The Palace of Strange Girls by Sallie Day

Author:Sallie Day [DAY, SALLIE]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: FIC000000
ISBN: 9780446558198
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

Yates’s wine lodge is a popular venue for Blackpool fun seekers. A wide Victorian portico welcomes customers into luxurious surroundings where they can sample the delights of its cellar. It’s only eight o’clock but the place is already packed with evening drinkers jockeying for position at the highly polished brass and mahogany bar. The fine stucco ceiling complete with cherubs toasting each other’s health is rendered virtually invisible by a pall of tobacco smoke. The floor is awash with spilled drinks. Drinkers in their “kiss-me-quick” hats, drape jackets and winkle-picker shoes are engaged in a nightly attempt to drink Blackpool dry. There’s a noticeable spreading of masculine chests and an exchange of friendly blows among the single men as the women look on, bright in their polka-dot dresses, their gathered skirts rising to reveal layer after layer of nylon net and the occasional stocking top. Yates’s isn’t licensed for dancing but this matters little to the revelers. Chairs are pulled back in a surge of excitement when the jukebox is switched on and couples rock to and fro in sweaty congress on the makeshift dance floor. Bra straps fail and suspenders snap under eager male embraces, but the dance continues regardless. There’s some muttering from the older drinkers, but some bright spark has located the volume switch on the jukebox and Lonnie Donegan’s “Rock Island Line” effectively drowns out all opposition. All in all it promises to be a lively night.

Jack spots Tom at a table in the corner, a half-finished pint in front of him, and signals across to see if he wants another. Tom nods in agreement and Jack makes his way to the bar. He’s not been there for more than a couple of minutes when a woman taps him on the shoulder and says, “Here, let me. I’ll get served faster.” He turns and sees that it’s the waitress from the hotel—Helen’s friend. He is still struggling to remember her name when she pulls the pound note from his fingers and whistles to the barman.

“It’s all right,” Jack says. “There’s no hurry. I’m only after a couple of pints.”

But Connie has her back to him and is already pushing her way to the head of the queue. The barman, who hitherto has studiedly ignored Jack in the general crush, fetches up in front of Connie’s cleavage the minute she leans over the bar. It’s like watching one of Leonora’s Dancing Dogs at the Tower Circus. Jack, embarrassed at the idea of a woman getting his drinks, looks around, anxious not to be spotted. Connie is wearing a black top and scarlet skirt that accentuates her curves, and her auburn hair spreads loosely over creamy white shoulders that sparkle with gold freckles. Jack has no idea how old she is, but she looks at least twenty.

“You’d better take one for yourself out of it,” Jack says as an afterthought.

“Thanks,” she says, flashing him a brilliant smile.

They both retreat from the bar with their drinks and stand at the edge of the crush.

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