listen.
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones and I jumped down the stairs and hid behind some crates of rubbish. I was just in time to miss being seen by a procession of women coming towards us. They were young and slender with short hair and pretty faces. I eased myself further back into the scrunched newspapers and empty bottles. The air smelt of gin and fish. Bonbon lowered her ears and pressed her head close to my chest.
A redheaded girl strode up the stairs and rapped on the door. The others slouched on the railing or sat down. They wore fashionable dresses, cut just below the knee, but even from where I crouched I could see that the lace was stiff and the dull beads were cheap.
A girl with peroxide-blonde hair took a comb out of her bag and ran it through her fringe. ‘I’m hungry,’ she moaned, bending forward and wrapping one hand around her stomach.
‘That’s what happens when you don’t eat,’ the girl next to her said. Her accent was stilted, and although she had elegant features she spoke ‘washerwoman’ French.
‘I can’t eat,’ replied the first girl, looking over her shoulder at the redhead who was banging on the door again. ‘The rent’s due tomorrow.’
‘ Mon Dieu! The heat!’ complained a dark-haired girl, dabbing at her florid face with a handkerchief. ‘I’m wilting like a flower.’
‘It’s died down a bit,’ said the hungry girl. ‘It was worse this afternoon. I was dripping greasepaint. They won’t turn on the fans for rehearsals.’
The redheaded girl turned around. ‘Marcel dropped me during the Arabian dance.’
‘I saw!’ exclaimed another girl. ‘You fell right into the puddle of sweat at his feet.’
‘Lucky I didn’t drown!’ the redhead roared.
The other girls giggled.
The latch clicked and they sprang up into a line, as if by force of habit. The door swung open. ‘ Bonsoir , Albert!’ they sang out one by one before disappearing into the darkness.
Bonbon wriggled and licked my fingers. I was about to stand up when I heard more footsteps on the cobblestones and ducked down again. I peeped between the piles of rubbish to see a matronly woman heading towards us with a stack of hatboxes in her arms. The boxes were so high that she had to peer around them to see where she was going. Two swarthy-looking men with instrument cases tucked under their arms followed not far behind. The threesome came to a stop at the door and one of the men knocked. As with the girls, they waited a few minutes for it to open before disappearing inside. Although my calves and feet were aching, and Bonbon was squirming in my arms, I was mesmerised by the parade of people passing by. Compared to my life of drudgery, they possessed mystery.
The door opened and I jumped. A man stepped out and cast an eye over the street. I was sure that he would see me, but his gaze stopped short of my hiding place. Despite the heat he was wearing an overcoat that reached to his heels and the collar of his shirt was turned up. The man propped the door open with a brick and leaned on the railing for a moment before reaching into his pocket and assembling a cigarette. My right ankle was burning from crouching and I shifted my foot to ease the cramp. My shoe knocked a wine bottle and sent it rolling into the gutter where it came to a stop with a clink . The man wheeled around and our eyes met. My breath caught in my throat. ‘Well, hello there,’ he said, scratching the stubble on his chin.
‘Hello,’ I replied, standing up and straightening my dress. Then, unable to think of a reason to be hiding in the rubbish, I said, ‘Good evening’ and ran off down the alley.
Intrigued by what I had seen, and having no other entertainment, I returned to the theatre the following night. But when I reached the alleyway it was deserted. I thought that perhaps Le Chat Espiègle didn’t have a show on Saturday nights and raced around to the cashier, who assured me that they did and pointed to the ticket
Footsteps echoed on the cobblestones and I jumped down the stairs and hid behind some crates of rubbish. I was just in time to miss being seen by a procession of women coming towards us. They were young and slender with short hair and pretty faces. I eased myself further back into the scrunched newspapers and empty bottles. The air smelt of gin and fish. Bonbon lowered her ears and pressed her head close to my chest.
A redheaded girl strode up the stairs and rapped on the door. The others slouched on the railing or sat down. They wore fashionable dresses, cut just below the knee, but even from where I crouched I could see that the lace was stiff and the dull beads were cheap.
A girl with peroxide-blonde hair took a comb out of her bag and ran it through her fringe. ‘I’m hungry,’ she moaned, bending forward and wrapping one hand around her stomach.
‘That’s what happens when you don’t eat,’ the girl next to her said. Her accent was stilted, and although she had elegant features she spoke ‘washerwoman’ French.
‘I can’t eat,’ replied the first girl, looking over her shoulder at the redhead who was banging on the door again. ‘The rent’s due tomorrow.’
‘ Mon Dieu! The heat!’ complained a dark-haired girl, dabbing at her florid face with a handkerchief. ‘I’m wilting like a flower.’
‘It’s died down a bit,’ said the hungry girl. ‘It was worse this afternoon. I was dripping greasepaint. They won’t turn on the fans for rehearsals.’
The redheaded girl turned around. ‘Marcel dropped me during the Arabian dance.’
‘I saw!’ exclaimed another girl. ‘You fell right into the puddle of sweat at his feet.’
‘Lucky I didn’t drown!’ the redhead roared.
The other girls giggled.
The latch clicked and they sprang up into a line, as if by force of habit. The door swung open. ‘ Bonsoir , Albert!’ they sang out one by one before disappearing into the darkness.
Bonbon wriggled and licked my fingers. I was about to stand up when I heard more footsteps on the cobblestones and ducked down again. I peeped between the piles of rubbish to see a matronly woman heading towards us with a stack of hatboxes in her arms. The boxes were so high that she had to peer around them to see where she was going. Two swarthy-looking men with instrument cases tucked under their arms followed not far behind. The threesome came to a stop at the door and one of the men knocked. As with the girls, they waited a few minutes for it to open before disappearing inside. Although my calves and feet were aching, and Bonbon was squirming in my arms, I was mesmerised by the parade of people passing by. Compared to my life of drudgery, they possessed mystery.
The door opened and I jumped. A man stepped out and cast an eye over the street. I was sure that he would see me, but his gaze stopped short of my hiding place. Despite the heat he was wearing an overcoat that reached to his heels and the collar of his shirt was turned up. The man propped the door open with a brick and leaned on the railing for a moment before reaching into his pocket and assembling a cigarette. My right ankle was burning from crouching and I shifted my foot to ease the cramp. My shoe knocked a wine bottle and sent it rolling into the gutter where it came to a stop with a clink . The man wheeled around and our eyes met. My breath caught in my throat. ‘Well, hello there,’ he said, scratching the stubble on his chin.
‘Hello,’ I replied, standing up and straightening my dress. Then, unable to think of a reason to be hiding in the rubbish, I said, ‘Good evening’ and ran off down the alley.
Intrigued by what I had seen, and having no other entertainment, I returned to the theatre the following night. But when I reached the alleyway it was deserted. I thought that perhaps Le Chat Espiègle didn’t have a show on Saturday nights and raced around to the cashier, who assured me that they did and pointed to the ticket
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