Women and War (3 page)

Tonight, as always, she made her way between the tables moving with a slinky sideways step because her ankle-length skirt was too tight to allow her to move freely. Many of the customers she recognized as regulars and she smiled at them and sang a few lines to them. But as she moved towards the discreetly lit rear of the club, she was surprised to see Ed sitting at a table with two men she had never seen before. One was completely bald; the soft spotlight following Tara caught the film of moisture covering the crown of his head, making it shine. Yet it was the other one who, in spite of being less remarkable, somehow drew and held her attention. His face was half-hidden behind a screen of cigar smoke but she was aware of a hook nose and piercing eyes; his suit was conservative yet she gained the distinct impression of a powerful physique. Ed was smiling proudly and nodding as if to encourage her and she sang to them before moving on once more.

She was back in her dressing-room, the tiny curtained alcove halfway up the rear fire escape when the summons came, delivered by Wenda, one of the club's hostesses.

‘The boss wants you to join him at his table, Tara.'

‘Oh no, sure wasn't I just about to have a steak! I'm starving!' she complained, but she knew better than to refuse. She slipped on a bolero to cover her bare shoulders and went back into the club.

The men were still sitting around the table. As she approached Ed pulled out a chair for her with a quick almost nervous gesture.

‘There she is then, our little Tara,' he said. ‘As you can see, Red, she's as beaut close to as she looks when she's singing.'

‘Can I buy you a drink?' the big man asked. His voice was soft yet there was a vibrancy in it that commanded, just as the look of him did.

‘She'll drink champagne, won't you, Tara?' Ed prompted and Tara nodded. On the rare occasions when Ed allowed her back into the club to fraternize with the customers she was expected to ask for champagne – though what she actually got was a soft fizzy drink served in a champagne flute.

‘You were dinkum,' the big man said. He was looking at her through the haze of cigar smoke, eyes narrowed. ‘How long have you been here?'

Ed answered for her. ‘ Just a few weeks. She's done well. Soon as she walked in here looking for a job I knew she'd be right.'

‘Where do you live, Tara?' the big man asked.

The drinks had arrived. Busy as the bar was there had been priority for the boss's table. Tara, thirsty from her singing spot, had her glass halfway to her lips as he asked the question.

‘Darlo,' she said and drank. Then her eyes widened and she pressed her fingers to her mouth as the liquid tickled unexpectedly on her tongue. That wasn't carbonated water – it
was
champagne! She glanced quickly round the table thinking she must have been given the wrong drink but the men's glasses were all whisky tumblers filled with easily recognizable amber liquid and Ed, staring at her from beneath hooded lids, was daring her to say anything.

‘Darlinghurst, eh? I'd say you'll go far from Darlinghurst!' He held his cigar clamped between his teeth and his features were craggy in the dim light. But it was his eyes she was unable to ignore – his eyes on her face, deep and speculative, looking at her in a way she knew only too well.

She pushed back her glass and started to get up.

‘Thank you, but if you would excuse me …'

Ed touched her elbow, pulling her down again. ‘It's too early to leave, Tara.' He was smiling but she sensed it was a forced smile with lips drawn too tightly across his teeth. ‘Mr Maloney especially wanted to meet you.'

Mr Maloney. Red. The name meant nothing to her.

‘I'm feeling awful tired. I'll be very bad company.'

The eyes behind the cigar smoke narrowed a fraction more; they were little more than slits now.

‘Don't worry about it, Tara. Stay and relax for a little while and I'll have my car drop you home afterwards. You won't have to walk to Darlo tonight.'

There was no escape and she sensed it. On the table in front of her the champagne sparkled invitingly. Tara raised the flute and drank and this time she enjoyed the sensation of the bubbles bursting on her tongue. When the flute was half empty Red Maloney motioned to a hostess to bring more and as he raised his hand Tara saw the solid gold cufflinks gleaming at his wrist. Interested, she took a closer look and saw that his wristwatch too was gold. Obviously a man of means. But it didn't mean she liked him any better. For one thing he was thirty-five if he was a day; for another there was something vaguely frightening about him. Just what it was Tara was uncertain but it had to do with an instinct that told her he was very used to getting his own way, which was compounded by Ed's attitude. Tara at fourteen had looked up to Ed as the height of successful sophistication; to see him now so ill at ease in the presence of this big powerful man was a chastening experience.

