We slammed ourselves into a state of giddiness, the banter flying. The guys had me in stitches with their stories of working here and I returned the favour with tales of my disasters over the years.
By midnight, I was speaking fluent Chinese. Or Swahili. It was difficult to tell.
The next evening, I had a sore head and a cramping stomach, which at least took my mind off my worries that our opening night would be a total flop. I was in no mood for Zac’s smarmy chat so I pushed him into the DJ booth and ordered him not to leave it until the end of the night.
The lights dimmed. James Brown was back with ‘It’s a Man’s World’, just as Jack stopped by.
‘How’s the head?’ he asked.
‘Feels like it’s had a frontal lobotomy without an anaesthetic. I’m pretty sure that stuff we were drinking last night could fuel rockets. What about you?’
‘Same. I want to take it off and wash it out with Alka-Seltzer.’
‘Jack, tell me that tonight’s going to be great. I need some positive reassurance.’
‘Carly, it’ll be okay. And even if tonight isn’t too busy, you’ll get there. Look at this place. You’ve done a great job. Once word gets out, you’ll have them knocking down the doors to get in.’
I looked around. He was right, the club did look great. Now all I needed were the people to fill it. Jack went off on his rounds of all the other food and beverage outlets in the hotel, while I checked the staff were in position. The girls looked beautiful in their uniforms, with their black hair tied up and held in place with ornamental chopsticks, their make-up carefully applied. I beamed at them. I could see that they were all excited and nervous.
‘You all look great. I’m really proud of you.’ Oh bugger, I was getting emotional. This always happened when I was hung-over. Get a grip, Cooper.
Lily ran in.
‘Miss Carly, Miss Carly, we have a big problem at the door.’
Oh shit. This I could do without. What was it? Were the tills jammed? Were the doors stuck? Had my new bouncers chickened out and fled for their lives?
‘What’s the problem, Lily?’
‘It’s the people. They’re making a big noise. They say they want in now.’
I stumbled to the door, and then gasped as I saw the issue. People were queued for what seemed like miles outside. I suddenly felt giddy and it wasn’t due to the hangover.
‘Are you okey-dokey, Miss Carly?’ Lily asked warily.
‘I’m fine, Lily. Open the doors. Our customers are getting restless.’
The club took off. It was full every night of the week except Sundays, when we closed to allow me to sleep for twenty-four hours before starting all over again. It was exhausting, but I loved it, mainly because every night was different, the place was rocking and it all took my mind off Tom. We’d made so much progress. The staff were happy – the first sign of inappropriate behaviour towards them and the offender was swiftly shown the door. The criminal element was mostly gone and we had genuine revellers as opposed to a crowd that was just there for the hustle.
After ten months, I felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I’d had a couple of holidays – a week in Phuket and a week in Singapore – but I was exhausted and suffering from lack of daylight. Shanghai was such a polluted city that there was not much to encourage us to leave the hotel. As a result, I worked until 4 a.m., slept until early afternoon and then went straight back to work again. And because I was a glutton for punishment, Jack had managed to persuade me, with emotional blackmail and American dollars, to extend my contract for a further six months.
It struck me that I hadn’t had sex (with another person) since I arrived in Shanghai. I didn’t know whether to be proud of my career focus or horrified by the lack of fun.
One morning, I decided to make an effort and rise early enough to join the others for lunch. There was an air of excitement at the table.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked.
Linden answered. ‘Today’s the big day, Carly. The film crew are arriving.’
Film crew? It was the first I’d heard of it.
They explained that ninety-six rooms had been booked for the next three months for an American film crew that was shooting on location in the city. If there’s a God, then Sylvester Stallone will be the star, I thought. I could so do with a Rocky experience at the moment. But no, there were no big names – not a Sylvester or a Mel Gibson or a Kevin Costner in sight.
That night, I warned the girls that we might be even busier than normal and explained why. Their faces lit up, not because they hoped to be discovered and whisked off to a life in Hollywood, but because most of them saw marriage to an American as an opportunity for a prosperous, gilded life. There was a bang as twenty females (okay, twenty-one, I did it too) slapped their make-up bags, hair sprays and gels on the table. This called for serious preparation.
We waited in anticipation all evening, but it was just the normal assortment of expats, tourists and businessmen that crossed the threshold. By eleven o’clock, we were beginning to give up hope, when I spotted Lily coming in the door giving me the charades movie sign. I smiled and watched as a troupe of American guys wandered in and made straight for the bar.
I waltzed over and introduced myself, being the gregarious hostess with the mostest. As I worked my way around them, I spotted another bloke enter and join the crowd. He was a god.
‘Who’s that, Phil?’ I asked the short dark-haired guy I’d been
