by Cain Hopwood
Alfie beamed. “You do remember.”
“I remember the hairpiece, but not much else, sorry. Did we talk?”
“Not much, it was after your dance on the bar. To be honest you didn’t seem like a happy camper.”
Simon cast his mind back. “No, that was when I was in my ‘I hate Galah’ phase. The Gazette wasn’t giving me much work, and my love life had gone down the toilet.”
Alfie nodded, then looked at the screen on his console. “Things better now?”
“Well my love life is still on the other side of the U bend somewhere, but other than that Galah is back on my good side, for now anyway.”
Alfie nodded, then held up a finger. Simon shut his mouth and sat back.
The DJ then hit a button on the console and the big red on air light glowed. His voice seemed to drop half an octave as he back announced the last song. Then he read out a couple of promos and went to the next song.
The on air light winked off, and Alfie looked up at the clock on the wall. It was ten to five.
“You’re on after the five o-clock news. Have you done any radio before?”
“Does karaoke count?”
“Ha, well at least you know which end of the mic to talk into. Just scoot your chair up and try and stay a hand span from the mic there.”
Simon looked at the mic hanging from the ceiling on his side of the console. Then he adjusted his chair so that he could sit comfortably but still be nice and close.
Alfie gave him a thumbs up. “Now, I can adjust the gain here pretty well, but if you see me pushing my hand towards you, you’re too close.”
“Gotcha,” Simon said.
Alfie looked down at his console. “Well, the levels look OK so we’re good to go. We just gotta work out what we’re going to talk about huh?”
“Betty said that you had a few questions, but that we should at least cover what the show’s in aid of.”
“The usual boring stuff, no problemo,” Alfie said. Then a glint appeared in his eyes. “What I’d really like is some gossip. Any illicit romance, spats, you know what I mean.”
Simon hesitated, he couldn’t betray Jade’s trust by blabbing on the radio that she had the hots for her celebrity. Even though he knew this was exactly what the DJ was after. Jade would be mortified. And even if he divulged something as harmless as Doctor Hudson being a rock n roll control freak he’d likely never get into the other rehearsals.
He winked at Alfie. “A journalist has to protect his sources you know.”
“Of course, Of course, but you must know something.”
Simon tapped his nose. “I have some leads, but in reality it’s early days yet. Most of the couples are still getting to know each other and getting to grips with their numbers.”
“OK, so you’ll have something juicy for us next week then? Even if you have to make it up.”
Simon pondered this for a second. Something interesting was bound to happen in the next week. “Sure,” he said, and hoped he wouldn’t regret it.
“Right, so we do the usual intro, what the show’s all about, etcetera etcetera. Then I ask about the dances, bla bla bla. Now, what about these tickets?”
“Betty mentioned some promotional tickets, what show are they for?”
Alfie shuffled through some papers on the console. “They’re for a show called ‘Scorched Floor’. Have you heard of it.”
“Are you kidding, of course I’ve heard of it. I’ve heard it’s an incredible show. They’re touring the country with about half of the original New York cast.”
“So it’s worthwhile going to then?”
“If you like dance, absolutely. I know Fay’s going to one of the Canberra shows. Where did you get the tickets from? I heard that they were sold out.”
“Ah, you know Charlie, he’s got contacts everywhere. We’ve had them for ages. They’re supposed to be for radio competitions as part of the show’s promotional package.”
Simon pondered this. Scorched Floor tickets would make a great prize. And by the sound of it, it fitted right in with the theme of their own show. “Scorched Floor is on in about four weeks right. How many tickets have we got to play with?”
“Just six.”
Simon thought fast, it was getting close to five and they’d be on soon. “OK Alfie, how about we get the CWA to raffle like mad for two of the tickets over the next three weeks, and we make it an evening out with the celebrities for the lucky two winners. All expenses paid.”
“Who’ll pay the expenses?”
