A Bump on the Head - Caroline Tailby (latest ebook reader .txt) 📗

immaculate white and had ruffles at the shoulders.
“There she is,” Bugsy pointed to the girls in long dresses. “The blonde one on the right.” I looked at the girl. She was blonde alright, and her hair was just down to her ears. From where Bugsy and I were sitting, it seemed curlier than my mum’s after she’s washed it and not used her GHDs. She seemed so pretty I just wanted to gaze at her reverently. But I couldn’t because the music had started and she was moving about like crazy. I knew the song; it was Fat Sam’s Grand Slam. I had to dance to it in our play. Our dance was pretty simple though, and these girls were skipping, jumping and kicking their legs all over the stage. And another thing – they were all in perfect unison. I tell you, some of the girls who played dancers in our show have about as much rhythm as a biscuit tin. My favourite bit of the song is this person called Tallulah’s solo line: “There’s a politician, sittin’ by the kitchen, said he caught his fingers in the well he was wishin’ in!” When the girl next to Blousey sang that line, I guessed she must be Tallulah. I couldn’t see her very well, because of the shadows at the back of the stage where she was standing, but I could just make out her peroxide-blonde hair.
“Enjoyin’ the show?” Bugsy voice startled me AGAIN. Why did he always have to speak so suddenly?
“Yeah, thanks,” I replied. “I love the song. I’ve heard it before.”
“It’s pretty well known,” said Bugsy. “This joint is the liveliest joint in town, so ya can’t really turn a street corner without hearin’ somebody singin’ it. It’s a miracle the cops haven’t discovered this place!” He spoke that last sentence with a laugh as the song finished. We both clapped politely and the girls curtsied, then all left the stage. The band started playing again, a different piece this time, and I turned back to Bugsy.
“Do they do the same thing every night?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s their job,” Bugsy replied. “But Blousey wants to be a movie star. In Hollywood.”
“I know.”
“Well, you would, seein’ as you know so much.” He stopped and his expression changed to one as if he suspected something was wrong. “Excuse me a minute, will ya?” he said, and left me sitting at the bar.
I turned back to ponder on what had happened. I’ll admit that at this moment I was maybe just as confused as Bugsy seemed to think I was. I mean, come on! It’s not every day you get thrown back in time to just after one of your favourite films takes place! I thought, maybe this is some crazy daydream and I’m still wandering back along the street to my house. Maybe I just need to do something that’ll wake me up. I pinched myself.
“OW!”
Or maybe not.
“You all right?” said Max from behind the bar, placing two glasses in front of me. I’d forgotten he was there!
“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m fine,” I said hurriedly.
“Well, there are your drinks.” He looked around. “Where’d Bugsy go?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere. He just said ‘excuse me’ and went.”
“Well, he’s got his special on the rocks waiting.”
“Thanks.”
Max turned away from me and continued washing a few drinks glasses. I decided to do something to distract myself, so I took my phone out of my pocket. It’s a black LG Cookie, one of the best phones ever. I don’t think at that point it ever crossed my mind that people might stare at it (mobile phones weren’t invented until 1985, so no-one would know what it was). Luckily nobody did. I turned the sound down and played a quick game of Tetris. Ever played it? You have to try and make full rows with a load of different shapes. I play it so much I think of myself as Liana Perry: Grand Master of Tetris. What? The game’s really addictive!
I was just pressing the left and right navigation buttons at random when I heard a voice behind me that made me jump. “Liana, what is that?” You guessed it, it was Bugsy. I turned with a gasp. “Oh! Bugsy! This? It’s just…my mobile phone.”
“Hmm. Bit of an odd thing. Show me what it does later. Anyway,” He gestured towards someone who was standing beside him. A woman. “Liana, this is Blousey Brown.” I gazed at Blousey. Now close up, she was even prettier than I’d seen her onstage. I could see her face now. Her eyelids were decorated with sky-blue eyeshadow to match her eyes, and she had plenty of other make-up on (blusher, foundation, lipstick…but I don’t think she was wearing mascara. It looked more like false eyelashes.). Now, instead of the white costume she’d had onstage, she was wearing a blue dress with a rosebud pattern and had a long brown coat slung over her arm. She was holding a red hat in one hand.
“Hi,” she said, smiling at me. “You must be Liana.”
“That’s me,” I said proudly, smiling back.
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
Bugsy sat back on his bar stool as Blousey pulled up another one and sat next to me. “So where you from?” she asked.
“London,” I said. “In Britain.”
“Never been there. How did you get here?”
“We-ell…” This was a bit tricky to answer. “I…I kind of…well, I just walked out of my school and I was on the street.”
“No she didn’t,” Bugsy cut in. “Sorry Blousey, the gang gave Liana a bit of a bad blow to the head. She’s a bit confused.” He must have told Blousey about my getting attacked.
“That’s all right,” said Blousey. She turned to me. “What you need is a glass of lemonade.”
“Hey,” Bugsy seemed to have remembered something. “Talkin’ of lemonade, did Max give you our drinks, Liana?”
“Yes! Yes, he did,” I responded, gesturing to the two glasses Max had placed on the bar. Bugsy picked up his drink and took a sip. “Mmm,” he said. “I love a good special.”
Blousey picked up the main conversation again. “OK, now we can talk. Have you met Tallulah, Liana?” she asked.
“No. I know her though.”
“Oh yeah, everyone knows Tallulah. She’s the talk of New York with the hoodlums.”
“Yeah, but Blousey,” Bugsy cut in again. “Liana seems to know everyone here. She knew you before she’d even met you.”
“Me?” Blousey looked taken aback.
“Yeah, and me.”
“Talking of Tallulah,” I said, “didn’t she fancy you once or something, Bugsy?”
Bugsy shuddered. Oops. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.
“Don’t remind me! She was always flirtin’ with me, tellin’ me I was aces. Man, that broad raced my motor! Besides, she’d already got a boyfriend.”
“Fat Sam,” I smiled. “Himself.”
Blousey looked impressed. “That’s right. You oughta meet him too.”
“Yeah,” continued Bugsy. “Like I said, this place is the liveliest joint in town and he owns it, can you imagine that?”
I nodded. Of course I can. It’s in one of my favourite films.
“A while ago the company was in danger,” Blousey began to explain as I sipped my lemonade. “Dandy Dan was practically breathing down Sam’s neck. He was going to take over the entire organisation, Sam’s house, the speakeasy, everything. Sam’s whole gang got killed.”
“Ah,” I said. “Dandy Dan.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah. Fat Sam’s arch-rival.”
“Oh.” Bugsy looked a bit embarrassed.
“What?” I said, looking at him.
“That gang that attacked you…” Bugsy trailed off.
“They were his gang,” completed Blousey. “Bugsy thought you didn’t need to know.”
I couldn’t help laughing. Bugsy thought I didn’t need to know who my attackers were! Did it even cross his mind when he found I knew so much that I might understand if he’d just told me? I finished my laugh and changed the subject back to Fat Sam.
“I don’t want to sound cheeky, but…could I meet Fat Sam now?”
“Finish your lemonade first,” replied Bugsy. I started gulping it. They both smiled. “You like it?” Blousey asked.
That was kind of difficult to answer. I’d expected fizzy smooth lemonade without any bits in it, but this was sweet and sticky and not fizzy at all. It also had bits of lemon in it. I’ll say now I didn’t like it much. But I didn’t say that at that time. I just said “It’s not like any lemonade I’ve had before.”
“Well, it’s freshly mixed,” said Blousey. She must have thought I liked it. “They make it right here, squeeze the lemons and everything. What lemonade do you normally drink?”
“Um…” Stuck for an answer again. “…Sprite.”
“Never heard of it. Must not be very popular,” said Bugsy.
“But it tastes great!”
“Well, maybe to you, but not for most people.”
“Come on,” said Blousey. “We’ll take you to meet Sam and Tallulah."


