She did not turn around again. The walk back seemed considerably shorter. She stood up, waved playfully at the public and disappeared behind the curtains.
The first thing she did was to count her money – ₤55. Not bad! She went back into the dressing room and started cleaning her face. Beata was still whingeing about her rash.
“Don’t you really want to try some of this stuff?” Connie said to her whimsically “It’s lethal!”
“No,” Katya shook her head.
She avoided staying long in Bailey’s. The dressing room was full to bursting anyway. One after the other, the girls would get on stage, do their act and then make way for the next. Every act was different. Kemal Dalali was particularly proud of this variety. In one night, more than thirty girls would turn up. If any girl wanted something on top, she could stay performing lap-dances in the twilight of the corner tables. Katya had done that as well without unnecessary scruples, but tonight she didn’t feel greedy enough.
A pound coin fell out of her boot. This is not a piggy-bank! she thought angrily, but still bent down to look for it.
“Kate, darling!” the voice of Gunter Chas was echoing. “I have something for you!”
Gunter Chas was a pleasant young gay guy who was in charge of the strippers’ wardrobe and also did other little orders on the side. She raised her head and narrowed her eyes. Chas gambolled, swinging his arse like a peg-top.
“Some gentleman wants you to dance exclusively for him,” he waved a ten-pound note in front of her nose. “He is waiting for you in his box. Apparently, darling, you stole his heart.”
This was not something new: the punters often invited the girls that they liked to do individual performances at their tables. A profitable business, despite the fact that the contact was too close. The clients seldom smelled nice at that moment.
She shook her head, “I am not in the mood. Sorry. He can choose someone else.” She was not obliged to do it when all was said and done.
Chas grimaced, “He’ll be really upset, you know, He wanted you especially!”
“I can’t help him!”
She gathered her things and stuffed them into her bag.
“You’re the loser, you know! He’s not like the other wankers! He looks cool!” Chas was still nagging, still clinging to the disappearing mirage of his tip.
“Then you go and dance for him. Bye!” and she waved at him.
She was really not in the mood. Strictly speaking she was in too good a mood to let it be destroyed by rubbing her bum on the crotch of some wanker. They were all wankers!
It was close to midnight when she walked out of Bailey’s. Sweet Samantha was still in front of entrance, enticing the rare passers-by with her looks of a siren on drugs. Katya looked for a taxi but had no luck. So she started to walk towards Shaftsbury Avenue. Actually, she did not mind walking now. She found London streets secure even at this time of night.
Until that moment, at least.
“Miss Kate!” She heard voice very near her shoulder. “Wait please!”
She turned around sharply. It was an unknown man. “What do you want?” she asked, imperceptibly speeding up.
“Didn’t they tell you that I was waiting for you?” There was a resentful note in the question. He had a long face, framed by sharp, low cut ginger sideburns, and he was wearing a black leather jacket and a silver-striped waistcoat. His tone really annoyed her. “I’ve got….”
“Listen!” she interrupted “I don’t do that unless I want to do it! Now, clear off!”
“No problem, I didn’t come for some lap-dance,” he grinned. “Although, I wouldn’t say no. I just wanted to see you and that seemed the easiest way.”
“I don’t want to talk,”
“My name is Barry Longfellow,” he ignored her brush off. “And my intentions are entirely decent. If you care to just listen….”
“I am not interested!”
“Well you ought to be, because I have an attractive proposition for you.”
“Aha, I see,” she nodded. “And I don’t do that at all.’
“You don’t understand! I know what you are thinking,” he spoke quickly. “But you’ve got it wrong. You’re thinking like some ignorant girl just arrived from the countryside.”
She stopped and stared at him. His last words had offended her.
“Finally!” he exclaimed then added, “I want to offer you a part.”
“A part?” she narrowed her eyes.
“That is right, a part…in a small but very promising play.”
“Are you a director?”
“Mmm, something like that...Executive producer, to be exact. Doesn’t matter. At the minute we are looking for the right person to take the lead. I’ve taken the liberty of observing you for some time. I think you’re a real find!”
This business seemed very fishy to her. “What kind of a play is this?”
“We put on chamber plays. But with a good budget,” he said with a special emphasis. “There are not many words.”
“And what about the content?”
“There is some erotic element,” he said carefully. “But that doesn’t bother you, I guess?”
“Hmm, depends on the story.”
“Innocent! Totally innocent!”
“Hmm.” She held back any further comment.
It felt strange, having a conversation like this on the street. Finally she said, “But I am not an actress.”
“We’ll see, we’ll see,” murmured Barry.
“And I have an accent,” she added.
“Accent,” he waved his hand complacently. “Are you Russian?”
“No, Bulgarian.”
“Doesn’t matter. There aren’t many words!”
What a leech! she thought.
Barry, profiting from her instant’s hesitation, hurried to provide her with his card.
“Call me,” he said. “But don’t put it off for too long!”
Then he stepped back, turned around and disappeared down the little street.
11
The van’s brake-lights glowed eerily in the darkness. Then it reversed, following Kosta’s instructions, and slowly but surely disappeared down the black throat of the garage. Batushka turned off the engine and pointed a powerful torch in Kosta’s face. The cook covered his eyes.
“Molodets!” the Tartar’s voice echoed.
Chavdar quickly opened the back door. Both of them set to, unloading a long object, zipped in a yellow nylon bag. Kosta watched them from one side. The air in the garage stank of petrol and he felt he was going to be sick. Batushka thrust the torch into his hands.
“You lead!” said Chavdar.
They inched down the stairs and across the basement. From time to time, Kosta turned around and gave a hostile look to his accomplices. He could hear them dragging their load and the nylon rustled unpleasantly. Batushka was swearing quietly in some Altaic language.
They came out into the central corridor and found themselves directly in front of the kitchen door. Here