“The CWA. More likely they’ll needle some local business to sponsor it. That’s Betty’s department, she’ll think something up.
Alfie gave another flash of his impressive teeth. “Sounds like a plan. Right, you’re on after the news.”
Chapter Fifteen
As he was already in Berooma, and Izzy and Owen’s hip hop rehearsals were on at Kristine’s studio here, Simon decided to treat himself to some fish and chips from the co-op. It was either that, or wasting the fuel and money on a pointless trip back and forward to Galah.
Sitting in the car, and surrounded by the tangy aroma of vinegar, he cast his mind back to the time of that bond themed party that Alfie had talked about earlier. Alfie’s quip about Simon not being a happy camper at the time had hit home. Simon’s enthusiasm for living in Galah had certainly waxed and waned over the years, but that year in particular had been notable as the lowest of his lows.
He had been overseeing the disposition of his parent’s estate. They’d died unexpectedly, and in debt. He’d been dragged kicking and screaming from his carefree city life to deal with the mess. The whole process had taken a lot longer than he’d expected, although the solicitor didn’t seemed to think so at the time. It had been complicated by not being able to find a buyer for his parent’s house, the family home. He’d had to re-mortgage it to pay off the debts, then rent it out to pay the mortgage.
Fortunately, the rent was sufficient to pay not only the mortgage, but also the rent on a modest flat in Galah. But, where he wanted to be was the city, and the left over money wouldn’t cover a city flat, not even a roach infested bedsit. At the time he’d resented his parents, the house, the flat, and pretty much everything in Galah. Mostly for taking him away from the city.
It was Fay who’d pulled him out of his funk. As a boy he’d danced with her up until he’d left to go to university. First ballet —which he was OK at— then later tap, which he really took to. She came to him in a tizzy, not having a man to teach a class of troublesome boys. Naturally he’d helped her out. And, as the weeks passed, he found himself starting to look forward to not only the class, but to getting out of bed in the morning again as well.
Of course the boys weren’t troublesome with him. And it transpired later that they weren’t troublesome with Fay either, in fact they were terrified of her. Fay had taken money out of her own pocket to pay him for a job she could easily have done herself. All because she could see him on a downward spiral, and had a way to help.
It was the kind of behind the scenes intervention that went on all the time in Galah, and any other country town as well for that matter. It was a side effect of everyone knowing everyone else’s business. Simon had grown up with it of course, he accepted it as just one of those facts of small town life. But until that point, he’d never realised that he missed it living in the city.
* * *
An hour later he joined Izzy and Owen at the Berooma Dynamic Dance studio. It adjoined a gym and pool complex on the edge of town. Simon had never been there before, but it wasn’t hard to find as it was sporting a lurid neon sign that would not have been out of place on the Vegas strip.
Like the sign, it didn’t look as if Kristine had spared any expense on the studio’s fit out. The walls were covered with plenty of inspiring imagery, and some autographed show posters, safely enclosed in glass cabinets. Kristine was behind the reception desk when Simon pushed through the door.
“Simon, darling, good to se
e you,” she said, and sashayed out from behind the counter to exchange air kisses. For just a second Simon felt like he was back in Glebe, and a small smile snuck out. “What?” she added.
“You remind me of a friend I had back in Sydney that’s all”.
“Oh, you’re from Sydney too.”
“God no. I’m Galah born and bred. But I went to uni there.” He looked around. “Nice studio.”
Kristine seemed to fluff up a little. “Thanks.”
Simon could hear the repetitive thump, thump of electronic dance music from further in the building. “Sounds like they’ve already started.”
“Yep, they’re keen. They’ve been rehearsing every night they can.”
Simon’s journalistic senses tingled. He might get more information out of Kristine than out of Izzy. He just needed to get Kristine talking. He leaned against the counter. “You know Kristine, I wouldn’t have picked Izzy for the competitive type. I figured her more as a…”
“Lazy kid?” Filled in Kristine helpfully.
