Of all the stupid fools! I should have heeded the dire warnings of Cliff and Diane. Whether they were members of the interviewing team or playing their own dangerous game of double bluff, I decided to award ten points to each reporter and none to gullible Jennifer Bewley.
Yet all was not lost. Among the delegates below were my five comrades including Allen who'd be sure to ask where I'd gone. Everyone had seen me make a spectacle of myself, the first person to stand up and wave her veto card. Chickening out of a totally innocent pastime? They must have thought I was nuts. Did anyone suspect I was now being punished for my unsociable gesture? Was this the standard treatment for all who dared to raise the slightest objection? How many other jail cells would soon be occupied, or was I alone in exercising my right of rebellion?
Just when despair seemed set to overwhelm me, the cell door was flung open by a large woman in her late forties.
"Hi," she smiled pleasantly. "I'm Carol. Sorry it's a bit stark in here - this isn't one of our regular rooms. But I'm told you wanted a chat. It's Jennifer, isn't it? What's the problem?"
"None at all," I assured her, determined to regain my freedom on any pretext, even if it meant blatant lying. "I just wondered what was going on. I mean, I thought I'd been brought here for an interview - an assessment, I think you call it."
"That's right," she nodded, as if everything was running to plan.
"Well," I continued, "I was beginning to think no-one knew who I was or why I'd come, that's all. I just wish someone could tell me a bit more about what my duties would be if I got the job here."
"So you're keen to carry on?"
Keen? Boy, was I was keen - raring to go - anything to avoid my entombed skeleton being discovered a thousand years hence.
"Look, I'm sorry," I said, "but I didn't understand why I was being kept in the dark. I've always been a bit impetuous. I have this curious streak, you know, always asking questions - it's the way I am. I just need to know what's expected of me, that's all. I wanted to make sure there was no mistake."
Carol assured me there was no mistake, and introduced herself as my personal tutor.
"We've been keeping a careful eye on you ever since you arrived, dear, so don't imagine we've screwed up. It's normal practice to throw prospective helpers in with the lions on Day One. It gives you a far better taste than you'll get by sitting in class and being told about it."
"Okay," I conceded, "but you could have told me."
"We could, Jennifer, but that isn't how we operate. We're all required to do our share here, which includes involving ourselves in clients' activities. Pairing is always worked out fairly - we can't have three men to one woman or there'd be hordes of complaints. So hostesses are invariably roped in to even up the numbers. And as your personal tutor I need to discover all I can about you as an individual. You say you want to know more about us? That's good. Maybe you'd like to visit the costume cave? We don't usually allow newcomers in there till they've become acclimatized - but you seem different from our usual intake."
She frowned as if perturbed by this thought, but quickly laughed it off.
"It's a veritable fun-paradise for anyone who's into erotica," she went on encouragingly. "Fetishism, bondage - that sort of thing. We cater for almost every quirk imaginable."
"But that's just it," I protested. "I'm not like that. I'm just an ordinary girl who likes ordinary relationships with ordinary sorts of guys."
"Jennifer, love, we all are - otherwise the system wouldn't work at all. But in truth, our clients get a far greater thrill if they believe that some of the roles we act out are giving us a hard time. There's nothing as exciting to a sadist as an unwilling victim, so naturally the more normal we appear to be, the better they like it."
Sadism? I had no intention of becoming anyone's pin-cushion, thank you very much; but was this the best time to speak up? No, I decided, not until I'd established a clear escape route to the outside world. For the present it was in my best interests to appear as co-operative as my stomach would allow.
"What sort of roles might I have to play?" I asked like a child about to visit the dentist.
"Whatever you fancy," Carol replied with a disarming smile. "And don't look so worried. It's not that bad."
It was with profound relief that I left the cell, but I still felt very apprehensive as I followed Carol up further flights of steps into a long tubular recess reminiscent of a London underground station. The cave was some fifty yards long, and lined with racks containing an abundance of historical costumes and uniforms that defied description - hats, wigs, gloves, masks, belts and boots.
