Almost despite herself, Layla was beginning to get quite comfy at the club. Already Precious – or ‘the Glamazon’ as Layla secretly thought of her – had taken to coming into her room and sitting on the bed with her, just chatting. They had a connection: they’d ‘clicked’ straight away.
She was quickly learning a new respect for the girls who worked here. They weren’t stupid, as she’d previously suspected. They weren’t slappers, either. Circumstances, she found, had pushed them into this line of work. And the pay, as Precious so rightly said, was tops.
‘We get all our friends – only the pretty ones, management doesn’t like dogs in the club – to come in,’ Precious told her. ‘For that, we get ten pounds per girl. They add to the club vibe.’
‘Let me get this straight.’ Layla was outraged at this. ‘You’re saying that, if a girl’s ugly, she’s turned away?’
‘Got it in one.’
‘But that’s…’
‘Business,’ said Precious. ‘All our nice-looking mates get free drinks, too.’
Layla squinted at Precious. ‘But aren’t you sort of prostituting these girls? Your mates?’
‘In what way? They’re having a great night out, all expenses paid. And they encourage the male punters to buy drinks for us, and for them too, at a hefty mark-up. Everyone’s happy.’
‘And the men sit around ogling them – and you – like prime cuts of beef.’ Layla shuddered.
‘It’s nature,’ smiled Precious. ‘The laws of attraction.’
Layla raised a doubtful eyebrow.
‘And then there’s the podium work,’ Precious went on.
Layla was fascinated, despite herself. It was another world!
‘See, we get a basic wage, but the podium pays an extra seventy pounds per dance. And it’s a hundred pounds per private dance in the VIP rooms. I pull down just under a thousand a week, on average.’
‘How much?’ Layla didn’t earn that in a month. ‘And does anyone ever – you know – proposition you, in the club?’
‘Constantly,’ said Precious. ‘Goes with the job.’ There were voices out in the hall. ‘Look, the other girls are in, it’s time you met them, don’t you think? Come on. Let me introduce you.’
Precious led the way out into the hall and along to the dressing room. There were two women in there. They glanced up as Precious came in with Layla.
‘This is China,’ she said. ‘China, meet Layla Carter. Her dad owns the club.’
China couldn’t speak much English. She was tiny and exquisite, with hair like a bolt of black silk, big dark slanted eyes and peachy olive skin.