The Lover's Children novel Chapter 102

KLEMPNER

She’s a beauty. I’ve seen the Surgeon’s choice in victims. Lily fits the bill perfectly.

“It sounds like stalking to me. Whatever you want to call it, it seems you’re bothered enough by his behaviour to flag it up.”

Her lips flatten and her eyes flash. “I didn’t flag it. Danny did. She said someone was asking around if any of us were being bothered by anyone. She knew I’d had this creep on my tail.”

Lily blows air, then falls silent. I wait for her to decide to speak. When she does, “So who are you anyway? Or what are you? And why are you so interested? Danny said you’re not a cop, but she wasn’t very specific otherwise.”

“No, I’m not a cop. And for the record, I have no interest in how much you earn or what you do to earn it.”

“What then?” Her eyes tighten. “Social services? You from that new church place around the corner? I don't need my soul saving.”

“I don’t suppose you do. And if you did, I’m hardly the man for the job.”

It’s hardly my area of interest, but for now, I want to keep her talking. For a moment, I flounder for something to say, but Michael takes the cue. He switches on that smile he uses when he’s notching up the charisma. “Do you get a lot of that soul-saving stuff?”

She raises brows at the question, sniffs, wrinkling her nose, then knuckles under to the charm offensive. “The religious types? Yeah, from time to time. Here to save me from myself. Can’t stand them, but I try to be polite. They usually mean well, even when they’re the fanatic types or just clueless. They make no difference between the hostesses, the dancers and the hookers.”

She presses fingers to her chest, her voice turning dramatic… “They’ve come to save the Harlots and the Painted Jezebels from an eternity in Hell.” Her smile fades and she returns her attention to me. “So, where do you fit in?”

“Rest assured, I’m not from either the social services or the church. And for what it’s worth, I always rather admired Jezebel.”

Michael’s face swivels my way. Lily blinks, a smile beginning to crack. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She cocks her head. “How come?”

“Most of what is said about ‘Painted Jezebel’ is wrong and comes from people who couldn’t be bothered to read what is actually written about her. I have read the stories. She was an admirable woman. Brave. Loyal. She was a model wife, and she had the courage of her convictions. And that comes out from tales which were written by her enemies. In the end, Jezebel was on the losing team. That left her with two thousand years’ worth of bad press.”

Michael’s jaw is slack. “You have read the Bible?”

I keep my voice dry. “I’ve spent a lot of my life in hotel rooms.” The girl looks equally dumbstruck. “Lily, listen to me. I have zero interest in saving your soul, but I’m very interested in ensuring that your body remains in one piece.”

She swallows. Swallows again. Then, “Lily’s just my working name.” She offers her hand. “Martina. My friends call me Marty.”

“Good to meet you, Marty. Now please, tell me about this man that’s worrying you.”

She checks her watch. “I will, but I’m on in ten minutes and I need to get into my costume. Can we talk while I change?”

“Of course.”

There are no stalls or screens. And given the nature of the joint, etiquette wouldn’t seem to require a show of modesty. But Michael, turning away, nudges me and I follow his lead, while behind us, clothing rustles and crinkles.

“He comes to the club…” says Marty/Lily... “… when I’m dancing. At first, I just thought he was one of the regulars, but the guys behind the bar say he’s only watching me. He’s not interested in any of the other girls.”

“Don't men often stare at you?” I start to turn to face her, but Michael nudges me back. “You’re a dancer. An… exotic dancer…Surely the point is to be stared at?”

Her tone sharpens. “Yes, of course men look at me. The more they look, the more I earn. But this one’s… different.”

Behind us, the rasp of a zipper. “You can turn around now.” She smiles slightly as we face her. “Thanks. It’s nice to get a show of manners. Don’t often see that around here.” Taking a seat at a small dressing mirror, she sorts through pots and jars of cosmetics. Picking out a small container and brush, she strokes a dark shadow into the crease of her eyes.

I scrape up a chair and seat myself at eye level with her. “You say this one is different? How? Exactly?”

Pausing, she puts the brush down, rests forward on folded arms, glancing at me, then back at the mirror. “Y’know how, when you look at someone, you sort of look, then look away, then look back again…”

I nod understanding. “You’re doing exactly that now with me.”

“Right. Yes… This one doesn't. He just stares. It weirds me out.”

“Does he try to talk to you? When you’re not on stage.”

“Yes…” She stalls over her words. “I talk with a lot of guys at the club. It goes with the job.”

“Are you just a dancer? Or a… hostess too?” Michael raises brows at me, rolls a look.

She flushes. “Both. I’m expected to be polite to the customers. Even the weirdos. Within limits.” She lifts her chin, this time holding my eye. “But the word is hostess. My job stops at the exit.”

“I understand. So… this man…He… What? He just stares at you?”

“He turns up. He tips me. Wants to buy me drinks.”

“So, he’s approached you. When you say he tips you…? How? In your hand, when you’re talking with him? Or he slips money into your costume? During your performance?”

“Sometimes.” She sounds defensive. “Tips are part of it. This is my living.”

“I get that. Everyone has to eat and pay the bills. Did he come on you?”

She hisses, “I tell you, I’m not a hooker. He made a move on me, but I blew him off. I blow them all off. They don’t come home with me. They don’t get invited. He doesn’t know where I live.” She sighs. “Look, I know you mean well but, when you’re in my line of work, you get weirdos…”

“Marty, this one may not be just a weirdo. There’s a chance…”

The curtain tugs back and a head peers round: the compere. “Lily, you’re on. One minute.”

She turns brisk. “Gotta go, Guys.” Pushing past us, she heads for the frontstage.

*****

MICHAEL