"I could offer you an assignment right now if you wish," said Carol, evidently expecting my gratitude. "You can entertain Arnold. Regard him as a trial exercise, though do bear in mind your partner's for real. He's a mighty important figure elsewhere with an over-riding passion for black rubber. Of course, we're all equals here."
My stomach lurched as I pictured some muscular Sumo wrestler writhing on the floor like a sweaty steam-roller.
"Who has to wear the rubber?" I bleated.
"Oh, he does. You'll simply be his cheerleader!"
"Cheerleader? You mean, with a silly skirt and pompons, jumping up and down and chanting slogans?"
"That's the ticket, though you needn't worry too much about the slogans. Arnold will merely want to sit and admire you. I trust you've got good legs?"
It was the very question I'd been asked in Hammersmith. Coincidence?
"Look," I said, feeling somewhat braver having left my dungeon, "I really didn't come here for that sort of caper. I came because I thought I was being offered a job, and well - I like meeting people and chatting to them, but that's all. I'm certainly not prepared to act as a kind of bouncing Barbie-doll."
My pleadings were interrupted by a girl with a childlike complexion who came running up the stairs and marched straight over to an assortment of leather garments.
"Excuse me, girls," she panted, her face aglow. "Quick change needed. I've been assigned to Light-fingered Larry again. That man's really beginning to get up my knickers."
"Dawn!" my tutor barked. "You know better than to refer to clients like that, especially in front of a new trainee."
"Sorry," she grinned. "But fair's fair, Carol - I've had him twice already this month. It's high time someone else took a turn."
"Point taken," said Carol. "But we can hardly ask Jennifer to step into the breach on her first morning. I'll go upstairs and have words with Control. Meanwhile, carry on, please, just this once. And Dawn - be a good girl and talk to Jennifer. She seems a bit bewildered about what we're expecting of her."
"The dragon giving you a hard time?" Dawn whispered as Carol hurried out. "Don't mind her. This whole complex can be illuminated by the fire of her breath, so I'm told, but it seldom burns deep - not with me, at any rate. Excuse me - I have to change - but carry on talking. Ask me anything you like."
Dawn quickly stripped to her tights and bra, then selected a black leather leotard which she stepped into like a trouper, zipping the front to her neck and then adding a stiff spiked collar.
"Don't you object to wearing stuff like that?" I asked in disbelief.
Dawn peered at me sideways, her chin held high as she wrestled with the unfriendly collar.
"Not any more," she grunted. "Most of this is okay once you get used to it. Makes a girl feel important too - kind of special, you know? Damn, where the hell are the boots? That's what comes of having to rush. I should have fished them out earlier while I could still see the floor."
When I asked what size she needed, she dismissed my query with a wave of her hand.
"Everything's the same size here, love - didn't they tell you? They only recruit size ten. Surely they sent someone to check you out? This lot would fit you like a glove, trust me."
Dawn climbed into long boots that reached to within an inch of her leotard.
"From here on," she added, "a girl's forced to walk as if she's wet herself, but what the hell - the merest hint of incontinence turns Larry on like crazy."
"And doesn't that sicken you?" I said. "I mean - deliberately giving the hots to some guy you hardly know?"
She laughed. "Better than starting something you can't finish with a guy you know all too well."
The suit added its own erotic groans as Dawn headed awkwardly for the stairs.
"Have fun!" she said. "Try on anything you like. It's a perk that comes free with the job. We often have a ball up here out of hours."
A ball? Okay, maybe as a child I once had fun dressing up, but this place was too kinky for my liking, and as for the black rubber? I shuddered. Not only was it strangely menacing, it was bound to feel unbearably sticky after any length of time. By comparison, a cheerleader's outfit seemed tame.
I hadn't sensed any urgency about changing, so I sat for a while on the edge of a wicker basket and contemplated my lot. It wasn't so much the outfits I objected to as the thought of being mauled by some roly-poly dressed in Michelin tyres, someone who might grow uncontrollably randy at the sight my bare thighs.
