“What’s that?” Precious asks.
“A mirror to society,” Candy replies, as if this were obvious.
Precious just nods. Go with the flow, Precious, she says to herself, wondering not for the first time why she is putting so much effort into maintaining a living situation that keeps her in everyday proximity with these people.
The crowd sways like the crew of a tall ship, and heaves out some half-hearted chants. They haven’t warmed up yet. Precious spots Cynthia loitering on the opposite pavement and beckons for her to join them. Young Scarlet lets out a performative sigh and rolls her eyes ostentatiously. Young Scarlet and Cynthia hate each other.
Cynthia makes a fortune from her work; significantly more than any of the other women. There is a clear reason for this, which everyone apart from Young Scarlet understands and accepts. Cynthia has the largest arse in the United Kingdom. She even won a competition. There’s a trophy in a cabinet in the room in which she works. If a person has a particular thing about big arses, they will travel hundreds—sometimes thousands—of miles to visit her, and they will pay the necessary premium. This seems perfectly reasonable to everyone else, but Young Scarlet can’t get her head round it.
“She’s a fat bastard,” Scarlet said when she first discovered the discrepancy in their revenue. Tabitha seriously chastised her for the comment, and Young Scarlet half-heartedly apologized, but later expressed amazement that anyone would want to shag “that lard arse.”
Young Scarlet considers herself to be the most attractive woman in the brothel, although nobody else agrees. She is one of the youngest, and her looks most readily align with a prevailing type. She is around 5'4", she has a slim build but large breasts, she has long blonde hair and a face that can be described as cute rather than beautiful. She keeps herself looking neat and tidy, and she wears a lot of expensive makeup. Everything she sees in films and on TV and reads about online and in magazines has taught her that she is desirable. And she is. But it’s the kind of desirability that is common, while the desire that flourishes in this part of the city is varied. Those whose bodies command the highest prices are those whose bodies are more unusual. Within her own field, lard-arse Cynthia has a monopoly.
Cynthia sees Precious waving to her and she easily barges through the groups of people with her record-breaking hips. She hugs Precious, Candy and Hazel, and after Precious explains who is lurking beneath the Darth Vader mask, she hugs Darth Vader too.
As well as friends, there are unfamiliar faces. Looking at the crowd, Precious is struck by how big the city is, and how many people there are here who she doesn’t know.
The sun has gone and the day is overcast.
A group of people have brought drums. The drums are held at their waists by colorful holsters, and they are beating them with their hands, or large batons. The rhythm becomes more and more ferocious. Someone else has brought some kind of horn, which lets out a sporadic, single note. It is obnoxiously loud and comes at unexpected intervals. Tabitha is standing next to Precious and jumps every time the horn is blown, knocking against Precious and once standing on her toe.
Another group of protesters has brought circus paraphernalia. A man is juggling multi-colored clubs and another is tossing an object into the air with two sticks and a string. Someone else is walking around on stilts.
“Who invited the hippies?” asks Young Scarlet. “Isn’t it possible to go to a protest and also brush your hair?”
As a rule, Precious tries to be less judgemental about other people than Young Scarlet, so throws her colleague a disapproving look, while secretly agreeing. The overall tone of the crowd is now one of scruffiness, and in Precious’s view, one of their main objectives is to present themselves as respectable and responsible. So many of the people have come along expecting to have a good time, as if they’ve turned up for a carnival or music festival.
The sun keeps popping out from behind the clouds, and catching on Candy’s mirror. Whenever this happens she holds it aloft and sweeps the reflection across the crowd. The other members of the protest don’t seem to be entirely happy about this, especially when one of them gets the full sunbeam right in the eye. Candy, however, is having a great time. “I’m like the Eye of Sauron,” she says.
Precious has been standing for a while now, and the balls of her feet and her calf muscles are beginning to ache. She shifts her weight onto one side and another, then repeats the movement.
The gathering has little direction. There are some chants, but nobody is leading them. People are milling around in little groups. Then some people, who look as if they go to a lot of protests, begin to make announcements. Precious doesn’t recognize any of them, though someone says something about them being from an anti-gentrification movement or some political organization. Someone says something about the government. She worries that the real reason for the gathering is falling away from them, and she’s letting it fall.
Precious feels someone nudge her hard in the back and Cynthia leans in and whispers, “What are they talking about? It should be you up there.”
Precious shakes her head. She’s never spoken in front of a crowd.
Tabitha agrees with Cynthia that it should be Precious up on the steps with the loudspeaker, but Precious again refuses.
She wouldn’t know what to say. When she thinks about how being forced out of Soho makes her feel, she is overcome. She wouldn’t know how to explain her feelings without getting it wrong and being misunderstood. It’s such a delicate situation, and so important to her; it isn’t something she wants to muddle up in front of a huge crowd.
In a way, it is funny that Precious has become so attached to the place. In Soho,
