Her cryptic reply played havoc with my sleep. The cider left me with a thumping headache, and I prayed for a good fairy to fly down and rescue me from what had become a ghastly nightmare, to wake me up and prove I was safely back in my cosy Ealing flat.
No such fairy appeared. Instead my dreams were haunted by a green fire-breathing dragon who loomed ten feet tall and kept tapping her palms with a whip as she offered me one final chance to redeem myself.
"Your man wants you spend the whole year as a helpless ten-month-old baby, so you're to put on these special nappies full of stinging nettles and start drinking your way through thirty gallons of gripe water. The more uncomfortable you genuinely feel, the bigger the profits and the more tips the rest of us will be allowed to earn."
I then found myself wearing so much protective padding it made walking impossible.
"You'll be okay," the dragon's voice echoed as I waddled precariously down a narrow sloping staircase with no banister rail. "Hit the discomfort button and learn what it's like to be adored. Launch yourself, girl! Launch into your new career and revel in your Moment of Surrender!"
After that I seemed to be sitting at one end of a vast cavern with my man half a mile away, showing not the slightest concern for my plight. My voice echoed around the deserted arena as I made repeated pleas for mercy, all to no avail.
"What's wrong with you men?" I bellowed. "Why do you need us girls to wear such ridiculous outfits? What's in it for you?"
My man stared back in stony silence.
"I'm sorry," he muttered feebly. "Must be horrid for you."
I tried walking towards him, but I realised I was still only two years old and could make very little progress.
"Is that all you can say?" I cried. "I hope you're having a whale of a time down there, because these nettles are giving me hell. It's bad enough wearing baby rompers, with knitted pink bonnets that don't fit, but that's nothing compared to these gallons of water you're forcing me to drink, so can we please stop this now, because I can't take any more."
As I held up a huge red veto card, I burped loudly and the man at once came gliding towards me on ice skates, coiling his fat hairy arms around my neck like huge choking pythons.
"So sorry," he said in a gruff voice, "so sorry. Must be horrid for you. Drink up!"
As I stared deep into his face, it turned into a lifeless skull, all grey and crumbling from within. I then found myself being lifted high to the air by four winged angels from the Flying Squad - and as they were about to drop me I awoke, disgusted by my own dream, and mortified to find that in my Moment of Surrender I was on the point of wetting Dawn's bed.
I was now alone. Dawn had presumably been assigned her first duty, leaving me with no clue as to how long I'd overslept.
Short of putting on the discarded rubber suit, I could find nothing presentable to wear except the dressing-gown Allen had given me the night before. Then I remembered my identity tag with its hidden microphone.
"Jennifer's awake," I announced. "Should she stay in bed all morning, or will someone bring her some clean dry clothes? She normally wouldn't dare make a move without government authority, but if she doesn't hear from someone within two minutes, she'll be making her own way to the wardrobe room stark naked."
Almost at once the dragon burst in, her fresh face glowing as if she'd been for a brisk walk in the open air. Personally I found the underground atmosphere stifling. I felt desperately tired after my sleepless nights, horribly aware that I didn't belong - yet here was Carol, greeting me with all the irritating heartiness of a games-mistress. I never used to dislike games-mistresses, but I do now.
"Jennifer? Glad you're awake - come, come, rise and shine - I've had a request from someone who wants to monopolise your company all morning."
"You mean he's pledged an additional fee? How much do I get?"
"Don't be obtuse. It's a perfectly reasonable request, and we always do our best to give clients whatever they ask for."
I resented the implication that I was a marketable commodity, to be offered around like a tray of tea-cakes or a prize heifer.
"So what does he propose to do?" I asked bitterly. "Massage my naked buttocks with warm cod liver oil? Bind and gag me before inserting drawing pins into my navel, or stick a candle up my ..."
"Jennifer, please! For someone who claims to be fastidious, you show an uncommon degree of vulgarity. This man simply wants your company, that's all. Don't ask me why - personally I find you quite objectionable, but he seems to believe you have redeeming qualities."
