by Cain Hopwood
Daryl’s eyes narrowed, “This should be easy. The one that’s dancing back… hang on.” He stopped talking and his head canted forward. “You sneaky bastard Simon, I think they’re taking turns.”
Simon chuckled. “Well done, actually very well done. I watched them for a whole dance when they first came in before I worked that out.”
“So why are they doing that, is that some other tango style or something.”
“Not that I’m aware of. I’d say they’re just practicing.”
“You should go over and ask them,” Daryl said, brimming with enthusiasm.
Simon thought about it for a second. “I don’t know, they seem pretty private. They’ve just been dancing with each other. I’d rather let them be.”
Daryl looked like he was about to spring out of his chair, but then he relaxed and sat back. “Probably right.”
They both sat and watched the two men dancing and swapping roles for several minutes before Simon spoke up. “Look I’ve probably had a couple too many wines, so feel free to slap me down if I’m out of line OK, but what is it with you and Dierdre?”
Daryl looked confused, which given how big he was, was better than anger. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re popular, darn near famous for Galah, and good looking.”
Daryl shrugged and smiled. Simon soldiered on. “And I’ve seen the way the Melia girls act around you.”
“Ah they’re just a couple of kids.”
Simon’s eyebrows jerked up. “Kid’s sure. But hot, legal age kids.” This solicited a mere shoulder twitch from Daryl so Simon waved his hands as if he was trying to stop traffic. “Let’s start again. How did you and Dierdre get together?”
“Through church.”
“I didn’t think you went regularly,” Simon said.
“Oh I don’t. But the pastor brought her over one day to meet me. Given how keen mum was I’d say she arranged it, so I kind of went along with it.”
Simon nodded, things were starting to make sense now.
“I didn’t really have the heart to just reject her,” Daryl said with another shrug. “I mean there’s not many seventh day Adventist boys around. And It’s not like I have to put out or anything. We don’t even kiss.”
Wow, passion central, thought Simon. “So what happens when you do meet someone?” he asked.
“I dunno, I’ll work that out when it happens.”
Simon shook his head, but then when he thought about it a bit more it wasn’t completely nonsensical. It wasn’t like Dierdre was keeping the girls —or for that matter Jade— away from Daryl, so he still had plenty of prospects. And his situation might even thin the herd of Goats groupies. They’d just want to hook up for the bragging value of having bagged the captain of the team.
Simon shook his head. Goats groupies? What was he thinking?
Traspié
[trahs-pe-ay’], (lit. “Stumble”).
Traspié describes a quick, short rock step in which, as soon as the dancer begins to change their weight onto the step, they push off and return to their original position in a pattern of go–return–go. Traspié is used extensively when dancing milonga and can also serve as a decoration.
Chapter Nineteen
Betty opened the office door, stepped slowly through, then closed it and leaned back on the door. Normally effusive she was now pale and quiet.
“What’s wrong?” asked Simon.
“It’s Fatty,” she said.
Simon sprang to his feet and grabbed his jacket. “What? Where? Is he OK?”
Betty took a couple of steps in and waved him back down into his seat. “Not our Fatty, old Fatty. And there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s OK.”
“What has you so rattled then?”
“He just stormed into our lunchtime show committee meeting,” Betty said in a small voice.
Betty was rattled. So Simon got up, took her by the elbow and set her down in the visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “Sit here, calm down. I’ll fetch you a cup of tea.”
“Thanks,” she said.
He took his time fixing the tea. She looked like she’d taken quite a shock, and knowing Betty that took some doing. He was dying to know what had happened, but he knew that he’d get a more cogent account from her if he could get her back feeling more like her old self first.
“Here you go,” he said, putting the tea on the desk in front of her. She picked it up and wrapped both hands around the cup. She took small quick sips, never letting the cup stray far from her mouth. After five minutes or so she had started to relax, so Simon broached the subject.
“So, what’s happened? Start from the beginning.”
