Fire (10 page)

Ruby nodded at the pianist sitting behind his baby grand just inside the entrance to the White Room and he launched into Nat King Cole’s ‘Mona Lisa’.

Peering through a gap in the curtain, Allie spotted Louise and Daisy sitting at a table in the third row back from the runway, both dressed in their smartest clothes. It was a treat for them to be here tonight, and an even bigger treat for Donna and Pauline. Allie spied her sisters sitting against the far wall, without their hats and gloves, which they must have ditched somewhere along the way. Her mother wouldn’t have let them out tonight if they weren’t dressed like the little ladies Colleen thought they should be. And, bloody hell, was Donna smoking a cigarette?

Allie straightened up as Polly glided past her to the end of the curtain and stepped out onto the runway, her beauty and the elegance of her outfit eliciting murmurs of appreciation from the audience.

Ruby put her glasses back on and consulted her notes. ‘Tonight Polly is modelling one of our in-house designs, a day dress suitable for an afternoon event or a garden party, in elegant charmeuse with a tableau of aqua blue flowers on a pale coral background. As you can see, this style is designed to accentuate a shapely silhouette with a small waist. The dress is available in a range of sizes, and the
fabric is available from our own dress fabrics department and can be made up to your requirements.’

Polly did another circuit of the runway.

‘Polly is wearing this beautiful frock,’ Ruby went on, ‘with French elbow-length coral suede gloves, a gorgeous deep coral, imported all-wool stole for those slightly cooler summer afternoons, a soft leather handbag in aqua blue, and matching high-heeled leather peep-toe sandals with ankle straps. Polly’s divine hat is, of course, one of our own millinery department’s wonderful creations, and I will invite my colleague Miss Beatrice Button to comment on that.’

Miss Button, so short she almost couldn’t see over the top of the lectern, stepped up and cleared her throat.

‘We are very proud of this particular creation,’ she began, ‘because as you can see it captures all of the elements of today’s finest millinery trends. Into a timeless picture-hat style featuring a widened east to west brim with grosgrain trimming, we have incorporated an ornamental bird, its pink and coral plumage designed to directly complement the tones in our model’s dress. The crown and the brim are of novelty straw, which is both light and airy. I am sure you will find that this hat will become an essential piece in your summer wardrobe this year.’

Miss Button stepped down and Ruby Willow took her place. Passing the next model on her way out onto the runway, Polly disappeared behind the curtain, whipping the example of ‘today’s finest millinery trends’ off her head and tossing it aside as she hurried towards the dressing rooms, Allie close behind.

And so it went for the next forty minutes, a mad dash to get the models changed into their next outfits, a few
minutes’ reprieve, then another rush. By the interval Allie was quite frazzled, so she could imagine how the models themselves were feeling. The second half of the show, however, featured the ‘glamour gowns’, so there was no opportunity to slow down before the show ended.

The bridal ensembles were particularly tricky to get the models into, as there was the dress itself and the special lingerie that went under it, the shoes, stockings and decorative garter, jewellery and, finally, the headgear. So while two of the older girls and the two teens modelled the evening gowns and the mantles, Allie assisted the three ‘brides’ into their ensembles. Polly, wearing Dior, looked absolutely stunning in the startling whiteness of the gown and its long veil, her small waist accentuated and her generous breasts moulded by the stiff satin of the bodice.

While they waited behind the curtain for the evening wear models to come off, Allie slipped out into the foyer and went to stand at the back of the White Room, wanting to see the reaction to the bridal wear with her own eyes. The first two gowns—a Balenciaga and then a Dunbar & Jones design—went down very well, eliciting gasps of admiration from the women in the audience, including Daisy, who sat with her hands clasped and her mouth open in delight, obviously imagining herself walking down the aisle in one of the fabulous, frothy creations. The Dior, however, literally stole the limelight, as Miss Button deliberately turned off all the lights except for those above the runway to highlight the gown’s shimmering beauty. Or was it Polly’s beauty that was making such a stunning impact? She certainly looked like a fairy princess, albeit a very chic, modern one, gliding along the runway, the beading on the dress glittering and the white satin giving off a soft light of its own.