"Oh, no doubt!" I retorted, cupping my breasts. "What if I refuse?"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"But you're not, so I'll repeat my question - what if I refuse? It's a free country. No-one can make me do anything I don't want to. I've had plenty of time to think things over, and I've had a bellyful of this place and its kinky goings-on. I don't know why I was ever thought suitable in the first place. I was perfectly content till I got propositioned by one of your nomadic talent scouts. Now, as a result of some cock-up, I've been forced to endure one of the most humiliating weekends of my life. I hate this place and I want to be shown the way out, now! I'll willingly find my own way home, even if it means crawling the entire journey on my hands and knees."
"We'll see. We may offer you several choices later on. You may even change your mind once you've talked things over with this man. I'm sure he'll explain what's in his mind."
"Huh! As if I couldn't guess! Okay, if there's no other way out of this hell-hole, lead me to the slaughter. What have I got to wear this time? Concrete stockings and a collar made from broken milk bottles? Or should I become a dancing nymphomaniac with a bright red geranium stuck firmly up my...?"
"Jennifer, stop it at once! I've told you, you have a most negative attitude, the worst I've encountered in years. Come as you are, and I warn you - you'd better behave yourself."
"Really? Or what? You'll send me home? Hooray, hooray!"
Clad only in a dressing-gown I was led downstairs to where my man was waiting. Initially he had his back to me, but when he turned, familiar eyes lit up, betraying the kind of genuine pleasure one might express on greeting an old friend. He leapt at once to his feet.
"Jennifer, isn't it? Yes, I see from your badge. Thank you so much for coming. I hope you didn't mind me asking for you?"
"Not at all," I lied, turning to face the dragon, who gave me a severe parting glare as if to say: "Bloody well behave yourself."
We sat down and stared self-consciously at one another.
"Sorry there wasn't time to dress," I said feebly, "but I was ordered to come as I am."
"That's okay," he smiled. "It's one of the features I like about this place. No need for formality where none is due. Did you sleep well?"
"No," I informed him, "I did not. I spent half the night trying to recover from the effects of cider, and the rest wondering how I'm ever going to escape from this degrading place."
He laughed. "I sometimes feel the same about England. I'm flying to South America tomorrow, though I sincerely hope you'll still be here when I return for my next visit."
"Not me," I said. "I'm here on sufferance. It's plain to everyone I'm not suitable. This place isn't at all what I expected."
"Neither was Disney World for me," he smiled, "but I enjoyed it once I got there. A group of us went on a business trip to the Epcot Center to savour the atmosphere and pick up ideas which we've tried to incorporate here. And I must say it seems to be working well. One can unwind here - be oneself for a few hours without getting hounded for autographs or being hassled by the media. It's a great therapy, to relax and allow our brains to slip into neutral."
I looked around. The whole arena was lulled into tranquillity by a blissful air of contentment, so different from the bawdy revellings of the night before. Soft music mingled comfortably with the buzz of casual conversation, disrupted only by occasional bursts of merry laughter which fluttered like a bird, sending ripples echoing through the cavern till it settled once more back to its former restful ambience.
Meanwhile, my man wouldn't take his eyes off me - yet it wasn't the look of a man overwhelmed by my natural beauty. It was as if he had a number of important issues to raise and couldn't decide where to begin. He'd made a specific request for my company, so it seemed odd that we were now facing each other in a prolonged silence. There was something about those eyes too - and his voice was vaguely familiar.
"Am I allowed to ask your name?" I said. "I have a feeling I've seen you before somewhere."
"I don't think it's wise to be that perceptive," he said. "Some of us are well-known by sight, but this place offers a make-up room where we can divest ourselves of our normal appearance. It's a blessed relief to become a nobody for an hour or so. But if you feel lost without a name, call me Marmaduke."
I nearly laughed. Surely no-one these days was called Marmaduke? There seemed little point in repeating it, so we lapsed again into silence.
"Where do you suppose we are?" I asked in a last-ditch attempt at conversation.
