felt the colour drain from her face. ‘No,’ she said hoarsely. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘Take it up with Mama Rita.’ Lina shrugged indifferently. ‘And don’t keep her waiting.’
The office was one floor up, via a rickety iron staircase. Chellie approached it slowly, the beat of her heart like a trip-hammer. Surely—surely this couldn’t be happening, she thought. Surely Lina was just being malicious. Because Mama Rita had told her at the beginning that there were plenty of willing girls at the club, and that she would never be pressured into anything she did not want.
And Chellie had believed that. In fact, she’d counted on it.
There was a clatter of feet on the stairs and Manuel came into view.
Chellie stepped back to allow him to pass, trying not to shrink too visibly. From the moment she’d started working at the club she’d found him a problem. If she hadn’t already been repelled by his coarse good looks, then his constant attempts to get her into corners and fondle her would have aroused her disgust.
The first night in her cramped and musty room, some instinct had prompted her to wedge a chair under the handle of her door. And some time in the small hours she’d woken from an uneasy sleep to hear a stealthy noise outside, and the sound of the handle being tried in vain. She’d observed the same precaution ever since.
There was no point in complaining to Mama Rita either, because the other girls reckoned Manuel was her nephew—some even said her son.
Now, he favoured her with his usual leer. ‘Hola, honey girl.’
‘Good evening.’ Chellie kept her tone curt, and his unpleasant grin widened.
‘Oh, you’re so high—so proud, chica. Too good for poor Manuel. Maybe tomorrow you sing a different tune.’ He licked his lips. ‘And you’ll sing it for me.’
She controlled her shiver of revulsion. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’
The office door was open and Mama Rita was sitting at her desk, using her laptop. She greeted Chellie with a genial smile. ‘You were a big hit tonight, hija. One of the customers liked you so much he wants a private performance.’
Chellie’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Any particular song?’ She sounded more cool than she felt.
‘You making a joke with me, querida?’ The geniality was suddenly in short supply. ‘He wants that you dance for him.’ The mountainous body mimed grotesquely what was required.
Chellie shook her head. ‘I don’t dance,’ she said, her mouth suddenly dry. ‘I—I never have. I don’t know how …’
‘You have watched the others.’ Mama Rita shrugged. ‘And he don’t want some high-tone ballerina. You have a good body. Use it.’
Yes, Chellie thought, but I’ve only watched the girls table dancing in the club itself. That has limits. The private room thing is totally different …
She said desperately, ‘But you employ me as a singer. That was the deal. We have a contract …’
Mama Rita laughed contemptuously. ‘Sí, but the terms just changed.’
‘Then you’re in breach, and that cancels any agreement between us.’ Chellie kept her hands bunched in the folds of her skirt to conceal the fact that they were trembling. ‘So, if you’ll return my passport, I’ll leave at once,’ she added with attempted insouciance.
‘You think it that simple?’ The older woman shook her head almost sorrowfully. ‘You dream, hija.’
‘I fail to see what’s so complicated.’ Chellie lifted her chin. ‘Legally, you’ve broken the association between us. End of story.’
‘This my club. I make the law here.’ Mama Rita leaned forward, her eyes glittering like her sequins. ‘And you go nowhere. Because I keep your passport as security until you pay your debts here.’
Chellie was suddenly very still. ‘But the rent—everything is paid in advance.’
Mama Rita sighed gustily. ‘Not everything, chica. There is your medical bill.’
‘Medical bill?’ Chellie repeated in total bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’
There was a tut of reproof. ‘You have a short memory. When you first come here I call a doctor to examine you. To check whether you sick with pneumonia.’
Chellie recalled with an inward grimace a small fat man with watery, bloodshot eyes and unpleasantly moist hands, who’d breathed raw alcohol into her face as he bent unsteadily over her.
She said, ‘I remember. What of it?’
Mama Rita handed her a sheet of paper. ‘See—this is what you owe him.’
Chellie took it numbly, her lips parting in shock as she read the total.
She said hoarsely, ‘But he can’t ask this. He was only with me for about two minutes—he prescribed none of the stuff listed here—and he was drunk. You know that.’
‘I know that you were sick, girl, needing a doctor. And Pedro Alvarez is good man.’ She nodded, as if enjoying a private joke. ‘Plenty discreet. You may be glad of that one day.’
She paused, studying Chellie with quiet satisfaction. ‘But you don’t leave owing all this money, chica. So, you have to earn to pay it. And this man who wants you has cash to spend. Good-looking hombre too.’ A laugh shook her, sending the rolls of fat wobbling. ‘Be nice—you could make all you need in one night.’
‘No.’ Chellie shook her head almost violently, her arms crossing over her body in an unconsciously defensive gesture. ‘I can’t. I won’t. And you can’t make me.’
‘No?’ The small eyes glared at her with sudden malevolence. Mama Rita brought the flat of her hand down hard on the desk. ‘I patient with you, chica, but no more. You do what you’re told—understand?’ She sat back, breathing heavily. ‘Maybe I give you to Manuel first—let him teach you to be grateful. You want that?’
‘No,’ Chellie said, her voice barely audible. ‘I don’t.’
Mama paused. ‘Or I send you to my friend Consuela.’ She gave a grating laugh. ‘She don’t ask you to sing or dance.’
Oh, God, Chellie thought, her throat closing in panic as she remembered overheard dressing room gossip. Not that—anything but that.
She bent her head defeatedly. ‘No,’ she said. Then, with difficulty, ‘Please …’
‘Now you begin think sense.’ Mama nodded with satisfaction. ‘Lina will take you to room. Then I send him to you.’
Lina was waiting in the passage outside. She gave Chellie a contemptuous grin. ‘Joining the real world, honey? After tonight, maybe you won’t be looking down your nose at the rest of us.’
‘Is that what I did?’
