The host lingered on the side of the stage farthest from El Magnifico.
“El Magnifico, ladies and gentlemen,” he said a little unsurely.
The magician took an extravagant bow before swaggering off the stage like someone who was already ten grand richer.
“Well, this competition’s really heating up!” said the host.
Nobody laughed or even bothered to groan, far too shocked by what they’d just witnessed.
“There’s only one more act to go before the judges decide on the winner,” he continued. “Will it be better than the rest? We’re about to find out, so please raise the proverbial roof for our final performance. We’ve had enough chaos tonight, so now it’s time for a little… Pandamonium!”
CHAPTER 33
Danny peered out from behind the curtain, his pulse galloping and his heart pounding so fiercely that every nervous beat made the mangy fibers of his black-and-white chest fur twitch.
A single strobe flickered in time to the music that began to pump from the speakers, exposing the stage every four or five seconds with a brilliant burst of bright white light. Down in the crowd, Ivan cheered as if Ukraine had just won Eurovision and Mo whistled so loudly that his hearing aid malfunctioned. Others watched with a numb sense of duty, convinced that whatever was about to happen couldn’t trump the experience of seeing the judges flambéed with mind power.
The longer the stage remained empty, the more impatient the crowd became, and just when the boos were about to ring out, a figure emerged from the darkness, revealed by the flash of the strobe. The shape returned a few seconds later in another blinding flicker of white. A third and a fourth flash quickly followed as the beat grew more intense, and when the intro reached its peak in a drumroll of sound that came to a halt with an eerie silence, the stage remained illuminated just long enough for the crowd to get a proper glimpse of the mysterious figure in the middle of it. Some people whispered “Rat.” Others said “Raccoon.” “Badger” was also mentioned. Several variations of “What the fuck is that?” could be heard in different sections of the crowd. A few children cried. The lead singer of God Knows What muttered something about the devil. Nobody knew what they were looking at, but nobody could look away.
Danny stared ahead of him, frozen with fear. He felt like a first-time skydiver waiting to jump, and the longer he stood there, the more time he had to contemplate just how many things could go wrong, until he couldn’t for the life of him remember a time when any of this seemed like a good idea.
He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen. He couldn’t even feel his arms and legs, never mind encourage them to dance. He momentarily thought he might be having a heart attack, and when he realized he wasn’t he thought about faking one, dropping to the floor and pretending to be dead until a stretcher arrived to carry him away. He squinted through the lights at the faceless crowd in the hope that somewhere, out there, a rogue assassin with a bullet to spare would put him out of his misery; but the longer he stared, the more he saw that the crowd wasn’t faceless at all. He could see somebody, vaguely at first but then as clearly as if they were standing right in front of him. He closed his eyes and opened them again, but Liz was still there, watching him with the faintest of smiles, a smile that told him that she was okay, and that he was okay, and that everything was going to be okay just as long as he got his shit together, right now, and danced like he’d never danced before.
So that’s what he did.
He didn’t even know he was moving at first, his body having wrested control from his mind like a passenger taking the wheel from a dead man, and it wasn’t until he heard the crowd roar that he realized he was dancing, the sound surging through him like he’d just been shot in the arse with adrenaline. He cut through the air like the sword of Zorro and he spun with the speed of a weathervane in a hurricane, his mind and body having reconciled their differences and now working in perfect harmony to deliver a show that was worthy of all the hard work and patience (mostly Krystal’s) and the sweat and tears (mostly Danny’s) that had gone into making it.
He didn’t miss a single beat, even during the feverish crescendo that often tripped him up in rehearsals, and he crackled with such frenetic energy that he had to consciously temper his moves for fear of overplaying them. He didn’t even want to stop at the interlude, something he often couldn’t wait to do, the precious handful of seconds giving him just enough time to catch his breath and say a quick prayer for the strength to continue before staggering back into the fray. This time the interlude felt more like a nuisance than a respite, interrupting his flow when he was just warming up and forcing him to wait for the second phase to start, a phase also known as Krystal’s Brilliant Idea.
Taking position in the middle of the stage, where he’d hoped to die a violent death less than a minute previously, Danny quietly counted down as the music climbed towards the next heavy beat drop. The lights went out and the strobe began to pulse the way it had during the intro, blinding flashes that lit up the eyes of the crowd, all of them wide with excitement as they stared at Danny alone on the stage and wondered what he was about to do next until, suddenly, impossibly, he wasn’t alone anymore.
“Ready?” he said to the miniature, shabbier version of himself that had somehow appeared beside him in the split second between the flickering lights. Krystal had promised that the fabric they’d torn from Fanny’s couches had been thoroughly fumigated prior to running it through her sewing machine, but as he watched Will scratching himself like a guard dog at a flea farm, Danny once again wondered how he’d ever let Krystal talk them into this.