"One of the beauties of this place, Jennifer, is that it doesn't matter where or who we are. We're here, you and I - that's what counts. This place is a fun-house for some and a sanctuary for others. Many folk tell me they love returning here for the sheer tranquillity of Sunday mornings, apart from pleasant encounters with attractive girls such as yourself."
"But why me especially?" I wanted to know. "Is there something unique about my body that turns you on?"
"They're right," he laughed. "You ARE different! I spent some time watching your performance yesterday when you cavorted about in that skimpy outfit. I must say you looked good, and I'm sure you did your best, but I could see you weren't enjoying yourself - you looked totally out of your depth, humiliated to the point where I hoped someone would come and rescue you - though, of course, that would hardly have been fair. It's not in the spirit of this place to interfere with the enjoyment of others. Your man yesterday was entitled to his fun. He deserved value for money, same as the rest of us. But in my view he should have had a different partner - you weren't his type at all."
I grinned. "You noticed?"
"You're a vibrant conversationalist, Jennifer, not a dancer or entertainer. That's why I made enquiries about you. I hadn't seen you before and - well, I was curious to see how you'd match up to my expectations."
"But again, why me?" I persisted. "You say I'm a conversationalist. What do you want me to talk about, or is this just a preamble leading to something more erotic? I mean, are you about to suggest I go and change into something less comfortable? Leather and spikes, perhaps, or a traffic warden's outfit?"
The man closed his eyes. "Don't be perverse, Jennifer, it doesn't suit you. No, I simply need a chat. I enjoy exchanging intellectual thoughts with girls such as yourself." He peered at me through one eye like a contented sun-bather. "You have a very endearing smile when you care to display it."
I thanked him, but I felt uneasy. Something wasn't right. Men didn't visit such a place merely to strike up conversations as they might in a public bar. Whatever this so-called Marmaduke was after, I felt sure it was some distasteful subject which he hadn't yet broached. Why else would he take so long in coming to the point?
"You want me just to sit here," I asked, "smiling like an imbecile, or should I go and change? I'm sure they disapprove of staff who don't get properly dressed before breakfast. I could lose my chances of a job if I don't make a move."
"And we can't risk that," he laughed. "Besides, you're forgetting another aspect of this place. A client can request his hostess to wear whatever takes his fancy, and I've no wish to see you dressed in anything more formal than what you've got on. Does that set your mind at rest? Humour me, please - at least until we'd had breakfast."
So that was it! The guy was getting a kick out of knowing I had nothing on beneath my dressing-gown, a topic I had no wish to pursue.
"Does breakfast come to us," I asked, "or do we fetch it ourselves? That's another failing about this place - newcomers aren't properly instructed on how they're supposed to behave."
My man promptly stood up. "I'll find something for both of us. It's what the Americans call a Sunday Brunch. We trot up to the counter with our plates whenever we feel peckish. You stay and keep my place. Someone will be round soon with champagne, and I certainly don't want to miss out on that. I'll start you off with scrambled egg and a few trimmings, how's that? Anything you don't fancy you can transfer to my plate."
As a trained waitress such idleness went against every instinct in my soul. Marmaduke had presumably paid hundreds of pounds for the privilege of being there, yet he seemed determined to wait on me while I, a trainee member of staff, lolled about in a borrowed dressing-gown.
A long slender arm suddenly reached forward over my shoulder. I looked up and saw Dawn beaming down at me, about to fill our glasses with quality champagne. She was dressed as a night-club waitress in a stunning black and silver outfit that left little to the imagination.
"Sleep well?" she grinned.
I shook my head. This was even worse, being waited on by a girl who'd sacrificed her own comfort to give me a good night's rest.
"Who's your friend?" she chirped light-heartedly.
"Search me! He says his name's Marmaduke, though he must have made that up. I know I've seen his face somewhere before."
"No doubt," she replied, "but remember the rules. How do you like this outfit?"
"Dangerously short!" I observed.
