That evening, I dragged myself into work.
‘Cooper, office, I need to talk to you,’ Ray bellowed the minute I walked in the door.
My spirits rose. Maybe he was going to fire me and I could be on the first flight back to Dublin the next morning. I’ve always been very rational when in love.
I lurched expectantly into the office.
‘Cooper, we signed final contracts today on Tiger Alley. We take over on Monday.’
My jaw hit the floor. Tiger Alley was an iconic Glasgow nightclub, the biggest in Scotland, with 4,000 clubbers on a busy night. It also had a ferocious reputation for prostitution, more drugs than a high street chemist chain, and a criminal record that would fill a library. It definitely wasn’t for the faint-hearted and I’d had no idea Ray was planning to acquire it.
‘I’m putting Carter in to manage it,’ he added, naming Paul Carter, the manager of one of his other clubs.
I exhaled in relief.
Too soon.
‘And you, my little darling. I want you to manage it with him and control the door.’
The voice of sarcasm in my head went into overdrive. Brilliant. Beam me up, Scottie. My life just got better and better.
I had to cancel my trip to Dublin two weeks later as Ray had blocked all holidays for the next decade to get Tiger Alley sorted out. The problems were endless: staff stealing from the tills, booze being delivered then going straight out the back doors into unmarked vans, rampant prostitution levels and, worst of all, two drugs families feuding over the territory. I had fourteen stewards working on the door with me, another thirty-two inside, and it still wasn’t enough. Every night was a battle from start to finish, with us on the losing side, but we weren’t giving in.
First things first. We identified the main culprits in the petty crime department. To the threats of law suits, violence and the removal of our internal organs, we fired the assistant manager, twenty-two bar staff, eleven bouncers and the cellarman. Another dozen bar staff walked out in protest – no bad thing given the circumstances.
We drafted in trusted staff from the other outlets in the chain to man the pumps. It was frantic, fretful and full of mishaps, but I loved every adrenalin-fuelled minute of it. I called in every favour I was ever owed and a few that I made up besides. At one point I had Kate, Carol, Sarah, Jess, Callum and Michael serving behind bars.
Paul and I worked eighteen hours a day. Some nights we didn’t even go home, collapsing instead on the overstuffed sofas in the lounge. The club had become an obsession with both of us. We were determined to turn it around and make it work. And anyway, it kept my mind off the fact that my gorgeous Tom was hundreds of miles away.
Eventually, the numbers through the door dropped every night as undesirables got the message that they were no longer welcome.
Phase two of our plan swung in to action. We brought in decorators, interior designers, publicists and an advertising agency that came up with a media promo campaign.
We booked the most popular bands for week nights and the trendiest DJs for the weekends. The numbers started to rise, but it wasn’t enough for Ray, who wanted a fast return on his investment. We needed a capacity crowd nightly and quickly to satisfy him.
We decided to host a ‘relaunch’ party on the first Friday of the following month. But it wasn’t entirely straightforward. We had a plan. Or rather, I had a plan and if I had bollocks they’d be well and truly on the line. We advertised it in the press for ten days beforehand, and, telling the staff that we expected only a small, select crowd, we gave most of them the night off and retained only a trusted few bar staff and our eight most discreet bouncers.
The club usually opened its doors at ten o’clock to catch any early trade, although the masses wouldn’t start arriving until after eleven. ‘We’ve Got The Power’ by Snap blared from the external speakers as the first of our adoring public poured out of taxis just after ten.
Baz, our head steward, looked at me questioningly.
I shook my head.
‘Sorry, folks,’ he apologised, ‘we’re already full.’
‘But it’s only ten thirty,’ argued a petite female in white PVC hot pants with stilettos to match. In that outfit she wasn’t getting in anyway, she looked like a Q-tip.
‘Well, darling, you’ll just have to get here earlier next time,’ Baz chided, giving them the story we’d asked the door staff to deliver.
This set the pattern for the rest of the night. Not one person got through the doors. We knocked back everyone, regardless of age, status or bribes. Inside, the few bar staff that remained spent the time training on the new cocktail menu.
Next day, the phones were relentless with enquiries about opening times and dress codes.
I gave Paul a playful dig in the ribs.
‘People always want what they can’t have.’
He’d been cynical about the plan, so I admit to gloating.
That night, they came in droves. Word of mouth had spread around the city.
Ray chuckled as he congratulated us. ‘All these lies. You’ll never go to heaven, Cooper.’
I think my track record in the romance department had already established that fact.
This time, however, things were still looking good.
I still couldn’t take time off to go to see Tom, so instead he continued to come over for a few days every month. We’d spend every spare moment of our time walking at the beach or lying in bed planning our future. As Tom talked of harvests and agriculture laws, I hung on his every word. It wouldn’t have mattered if he were reading out the Yellow Pages, I’d still be hypnotised by those piercing green eyes and soft Irish voice. This man was so going to be the
