Say it with Sequins

by Georgia Hill

  “Self-protection,” she said enjoying the thrill of his stubble on her tender skin. “I was falling in love with you and didn’t think there was a hope of it ever being returned. Not in the way I wanted.”

  Max went very still. “Are you, are you still in love with me?”

  “More so now than ever.” She lifted her face to his, to show him how much she cared.

  His mouth crushed hers leaving her breathless. His long arms encircled her, lifting her up to meet his hard muscled body.

  Eventually, after a long time, he released her.

  “Oh Max, I didn’t think it would be like this.”

  “Well, I’ve got a lot to prove haven’t I? Got to dispel the last lingering doubts you might have that I’m gay.”

  “I don’t think,” she began to protest and then saw the gleam in his grey eyes. “Max I love you!”

  “I love you too, Lucy.”

  “Even though I’m as mad as a basketful of kittens, as Daniel would say?”

  “I can live with that.” Max saw a frown cross her face. “What’s wrong? It’s true, I understand about your phobias, how could I not?”

  “It’s n-not that.” Lucy buried her head into Max’s solid warm chest and clutched the wool of his sweater. “I d-don’t have, I don’t think—”

  “What is it, Lucy? You’re beginning to worry me.”

  Lucy looked up into his beautiful face. “I’ve never actually, um, slept with anyone before.”

  Max’s face relaxed into a smile, a kind one. “Oh, is that all? Well, if truth be told, I suppose I’m not all that experienced either. Never really had the time before.” He grinned and the deep groove that Lucy loved so much appeared in his cheek.

  She reached up and ran a light finger down it. “I love it when you smile,” she said.

  Her action seemed to galvanise Max. In one easy movement, he picked her up into his arms. Careful not to hurt her injured leg, he held her lightly as if she was no weight at all. “Perhaps it’s time to find out if we’re any good in bed?”

  “Yes please,” Lucy said, throwing her arms round his strong neck.

  “Oh and Lucy?”

  “Yes Max?”

  “Shall we do it three times or five?”

  “Don’t mind,” she said laughing and hiding her blushes in his neck. “As long as we don’t do it just the once!”

  “I think I can guarantee that,” said Max and strode purposefully to the bedroom.

  End of Dance Two.

  The Charleston: a dance full of laughter.

  “I’ve danced the Charleston at many a party, although I hasten to add I’m far too young to remember the dance in its heyday. One can dance it on one’s own – but it’s far more fun with a partner. As are most things!” Dame Venetia Denning, actor.

  Step One.

  Meredith left the stage in a kind of quiet despair. There must be more to life than this, she thought, towelling the perspiration off her brow. Once again, she’d died. Once again, the jokes she’d thought so funny when hunched over the laptop had raised hardly a giggle from a live audience.

  “Not so good tonight then, Merry?” Del, the owner of The Last Laugh Comedy Club, caught up with her in the grubby excuse for a dressing room. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “I’m really sorry, Del. I thought the stuff about being a ginger would go down a storm with them.”

  Del laughed. “You’re so not ginger. Post-Christmas it’s always a bit flat,” he offered as explanation. “People are partied out. And there aren’t enough students, and not enough booze in the ones who are here. This lot just want cheap mother-in-law gags.”

  They stopped and listened as the crowd rallied out of its stupor to greet Fred Loss, their favourite and a stalwart of the club.

  “At least he’ll get a laugh,” Meredith bit out.

  “I don’t know what it is, Merry. I think you’re really funny, always have.” Del looked her up and down and raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps it’s your obvious assets.”

  Merry put her hands over her not inconsiderable bosom. “What, flatten myself down?” She tugged at a lock of auburn hair despondently. “Shave my head? And I’ve tried every diet known to man – and woman.” She looked down at herself. “I’m just built to be curvy.”

  Del blew out a breath. “It’s always tough on women in this business and even harder if you’re an attractive one. People say they don’t find beautiful women funny.” He shrugged apologetically. “As I said, I find you hilarious, but then I know you. Look Merry, I don’t know how to say this.” Del rubbed a hand over his face, embarrassed.

