THE GIRL NEXT DOOR – Part 1
Story contd

“Pat I know you have two bookings tomorrow but there is an important audition at Illustrated at 3pm sharp. Make sure you get there looking gorgeous.”

Illustrated was a magazine that specialised in photo-journalism similar to Picture Post

Sometimes I wondered if Paula, my agent, had any conception of how long it took to get from A to B in London. Half the time I had to take taxis and even then would be sitting, agonising in the back as we got stuck in yet another traffic jam No wonder I had started getting migraines.

All that morning was booked for an ongoing women’s magazine serial where I was meant to be a poor little girl in Paris spotted by this mature couturier and groomed to be his muse. These serials were fun as one had to act, and it appealed to my’ living in a dream’ persona. I also got to wear beautiful gowns, but by the end of a session - with all the changing of clothes, hair styles and make up I was usually exhausted.

After that, I had a straight forward photo shoot at 2pm which usually lasted an hour. How the hell could I get over to Illustrated by 3pm? Of course I couldn’t and when I arrived the auditions were virtually over. The room was full of the most gorgeous creatures including – to my amazement - Marta.

‘You’re late!’ she snapped. I explained I couldn’t help it as my last booking finished at 3pm and I had to cross London.

‘Well you’d better tell someone you’re here – they’ve taken all the names!’

Just then a woman with a clip board came in and I explained what had happened. I said Paula Day had sent me; she told me to wait and disappeared into the interview room. When she returned she said Mr B had finished seeing people but I could pop in briefly. I grimaced at Marta and followed the secretary into the room.

The man behind the desk cut short my apologies.

‘Hang on a minute – you could be just what we’re looking for. He made a phone call and shortly two younger men appeared.

‘Sit down and tell us something about yourself.’ I sat down and starting babbling on and apologising at the same time and could feel my cheeks getting pink.

‘Right! What we’re looking for is ‘the girl next door’. He indicated the two men.

‘This is Ben the journalist and Phil the photographer, who you would be working with. The job involves going up to Morecambe next week-end and being photographed with a famous person. If we decide to use you would you be available?’

My week-ends were usually spent pottering round the garden in scruffy clothes but this sounded interesting so I said yes. He asked me to wait outside and I joined Marta.

‘How did you get on?’

‘Well they seemed quite interested.’

‘Listen Pat – we haven’t had a chance to talk for ages. When this is over come round to my house – my mother would like to meet you and we can have a good gossip’

Of course I agreed - I couldn’t say no to Marta after all she had done for me; taking me under her wing and introducing me to Paula, although I was longing to get the train home to Epsom and relax.
The girl with the clip board came in and thanked everyone for coming and asked me to stay behind.

‘I’ll see you in the foyer!’ Marta hissed.

Back in the interview room the man behind the desk was smiling.

‘Congratulations Pat. We‘ve decided you are the right girl for us. You’ll be travelling up with Ben and Phil. Sally will give you all the details. Is there anything you want to ask?’

Er – I should think so!

‘May I ask who the famous person is?’ My imagination was running riot.

‘It’s Wilfred – Wilfred Pickles.’

During the war Wilfred was the first BBC announcer to have a regional accent; he was a Yorkshire man and used to end his broadcasts with
‘and to all the people in the north – good neet!’
Some people, accustomed to the mellifluous tones of such as Alvar Lidell, complained. He was sacked and became a radio celebrity and host of a BBC Programme ‘Have a go!’ which ran from 1946 –1967. His wife Mabel was his partner on the show and one of the many catch phrases was ‘Give ‘im the money Mabel!’

I adjusted my expectations and went to join Marta.

CAREER CHANGE OR NOT?

Story contd.

We went over to Epsom to take some measurements; the sale of the bungalow seemed to be going through quite smoothly and the agent let us have some wall paper books from which to choose. Once the contracts were exchanged the decoration would be done at no cost to us. William was happy to leave the choices to me and I had the time of my life deciding on colours. Most of our furniture was dark so I wanted light bright walls and paintwork with lots of blank spaces for pictures The people we were buying from seemed decent enough but I tried not to feel too confident until all was signed, sealed and delivered.

Back at the flat we were greeted by Renata who said there had been a message from Marta – would I phone her– urgently? Renata looked as if she had been crying and kept her head down. I asked her if she was alright - she said she was a bit tired so I invited her to pop in for a coffee in the morning. She nodded and then disappeared upstairs. I told William about the message from Marta and asked him what I should do. After her previous rudeness I wasn’t keen on jumping when she snapped her fingers.

To my surprise William said I should give her a second chance. It was an opportunity and if I spurned it I may regret it later. I really didn’t enjoy relying on William financially and there was such a lot I wanted to do to the house once we were in it. If Marta were right and I could be accepted as a model I would be earning much more than I have ever earned. After dinner I phoned Marta.

‘Pat! Meet me at my agent’s office tomorrow at eleven. And look your best – don’t let me down.’

‘Oh Marta I’m sorry - I’ve made arrangements for the morning. Renata…

‘Cancel them! Pat this is important. There are hundreds of girls who would give anything to get on Paula’s books and I have gone to a lot of trouble to…’

‘OK Marta I’ll cancel it. And thank you – I am grateful –umm – can you give me the address please?’

She did – it was some Mansions in Soho and I hadn’t a clue how to get there but felt it wouldn’t be in Marta’s remit to give me travel directions.
I dashed upstairs to apologise to Renata and ask if she would mind postponing our coffee date. She was fine about it but I felt guilty. I didn’t go in because I knew the spiv was at home and the less I saw of him the better.

William worked out that I should get a tube to Leicester Square and then walk up Charing Cross road to Cambridge Circus. I washed my hair and prayed it wouldn’t be wet or windy tomorrow. Or - heaven forbid –both. I decided to wear the same outfit I had worn when Marta stood me up – freshly laundered of course and with more comfortable shoes. I put my heels in a smart carry- all I had bought.

It was a lovely day and at Leicester Square tube station I popped in the Ladies for a last scrutiny and tweak – something I would be doing regularly for the next eighteen months. Walking up to Cambridge Circus there were book shops with exotic books and men in hats and mackintoshes. It was a curious mixture of sleaze and culture. The Mansions had a lift like an ornate cage and as the agent was on the sixth floor I was glad of it. There was a lift attendant- whatever happened to them?

Outside the agent’s office was narrow passage where three beautiful girls were sitting. They looked more like show girls then models and looked surprised when I said good morning to them. From inside the office I could hear the constant ringing of a phone –interspersed by bursts of conversation then more ringing. Suddenly the door burst open and a large untidy woman appeared and said that any one there without an appointment should go as she wasn’t seeing anyone without. Two of the girls left. I wondered where Marta had got to and then she suddenly spotted me.

‘Who are you?’

She was quite imperious and scary and her eyes looked me up and down and felt as if they were going through to the marrow

‘I –er, um, I’m a friend of Marta’s. She asked… er we were supposed to…

‘You’d better come in then.’