This story is inspired by the iconic seventies song, Copacabana by Barry Manilow. I have drawn some extra inspiration from performances by the Harvard Din and Tonics. To enhance your reading experience, listen to the song before or as you read 🙂

The Story:

  The train halted with a troubled screech; much like its passengers, it was not accustomed to discomfort. Amongst a throng of well tailored suits and pencil skirts, Lola stuck out like a sore thumb in her worn out skirt and calloused fingers. 

The Thames was rotten to the core, and it was taking the city with it, blanketing it in its stench.

The fog had started to condense, coating her arms and thawing her mind. 

‘Sir might I get a lift to the-’

‘No,’ came the blow of smoke in her face. 

Most of them either spat or puffed smoke at the site of her half wiped liner and lips stained from years of ruby red rouge. 

Even in cardigans and ankle skirts, respect seldom came to women like her. But she had left it all behind. London would be different, she could be a maid, or caretaker to children.  

‘Hey darlin’, how would you like to go to the Ritz?’  

‘Why don’t you ask your wife?’ She muttered under her breath, walking away quickly.

The way of rich men had always been to buy anything they fancied. Even love, especially love.

Tony hadn’t been like that, he fought. Throwing punches and breaking chairs. They even fired shots once, though no one knows who the bullet hit. Then again, rich was the last way to describe him. 

It had only begun to dawn upon Lola how chilly London was without a decent coat.

And so she set off in search of one, for her mother’s cardigan was comparable to a net after its decades of wear and tear. 

Even with its restless crowd and muddy alleys the city had a charm, unmissably polished by years of manners and ruthless extraction of weeds. 

Coats of the thickest wool and softest fur hung on the displays of stores, fineries made for those who would never know what the cold really meant. 

She could see her breath now, forming clouds. Her head got lighter and lighter and the weight of her body suddenly vanished. It wasn’t until her legs collapsed that she realised how much she had missed sitting. 

Just then, a rather grating voice boomed behind her, asking her to enter. It might not have been the safest choice, but she needed the heat and warmth. 

‘What were you thinking, roaming London in that fishing net of yours?’ Demanded the tiny hunchback. 

‘I’m not from here…’ she said, hiding her face.  

‘Well then where are you from?’

‘New York,’

‘Isn’t that a bit far, love?’ her voice dripped of curiosity.  

‘A bit, yes’

Despite her nosiness, the old woman was not ruthless, and so she gave Lola a coat. Old, worn and patchy, but warm, and that was all she needed.

And so Lola went, now she needed a job, a place to stay and a meal. 

‘Have you any idea where I can get a decent meal for a reasonable price here?’

‘Nothing’s ever reasonable here, but try asking around for a job and you’ll get a meal too. I would offer one, but I too am tight on ration,’ 

‘It’s no matter, really. Thank You’ she smiled.

It had gotten even colder than before when she went back out, but now she had a coat and reignited hope. 

A light shone from a house that hopefully needed a maid. 

She knocked on the hard wooden door, her skinny fingers making quite the noise. 

‘What is it?’ A young woman, barely older than herself, stood at the door.  

‘I’m looking for a job. Perhaps you would like a maid?’ 

‘Well I already have enough help, sorry,’

Lola was about to walk away, when the woman called out 

‘Hey! Can you look after children?’  

‘Yes!’ 

‘My friend Patricia needs a nanny for her toddlers. Her house is the third on the next street,’ 

‘I will go there. Thank you so much for your help, if you could just tell her I will be visiting-  

‘Of course, don’t you worry,’

Grinning, she walked away, towards her new job. The sky began to shower, as though crying tears of joy at this new achievement. The rain rested on her coat, failing to soak her as it may have liked. Her curls unraveled and for once, it relieved her. She could tie her hair in a sleek bun, looking more maid-like than before. 

At the house, Lola could barely comprehend the white brick that stood before her. Shiny and slippery, it was both ravishing and dangerous. Once again, she rapped on the door, eager for employment. 

‘COMING’ screamed a voice from inside.

Soon, a tired figure stood at the door. Young, yet aged in her manner. She looked pained, as though she hadn’t slept in days.  

‘Are you the nanny?’  

‘Yes. You must be Ms. Patricia?’  

‘I was hoping for someone more experienced. You don’t look much older than me,’ Patricia gave her a look, eyeing her outfit and rain soaked face. The marks of her costumes had been wiped clean along with the memories of before. 

Maybe Ms. Patricia didn’t approve of having someone inexperienced or maybe she didn’t want a pretty thing roaming her house all day, while she suffered being a mother. Either way, she sent Lola away to a cousin of some sorts. 

There too, she was rejected. Having lost quite a bit of her hope, she stumbled into a Taxi, the last of her pounds one with the clouds. The cab reeked of smoke and tobacco, smells she was used to. The driver offered to introduce her to a hiring agency. They had jobs for everyone he claimed.

The night only got wetter and colder, London didn’t show newcomers any mercy it seemed. The streets were flooded, sewage from the gutters had begun to cover streets, showing no signs of retreating. 