An hour passed. The music became slower and sleepier, the couples dancing on the square of floor clung closer and the air became so thick with smoke that Tara's eyes began to sting. But strangely she found she was caring less. If this was how champagne made you feel it was rather pleasant, she thought – even if her cheeks did feel flushed and the shell lights on the wall seemed to be moving in soft fuzzy circles. The company that had been forced upon her seemed more congenial too – even Ed had told one or two jokes that had actually made her giggle.

She giggled again now, lifting her champagne glass and looking down into it. ‘ Oh, it's all gone! What a pity!'

Ed raised his hand to summon a hostess but Red Maloney stopped him.

‘No. I think Miss Kelly is ready to go home now.'

No one had ever called her Miss Kelly before. She giggled again. He stood up and she saw for the first time just what a big man he was – well over six feet tall and broad with it – but a breadth that came from physical exercise, not from sloth.

‘Do you have a coat, Miss Kelly?' he asked.

She shook her head, holding her lip between her teeth because absurdly she still wanted to giggle. The bald-headed man, Jason, rose too; by the time Tara, leaning lightly against Red's arm, reached the top of the stairs a huge black Cadillac was waiting at the kerb. Red held her back in the doorway while Jason got out and opened the rear passenger door, then he ushered her into the car and got in beside her.

The fresh air had sobered her little; she looked around surprised to find herself surrounded by such luxuries as smoked glass windows and leather upholstery. Red touched a button and when a cocktail cabinet slid out at knee level, he poured himself a Scotch.

‘Want one?' he asked her.

‘I don't know … Can I taste?'

He held the glass to her lips and the wafting smell reminded her so sharply of Mammy that she almost sobbed aloud. Then the fiery liquid was burning her throat, making her cough, and she forgot Mammy again.

The car swept past Tooheys Brewery and began climbing the steep rise into Surrey Hills. Tara looked out at the pretty terraced cottages they were passing, three tiered and decorated with wrought iron lacework like an everlasting wedding cake. She loved these houses and had always dreamed that one day she might live in one of them instead of the squalid Darlo apartment she shared with Maggie. Now, in the cocooned luxury of the Cadillac, she found herself almost believing for a moment that one of the pretty cottages was hers already.

Darlinghurst was a maze of small sloping streets and tall squalid houses. When Tara pointed down an alleyway the Cadillac slid to a stop. Red Maloney closed up his bar but made no move to open the door for Tara to get out.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Sure wouldn't Maggie have a fit if she was to go by now and see me in a grand car like this one!'

His eyes were on her again.

‘I have a proposition to put to you, Tara. If you say yes you would be able to ride in a car like this all the time.'

His words sobered her even more than the fresh air had done. Did he mean what she
thought
he meant?

‘Oh, I couldn't Mr Maloney, thank you kindly all the same. It's against all the laws of God's church …'

He laughed aloud. ‘I was going to ask you if you would sing in one of my clubs. What did you think I was going to say?' she flushed and he went on: ‘ I have two clubs, both of them bigger and better than the Canary. The one is in …'

‘No,' she said.

‘But you haven't given me a chance to tell you …'

‘Sure what is there to tell? I couldn't leave the Canary Club. What would Ed do?'

‘He'll find someone else.' His hand covered hers and as he moved towards her she smelled again the whisky smell on his breath that reminded her so of Mammy.

‘No thank you, Mr Maloney.' She fumbled for the door catch, without success. The Cadillac was a prison of leather and chrome. ‘Let me get out of here!' she said in panic.