I got up and wandered among the racks, studying the various outfits I might be expected to wear if I stayed. Maybe a seasoned hostess like Dawn would view matters in a different light - the more outrageous the costume, the less vulnerable she might feel wearing it. Perhaps when a man feasted his eyes on a cheerleader, he might devote more attention to the outfit than to self-conscious Jennifer Bewley inside it. But it certainly wasn't the kind of career I had in mind. The sooner Monday arrived, the better.
My reverie was halted as another hostess came hurrying into the cave - a woman in her early forties, dressed as a Grecian goddess.
"God," she panted, "those bloody stairs! I'm getting too old for this lark." She peered at my badge. "Jennifer! Don't know you. I'm Doris. Corks! Don't tell me you're a new trainee? Better watch my language!"
"I'm so new I haven't even started," I said, trying to show suitable enthusiasm. "And I'm thoroughly bewildered by this bizarre collection of costumes. This isn't at all what I expected."
"I felt the same once," Doris sighed as she stripped. "Excuse me, the show must go on. No, it took me weeks to adjust. But eventually I got to realise what a great place this is. You meet such interesting, not to say influential people. Top brass, in fact."
"And you're not disgusted by what you have to do?"
"Do?" she laughed merrily. "You've got the wrong attitude there, love. We do damn-all actually, except sit around soaking up surplus admiration. I look at it this way - we're here to provide therapy, right? Is a surgeon disgusted if his gown gets splattered with blood? Does a dentist feel sick about having to remove rotten teeth? Do garage mechanics bring up their lunch every time they're asked to stick their wrists in a bucket of axle-grease? Love, you say you're new, and that's wonderful, so let an old hand give you a word of advice. Every client downstairs is a human being, same as you or me. Some like chocolate, some enjoy beer; some vote Liberal, others are on strict diets, but they all have one thing in common. They adore us women. Try to see them as genuine tender-hearted people with certain needs, no different from the rest of humanity. If a guy longs to cuddle up in a comfy bed with a nice warm woman, you'd regard him as normal, right? What if he and his partner prefer to have it off in a bath full of soap-suds or wallow in a vat of peanut butter? Some guys love girls with big boobs; others go for shapely legs, or cute turned-up noses - it's just Mother Nature's way of making sure one sex gets attracted to the other, whatever shape we happen to be. We get chaps downstairs who idolise girls in corsets, skimpy bikinis, heavy latex, see-through outfits - even the occasional elderly Greek goddess. But they are all genuine human beings, here for a spot of quiet pleasure and relaxation. They simply want companionship, with a dash of spice thrown in to make it memorable. Once you get used to being ogled, you'll soon find you and your partner settling down to a cosy fireside chat. Despite their needs, they still want to relate to us as people. They like to know how we feel in our various costumes, and what we think of them in theirs, but they're none of them monsters or rapists. In time you'll grow quite fond of the regulars - and you'll undoubtedly recognise some well-known faces too, though I hope you've been warned about that - it's our sacred duty not to recognise anyone, not even His Royal Highness. Now, I need a Traffic Warden's outfit."
As she lifted a heavy uniform down from the rack, I couldn't help laughing.
"A Traffic Warden? Hardly my idea of a turn-on."
"Maybe not to you or I, dear. But in the world of kinkiness it's called Fem-Dom. And don't they just love it? Makes them feel like naughty little boys again. Some want a stern headmistress, a prison governess, even a cruel step-mother - anyone who represents their idea of heavy-handed female authority. It's a good ploy here to go for the type you're best at portraying - whether you're the helpless little schoolgirl, the intellectual secretary, the pouting pussy-cat or the disciplinarian. Looking at you, I'd put you down as a submissive silent sufferer. Try wearing some of that orthopaedic clutter in the corner and get some poor sod to feel desperately sorry for you. It's great, provided you play it for real. Never admit to a client you've only put the damned things on for his amusement. Convince him you face years of discomfort and suffering, and he'll devote his entire visit to consoling you. That can be wild, believe me, not to say highly profitable."
Having changed, Doris suddenly sprang to attention and pointed an accusing finger straight at me, her eyes fired up with unmitigated loathing.
