“Can't still be open?
Thought they closed it down years ago.”
But the door was brightly illumined and a seedy figure in peaked cap and braided overcoat stepped out to open the taxi for them.
The Sixty-four has never been shut.
For a generation, while other night clubs have sprung into being, with various names and managers, and various pretensions to respectability, have enjoyed a precarious and brief existence, and come to grief at the hands either of police or creditors, the Sixty-four has maintained a solid front against all adversity.
It has not been immune from persecution; far from it.
Times out of number, magistrates have struck it off, cancelled its license, condemned its premises; the staff and until her death, the proprietress, have been constantly in and out of prison; there have been questions in the House and committees of enquiry, but whatever Home Secretaries and Commissioners of Police have risen into eminence and retired discredited, the doors of the Sixty-four have always been open from nine in the evening until four at night, and inside there has been an unimpeded flow of dubious, alcoholic preparations.
A kindly young lady admitted Tony and Jock to the ramshackle building.
“D'you mind signing in?” Tony and Jock inscribed fictitious names at the foot of a form which stated,I have been invited to a Bottle Party at 64 Sink Street given by Mr. Charles Weybridge.
“That's five bob each please.”
It is not an expensive club to run, because none of the staff, except the band, receive any wages; they make what they can by going through the overcoat pockets and giving the wrong change to drunks.
The young ladies get in free but they have to see to it that their patrons spend money.
“Last time I was here, Tony, was the bachelor party before your wedding.”
“Tight that night.”
“Stinking.”
“I'll tell you who else was tight that night — Reggie.
Broke a fruit gum machine.”
“Reggie was stinking.”
“I say, you don't still feel low about that girl?”
“I don't feel low.”
“Come on, we'll go downstairs.”
The dance room was fairly full.
An elderly man had joined the band and was trying to conduct it.
“I like this, joint,” said Jock.
“What'll we drink?”
“Brandy.”
They had to buy a whole bottle.
They filled in an order form to the Montmorency Wine Company and paid two pounds.
When it came it had a label saying Very Old Liquor Fine Champagne. Imported by the Montmorency Wine Co.
The waiter brought ginger ale and four glasses.
Two young ladies came and sat with them.
They were called Milly and Babs.
Milly said,
“Are you in town for long?”
Babs said,
“Have you got such a thing as a cigarette?”
Tony danced with Babs.
She said,
“Are you fond of dancing?”
“No, are you?”
“So-so.”
“Well, let's sit down.”
The waiter said,
“Will you a buy a ticket in a raffle for box of chocolates?”
“No.”
“Buy one for me,” said Babs.
Jock began to describe the specifications of the Basic Pig.
… Milly said,
“You're married, aren't you?”
“No,” said Jock.