"Nevertheless, you'd better get used to the idea 'cause it's yours later. You said you'd like to be a waitress, so I fixed it for you. Unfortunately, I had to take the first shift as you were still fast asleep in my bed."
Before I could express gratitude or remorse, she was gone, her rear end flouncing from side to side like the tail of a duck. I still don't understand why any girl should be asked to wear something so ridiculous in order to serve drinks.
"Here we are," said Marmaduke, returning with a tray. "Try this for starters, and while we're eating I'd like you tell me everything you can about yourself."
He laid before me a huge plate of scrambled egg, sausage and bacon, then lifted his champagne glass in a toast to my good health.
"Look, Marmaduke," I confessed, laying my hands flat on the table, "I feel a complete fraud. I'm not used to being waited on, especially by people senior to me, and it was supposed to be MY job today. It's what I used to do before I came here. Carol tells me I've been assigned to you all morning - which is fine, don't get me wrong - but someone else has also reminded me I was supposed to act as a waitress today, so it's all a bit embarrassing."
"I don't see why you can't do both," the man smiled. "Wander about as needed, and return here for a chat whenever you're free. I don't want to bore you, Jennifer. I just want to keep you entertained and give you a restful morning. But I must say you would look stunning in one of those outfits. I was admiring you yesterday, remember, and I'm sure you won't be expected to jump up and down, not when you're carrying champagne."
"All the same," I said, "it is very revealing. And I can't possibly eat this much - do you mind taking some of it off my plate?"
"Gladly. So, you used to be a waitress? An excellent one, I'm sure. What more can you tell me about yourself?"
"Not a lot. I'm currently unemployed."
"But surely you work here?"
"Not really. I came for an interview yesterday and got sucked in. I guarantee I'll be out on my ear by tonight."
"Then we'd better discuss your future. What sort of job would you enjoy if you don't make the grade here?"
"Anything. I like meeting people. I like helping them sort out their day-to-day problems. I like being popular."
"Indeed. Lots of boy-friends, I imagine?"
"Actually, no. I'm too much on the move. You know what they say about rolling stones. But I have a home of my own now, so I may begin to grow roots."
"Hobbies?"
"You sound as if you're trying to interview me."
"And why not? I frequently interview staff - it's part of my job. Same as you, I like meeting people and helping them resolve their problems."
"Would it be rude to ask where I've seen you before?" I said.
"No," he smiled, "but it wouldn't be right. A lady this morning went to a lot of trouble to change the way I look, and I don't intend negating her efforts just to satisfy your curiosity. As long as I appear friendly, that's all I ask. Besides, I'm keen to know more about you. Have you always lived in the London area?"
"How did you know I live in London?"
"Come, Jennifer, you speak with such a healthy London accent, I can't help playing Professor Higgins. I'd say you live not far from Fulham, maybe Brentford - definitely north of the river."
"That's brilliant!" I said. "Have I really got a London accent?"
"No," he grinned. "I'm a despicable cheat. I enquired upstairs. They told me you were once a waitress in Acton, and now you own a nice little flat in Ealing. Very cosy, I'm sure. What made you come here for a job?"
"Gullibility."
"Not a fervent desire to help mankind?"
"Look, Marmaduke or whatever your name is, I knew damn-all about this place till I came. I imagined some kind of classy night-club, frequented by patrons more up-market than the customers in Acton. But no-one prepared me for this. I mean, this is utterly bizarre, and to be honest I find it all a bit sickening."
"You're not feeling so good this morning?"
"No. I drank too much cider last night, and I'm not used to it. I only drank it to pluck up courage for that dirty dancing in the dark."
"The nude ballroom scene? Yes, I missed that. I was involved in other matters."
"Oh, yes?" I smirked. "I can imagine."
"You're free to imagine what you like, Jennifer, but you'd be wrong. Actually I was in an important meeting about our methods of recruitment."
"Really? And why would that involve you? Ah, don't tell me. You're one of the directors."
