She's So Heavy

Fallin', yes, I am fallin'

She lifted the key from the hook and watched it swing and seesaw on her finger;

Begging to be put back. Begging to be used.

All the times before Jackie resisted Gary's words, his clever little 'photographic' pickup lines. His baiting of her being so perfect for modelling. Her eyes swung like the key. Backwards and forwards... And over her shoulder for good measure.

She wasn't one to snoop, but the never-ending whispers Gary laid over her as he watched much more beautiful specimens through the lens, was much too much to take. Too much to allow to go un-investigated. To be thought about and not acted upon. To know about; and to not at least find the offending images... and do something.

The tag swung from the key and the lock clicked. The door pushed open under her finger.

Garry was off somewhere remote. On a hunt for more fish to fry. The fish being pretty young things and the fryer his lens. Lured, hooked, captured, basted with compliments, offered meals and money and trips overseas. Who in their right mind wouldn't take up the offer?

Pattie was off last-minute Christmas shopping, dashing back and forth like a veritable pixie. Smiling, touching, enchanting those around her. Jacks loved her dearly but the mother in Jack led her to see a child raised too quickly, like rhubarb in a hothouse. Pattie needed time, and the world spun around her so fast it was dizzying. George loved her so. The two were like lightning in a bottle. Natures finest sizzling pairing at work. Jacks hoped the pair won the battle of love.

The walls were heavy with prints. Patties face, her teeth, her hair. All captured, pure and sunshine bright. All the girls that had appeared in hundreds of shoots before adorn the room, floor to ceiling. All in vibrant, colourful Carnaby Street threads.

Three waifish lasses popped their up-to-date hairstyles, and selves, into the room as Jackie gawped about.

"Where's Nobby 'ead then?"

"Oh 'ello! Who? Oh Gary. He's off in north Wales. Up that neck of the woods somewhere, anyway"

"Can you tell him- I'll do it, but the price is double"

"Double?"

"He said he needs a cleaner" She giggled, all high pitched and snicker-y.

"Sort his pipes good, she will" Clare, the new fish sorry girl, who should know better, snorted and rolled her eyes at Jacks.

"And fluff his pillows" Marnie heckled.

"Stop playing about"

"Jackie, you do know to get somewhere with a bloke in this town you have to clean his whistle once in a while?"

"I- yes. No! Go away, stop teasing me. I know you don't clean at photographer's private abodes... And I've heard about the state of your flat"

"Well. Just note it in his ledger there. If he wants a special, he needs to pay double. My names-"

"I know your darn name Priscilla"

"What you doing in Baldies box then? If he's not here, then"

"Dropping off. Errr..."

A seamless unison of eyes and plucked brows raise ever higher. Jacks was in a right pickle.

"Keys! Yes! Just dropping, and picking up, some keys!" The key tag swung high in triumph.

"Well, don't forget to write my name. Toodles, mummy"

"I won't. Have a nice..." The clatter of heels dissipated from the building out into the street "... B.i.t.C.h.E.ssssss. Toodle-loo PRIScilla 'Clean his whistle'. 'Fluff his-'... I do alright rubbing candlesticks myself thank-you very much! Ohhhhh, now who's being bitchy Jacqueline" A shake of the head and grin at the thought of hubba-hubba McCartney's boxers hanging on her linen line were just the pick-me-up after an encounter like the one she had just survived by the skin of her teeth....