  Meredith put up her hands in surrender. “Don’t worry, Del, I’ll spare you the speech. I quit.”

  “Well, it’s that…” Del began.

  “I know. I know. If the comic isn’t funny, the audience goes home.”

  “And stays home.” Del finished miserably.

  “You’ve given me a chance in a lifetime. More than a chance. I can’t thank you enough.” Merry gave a tight smile.

  The club owner grinned sheepishly. “Give my love to your aunt won’t you? Fancy a drink later?”

  Merry shook her head. “No, I’m shattered. Going home. I’ll make sure I give your regards to Venetia.”

  Merry watched as Del hurried out of the door of the tiny room, towards the bar, clearly relieved he hadn’t had to actually sack her. It had been his relationship with her aunt Venetia that had got her the job in the first place. Venetia had called in a favour from Del. She’d known him, when he’d been a die-hard Goth, back in their wild partying days. Venetia, now a respectable Dame and doyenne of stage and screen, was terrifyingly bossy. Few dared to say ‘no’ to her and live, or at least survive professionally.

  “Well,” said an annoyingly persistent voice in Merry’s head, “I’ll have to ring her up and admit I’ve failed. Again.” She picked up her bag, hunted for her bottle of water and drank deeply. Once her thirst had been satisfied, she stuffed her things into her rucksack and swung it onto her shoulder. Giving a last affectionate glance around the cramped dressing room, she called goodbye to one or two people through the murk in the club and went out into the unwelcoming night.

  It was icy. Cycling home past students, just coming out for the evening, she wondered quite why she was putting herself through this.

  To keep her parents happy, she’d finished her degree in English Lit at Magdalen College, but had missed the hoped for first as she had been too busy appearing in Oxford Drama Society productions. The acting bug had bitten deep and hard. Encouraged by her paternal great-aunt, Merry had pursued a dual career on the stage as actor and comedian. Bits and pieces of acting jobs had come her way, mostly courtesy of fellow students, but they’d dried up recently. So, she’d begged a favour off Del and had appeared at the comedy club for the last week. She knew she was funny. She knew she was clever and witty, but somehow she could never get that across to her audience. Ever the optimist, she’d been full of hope that her wry, affectionate observations on life would go down a storm with the Oxford audiences. What she hadn’t bargained for was that the combination of an alcohol fuelled audience and a woman under fifty simply meant catcalls and heckles to get her tits out. She’d died onstage every night. And every night she’d died a little bit inside too.

  She was twenty six in six months’ time. Her parents had been patient until now, letting her ‘mess about with this comedy nonsense’ as they termed it but her twenty sixth birthday was the deadline they’d set. Make it by then or give up and do something sensible. Something with a future, they’d suggested, something which can give you a pension.

  Merry looked up into the neon-lit sky as cold sleety rain began to fall. She cycled harder in a vain attempt to keep warm.

  Crouching over the one bar gas heater in her bedsit later that night she confessed all to Venetia on the phone, spurred on by the remainder of a Christmas bottle of Baileys.

  “So I’m going to have to get a job. A proper one.”
r />   “Oh my darling, surely not?”

  “I can’t see any alternative, Venetia. Ma and Pa issued an ultimatum. I’ve got to get myself sorted. And, to be fair, you can see their point of view. It cost them a fortune to put me through uni. I’ve got to pay them back somehow.”

  Venetia huffed, “They’ve never understood what it takes to get established in this business. Your father especially, has no idea. After all, you’ve only just begun. A job indeed!” Venetia added, in scandalised tones. To her it was the ultimate degradation. Venetia had worked consistently throughout her long and illustrious career and did everything she could to ensure it was on her terms. She’d only picked those roles which she knew would serve her unique talents well. And it had worked. Admitting to seventy, she was a grande dame of the acting world, her appearance belying the wild excesses of her youth. She was also a firm believer in following your heart. The practicalities would follow. She said as much to Merry.

