood back and pretended to study the board. ‘Our European switchboards are nothing like this.'

Bobby covered his mouth with his hand. The cough he'd intended sounded like a strangulated squeal.

‘Surely they can't be that different?' Roland snapped.

‘I assure you they are,' she contradicted, trying to sound authoritative, which wasn't easy given that the switchboard was the first she'd seen.

‘Give it a try.'

She turned to Bobby. There was a mischievous glint in his eye. If she could have run out of that cubicle and the hotel, she would have. But Bobby and Roland Black were blocking her path. Cornered, she sat in the operator's chair and picked up a plug.

Five panic-stricken plug-pushing minutes later, every telephone in the hotel was ringing, even the ones she could see the receptionists answering through the open door. The noise was deafening. But, even more
nerve-racking
than the ringing, was the mounting tension in the cubicle.

She knew and Roland Black knew she'd jammed the hotel switchboard.

‘You've never sat at a switchboard before.' Roland Black wasn't asking.