The Radiant Agency
Chain-smoking glamourpusses, snobby kids, bearded grannies and we-didn't-get-where-we-are-todays with their stale politics and ginger snaps in Hampstead Garden Suburb, Finchley and Golders Green - every damn week. I took four pounds a house to Radiant for my mangy twelve per cent.
I got angry and started to take stuff. Things I couldn't use: trouserbraces, odd socks and nylons. I unscrewed their furniture, left snot to go crisp underneath it, found hidden porn and swept the dirt under their carpets. I shook matches from their boxes, replaced live batteries with dead ones. But it was all turning into work and I'd stopped liking myself. Time to set up on my own.
The blind woman was all right. I made her tea, read her letters aloud then left her with a sparkly lav. When the daughter turned up I gave her looks and boasted of fictitious gigs. I got on well with the drama queens, Archie and George and they recommended me to a boyfriend. I began to get good tips.
I suggested they all called Radiant to sign off the books. Of course, I'd carry on cleaning but keep the whole four quid. No bother. I told the agency I was busy elsewhere on Mondays from then on.
The grannies could hoover and haver with a new boy, the snobby kids could take the piss out of some other guy's accent but I'd be gone.
I kept some of the dogwork. I found some sexy polaroids of glamourpuss and helped myself to enough for half a calendar. She challenged me. Well, did I like her in them then? I crossed my legs and nodded. I posted her the pictures for fear of the boyfriend and called that a day.
Soon I was working three days a week for twenty four pounds. Three whole weeks of labour at the old Radiant rate. I used my time to practise, found a restaurant gig and started looking for a woman to see. She was American and took her time coming.
Carol was older, curvy and scarred, working in a shoe shop and out with the new boss the first night we met. She asked if I sang Dylan so I did. She loved it and the boss looked down his nose at me till I stood up. She sneaked me her phone number.
She quit the shoe shop and moved in. I took her tea in the morning, Monday to Wednesday, Thursday to Sunday we stayed in bed. I lost the gig, she flew to Japan and I never saw her again.
Then I heard Radiant had gone bust. I'd set an example and others had ripped them off back, setting up on their own from Radiant's introductions. But money was getting tight and folk soon started cleaning up after themselves.
I signed on - and on and on. London was done and I was no better. I hitched back up to Scotch Corner and touched down in Partick two days later. I'd been kind for a while.
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