  “Well that’s fine, aunty, but I still have three weeks rent to pay and I haven’t been able to eat today.” Merry tried hard not to sound pathetic. It wasn’t in her nature to admit defeat.

  “My darling child, this can’t go on.”

  “You’re telling me. Now I’ve lost the gig with Del, I won’t even be able to scrounge food out of the club’s kitchen. I’ll really miss those fajitas.” Merry’s stomach rumbled in memory.

  “Merry, can you come and stay?” Venetia said suddenly.

  “What, at Little Barford?” Merry said, referring to her aunt’s country home in the Cotswolds.

  “No, I’ve taken a flat in town. It’s so convenient for my radio work.” Venetia had recently been recording a classic series for Radio Four. “I’ve got an idea which may just save your career.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Meredith child, you’ll just have to reign in your impatience for once. Come as soon as you can though darling, won’t you?”

  Merry looked round at her tiny attic bedsit, with its single bed and lone window giving a smeared outlook onto one of Oxford’s less attractive views. “Can I come tomorrow, aunty?”

  Twenty-four hours later, Merry was blissfully wrapped in luxury in Venetia’s Maida Vale mansion block apartment. She lay back on the cream leather sofa and stretched out her long legs.

  “This is nice,” she sighed, burying her toes in the thick carpet, which covered the floor of the glamorous sitting room. She looked around and admired the nineteen twenties polished cherry wood furniture. “It’s so nice to be warm for a change. I could get used to this. I like Big Barry.”

  Venetia looked up from where she was pouring herself another glass of wine. “The doorman? He is a sweetie. A big fan of mine, you know.”

  Merry regarded her aunt fondly. “Everyone’s a big fan of yours. Del sends his love by the way.”

  Venetia had the grace to blush ever so slightly. “Such a sweet boy.”

  Amused at the idea of Del being described as a boy, Merry snorted into her wine. He was in his mid-forties at least. “He’s married now. His wife’s expecting their first baby.”

  Her aunt shook her head. “I wouldn’t have imagined him doing anything so conventional,” she said incredulously. “And how is that club that he runs doing?”

  Merry yawned and tried to make an effort to be sociable. They’d just eaten a delicious meal, and she’d drunk most of the bottle of Merlot her aunt had produced. She was feeling very mellow. “He’s making a mint.”

  “By that quaint expression, I assume you mean it’s doing well?” Venetia came to sit by Merry on the sofa.

  “Yes Venetia.” Merry laughed and gave in. Her aunt was obviously in a mood to talk. “So why did you lure me over here?” She gestured to their surroundings. “Not that I’m complaining. This is heaven.”

  Venetia smirked and Merry’s heart sank. She knew that look. It was the one when her aunt had A Plan.

  “I’ve got A Plan,” Venetia said ominously.

  Merry shifted uneasily. “I thought you might.”

  “Do you watch Who Dares Dances, dear girl?”

  Merry shrugged and shook her head. “What is it?”

  Venetia tutted. “It’s a television programme.”

  “Who Dares Dances? Sounds like something you have to paint your face green and wear camouflage gear for.”

  Venetia looked mystified.

  Merry waved her glass perilously. “SAS,” she explained somewhat obliquely. “Isn’t their motto, ‘Who Dares Wins’?”

  “Very droll, my dear.” Venetia raised her eyebrows in an attempt to humour her great-niece. “It’s actually a sort of dance reality show.”

  “Don’t watch much telly.” Merry yawned again. Her only thought was to get into the vast bed in her aunt’s spare room.

  “Well, a weekly audience of three million viewers might disagree.”

  Merry sat up and only just saved her glass of red from splashing onto the sofa. How many?”

  “Three million. A week.” Venetia was satisfied she’d got her niece’s full attention now.

  “F - I mean, blimey.”

  “Quite. And just what is the capacity at dear Del’s club?”

  “Two hundred and fifty – on a full night. About five, if they know it’s me on the bill. Three million though,” Meredith marvelled. “The power of TV, eh? But what’s it got to do with me?”