"You pathetic little wimp! If you don't move that horrid car in ten seconds, I'm clamping all four wheels, giving you a dozen parking tickets and hauling you off to Wormwood Scrubs where I wouldn't be surprised if you don't end up doing forty years." Then she chuckled merrily. "Don't look scared, sweetie. We must believe in our roles, and right now I'm a strutting female Hitler with a bellyful of hate, all set to lacerate some poor sod's ego with the full force of my tonsils. Bye-ee!"
Curious to explore the traffic warden's suggestions, I went in search of the orthopaedic appliances - a mind-blowing collection of barbaric artefacts ranging from plastic arm-casts to callipers and surgical braces. Maybe, I thought, if I put my arm in a sling, closed one eye, and walked with a decided limp ... perhaps even a peg-leg? Oo-ah, Jim lad!
"Surely you've made your mind up by now?" a voice barked.
I wheeled round to be glowered at by Carol.
"I could do with some guidance," I said timidly.
"Nonsense, girl," she snapped. "You were allocated a specific duty. Look lively - get yourself into that cheerleader's gear, and be quick about it. You've got an important client who's getting all hot and impatient."
"He won't maul me about too much, will he?"
"Arnold? He knows the rules better than anyone. Besides you'll be under constant surveillance. If we spot any of our girls in trouble, we move in fast."
"Does that happen often?"
"It'll happen to you if you don't jump to it."
I found a suitable costume in canary yellow, and was surprised how young it made me look as I paused by a mirror before hurrying downstairs. Carol led me to a corner table where the awesome Arnold sat like a huge walrus, his entire body encased in a massive black rubber suit.
"Sorry for the delay," I said, sitting breathlessly beside him. "Just came in from cheerleading practice - exhausting! My name's Jennifer."
"Nice outfit!" he said, staring intently at my waist. "But I'd have liked you better in blue."
I offered to go and change, but his brawny arm restrained me.
"No, yellow's fine," he conceded. "Anything really, except black."
It seemed natural to ask why.
"Never really thought about it," he smiled stiffly. "I just find bright colours more interesting."
"But you're in black," I pointed out.
He grunted coyly. "This is different. You'd look fantastic in black too if you wore something like this."
"I imagine it must get very hot ..." I began, not knowing what was expected of me. Was I supposed to discuss his personal discomfort, or merely nod while he divulged unsavoury details in return for my feigned sympathy? How far should I explore the motives behind this man's peculiar fetish? Was I meant to act as his nurse or his headmistress?
"Does what I'm wearing bother you?" he asked as I continued to stare. "I don't like upsetting people. You don't find my company too obscene?"
He looked so earnest I felt almost sorry for him, and assured him I could cope. His outfit resembled a coat of smooth black tar, painted from the soles of his feet to his neck, with much of his face hidden behind an evil-looking mask.
"How long have you been wearing things like that?" I asked.
"Like what?" he responded breathlessly. I guessed he wanted me to say the word RUBBER, so I obliged.
"Since I was small," he quivered. "My baby sister had to wear the same."
"Surely not a heavy black rubber suit?"
Again he quivered vigorously. "No. You know ..." His sentence trailed away into a silent nod.
"Rubber," I said, copying his nod. "I expect you felt jealous of her, wanting to be loved like your little sister? Did they ignore you when she was born?"
His soft, sad "Yes" was the echo of a lost child.
I tried to suggest he was now a grown man.
"Doesn't stop me wanting to be loved," he went on in the same childish voice. "Loved and cuddled like a baby."
"There's something of a baby left in all of us," I told him.
He leaned earnestly towards me. "Did they make you wear rubber when you were little?"
I said if he was talking about what I thought he was talking about, mine were probably made of plastic.
"Not the same," he said sadly. "Plastic isn't the same."
"Perhaps not. Am I allowed to ask how you get in and out of a suit like that? I don't see any zips or buttons."
"It's a struggle," he grinned, "though it's a lot easier when someone helps. Will you come back later and help me take it off?"
Arnold was a huge man, decidedly barrel-shaped around his middle. I could picture all too vividly the state of his body beneath the black suit, and I felt forced to decline.
"No," I said firmly. "I'd willingly help if I could, but you know you've got to be a good boy and keep that on till it's time to go home."
