‘Girls all OK?’
‘One or two niggles, nothing much.’
Annie looked around her. ‘This old place has seen some changes,’ she said wistfully.
This was true. Back in the Sixties, when it was known as the Palermo Lounge, major acts had performed there. Heinz with the white-blond hair, and the chap with the deaf-aid, Johnny Rae, and many others had taken to the stage beneath the arching red curtains with the gold MC over the centre. Then for a while – along with the other two Carter clubs, the Shalimar and the Blue Parrot – it had been a cheap strip joint, one more tasteless haven for the dirty-mac brigade. Annie had soon put that right.
In the seventies she had transformed the three clubs into discos where dolly birds bopped in white-fringed bikinis on strobe-lit podiums while the punters lounged on chocolate-coloured banquettes eating scampi or chicken in the basket with chips.
Now it was the eighties. You moved with the times or you got left behind. The Carters never got left behind. So the clubs offered table-dancing. Nothing tacky, not here. The clientele were wealthy City types, jaded executives, TV personalities, sometimes even film stars. Following the stock market crash last year there’d been a sharp decline in trade, but there were still enough high-flying punters to keep the clubs busy. All three venues were packed with yuppie bankers and stockbrokers every night, out for a good time and a wind-down after a frantic day’s trading on the money markets. Max’s clubs were giving Stringfellows a run for their money, and if they were doing that, then they were doing just fine.
‘Is anything wrong? Anything else?’ asked Dolly delicately.
Annie shook her head. ‘Listen, in future, Doll, if something happens – regardless what Layla says – don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me or tell Steve, pronto.’
‘What about Mr Carter?’ asked Dolly. ‘Should I tell him too?’
Annie stood up. ‘Dolly,’ she said, ‘shut the fuck up, will you? I’m going to borrow Tone and the car. OK?’
Dolly’s mouth opened. Then she closed it with a snap as she saw the look on Annie’s face.
‘What?’ asked Annie.
Dolly shrugged. ‘I’m wondering why you need a driver, that’s all. You drive.’
Annie stifled her irritation. She’d taken her test a couple of years after the split from Max. Maybe she’d been trying to prove she was self-reliant, that Max Carter could go and fuck himself.
‘I think I need some muscle around me at the moment,’ she said. ‘If that’s OK with you?’
Dolly curled her lip. ‘I suppose it’ll have to be,’ she said. ‘Won’t it.’