Raising her hands to applaud, Allie inadvertently elbowed someone and glanced behind her to apologize.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ she said, smiling as Sonny did his best to blend into the shadows. ‘I didn’t realize you liked couture fashion.’

‘I don’t,’ he muttered.

‘Gorgeous dress, though, isn’t it?’

‘It’s all right.’

‘Of course, the model certainly helps. She’s gorgeous as well,’ Allie noted.

‘She always was.’

Allie went very still, a hot shard of jealousy lodging uncomfortably in her chest. ‘Oh. Do you know her?’

Sonny nodded.

Allie knew she should leave it alone, but all the common sense she’d ever possessed deserted her and the words were out of her mouth before she could clamp it shut. ‘How well?’ she said, trying to make the question sound casual, but it still came out rather aggressively.

‘Very. She’s my sister.’

Allie worked her way steadily through the discarded clothes and accessories strewn across the floor outside the dressing rooms. Now that she thought about it, there was quite a resemblance between Polly and Sonny. He was a little darker, but their facial features were similar. Allie wondered if the colour of Maori children’s skin got lighter as more and more of them were born. Could a thing like Maoriness get diluted the more it was used? No, probably not, she thought, and smiled to herself for being such a twit. Sonny had asked her if she wanted to go somewhere for
a cup of coffee, so she was hurrying to get everything tidied up before she could leave. There were shoes and hats and bags and roll-up jeans and knitwear and dresses and scarves and bathing caps everywhere.

‘I think that was very successful, don’t you?’ Miss Willow said, her arms full of shoes. ‘Especially the off-the-peg formal daywear. We’ve taken lots of orders for that. It’s the queen, I expect.’

‘Probably,’ Allie agreed. ‘Do you want us to put everything away tonight?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ruby replied. ‘I’m quite exhausted after all that and the display people are coming in early tomorrow to tidy up the White Room, so why don’t we come in early as well? That is, if you haven’t planned a night out on the town,’ she added slyly.

Allie blushed. ‘Well, actually, I am going out for coffee, but it definitely won’t be a late night.’

‘With your Maori chap? Well, you’ll certainly make a splash in your Dunbar & Jones uniform, dear.’

‘What? Oh bugger,’ Allie said as she realized she was still in her work clothes. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Willow.’

‘Indeed,’ Ruby said, ‘though I have heard worse, you know.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Look, why don’t you take something off the shop floor to wear?’

‘I can’t actually afford it at the moment,’ Allie replied uncomfortably.

‘Did I say anything about paying for it?’ Ruby leaned closer. ‘Just between you, me and the gate post, I have myself been known, on occasion, to, er, borrow the odd item to wear to a special function. And Miss Button certainly flits around town in a remarkably extensive selection of hats, given her modest income. As long as you don’t damage
or stain it and you have it back in the morning, it can go upstairs with the rest of the garments from the show to be cleaned and pressed, and no one will be any the wiser.’

Allie didn’t know what to say: the idea of Miss Willow borrowing clothes from the shop floor, wearing them, then putting them back on the racks was both shocking and astonishing.

‘Don’t look at me like that, dear,’ Ruby said mildly. ‘I’ve been doing it for years and no one’s ever caught me out. And there’s no harm done. I like to think that in a way I’m actually fulfilling the role of a poster girl for Dunbar & Jones. Well, not a poster
girl
as such, more a poster middleaged spinster, but people know I work here, and if I’m well dressed then surely they’ll assume that all my clothes come from the store, don’t you think? And they do, of course; it’s just that I don’t always pay for them. So, really, I suppose I can say I’m in advertising these days, as well as sales.’

She said it with such conviction, and sounded so much like Donna and Pauline when they were trying to justify away something naughty they’d done, that Allie laughed.

Ruby smiled, though a little ruefully. ‘Yes, I know, it does sound, well, somewhat creative, but one has to have one’s small victories, even if they’re silent, doesn’t one? And I know what you’re thinking, Allie. You have a very expressive face—you’ll never be any good at poker, you know. No, unfortunately all is not what it seems in terms of my position here at Dunbar & Jones. There’s so much more I could achieve if only I wore trousers instead of a dress. But I don’t, and by the time that changes, if it ever does, I’ll be long gone.’ She plucked a handkerchief from her sleeve, picked up her glasses and polished them vigorously. ‘But perhaps that’s a conversation for another day. I suggest you
select something from the racks, discreetly of course, then go out and enjoy yourself.’

