Chapter nine
Farringdon, London
Violet
“What did you say your name was?” the girl behind the counter says. Her crazy blonde curls are pinned high, twisted into a messy bun.
“Violet.”
“What brings you to London?” she asks, flashing me a beaming smile.
Hell, I only came in here to buy some clothes that actually fit me. I’m desperate to get back to feeling more like me, whoever me is.
“Life,” I reply evasively, and she laughs. It’s warm, filled with joy. She’s the type of person you look at and immediately like. I suspect she’s in her mid-twenties, still having that rosy glow of youth. The thought is depressing; I’ve missed out on so much.
“I reckon we’re all living life. It likes to chew us up and spit us out so we land completely where we never expected. It makes things interesting, I suppose. Where do you stay?”
“A hostel for the moment. My original plans went a bit wrong. I’m having to pivot.”
“Pivot?” she repeats, her eyebrows drawing together in obvious confusion.
“Yes, pivot. If something doesn’t work out, you change direction. Try something else. Find where you’re meant to be.”
Her mouth breaks into a wide smile and she nods, now understanding.
“Right now, I have no permanent home or a way to make a living. But I’ll get there. For once in my life, I’m actually in charge. It’s freeing.”
I volunteer information she didn’t ask for. It feels good to speak to someone.
“I hear you,” she says. Her gaze runs over my face then drops to my toes before rising again.
“What kind of work are you looking for? I may know of somewhere that’s hiring.”
“Anything,” I tell her. “I’m not in the position to be choosy. I need to be able to eat.”
“Me neither. I arrived here a few years ago with big dreams of entertaining audiences in the West End. The closest I’ve got is an elf in the local shopping center pantomime.”
I laugh out loud then snap my hands over my mouth. “Sorry,” I mumble, “that was insensitive.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says kindly.
“If I didn’t laugh, I would cry. I may be able to help you with somewhere to stay too. I’m Samantha.”
She holds her hand out across the counter in the small cheap clothing store I found while walking the dreary London streets.
I take it, her grip is surprisingly strong.
Summer has taken a day off today. The sign in the window said everything inside costs one pound. It does, and it looks like it.
“Lovely to meet you, Samantha.”
She scribbles on a small white notepad with a bright pink pen. Her clear blue eyes dance as she passes it to me.
“Here’s my number,” she says. “I finish work at five.”
She glances at the old clock on the wall, the second hand ticking around the face slowly.
“Message me, and we can meet up for a drink. We’re looking for a roommate. I live with another three girls not far from here. The apartment isn’t pretty, and the neighbors can be a handful, but it’s dry, clean, and cheap.”
“Sounds good. And you said you may be able to help me with my lack of job situation?”
“I’ll tell you about that later. It’s better if you see it rather than hear about it. It will be less…”
She pauses then taps her lip with a finger considering her words.
“Overwhelming.” She nods to herself, happy with her assessment.
“Yes, overwhelming. But I think the management would be interested in hiring you. You have what they are looking for.”
“What’s that?” I question, confused how she could assess me for a job from our brief conversation.
“Promise,” she replies with a wink. “I’ll see you later.”
I leave the shop with a bag filled with poor-quality clothing, no idea what I’m walking into, and potentially a new friend.
After debating for over an hour, I decide to send the random woman I met in the clothing shop a message. What do I have to lose? If this was meant to happen, I’ll only find out by following the trail. Samantha messages back within minutes with a location to meet at half past five.
***
The coffee shop sits in an alleyway behind the store I visited earlier.
It’s small with only eight tables crammed into the tiny space.
Each one is covered with a red plastic tablecloth.
Samantha sits at the furthest table from the door—her hand shoots into the air when she sees me.
I wave back shyly, not wanting to draw attention to myself.
There aren’t many people inside with two tables taken. The only sound is quiet conversation.
As I approach her, Samantha stands and steps out from her chair, enveloping me in a hug, which takes me by surprise.
“I’m so glad you came,” she says, giddy.
“I was worried you wouldn’t show up.” I try to smile at her, not knowing what to say.
Overfamiliarity is something I’m not used to.
“You looked like you needed a friend today. I remember being like that. London is a scary place on your own.”
“It is,” I agree.
“Anyway, sit. Let’s order some coffee and cake. We can discuss anything or nothing at all then I can show you what’s available.”
She beams. “I’ve set up a meeting with the boss at the club about the job. He’s keen to meet you. It’s the main man too, down from Glasgow. If he likes you, you’ll be in. You would never think he is what he is.”
“The club?”
“Yes, unfortunately the wages from the clothes shop don’t cover my living costs. So, I need to dance too.”
“Dance?”
“Yes, dance at a gentleman’s club. We all do. That’s how I met the other girls.”
My heart sinks as she describes her role.
“Don’t panic,” she says, leaning forward and placing a hand over mine.
“It’s a lovely place to work. You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to, and the owner looks after us. As I said, he’s incredibly normal for such a connected man. You’ll understand more once you see it.”
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“Just come and meet the girls. See the club. You don’t sound like you have many options, Violet,” she says, fixing her shrewd eyes on me.