My voice of domination evidently gratified him. He gave a sad smile.
"It won't be easy," he said. "It gets pretty horrid after the first few hours. But if you insist, I'll try my best, just for you."
"Good!" I nodded. "I'm glad you're being such a good boy. Remember, I've got to keep my uniform on too. I don't feel at all comfortable about wearing this, but a woman upstairs told me I had to, so - here I am."
Arnold gave another quiver. "It looks extremely tight. I expect it must feel strange if you're not used to it. Would you mind standing up and twirling round so I can see?"
Naively I turned to oblige him, and felt his hand lifting my skirt at the back.
"That's enough!" I snapped, spinning round and adding a matronly chill to my voice. "I'm not in the habit of letting any man do that."
Arnold looked mildly repentant but spoke with a voice of stern authority. "May I remind you, Jennifer, the rules here are different. If we weren't allowed to touch, we might as well just stay at home and look at magazines. It'd be cheaper too, but not nearly so much fun."
"Does it cost a lot to come here?"
"I'm on a special concession," he said. "But generally it's about eighteen-hundred a week. Five-fifty for the weekend."
"Five-hundred-and-fifty pounds?" I exclaimed. "Just to sit and talk to someone like me?"
"Oh, it's more than just talk," he went on. "There's no copulation, of course, we don't allow that - not that I could anyway in this beastly thing you've made me wear. But that isn't what I need. Whenever I wear this, I want to be with someone kind, hoping she'll put her arms around me and talk about things - about me, I suppose, and about you. We are allowed to tip the girls, you know. Just comfort me for a while, and I'll tip you very handsomely if you'll do what I ask."
"I don't know about that," I said, edging away. "Actually, I'm only here on trial, so I doubt if they'll let me keep any tips."
He looked disappointed. "On trial? I see. Still, I'm sure they won't mind you jumping up and down a few times. Go on! At least you could pretend to be a cheerleader, even though it's obvious you're nothing of the sort."
I did my best but felt an utter fool, especially in front of the other clients and nearby staff who all turned to watch my inadequate cavortings.
"Satisfied?" I panted hopefully.
"You're seriously out of condition - it's a wonder you can breathe in that uniform. It looks devastatingly tight, especially round your bottom. It must be quite irksome having to wear something as constricting as that."
"It's a lot nicer than being stuck inside smelly black rubber," I retaliated, wondering just how outspoken I was allowed to be.
Arnold may have been gratified by my attentions, but by now I'd had a basinful of his. As a means of escape I suggested it was now my turn to visit the ladies' room and take a shower. I began making my excuses, and looked around to see Dawn in her leather boots and spiked collar, striding stiffly towards me, grinning.
"I see you have my friend Arnold eating out of your hand. Well done! How's it going, Arnold? Warm enough for you?"
Arnold squirmed and mimed a mopped brow. "This new girl's given me strict orders I'm to keep this suit on till I go home," he said, eyeing me to see if I really meant it.
"Then you must do as the lady says," replied Dawn. "She gets very angry when she's disobeyed. I must say I like you in yellow, Jennifer. Don't you think she looks stunning, Arnold?"
"I prefer blue," he mumbled, and I took this as my cue to go and change. Away from Arnold's table, I quietly thanked Dawn for rescuing me from what might have been a long and demanding ordeal.
"Nevertheless," she argued, "I reckon you gave him a moment or two of ecstasy. You can always tell what's going on inside the suit from the way he fidgets."
I didn't even want to think about it. I screwed up my eyes and said I couldn't imagine what possible appeal it held for him.
"Sometimes it is hard," Dawn agreed, "trying to fathom out just what they see in us. But Arnold's needs are simple. He wants everyone to feel sorry for him, sealed up all day in his private Turkish Bath."
"It's grotesque!" I said. "Imagine not being able to take it off for a whole weekend."
"Ah, rubber's not so bad once you get used to it. I'm often asked to wear something similar, though I always insist on a hefty fee. We're in a strong bargaining position here, dear, which is part of the appeal - and there's always something new to try out. For instance - this'll blow your mind - my man wants to embalm me in the plaster room. Care to come and watch?"