“Well I wouldn’t necessarily…”
“Don’t be coy dear, she is. But she’s not short of confidence, she truly believes she’ll be famous.”
“Don’t all teenage girls?”
Kristine grinned. “We do. And until this show I’d never have thought Izzy capable of putting in the work to get there. But now, maybe. She’s driving her uncle like a rodeo bull.”
Simon frowned. “And how’s he taking it?”
“As you expect a farmer to, he’s getting the job done. It’s not pretty, but then it is hip hop,” Kristine said. She leaned a little closer. “I just hope he survives.”
Simon cocked an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“Well, he’s a tough old goat, but Izzy’s routine is…well athletic to say the least. He’s been breathing pretty hard.”
“Right, well I’m going to poke my head in then. Might be best if I give him an excuse for a break huh?”
Kristine’s head bobbed up and down. “For sure, the poor man needs every break he can get.”
Simon nodded, then cracked the door to the studio open and slipped in. Neither Izzy nor Owen noticed him, so he just stood trying not to attract any attention.
They were in the middle of the routine, and after a few moments he realised that Kristine was understating things when she’d said that the number was athletic. Not like Kristine to understate anything, he thought.
Izzy had Owen jumping and spinning and lifting her up. Like his brother, old Charlie Melia, Owen wasn’t a fat man. But, he had the bulk that came with years of farm work. Farm labour had kept him reasonably in shape, and had made him as strong as a bear, but it hadn’t prepared him for the physical intensity of Izzy’s routine.
From what Simon could see, even if Owen had been training to run the city to surf, he’d only be about half way fit for the routine. Izzy of course, at nineteen, and a dancer, was barely breaking a sweat. She seemed to be completely oblivious of her uncle’s discomfort.
The music pounded to a stop and Simon clapped. “Great stuff guys.” Then he pretended to just notice Owen, who was bent at the waist with his hands on his knees. “Owen, are you OK?”
“Yep, fine just…” Owen gulped in a couple of breaths. “Just… catching… my breath.”
“Izzy, do you mind if I have a chat to your uncle for five minutes or so?”
Izzy was standing with crossed arms, “We really need to rehearse.”
“I just need a little bit of information about you guys and your routine. For the Gazette, and I’m also doing a regular radio spot as well,” Simon said, putting emphasis on the word ‘radio’.
Izzy uncrossed her arms and strode towards Simon, bumping past her still struggling uncle on the way. “The radio? Of course, sure. What would you like to know?”
“A little about the routine maybe, only what you’re willing to let me talk about. Some of the other couples have been rather circumspect.” Izzy frowned. “They’re secretive,” he added.
“Oh we don’t need to hide anything, I’m sure I’ll win,”
“Really?”
“Everybody say’s that I should go to the city and dance there. So it makes like sense right.”
“Interesting. So how do you feel about going up against David Ellis.”
Izzy looked as blank as a piece of paper. “David who?”
“David Ellis, Galah’s most famous dancer. He danced in Sydney for years, in Cats?”
Izzy curled her lip up and gave a small shrug. “Sorry I haven’t heard of that band.”
Simon closed his eyes for a full second. Surely she couldn’t think that the only type of paid dancing that existed in the city was being a bootyliscious video babe for a rap group. He decided to change tack.
“And your uncle? How’s he going?”
Izzy looked around almost as if she’d forgotten about Owen. “Uncle Owen will be fine, won’t you unk?”
Owen gave them a single thumbs up. His other hand was still locked around his knee, but he looked to be recovering somewhat. He wasn’t really in a position to talk, and as Izzy was tapping her foot, Simon figured he’d wait until the end of the rehearsal to finish the interview.
“Well, I’ll let you two keep rehearsing then, it looks like it’s going to be a very dynamic number,” he said and backed toward the door.
Izzy nodded, then turned and herded her uncle into position to resume their rehearsal. A click of the remote and Izzy had the room throbbing with music, and she goaded her uncle into action.