There is nothing stupid about this woman.
She saw me coming this morning. A woman in need.
A woman who needed possibilities when she had none.
“This could be the answer to your prayers. In a few months, you could make enough money to be back on track. I clear at least five hundred a night.”
“Five hundred,” I splutter. She grins at me wickedly.
“And all I need to do is swing around a pole with my tits hanging out. Easy money,” she says, widening her eyes.
“Do they ever touch you?” I ask, nervous that I’m even considering the possibility of this. My only knowledge of gentlemen’s clubs and strippers is from movies. It doesn’t help to squash my worries.
“Who? The clients?” She shakes her head. “No, they’re not allowed to. Mr. Parker would have them out on the street with a broken arm. As I said, we’re looked after.”
“Okay, I’ll come and look,” I concede, figuring I have nothing to lose.
“Excellent,” she shrieks, slapping her hands together. “Drink up so I can take you to meet everyone.”
An hour later, I’m standing in the most luxurious nightclub I’ve ever seen.
The entrance had been completely inconspicuous, a single blue door nestled between a takeaway and a launderette in inner city London.
A man in a tuxedo stood on the other side of the doorway.
We scaled a narrow staircase toward another blue door, but once we walked through, it opened into the most amazing space.
A circular stage with a pole stands in the center of the room.
Booths in blue velvet line the edges. Every wall is mirrored.
On the far wall, there is a bar with every conceivable bottle stacked behind it.
Samantha struts into the empty space, holds her hands above her head, and turns three-hundred-sixty degrees.
“Welcome to Guilty Pleasures,” she says with a smile.
“Mr. Parker will be in his office. It’s just through here. He’s expecting us.”
I follow her behind the bar where she knocks on a mirrored door—you wouldn’t notice it unless you knew it was there.
“Come in,” a deep voice calls. Samantha pushes the door open, and we walk into a large office space with a heavy wooden desk at its center.
Behind it sits a man in a sharp blue suit.
He looks to be in his late thirties with dirty blond hair and dazzling green eyes.
“Hello Samantha,” he says, his tone welcoming but authoritative.
“Good evening, Mr. Parker. I’ve brought the new candidate as you requested.”
“Very good,” he replies, then turns to me before standing and stepping out from behind his desk. He holds one hand out, and I take it. His grip is firm—this is a man in control. “Joel Parker,” he says, introducing himself. “And you are?”
“Violet.”
“Do you have a surname?” he asks with a smirk. “Or are you like one of those pop stars who are so well known you don’t need one?”
“Brown,” I reply. Instinct tells me not to use Chase. If this man is the type of person I think he is, he may know my brothers. I don’t want him connecting the dots. For my new life to work, no one can know who I am. I need to be anonymous.
“Nice to meet you, Violet Brown.” He gives me a look that lets me know he knows I’m lying. “Has Samantha explained the opportunities available at Guilty Pleasures?”
“She said this was a dance club.”
“It is. But you don’t need to dance if you don’t want to. We have a position available at the bar, or some of the girls do offer private entertainment. Where you choose to start is completely up to you.”
“Private entertainment?” I say, my chest tightening with nerves. He nods.
“We provide a safe space. The girls choose if they want to provide our gentlemen with optional extras. As I said, it is your choice. If it makes you more comfortable, you could start the bar, meet some of the clientele. The gentlemen who come here are wealthy men looking to unwind.
We provide a high-end service and total discretion; they pay us well for it. In return, we pay you handsomely.”
“Do you sample your product?” I snap, and he chuckles.
“No, I’m a happily married man with a son at home plus another on the way. These clubs,” he waves his arm around, “were my family’s. I inherited them. It’s not my favorite part of the business, but I manage them in the fairest way possible."
“Oh, that makes it all right then,” I mutter.
“The clubs would operate whether or not I owned them. This way, I know the girls who work here are well looked after. Sex is one of the oldest trades in the world. Making it illegal won’t stop it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Miss Brown, if the opportunity is not for you, I understand. Normally, one of my cousins manages our London establishments. I live in Glasgow, myself, and return home tomorrow. Have a think, and if you want to try an evening behind the bar, you can let him know.”
Samantha moves to my side, bumping my shoulder gently. “Do you have any other options, Violet? You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to.”
I sigh, resigned. She’s right. This opportunity has landed on my lap. I need to take it.
“Apologies, Mr. Parker,” I say, and he glances up from his phone which buzzed a moment ago. There is a photo of a little boy with his arms around a pretty brunette on the screen. “I would like to accept your offer of a trial.”
“Excellent,” he replies. “Samantha will show you where everything is and explain how we work. Rest assured, our clients are well warned to behave, and if you feel uncomfortable at any point, alert one of the security staff. They’ll take care of it.”
He looks at Samantha and nods. “Thank you, Samantha. A good job as always.”
She takes my arm, and we turn to leave. Once out of the office I stop, and she spins to face me.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“What exactly is your job description?”
“I told you; I dance.” I narrow my eyes. “And recruitment.”