  Venetia adopted an innocent tone. “I happen to know Bob Dandry who produces and directs the show. He rang me yesterday. One of their celebrity dancers has pulled out at the last moment, pregnant apparently.” She paused and then landed the final punch. “I rang him back this morning and suggested you.”

  “What do you mean, you’ve suggested me?” Merry stared, slack-jawed, at her aunt.

  “You are to report to Fizz TV Studios at ten o’clock on Monday next,” Venetia said, triumphant. “To do the ‘Big Meet,’ as I believe they so quaintly term it, with your dance partner.”

  Merry tried to sit up straight, a difficult task on the slippery leather. “Venetia, what the hell have you done?”

  “I’ve got you a job, darling. One even your parents won’t mind; they’re huge fans of the show.” Venetia raised her glass and then took a celebratory sip of wine.

  Merry slid back down onto the leather. “Wha - what?” One word sank in.

  Dance.

  She was beginning to wish she hadn’t drunk so much. You needed a clear head to deal with Venetia in full sway. She sat back up again. “Dancing? Venetia I can’t dance!”

  “My darling girl, if you ever got your head out from that Oxford scented cloud and into the real world, you’d realise that is precisely the point.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Venetia looked down her long nose. “Patently.”

  “I suppose it’s too much to expect you to explain?”

  “Then I shall attempt to give you a potted history in popular culture,” she said and grinned malevolently. “More wine?”

  After rising to pour another glass for each of them, Venetia settled back and launched into an explanation about the phenomenally successful Who Dares Dances, part reality show, part dance competition. She told a befuddled Merry that its last series, however, had been dogged by vote rigging scandals and a race row. How the new series was a much shorter one, a special six week run leading up to the annual comedy charity fundraising event in television, Jokes for Notes. Some contestants were to reappear, including winners of previous competitions. The emphasis, Venetia went on, with this series was to be on the money the show raised for its pet charity, Pennies for Pencils, by the public voting to keep in their favourite dancers.

  “So I thought, with you being a comedian, you’d fit right into it all. Luckily, Bob agreed. He owed me a favour after the fiasco that was The Golden Egg.” Venetia referred to a doomed drama she’d been in a few years ago.

  “Oh Lord,” Merry said, “This Bob fellow didn’t have a hand in that, did he?”

  “He did, indeed,
” her aunt replied, through thinned lips. “So, he owes me big time, as you young people say. Of course,” she added with her usual assurance, “I was wonderful in it. Just such a shame the leads were so awful.”

  Merry laughed and then stopped short. “So, to get this right then, I’ve got to learn to dance?”

  “Yes, but it shouldn’t be so hard; you had ballet lessons at school.”

  “Venetia, that was years ago!”

  “Oh, it’s better than nothing. And you have natural rhythm, after all. Inherited from me, of course.” Venetia waved Merry’s concerns away.

  “Not sure about that,” Merry said gloomily.

  “Merry, do you want this job or not?” her aunt asked with asperity. “I had to twist Bob’s arm most severely and the little weasel was very difficult. I think it’s about time you took something a little more seriously.”

  “Oh aunty, don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m really grateful and so on, but I just simply don’t know if I’m up to it.”

  “Merry, I know you and I know that underneath all that cheer and bravado is a mess of insecurity but I really think you can do this. I’m also assuming the thirty five thousand makes a difference?” her aunt added waspishly.

  “What do you mean?”

  Venetia gave an enormous sigh, “I feel as if I’m dealing with the hard of understanding. It’s your fee, Meredith.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “I assure you I’m not in the least. In fact, my humour is being stretched rather thinly in this conversation. You should know that I never, ever joke about money.”

  “Thirty five thousand pounds!” Merry couldn’t compute being paid such a huge amount of money.

  “That would pay off your student loan, I assume?”

  “And the rest.”

  “Then you’ll do it?”

  Merry looked at her aunt and admitted total defeat. “I don’t have much choice do I?” she said in a mock humble tone and feeling the first stirrings of excitement. Despite what she’d said to her aunt (she didn’t want to give Venetia her victory too easily, after all) she was someone who rose gleefully to a new challenge.