Entry 4

Fat Sam and Tallulah

The three of us left the bar and started to walk up another flight of stairs. I guessed they must lead to the corridor where Fat Sam’s office was. It seemed kind of weird walking into somewhere I’d seen so many times on my TV screen, but now I was actually part of it. On the way there I asked Blousey about her job at the speakeasy.
“I’m just a singer. Tallulah and I sing the backing for the signature song, and then Liffy does it with me when Tallulah sings her solo. But I don’t want just to be a singer,” Her tone changed to kind of dreamy. “I wanna be a movie star. In Hollywood.”
“I know,” I said. “Bugsy told me.”
Bugsy laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Blousey looked a bit vexed.
“I dunno,” said Bugsy. “It’s just that there was a time when people were happy bein’…railway engineers. Or nurses or somethin’.”
“You’ve said that before,” I smiled. “In the movie.”
“Oh, man.” Bugsy threw his head back in irritation. “I told you, Liana. We’re real.”
“Huh?” Blousey looked puzzled.
“Look, Blousey, I know it’s weird, but Liana seems to think we’re all out of a movie. I already told her we’re not, but she apparently still thinks we are.”
“Well, I hope the lemonade helps.” Blousey gave me a worried look. It reminded me of Eleanor.
Just as we approached the end of the corridor, I heard a voice. Again, it sounded familiar.
“What’s wrong? I’ll tell you what’s wrong! I asked for five lots of that new sarsparilla but they sent me five bottles instead of five crates! This is unbelievable, Tallulah – I need to make money, not have to keep telling my customers we don’t have the latest drinks to sell.” Blousey laughed. “That’ll be Sam!” she said. Bugsy knocked on a door that had “S. STACETTO – PRIVATE” printed on the blinded window. A rather fat man answered it. His brown hair was greased back like Bugsy’s, and his suit was a dirty beige colour. I guessed he must be Fat Sam. His mouth widened into a grin.
“Hey, Bugsy! Blousey!”
“How you doin’, Sam?” Bugsy responded, smiling back.
“Great to see you.” He looked at me. “Who’s the boy?”
I’m not a boy!
“Hey!” I cried.
“She’s a girl, Sam,” Blousey told Fat Sam, who looked a bit perplexed.
“Oh. Sorry.”
I told him my name, and he grinned again.
“Pleased to meet you, Liana! Stacetto. Sam Stacetto.” We shook hands. I felt a bit shy, but I hid it. I’m not that kind of girl, not me. I’m confident.
“Liana was desperate to meet you, Sam,” said Blousey. She’d twisted the tale a little. I wasn’t so desperate I just had to meet him. “She’s from Britain, she says.”
“London,” I said.
“Ah, I know London!”