I trudged back to the hotel and had just turned the corner in to the Damstraat when a large gold sign illuminated above an impressive carved door caught my eye. ‘The Premier Club’, it said. It must have been closed when I passed earlier because I hadn’t noticed it. I checked it out. No women in windows trying to tempt business inside. No tacky lights. Just an expensive looking black stone façade and white spotlights that gave it an edge of glamour.
I was about to walk on by when I summoned one last burst of energy. I marched up to the door, only to be stopped by a bouncer who made Lennox Lewis look undernourished.
‘Can I help you, mam?’ he enquired in an American drawl.
‘I’m here to see the owner of the club,’ I replied boldly.
‘Is he expecting you?’
‘Yes, he told me to come here tonight,’ I retorted indignantly.
‘Just one second, mam.’ He disappeared inside to return five minutes later. ‘Go right ahead, he’s in the office upstairs.’
I couldn’t believe the bluff had worked, and I was suddenly wary. That was too easy. What was I doing? I was in the middle of a strange city, no one knew where I was, and I was about to go into the depths of some club that may or may not be entirely shady. If I had any sense, I would run. Flee the scene. Bolt to safety. But, of course, I had none, so I made my way upstairs and knocked tentatively on the first door I saw.
‘Come in,’ answered another American voice.
I entered, trepidation echoing in every step. This guy could be a mass murderer for all I knew. He could be a pimp, a drug dealer or Holland’s biggest trader in white slavery.
Sitting behind a large black glass desk, the man looked up and I could see the hint of a smile in his expression. He was about thirty-fiveish, broad chested, with hair that was thinning on top, wearing what could only be a designer suit. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way and I instinctively trusted him. Hopelessly naive, eternally optimistic. There was a pattern forming there already.
‘I’m Joe Cain.’ His eyes crinkled up at the sides as his smile widened a little. ‘And I may be losing my memory, but I don’t remember asking you to come here.’
‘I’m sorry I lied, but I just wanted to talk to you. I need a job.’
And then, to my eternal embarrassment, I burst into tears. The full waterworks. There were fluids flowing from every facial orifice.
‘I’m sorry,’ I gurgled, ‘I’m not normally like this, but I’ve had a really bad day.’
He jumped up, obviously terrified of this apparition in front of him, a cross between a burst pipe and a Cabbage Patch doll. I’m so not attractive when I cry.
He came round to my side of the desk and handed me a tissue. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you’re here. What did you run away from? Are you in trouble?’
‘I didn’t run away,’ I snottered.
I told him the whole story. It sounded so trite, so pathetic. The gist of it was that my parents are a nightmare, I didn’t want to stay at home, I was stupid enough to think I could come here and have an epic adventure and I was a complete tit for doing it with no money and no back up plan.
‘So I came here and now I really, really need a job. I worked in a restaurant for years and I’m a really good waitress. I just need a chance.’ Ok, so calling the bistro full of snotty snobs a ‘restaurant’ was a stretch, but he had no way of knowing that.
When I’d finished, he looked at me earnestly. ‘What age are you?’
‘Eighteen,’ I replied.
‘Do you have permits to work here?’
‘No.’
‘Do you do drugs?’
‘God, no. The strongest drug I use is paracetamol.’
He laughed. ‘This is a very upmarket club. No drugs, no sex, no gambling. There’s live entertainment and dancing every night and it’s strictly respectable. It’s one of the few places in Amsterdam where professionals can relax and entertain clients or bring their wives without masses of tourists or all the sleazy stuff. Do you think you could handle that kind of clientele?’
It was a valid question – I was sitting there looking like a groupie for the Grateful Dead. I thought back to the unbearably arrogant women from the café. I hadn’t murdered any of them, so clearly I was cut out for this environment. And as an extra bonus, this was a classy venue so my previous fears of resorting to go-go dancing were fading fast.
‘Of course I can.’
‘Well, I tell you what. Something says to me that you’re not trouble. Three of our waitresses haven’t shown up tonight. If you can start right now, I’ll give you a trial. I’ll pay you cash, that way the permits won’t be a problem.’
I wanted to hug him, but I tried to show a modicum of restraint. I’d already had one emotional breakdown in front of the poor guy, so I didn’t want to completely terrify him by invading his personal space and going for a full blown cuddle.
‘Go downstairs and ask for Jackie – she’ll find you a uniform.’
Please God, don’t let the uniform be a rabbit’s tail and a pair of ears.
‘Thank you,’ I stammered. ‘I’ll work really hard.’
And I did. For six months, I worked six nights a week in the club – no rabbit’s tail, no ears, and the place was as classy as Joe had promised. I made friends