‘Tara!' he reproached. He caught her chin turning it towards him and at first she was too startled by the vice-like grip even to struggle. So strong were his fingers it seemed to her that if he wished he could crack her jaw like a walnut. Then, still holding her face steady he bent his head to hers. She found herself looking up mesmerized into that craggy face, all lines and shadows in the half-light. Then his mouth was on hers, pressing and seeking so fiercely that she could scarcely breathe. For a moment she remained motionless then as his tongue violated her mouth she began to fight, trying to free herself. Useless. How could any man be that strong? As he raised his lips she gulped thankfully for air then, still trapped, expelled it all as a scream. At once his other hand clamped over her mouth and with the panic now making her desperate she bit at it and tasted blood.

Red swore violently and released her to suck the blood from his injured hand. Tara knew a moment's triumph that changed swiftly to fear as he lunged towards her once more, pinning her into the corner of the seat like a butterfly.

‘Try that again and you'll be sorry!'

Her sob of fear turned to defiance. ‘ You bully!' she screamed at him. ‘You'll rot in hell, so you will!'

As suddenly as he had grabbed her he let her go, leaning back with an explosive roar of laughter.

‘What is there to laugh at?' she cried, mortified and not knowing why.

He shook his head, reached into his pocket and extracted a fat cigar.

‘What do you want with me?' she cried in fury. ‘Just get on with it, can't you, if you're going to! Don't keep tormenting me like this!'

‘Oh no, Tara.' She saw the glint of a gold lighter as he lit his cigar and instantly the car was perfumed by the pungent smoke. ‘You have it wrong. I don't rape little girls in the back seats of motor cars.'

She stared at him, trembling. She did not understand and not understanding made her more afraid than his aggression had done.

‘Do you know, my dear, that I own three brothels in this town, with the best girls in the whole of New South Wales? They're not whores. They are courtesans. I can visit them whenever I choose. Oh no, I don't need to rape anyone and if I did I assure you it would be in comfort.'

‘Then what …?'

‘I can afford to wait for what I want,' he said and the note in his voice chilled her. ‘You'll come to me in your own good time.' He leaned over then tapping the glass that separated the rear of the car from the driver. ‘Open the door please, Aldo.'

The door slid open. Tara gaped at it, too surprised to take advantage of her way of escape now that it was offered.

‘Well, aren't you going?' he said. ‘Or have you decided to come home with me already?'

She moved then with all the speed and agility that her tight-fitting dress would allow, tumbling out into the street and running on her spike-heeled shoes down the alley. But it was not until she reached the flight of uneven stone steps leading up to the front door that she heard the engine purr into life and glancing fearfully over her shoulder saw the Cadillac slide away.

Maggie was asleep when Tara came bursting in, hennaed hair spread in violent disarray across the pillow. The room smelled stale and Tara guessed that Maggie had had at least one visitor that evening.

‘Maggie …'

‘Ugh?'

‘Maggie, please wake up! There was a man … a man at the Club. He brought me home in his car …'

Maggie rolled over. ‘Mm – all right for some …'

‘It wasn't what you think …' Tara broke off realizing the futility of it.

‘A car! Think yourself lucky,' Maggie mumbled and was promptly asleep once more.

Tara sighed. She straightened up, kicked off her shoes and stood for a moment hugging herself with her arms. Then she peeled off the skin tight dress, the wisp of suspender belt and stockings, turned back the sheets and climbed in beside Maggie.

Maggie was wearing a nightgown, a creation in green art silk which had been given to her by one of her gentlemen friends. Her body heat burned through in waves but ignoring it Tara curled close to her back. Before long Maggie would probably lash out, tell her to ‘Give me some air, for Chrissakes!' But for the moment Tara felt in need of comfort and Maggie, unwilling or not, was the closest she could come to that.

The next evening when Tara arrived at the Canary Club she was summoned at once to Ed's office. He sat behind his desk sweating slightly and dabbing at his face with a silk handkerchief.

‘Tara, I'm sorry, I don't know how to tell you this so I might as well come right out with it. I can't have you working here any more.'

Her jaw dropped. ‘Why not?'

‘I'm under orders to get rid of you.'

‘Whose orders?'

He dabbed at his face again and replaced the handkerchief in the pocket of his tuxedo.

‘You know who that was here last night, don't you?' Her face darkened. She did not answer. ‘It was Red Maloney,' he continued. ‘Well, Red wants me to get rid of you.'