Lucy #2
‘Is it Lucy?’ He scrutinized her appreciatively. ‘Richard told me to take a look at you. The name’s Metcalf.’
She almost dropped the dishes. This must be the great West End agent. ‘P-pleased to meet you,’ she stuttered.
A half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. ‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’
Remembering what Richard said about being friendly, she reached for something to say. ‘That’s right. You probably come here all the time, don’t you?’
He smirked. ‘All work and no play, don’t you think?’
‘Oh yes, absolutely.’ She couldn’t work out how to change the subject, talk about her singing career. ‘I’m busy, too, singing in shows all over London,’ she lied.
He pursed his lips as if he saw through her ruse. ‘Are you indeed?’ He looked her over again, this time more critically, his smile gone as he shook his head, a few stray tuts escaping him.
Never had she felt so judged, not even at the beauty contest. Here, beside these confident waitresses, she felt her shoulders cave protectively.
All she wanted to do was escape.
And yet she willed him to like her. She’d been through so much to get to this moment. She had to give it her all.
‘You’re a pretty girl,’ he said dismissively. ‘But I wonder if you have the stage presence for the big theatres.’
Suddenly desperate to prove herself, she leaned over to refill his glass, letting her cleavage linger in his line of vision. ‘Every audience gives me a standing ovation,’ she declared.
He leaned forward, more interested. ‘Maybe I can have a word with some producers, put your name forward.’
‘Oh, that would be wonderful!’ Lucy said.
Richard would be so proud of her, charming Metcalf, forming connections.
‘I tell you what,’ Metcalf went on. ‘Why don’t you come to one of the upstairs rooms, away from this mayhem, and we can have a little chat.
I can take down your details and so forth.
’ With careful judgement, his eyes travelled her over.
‘I have to be sure, after all.’ He nodded towards the staircase.
‘There’s a room in the back called the Milton Lounge.
Why don’t I meet you there in a few minutes? Bring some brandy.’
Once he’d left, she glanced over at Richard, but he was talking to Nancy, who leaned down towards him, her face close to his.
There seemed to be no use in trying to get his attention, so Lucy set a bottle of brandy and some glasses onto a tray and went upstairs, looking for the right door in the dimly lit corridor.
The Milton Lounge was at the far end, and as she opened it up, she realized why it was called a lounge rather than a meeting room.
Two long leather sofas faced each other, a small table between them.
Mahogany panels lined the walls, and a small window barely let in light.
A fringed maroon side lamp spread a deep glow around the room, making it feel private.
Seated in the middle of one of the sofas, Metcalf patted the space beside him. ‘Come and sit down. Let me take a note of your particulars.’
Just as she was beginning to worry whether he might use the situation to take advantage of her, he took out a notebook and pen, suddenly more official. Relieved, she set the tray on the table and sat down, asking what it was he needed to know.
‘Well, I can see that you’re beautiful and blonde,’ he wrote as he spoke. ‘And how tall are you?’
‘Five foot seven,’ she said.
‘And what are your measurements?’
‘Thirty-four, twenty-four, thirty-four.’
Looking straight at her bust, he said, ‘Are you sure? I would swear you’re a little bigger than that. Have you been measured recently?’
She laughed uncomfortably. ‘Well, not that long ago—’
He interrupted her. ‘Perhaps you could let me have a look. I’m a good judge of these things, and I’d be able to give the producers a better picture of you.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’
But he was already untying the bow of her apron, his fingers lifting the end of the ribbon.
‘You see, Lucy, if I don’t get a good look at you – try out the goods, so to speak – I won’t be able to talk to the directors, will I? So be a good girl, would you?’
Stunned, Lucy’s mouth went dry. ‘But I shouldn’t. I’m not here to, well . . .’
He was now unbuttoning her dress. ‘Richard told me that you’re serious about becoming a singer. I can help you with that, but only if you’re grown-up enough for a world like this.’
Of course she was grown-up enough, and the fact that Richard wanted her to meet with him, well, this must be part of the plan.
The reality mingled gruesomely with Richard’s advice to ‘do whatever she had to do’.
And like a dull thud in her stomach, she knew.
Her mouth went dry.
And just at that moment, he opened the front of her dress, lasciviously relishing her body.
It was too late to back out. Metcalf would never consider her again.
This was the moment to make or break her career. She couldn’t let it go.
‘I hope you’re not going to be one of those silly young girls who aren’t ready for the big time?’ Metcalf pulled away, his voice gruff, on the verge of being annoyed.
‘No, no,’ she said quickly, lying back on the sofa. ‘Not at all. I’m completely fine.’ She smiled at him, lifting a leg for him to unhook her stocking.
Inside her, something toughened, and she felt ruthless, determined. What did it matter, after all? Richard no doubt knew what this interlude would entail – wouldn’t he? And now that her virginity was already gone, sleeping with Metcalf would mean nothing.
It was what she had to do.