As he slipped the door shut Simon hoped that Owen would still be alive in a couple of hours time. If he could also talk, that would be a bonus.
Sacada
[sah-cah’-dah], (lit. “Displacement”).
A move in which one partner deliberately invades the other’s floor space, stepping close to or into the place their partner is currently occupying, thus displacing them. This often causes the partner’s free leg to describe an arc along the floor. There may or may not be physical contact between the legs of the two partners at the moment of displacement.
Chapter Sixteen
Simon had been avoiding this particular rehearsal for the last two weeks. Initially he’d told himself that it was because it was scheduled on Tuesday afternoon. Typically on Tuesday he and Betty were flat out putting the finishing touches on, or in many cases writing completely from scratch, the content for that week’s Gazette.
But the reality was that he was making excuses simply because he disliked Sophie. In actual fact it wasn’t really Sophie herself he’d been avoiding. Galah had plenty of small minded people like her, and he usually didn’t go out of his way to steer clear of them. But every time he saw her, or her name cropped up, he’d get a flashback to the disgust on her face at the suggestion that they dance together. And disgust wasn’t an emotion that he associated with dance.
So after lunch on Tuesday, and with nothing major to write for the Gazette, he gritted his teeth and left the office for the short walk to Fay’s studio. He wasn’t going to miss any more of David Ellis’s dancing just because of small minded Sophie. Besides, he thought with a grin, if he started turning up regularly to their rehearsals he might actually start making her uncomfortable for a change.
“Simon m’lad, I was wondering when you’d be joining us,” David said. He’d been stretching and warming up on the floor and he skipped over to shake Simon’s hands with both of his. David was a slight, nearly frail man, although the way he gripped Simon’s hand hinted at a wiry strength.
“I hear you’ve had a bit of a run in with our young celeb over there,” he whispered in Simon’s ear.
Simon rolled his eyes and leaned in close as well. “Even she isn’t going to stop me getting a sneak preview of old twinkle toes.”
David laughed out loud. “Oh I haven’t heard that nick name for an age. Not even Fay calls me that anymore. Now come on, you have to make up with Sophie. She may have a thing against dancing with you, but I am goin
g to need your help if we are going to win this competition. So we can’t have you two fighting.”
Simon was led across the floor in a daze. His mind was spinning wondering what kind of help David —twinkle toes— Ellis could possibly need from him. Before he knew it he’d shaken hands with Sophie. She apologised in what seemed a genuine manner and he mumbled something in return.
“Simon. Simon, are you listening?” David said.
Simon snapped back to earth. “Yes, sure. So how can I help?”
“Look m’boy I can still dance with the best of them, but I am a miserable teacher. It’s my eyes you see, macular degeneration. I can muddle through on day to day things. But I’ve go no hope of giving the lovely Sophie here the feedback she needs to learn these steps properly.”
Simon rubbed his chin thinking that if David thought Sophie was lovely, his eyes were indeed bad. “OK, I can be your eyes. I already teach tap, so that will be easy enough. Do you have the routine worked out?”
“All up here m’boy,” David said tapping his temple. Then he extended a hand toward Sophie “Shall we dance my dear,” he said in a honeyed tone.
You old charmer, thought Simon with a smile. He moved off to one side to watch the number. It was still early days and Sophie didn’t have the whole routine down yet. But David was very patient and repeated sections. Occasionally he even danced her pieces so that he could show both parts to Simon.
Simon was agape at how well constructed the routine was. David had kept the tap steps that Sophie would have to learn to a minimum. But he hadn’t limited his own. And, he’d choreographed the number so that Sophie was always the centre of attention, even while he was tapping up a storm around her.
Despite his misgivings about Sophie, Simon vowed to get to every one of David’s rehearsals. His feet moved so fast, and he riffed so effortlessly to the music that he seemed to float above the floor. Simon wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to work with David just because of petty Sophie.