"Actually no. But I do hold a position of some influence. Surely that makes me eligible for your attentions? I'm told you enjoyed a brief flirtation with one of our Whitehall administrators."
"You mean Allen?"
"I hear you and he had a serious disagreement - a great pity. Allen's extremely concerned about you - he tells me you were brought here by mistake, and you now regard him as some kind of villain. I assure you, Jennifer, nothing could be further from the truth, which is one of the reasons I wanted to meet you, to help you to understand. Look, we're a devious lot here. I know it's not very friendly, but it is essential if we're to run this place effectively. Our overriding concern is that we employ only the right kind of girl who'll guarantee to protect our clients' interests."
"Yes, I know all that. But honestly - don't you feel some of the goings-on come pretty close to hard-core pornography?"
"Define hard-core."
"I can't," I said, "except I know it involves things the public aren't allowed to see. And I've seen some very peculiar practices here. People in rubber suits, for instance."
"Like that charming girl in blue?" he broke in smoothly. "My dear, that's not pornography. You shouldn't go around condemning something you haven't tried yourself. Believe me, Jennifer, what you see here is nothing. There are places in other parts of the world that would blow every fuse in your body. And this place is fully sanctioned by Whitehall. Nothing's illegal if it's done with Government approval. Even mass homicide can be perfectly legal if it's carried out for the good of the country. We generally call it war."
"And what do you call this?"
"Diplomacy! Listen, my dear. Man is a dirty animal. He's nothing but a jungle monkey who's been to school and learned to use a razor. He still yearns for basic animal satisfaction. But monkeys in high places can't afford to have their bottoms wiped in public by shoddy newspapers. So this becomes their closet, a locked lavatory where we can air our differences and let everything hang out. Surely this was explained to you before you came? Boys will always seek the company of girls, no matter what - it's the law of creation."
"I don't know where you were brought up, Marmaduke, but the people I mix with have a healthy respect for morality and good civilised behaviour."
"Window-dressing, my dear! I'm sure there are plenty of nice boys who meet respectable little girls and buy decent houses in which to enjoy their conventional little lives. Some are so pure they can sublimate every animal desire, but you're overlooking one vital point. We're not talking about Mr. and Mrs. Joe Ordinary of Number Eleven Acacia Drive. We deal here with corporation bosses, top financiers and Members of Parliament. No country can thrive on syrupy niceness. We need men of power at the top of every tree, ruthless men who know what they want and damned well see that they get it. Many a leader hides under a veneer so suave that Torvill and Dean could win medals on it, but they can never be truly nice little men. They thrive on getting their own way, which includes getting their own brand of sexual thrills. Am I getting through to you, or are we both wasting our time?"
"I'm listening," I said, "and I believe you. What I find incredible is that I've become a part of this orgy. I don't belong here at all."
"You reckon you're too nice? We have ways of curing that. But it's important you respond genuinely to our clients, and convince them you're getting just as fun as they are. Look around you! Happy couples, doing weird things perhaps, but finding much-needed relaxation before they trot back on Monday to their wives and jobs in a happier frame of mind."
"Wives? You're saying some of these people are married? Do their wives know they're here?"
"Oh, Jennifer, grow up! Of course not. These men are all attending seminars, European conferences, with planes delayed in Angola, whatever! They'll turn up smiling on Monday with their bunches of flowers and their hearts brimming with love and affection, but it's all part of the game."
"And it's men only?"
"It has to be. The formula only works when we mix men who daren't risk betrayal with girls whose loyalty has been thoroughly tested, one way or another."
"You mean with money. How much do these girls earn?"
"Depends on the extent of their compliance and the generosity of the individual. Different girls take on different assignments. You've met Dawn? She'll wear any outfit we throw at her, including the rubber suit you found so offensive, but she can't bear heavy petting. Some girls are born to intimidate the male. Others wilt and weep to order. We must get you properly assessed, Jennifer, and see what you're made of. Is there anything you've tried so far that takes your fancy?"
I described my various ordeals and encounters, but I knew I'd only been really content in the company of Allen. In the end I confessed as much to Marmaduke - well, I needed to tell someone.