‘Thank you, Miss Willow,’ Allie said. ‘I’ll be very careful with what I choose, I promise.’

‘I’m sure you will be, Allie. You’re that sort of person.’

It didn’t take Allie long to select an indigo pencil skirt and a pale lilac, three-quarter-sleeved top; her work shoes were black and only had a low heel, but they would look all right. She changed in one of the dressing rooms, using the mirror to comb her hair and put on fresh lipstick. Then she rolled up her work uniform, but when she tried to stuff it into her bag it was obvious that it wasn’t going to fit, so she stowed it under the dress department counter; she could wear her other uniform tomorrow.

Sonny was waiting for her at the side door onto Wyndham Street, leaning against one of the store’s plateglass windows and having a cigarette.

‘Sorry, I got held up. Have you been waiting long?’

‘It’s OK,’ Sonny said, grinding his smoke out under the heel of his boot. He was wearing his work clothes but also had on a pea coat, with the collar turned up. He kissed her cheek lightly. ‘So where are we going?’

‘I don’t know. I thought you had somewhere in mind.’

‘Not really. Where do you want to go?’

‘We’re not really dressed for the Wintergarden, are we?’

‘Nope. What about a coffee bar?’

‘That would be nice.’

‘There’s a good one in the back of Currie’s, up the street.’

‘Currie’s Milkbar?’

Sonny nodded.

‘Isn’t that where the milkbar cowboys go?’ Allie said. ‘I’ve heard it’s a bit rough there.’

‘Only when the teds turn up,’ Sonny replied. ‘You’ll be OK with me, and if you don’t like it we’ll go somewhere else. There’s always Somervell’s.’

Allie knew Somervell’s Milkbar, having been there once with Irene after the pictures six months ago. All sorts of people congregated there and it was becoming a hangout for Auckland’s more ‘alternative’ types—artists and strange writers like that Frank Sargeson—but evidently teddy boys and their girlfriends sometimes turned up as well.

Allie was well aware of the teddy boys because her father expounded on them weekly without fail, insisting that the bodgies, as he called them, were nothing more than juvenile delinquents and long-haired layabouts who went around wearing poncy bloody clothes and giving the streets of Auckland a bad name. A good war would fix them, he reckoned, and why the government hadn’t rounded them all up and sent them off to Korea, he didn’t know. And of course, whenever he went on like this, Donna and Pauline would launch into impassioned explanations that they weren’t bodgies and their girlfriends weren’t widgies—they were teddy boys and anyone with half a brain knew that. Which would cause their father to rattle his newspaper at them and point out that the press was calling them bodgies, so that’s what they were. Then Donna and Pauline would say that the papers didn’t know their arseholes from their earholes, and that would make their mother bang a pot or something on the bench and tell them that that was enough, and to all shut up.

Allie and Sonny walked up Queen Street hand in hand, stopping to look into Smith & Caughey’s display windows so Allie could see what the opposition were doing, until they came to Currie’s, which seemed fairly quiet. Mind you, it was only eight o’clock. They went inside and sat down in a booth towards the back. Johnny Ray was on the juke box and the lighting in the rear of the shop was subdued and intimate, unlike at the front where it bounced glaringly off the white formica counter tops and the gleaming chrome of the shop’s fittings.

Sonny ordered black coffee for himself and white for Allie, from a waitress who wore a straight skirt with a slit up the side, a tight black polo-neck, her long hair in a ponytail, and a name badge that said ‘Candy’.

Allie rather liked the look of the girl’s ponytail. What luxury it would be to go around with your hair done like that every day. No more curlers and lacquer, just a quick brush and an elastic band and that was it.

‘So how long has Polly been a model?’ she asked.

‘About two years, I think,’ Sonny replied. ‘I dunno, I’ve been working away for a while so I’m not sure when she started.’

‘And is she your little sister?’

Sonny nodded. ‘Next in line after me.’

‘She’s very beautiful.’

‘She’s very tutu.’

‘Sorry?’

‘She’s naughty. She drinks too much and runs around with the wrong people and gets in trouble all the time. Poor old Mum’s just about going round the bend.’

‘And does she live at home?’