“Ready!” yelled Will as the beat kicked in. They started to dance in sync, shimmying, shaking, spinning, and strutting across the stage while the audience cheered so loudly that the music had to fight to be heard. They hadn’t had much time to practice. Danny’s only directive from Krystal had been to keep on dancing when Will appeared, and focus on nothing but his own performance. The real onus was on Will, whose job was to make sure that everything he did corresponded with everything his dad was doing. If his dad sped up, he sped up. If his dad slowed down, he slowed down. If his dad fell headfirst into the crowd, he fell headfirst with him in the hope of making it look like an orchestrated stage-dive. Whatever it took to maintain the synchronicity. The setup was far from ideal, and the plan was nerve-rackingly dependent on Danny following the script; but despite everybody’s concerns, his own included, Danny moved when he should have moved, he hit every beat on the list, his timing was down to the millisecond, and he didn’t even go near the crowd, never mind fall off the stage. Even if he had, everybody was far too busy dancing to notice.
“Where’s Krystal?” he yelled when the song arrived at its second, final interlude. He hadn’t seen her since she’d abandoned him backstage and he was concerned that something bad had happened, not to her but to whoever was stupid enough to mess with her.
“What?” shouted Will as he furiously scratched his arse.
“Krystal!” he said, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. “Where is she!”
“Behind you!” said Will.
Fully expecting to find Krystal grinning at him through the curtains, possibly giving him the finger or two, Danny turned around to find several women lined up on the stage behind him. Their eyes, lips, and noses were colored black and the rest of their faces were painted white. Each wore a matching panda costume complete with a headband sporting stubby little panda ears, and Danny had no idea which one was Krystal until the panda in the middle blew a bubblegum bubble.
“I’ll explain later,” she yelled, unable to see his face but sensing his confusion. “Just stick to the plan and leave the rest to us.”
Danny nodded dumbly, as if he’d just been told his cat had died when he didn’t even own a cat.
Turning to face the crowd, he took a deep breath and held it while he readied himself for the grand finale. His lungs burned, his muscles ached with every movement, his limbs felt heavier
than waterlogged timber, and his inner thigh had been rubbed so raw that it probably looked like salami, but when the beat dropped for the third and final time, Danny dug as deep as he could and threw whatever he dredged from the bottom of his soul into that last sixty seconds. His energy stores had been thoroughly ransacked, so he borrowed the energy that came from the crowd, their whistles and cheers inspiring him to dance faster, to double down and push through no matter how much his heart threatened to pop from his chest like a fat man’s shirt button. He gave that performance everything he had, taking his body to its limits and beyond, so by the time the music came to an end, the climax galloping headlong into a sudden wall of silence, he once again felt the urge to clutch his chest and drop to his knees, only this time he wouldn’t be faking it.
He looked at Will beside him and the two of them shared a weary thumbs-up. He looked at Krystal behind him, who nodded with approval as she posed with the others. He looked at the crowd in front of him, their faces now illuminated by the giant spotlights that shone down upon them from every corner of the venue. And then, to chants of “Pandamonium!” that grew progressively louder until Danny could feel the sound in his bones, the women took a step forward, Danny and Will took a step back, each of them linked hands with the person beside them and bowed as applause exploded around them. Only one person remained silent and that was El Magnifico, who looked like he was trying to burn the entire venue to the ground.
“Pandamonium, everybody!” said the host as Danny, Will, Krystal, and her entourage took another bow and disappeared behind the curtain.
“I told you they’d love him!” said Krystal backstage, jabbing a fake fingernail at Will. “Didn’t I tell you they’d love him?”
“Whatever’s still living inside that fabric clearly loves him,” said Danny as Will wriggled out of his costume as if it were on fire. “I thought you said that thing was safe!”
“No, I said it was clean,” said Krystal. “I have no idea what they cleaned it with.”
“Why are my arms green?” said Will, holding up his forearms, which were now the color of Granny Smiths.
“Good question, Will. Why is he green, Krystal? Look at his arms! Look at his face!”
“My face too?” said Will, his panic rising.
“Oh yeah, the guy told me that might happen,” said Krystal. “Don’t worry, he said it’ll probably go away in a couple of weeks.”
“Probably!” said Danny.
“Weeks!” said Will.
“Look, it did the job, didn’t it? And anyway, it’s a small price to pay for bagging ten grand.”
“If we win,” said Danny.
“Are you kidding me? You totally smashed it out there.”
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” said Danny. “Nice touch with the backup dancers, by the way. I don’t know how you pulled that off, but, well, thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” said Krystal. “Thank Fanny.”
“Fanny?”
“She told the girls they could have the night off if they came down here to help you.”
“Really?” said Danny, taken aback. “She never struck me as the charitable type.”
“She is when she wants something,” she said, giving Danny a smile that instantly made him uncomfortable.
“And… what does she want, exactly?”
Krystal’s smile widened. “You,” she said.
Danny laughed and waited for Krystal to join in. She didn’t. He stopped laughing and cleared his throat.
“Well, that’s very flattering, really, and maybe if I was, like, I don’t know, three hundred years older, but probably not even then, to be honest—”
“Not like that, you muppet. Fanny’s not that desperate. She’s thinking of starting a weekly ladies’ night down at the club, but she doesn’t have any male dancers yet, so—”
“No,” said Danny, suddenly realizing where the conversation was going. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? You just danced in front of a massive crowd of people, I’m sure you can shake it for a few hammered housewives.”
