‘I don’t really know.’ She giggled nervously.
‘Just go with it, love,’ he said, looking at the audience in a way that made them laugh. ‘Take it when it’s given.’
And then he moved on, and it was the next girl’s turn. When she said that she worked in a post office, he made some kind of joke about licking more than just the stamps.
At the end of the questions, the contestants paraded around for another lap. That’s when Lucy spotted the four middle-aged men behind a desk at the front of the audience – one of them was the balding man from backstage, the one who’d squeezed her behind. Was he one of the judges?
‘Take a good look, everyone,’ the presenter announced. ‘We’ll be down to the top six for the next round. Make the most of the limelight, girls,’ he called, and Lucy stood up straighter, posing with one hand on her hip, and then followed the others off the stage.
Immediately, everyone began chattering as they changed into their swimwear. Squashed among the half-naked girls, Lucy felt exposed and self-conscious.
Was she good enough?
They clamoured around the stage entrance, eagerly awaiting their fate. ‘And the first contestant to make it to the final six is...’ The presenter paused for effect, then called, ‘number nine.’
And with a shriek of excitement, a tall brunette fluffed her hair, gave her breasts a final push up, and barged past the girls in front of her to strut out onto the stage, her naked midriff sucked in beneath her ribs to accentuate her hourglass figure.
Cheers and whistles accompanied the applause, a man calling, ‘What a looker!’
Was that what the men in the audience were there to see, beautiful young women almost naked?
Lucy pulled her top closer around her.
As the presenter read out the numbers, the girls paraded onto the stage: number twelve, number twenty-two, number fifteen and number eight were all called, Lucy’s heart pounding more anxiously with each one.
Had she misjudged this?
If she didn’t win or even place, the theatre owner wouldn’t give two hoots about her. And what would Richard say? How would she ever pay him back for the expensive gown? Would he ever want to see her again?
The girls crammed beside the entrance looked at one another, the redhead almost in tears. ‘Mum will kill me,’ she whispered.
Then the last finalist was announced: ‘And number eleven.’
With a whoosh of relief, Lucy leapt through the doorway and onto the stage, grinning in delight. More walking around the stage ensued, along with more salacious questioning from the vile presenter.
After holding their poses for the judges to make their final decisions, the throne was brought out, along with a sash and the all-important crown.
As the balding judge stepped forward with an envelope, the audience hushed.
‘And the winner, taking home one thousand pounds, is...’
The drums began to roll, and Lucy held her breath – so much counted on this.
‘Number nine, a sewing machinist from Poplar.’
Lucy’s whole body seemed to slump.
Yet here she was, weakly clapping along with the other girls as the brunette let out an excited scream. The judge hugged her, whispering something in her ear as he put a sash across her, letting his hands linger while he adjusted it over her body.
A jangled laugh emerged from her as she thrust her breasts toward him in encouragement, and Lucy wondered if they might have met before.
Then, oozing with smugness, the brunette took her seat on the throne, and the crown was lowered onto her head.
After the applause had quietened down, the presenter went on to announce the runners-up. But Lucy barely heard as the shouts from the secondand then third-place girls echoed around her.
No prize or envelope was given to her, and she was directed to stand at the side of the winners, trying to keep her smile for the final photograph.
The rest of the award ceremony was a blur, and when finally she filed offstage, she was numb.