"You mean Light-fingered Larry?" I queried.
"Sh!" Dawn hissed. "Lower your voice, idiot."
"Sorry. What happens in the plaster room?" I whispered.
"Same as in hospital," she said as if it were a regular event. "You lie flat on a table, get yourself wrapped in quick-setting plaster and end up stiff as a board. I'm keeping my fingers crossed he's more into legs than necks, though the way he's been staring at my collar gives me serious doubts, and I may have to summon the rescue squad. If you're not prepared to act as my chaperone, at least wish me luck."
With a resigned shrug, Dawn went off to prepare for her next ordeal, while I turned the other way and bumped straight into the arms of a tall man whose face I recognised instantly. It wouldn't be right to mention his real name - a name he couldn't have used anyway, since I'd already seen it on someone else's badge. But having flung myself into this unexpected clinch, I found the moment quite intoxicating, and neither of us seemed eager to break away.
"This IS my lucky morning," he grinned. "You're either a cheerleader or a canary, I can't tell without my contacts. Are you okay?"
Okay? I was utterly mesmerised, gazing up into a face I'd seen many times on television. The characters he usually portrays have always seemed kind and understanding, and here I was seeing that same kindness, that same understanding, every bit as genuine in real life, and literally within my grasp.
"I'm fine," I said, my heart pounding so hard he must have felt it. "I was just on my way upstairs to change - something in blue, I thought."
"Why not? To match your eyes? Very suitable. Are you new here?"
"Yes," I said. "Do you come here often? I mean ... are you ... sorry, we're not supposed to ask, are we? It's difficult, isn't it - I mean - trying not to say the obvious."
I was making a complete fool of myself in the arms of a man I idolized - yet my nervousness kept my voice rabbiting on. I was on the verge of asking if there were plans for further episodes when I noticed Carol standing at the foot of the stairs, frowning. She beckoned me over.
"A strong word of caution, young lady, if you can possibly tear yourself away from your latest conquest. I kept an eye on your session with Arnold. Not bad for a first attempt, but you must guard against that flare-up of indignation we saw - twice you showed a dangerously bad attitude. If a client wants to touch your clothing, that's quite acceptable. Understood?"
"But he was lifting the hem of my skirt," I protested.
"Oh, Jennifer, grow up! A few inches, that's all, and you're perfectly respectable beneath. Can you imagine an ice-skater or ballerina shy about revealing her pants to spectators? What you're wearing is made to be seen, so don't let's have any false modesty, please. Now I understand Arnold sent you off for a change of outfit? He has a very short attention span as you may have realised. Are you happy to go back to him, or would you prefer a different assignment?"
"Will he mind if I duck out?"
Carol smiled. "Not at all. The more variety Arnold gets, the better he likes it. But I'm glad you thought to ask. And we loved your insistence that he stays in that suit till closing time. Serves him right for getting fresh."
Fresh? Arnold? Not the word I'd have chosen.
"He also said next time he'd prefer someone in blue," I told her.
"Yes, we made a note of that. And I think you'll find your next assignment much easier to cope with. You're to spend the next hour dressed as a teenage school-girl. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Why not?" I agreed. "Where from? St. Trinian's? Roedean? Or am I a modest little soul from a strict convent? I could do that extremely well, because that's where I used..."
"It's entirely up to you," she interrupted. "Nothing vulgar, nor too dull - just make yourself neat and girlish, then go to Table 9 where you'll find a chap called Allen - your former partner at breakfast who's requested a further hour of your company, which may count as a point in your favour. And I'm glad to see you've got good legs. Always utilise your best assets, my dear."
I hesitated, wondering how best to phrase concerns about flaunting my body, however fetching it might appear to the opposite sex. I was never the kind of girl who'd willingly enter a Miss World contest and I certainly didn't enjoy being asked blatantly to think of myself as a sex-object.
"Go on," Carol barked. "Don't dilly-dally, up you go! Nice rounded buttocks too - it all helps."
She stood at the foot of the stairs, clapping her hands like a primary school teacher, and continuing to evaluate my rear end as I climbed self-consciously towards the costume area.
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