“I had clothes on! There’s a big difference!”
“You won’t have to be naked, Danny, don’t worry. Even fish wouldn’t want to see your maggot.”
“Really?”
“Well, okay, maybe a really hungry fish might, but—”
“No, I mean I won’t have to be naked?”
“No,” said Krystal. “Well, not like naked naked. Just, you know… more naked than not naked.”
“You know, as tempting as that sounds, I think I’m going to pass on this one. Will would never forgive me, would you, mate?”
“Doesn’t bother me,” said Will with a shrug. Danny scowled at him.
“It’s two hundred fifty pounds a night, Dan, in the hand. Or thong. Whatever you prefer.”
“I don’t care,” said Danny. “Wait—how much?”
“You heard me. A grand a month for four days’ work. Plus tips. Think about it,” she said before going to get changed. Will walked off in the opposite direction.
“Where are you going?” said Danny.
“To wash this off!” said Will.
“I thought green was your favorite color,” said Danny, trying to keep a straight face.
“Not anymore,” he grumbled on his way to the bathrooms.
* * *
Inside one of the Portaloos, Will scrubbed himself with handfuls of soap, but the toxic tint refused to budge. As if things couldn’t get any worse, he burst out of the toilet and bumped right into the one person he really didn’t want to see at that moment.
“Malooley,” said Mark, turning Will’s very own name into something that sounded like a threat. He looked at Will’s face and arms and frowned. “Why the fuck are you green?”
“Long story,” said Will.
“It’s an improvement.”
Will nodded but said nothing, already tired of this conversation.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” said Mark, looking around for Mo.
“Where’re your Minions?” said Will, also scanning the crowd.
Mark glared at him for a long moment, a moment that Will was sure would end in pain, which was why he was so surprised when Mark cracked a smile, a far from pleasant sight but still more welcome than the alternative.
“Their mums won’t let them stay out this late,” he said.
“Well, it is a school night,” said Will. They shared a brief laugh.
“What you got there?” said Mark, pointing at the panda suit spilling out of Will’s bag.
“Nothing,” said Will. He tried to hide the bag behind his back, but Mark had already spotted the black-and-white mask.
“Wait, was that you onstage just now? Pandamania or whatever?”
“Pandamonium.”
“Fucking hell, that was you!” he said.
Will braced himself for the barrage of insults he knew was coming. Dancing is gay. Pandas are gay. Dancing pandas are gay. Something along those lines.
“You were fucking…” Mark groped around for the right word. “… epic!”
“What?” said Will, caught off guard. He wondered if Mark knew what epic meant.
“Seriously, you lot were sick, mate, best thing I’ve seen all night.”
“Thanks,” said Will hesitantly.
“Where’d you learn to dance like that?”
“My mum.”
“Nice. I wish my mum had skills like that. Some days she doesn’t even get out of bed.” He laughed, but the sound was hollow.
“I could teach you,” said Will. “If you want, I mean.”
“Me? Dancing?” Mark laughed. “Good one. Any chance you could introduce me to them girls you were dancing with, though?” Mark played with his fringe, as if scruffy hair was the only thing standing between him and the cover of Esquire.
Will smiled. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
“Nice one. Anyway, I better bounce. Good luck tonight, yeah?”
“Fin
gers crossed,” said Will.
Mark turned to leave. “Oh, and Will?” he said over his shoulder.
“Yep?”
“Tell anybody about this conversation and you’re dead,” he said with pseudo-seriousness. “Got that?”
“Got it,” said Will.
“Good. See you later, loser.”
Will watched him go, wondering if he’d gained a friend or simply lost an enemy.
* * *
Danny was standing near the front of the stage with Krystal, Mo, and Ivan, who stood about half a meter higher than anybody else in the crowd.
“Here’s the star of the show!” said Mo. He went to hug Will but froze before contact. “Wait, why is your face—”
“Ask Krystal,” said Will. Mo looked at Krystal. Krystal looked elsewhere.
“You’re just in time,” said Danny as the host reappeared onstage.
“Well, everybody, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!” the host said.
The crowd cheered.
“No, not the part where I stop talking—”
A chorus of boos rose up from the crowd.
“Don’t worry, that’ll happen in a minute—”
The boos instantly turned into cheers again.
“But before I go home, drink a bottle of scotch, and maybe put a gun in my mouth—”
The crowd seemed undecided on this one.
“Only a joke. I don’t have a gun. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be using it on myself, would I, Martin?”
Martin flashed him the finger before pretending to scratch his nose with it when he saw himself on the video screen.
“Anyway, it’s time to reveal tonight’s winner! As you all know, only one act will walk away with the grand prize of ten thousand pounds, so what do you say, judges? Have you made your decision?”
The judges looked at each other and nodded. An envelope was carried onto the stage.
The host put on his glasses and squinted at the note inside.
“Okay, let’s get down to business,” he said. “Coming in at third place we have… Tim and Milton!”
Bear Necessity Page 25