"So you really have fallen for one of our administrators?" he sighed. "That's not at all healthy, though maybe there's no harm done, provided it remains pure fantasy - like sitting with Daddy waiting for your train."
I felt deeply humiliated.
"That's another dirty trick, all this spying and eavesdropping. Is there no privacy?"
"Why should there be privacy? You came for an interview, and it's our job to assess you by whatever means we can. We need to be certain you'll never betray our clients' identities, that you'll honour our code of secrecy to your dying day, and be totally co-operative with any man you're assigned to. Our girls must be prepared to uphold every principle and practice laid down for this establishment. Anything less is wholly unacceptable. Naturally we make allowances in the early days of your training. We don't expect you to subject your body to physical harm, but we do ultimately require value for money. If you're accepted here, you'll be given free board and lodging, and an initial remuneration of forty-thousand a year, which could double in a year's time, subject to performance. And if the little ground-floor flat in Ealing is an embarrassment, we'll readily take it off your hands at current market value. Questions?"
Up to eighty-thousand a year? I could hardly think of questions after a revelation like that. Such earnings might be tainted with immorality, but if everything was sanctioned by Government this point seemed a mere technicality. Five minutes earlier I'd been ready to walk out for good. Now I felt keen as mustard to be accepted.
"No questions," I said.
"Good!" He stood up. "Now I need to go and change for a meeting, and you'd be well advised to report for duty. But listen, this morning's chat was strictly off the record. Understood?"
Off the record it may have been, but it proved one thing - whoever Marmaduke was, he'd let slip an interesting detail about my home that certainly hadn't come from my lips. Why did he assume it was a ground-floor flat that I owned and not whole a house? Was it possible he'd actually seen it for himself? And where had I seen those sunken eyes before?
Intrigued, I went in search of Dawn, and found her sitting in the wardrobe room in a hostile frame of mind.
"You had a cushy time this morning," she accused me, "and you didn't even bother to change my sheets, you lazy sod. What's up now? Decided to do some work at last?"
With eighty-thousand pounds still ringing in my ears I readily agreed.
"That's more like it," said the dragon, suddenly appearing from behind the racks. "How did you get on downstairs?"
"Fine!" I nodded. "Can I ask a question though? Just who is the man who brought me up for my interview yesterday?"
The dragon looked puzzled. "Don't you know? He's certainly in favour of your being accepted. We assumed he was a personal friend of yours."
"But is he someone important?"
"All our clients are important, Jennifer, I shouldn't have to remind you of that. It's one of the questions we prefer you don't ask."
"Then answer me one more and I'll stop. Who was the man I saw this morning?"
"To you he's called Marmaduke. Does that present a problem?"
Dawn laughed. "Don't tell us you fell for that I'm-a-director ploy? Jennifer, love, it's one of the first lessons you learn about this place. Never believe anything a client tells you."
It was becoming more and more like Alice's Wonderland.
"Never mind," said the dragon. "It's time you got to work. Find yourself an outfit like Dawn's and hurry along to the cocktail bar. That's surely one task you can perform without totally screwing up."
I reluctantly put on fish-net tights and a black-and-silver mini-dress that was even shorter than I'd feared. Then I hurried off to begin duty in a more familiar role. Despite the wide eyes that followed my every move, I felt far more at home, greeting each group of clients with my well-practised table-side manner.
I was quite disappointed to find no tips coming my way till I remembered how everyone's money had been confiscated on arrival. Hopefully there was an alternative system I had yet to discover.
After what seemed hours of footwork, I was ordered by the head waiter to take a bottle of Beaujolais up to Room Five on the balcony - a kind of viewing gallery where clients could gather for coffee and watch the proceedings below. Carrying the wine bottle proudly on a silver tray, I found my way to Room Five and knocked.
The door was opened by a gentleman whom I recognised at once - a man who had once used my kitchen to prepare a superb omelette, not to mention a fabulous cooked breakfast.
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