She got down at a peculiar little building. Dark and unkept, but not abandoned. Simply closed for the night. Her luck, it seemed, had died with Tony. 

She planned to spend the night curled up on the sticky staircase of the agency. Yet, hunger was a funny thing, it only showed up once a person had settled, which is why it was only now that Lola realised how long she had gone without eating. Her last meal had been a bun and half a coffee for breakfast.

She clutched the coat, wrapping it tightest around her stomach and tried to fall asleep. 

Despite everything, sleep came easy for she was so tired. 

The next morning she felt a stick poke her in the stomach. An old man stood there, it was his walking stick he poked her with. 

‘What do you need?’ He eyed her with suspicion.  

‘A job that gives me a place to stay would be nice.’

He called her in and asked her about her previous work, looked her up and down and decided he knew just the place. 

They drove around town, arriving at a tiny bistro looking for waitresses. The space was barely filled, with the odd smoker here and a chatty wife there. 

Why they needed any extra help was a mystery to Lola. She knew she was in no position to ask questions, yet the doubt came up about whether they could pay her.   

‘Girl!’ The manager interrupted her thoughts, ‘You start Monday, so tomorrow. And you stay on the second floor,’ 

‘And my wage?’ She squeezed her hands, hoping not to be rejected for her questions.  

‘Well you’ll get a roof and food, isn’t that enough?’  

‘But sir, what about other needs, such as clothes or medicine?’ It would take very little for her to be rejected, Lola was well aware of that, but she had to know.  

‘You think a lot for such a pretty face. I’ll give you 2 pounds a week,’ 

‘That is very kind of you sir.’ She hid her face in the collar of her coat and expressed her gratitude to the old man for bringing her there.

She settled into the room upstairs, it was no Ritz and it was even worse than her old dorm at the Copa, but it had a mattress and a wash room. 

Her first meal was stale bread and cold leftover chowder. It lacked salt and would have caused any normal person some sort of illness, but it was quite the norm for her. 

The next morning, she showered and put on the brown uniform laid out for her. The blouse sat loose on her shoulders, while the skirt followed a pencil cut. It was rather inconvenient to serve in, as she would soon find out.

Downstairs, it was quite empty and so she got to doing the dishes and sweeping the place of dust and debris. Just then, the man and wife from before came back. 

‘I would like a rum with warm water and the stew of the day,’ he called out as he pulled his pack of cigarettes.

Lola fetched him his drink and an ash tray before tending to the lady.  

‘And what can I get for you?’ She smiled at the older woman.  

‘Oh just get me a red and an extra plate to share the stew,’ 

The meal went quite well and the odd person or two trickled in throughout the day. Over the week, she settled into a quiet routine, having learnt most orders by heart. She even became a bit popular amongst those who did visit, for her shiny black shoulder bob and pearly smile. The ladies grew envious, and the gents fond. 

‘You have them eating out of the palm of your hand, and you’ve been here seven days,’ commented the cook as they were opening that Sunday. 

‘Oh please, their wives would make stew out of me if they had it their way. I try to be polite and run if they get friendly, I can’t be fired just yet,’

The day was going well, until later in the evening, when a young pair arrived. 

Lola knew their order by now, and had it waiting at their table, earning her the boy’s smile. As the food arrived, she rushed to clear the ash tray. Just as she was picking it up, she tripped, causing a lit butt to fall on the girl’s exposed arm. 

Soon there was screaming and accusations. No matter who consoled her or what they promised, the girl wanted Lola gone and that was final. 

“We can’t afford to lose any regulars Lola, this place is already hanging by a thread. It won’t take time for news to spread about a careless waitress and the manager who refuses to fire her,’

The girl had it her way and Lola was once again, at the door of the agency, courtesy of the 2 pounds she earned. 

‘Girl, go back to where you came from, seems like there isn’t a job for you in London,’ 

‘I haven’t any money. I spent it all coming to London,’ 

‘The girl without a plan burns her ships, of course,’ he pinched the bridge of his nose.

After a good deal of bickering and begging and displaying proof of empty pockets, except for her pennies, he took her to the only place he understood she would thrive.

At the entrance of the Ritz was marble, red carpeting, chandeliers and a Christmas tree, all too cheery for her situation. 

They walked in, from glamour and gauche to leaky passages and bare walls. The old man did the talking this time, and she got a better wage and living. Something about her being experienced apparently.

A few hours later, Lola had yellow feathers in her hair and a dress that made you stare. 

“Tonight- We welcome, for the first time in London, all the way from New York City, Lola from the Copacabana,”

And just like that, it was her cue again, no more did Tony man the bar, and Rico was far far away. So, Lola danced, and danced, for years.

She earned tips and favours of men, admiration of girls and she made London home. 

Thirty years later, she would have enough money to book herself a ticket and she would return to a disco. She would dance a bit before settling in a corner, and she would drink till she saw Tony and Rico break the chairs, and the gun punch a hole through Tony. She would hear the music swell again, just not for her, and she would smile. Free of her fame, back to the arms of that cursed place that gave and took, where passion and music were still the fashion. 

Picture credits: angelsyren on Pinterest