Gog by Andrew Sinclair

Author:Andrew Sinclair
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Valancourt Books
Published: 2015-09-23T04:00:00+00:00

XXI

“The very latest,” the voice of Maurice chants. “Supersheer nylons. Stockin’s so thin you can’t find ’em ’cos they’re invisible. The latest fashion in the U.S. And ’ow do I know they’re the latest fashion? I nicked ’em off the legs of Laureen Bacall last night, and that was a sight, I can tell you. Transparent ’ose for ladies. They make your ankles so thin witches’ll nick ’em for broomsticks. You ain’t seen such nice bits of nothin’ even prewar, ’cos they weren’t dreamed up then. No coupons, no rationin’, just a quid a pair, don’t tear me ’ands off, ladies. Yes, I know they cost a bit, but the best always does. And if you knew what I ’ad to pay for ’em, you’d know I was givin’ ’em away. Five pair, that’s a fiver, lady. Put ’em on and the ’ole navy’ll be queuin’ at your door. You can’t get stockin’s like these ’olesale, retail or blackmail, just cash on the nail to yours truly.”

The dowdy women on the outskirts of the female mob round the stall turn ugly in their frenzy to get near the purveyor of all delight. They kick with their blunt-toed shoes, hack with stacked heels, prod with elbows and the points of umbrellas, swing tatty leather handbags, claw at shoulders, and whine threateningly, “If you don’t mind . . . you’ve had your turn . . . If you were a lady . . . Don’t shove, I was here first.” The discipline of years of waiting in queues is forgotten in a moment at the siren’s song of thin stockings, the last pairs worn out years ago into joined ladders. And Maurice keeps on the pressure, turning up the pitch.

“Don’t kill me, ladies, I’m doin’ me best. Ta, dear, ’ere’s your change in frillies. I ain’t got nylon only for the legs. Ho no! I got nylon knickers edged with lace, prewar stocks from gay Paree, what our brave boys liberated just to trim your panties. Don’t ’oick my eyes out, ducks, you blind that madam next to you. Fifty bob a pair, the panties, four a tenner. No reductions for quantity, I ’ad to give me ’eart’s blood for each of ’em. Course there may be some of you ladies what don’t care ’ow you look underneath it all. But ’oo knows when ’E won’t be comin’ ’ome just to ’ave a look at you underneath it all? An’ if ’E won’t ever come ’ome again, why, there’s plenty of others comin’ ’ome these days. Or passin’ through, if you don’t fancy ’Im permanent, like. You’ve ripped me sleeve, lady. That pair’ll cost you a fiver. Look, I ain’t a polished nigger, and this ain’t a lynchin’. Easy does it. Don’t pull them knickers out of ’er ’and, dear, they’ll bust. There, I told you. That’ll be twenty-five bob each, as you’ve each got one leg. Don’t tear ’er ’air out, dear, she may be wearin’ a wig. That’s all in knickers, ladies, but I ain’t through yet.

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