Betty frowned. “Well, Inga, Gladys, Maude and I were having lunch at Con’s”
Simon nodded, that was pretty much the core of the committee. “I didn’t know you had a regular committee meeting then.”
“We don’t, it’s just an informal thing, we have lunch a couple of times a week regardless, so we figured we may as well take some notes and make it a semi official meeting.”
“OK,” Simon said. “Go on.”
“So we’re just sitting there at the table. It wasn’t long after we’d eaten, and in stomps old Fatty. He’s swearing in German, carrying one of the voting boxes, and wearing a frown like a thunderstorm.”
She stopped to take another sip of her tea before continuing. “I’ve seen some angry people. I mean, every election we’ll have someone yelling about something. But Simon, he was angry, really angry, and he was angry at me. Now I know he’s passionate about his sausages, and he’s had some flaming rows with the food judges at shows.”
“He had to be taken away by the police at last years Berooma show if I remember rightly,” added Simon.
“Exactly,” Betty said in a low serious voice. “The sergeant had to talk that show judge out of a restraining order.”
“So what did he say?” asked Simon.
“He was so worked up that he wasn’t very clear. He slammed the voting box down on our table, and said that he didn’t want to have anything to do with the voting or the tickets or anything.”
“What,” Simon said aghast.
“I know,” Betty said shaking her head. “He said my shop it is full of people wanting tickets or people wanting to vote, and nobody wants my sausages.”
“So why doesn’t he just sell the tickets, and then some sausages as well. I don’t see his problem,” Simon said.
“The problem is that we can’t give him any more tickets, he asked for more on Friday and we’ve run out. And for some reason everyone in town thinks that he’s got lots.”
“What do you mean run out?” Simon said frowning.
“What don’t you understand, we’ve run out. All the tickets have been sold. The only ones left are whatever is left in the books that we gave each of the contestants.”
“That’s incredible,” Simon said with a grin. But Betty wasn’t grinning. “That is good… isn’t it?”
Betty gave a shrug. “It’s good for the show, yes. But we’ve still got four weeks until it’s on. We’ve never sold out before. I don’t know what people are going to do when they discover that they can’t get tickets.”
“Well, I think we’re getting an inkling of it now. People will get pissed off,” Simon said.
Betty had a serious look on her face. “But what happens next.”
Simon shrugged. “Look, old Fatty’s a bit of an aberration. People aren’t going to riot in the streets just because they can’t get tickets. Knowing Galah, I’d suspect that a healthy black market in tickets will spring up. You’ll need to make sure you have some good bouncers, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s even a few fakes printed. But that will be about it.”
Betty’s head was bouncing up and down like a tennis ball about to be served. “I guess you’re right, it’s just that we’ve never had this kind of interest in our fundraiser before.”
Simon smiled. “You’ve never had a show
that appealed to every single member of the community before.”
Betty cocked her head. “Yes, who’d have thought that a dance competition would have done that?”
Simon grunted. “Dance? It’s not the dancing that they’re lining up for. They’re all in a lather over the thought of seeing someone they know make a fool of themselves trying to dance.”
“You’re right,” Betty said. “It’s got the voyeuristic appeal of a car crash.”
“A car crash that’s taking eight weeks to happen,” added Simon.
Ocho
[o’-cho], (lit. “Eight”).
A dissociated turning step, performed by both leaders and followers, which is one of the most characteristic movements in tango. The name refers to the half figure eight pattern which the feet trace on the floor.
Chapter Twenty
Simon stood in the terminal building at Berooma airport looking out over the tarmac at the BAE Jetstream 32. Like the terminal building, which was not much more than a tin shed, it was small.
He didn’t mind flying on jets, nice big solid aircraft. But this thing had propellers. They spun around at god knows what speed, right beside the passenger cabin. He didn’t want to contemplate what would happen if one of them should fly off.
For such a short trip like Berooma to Canberra, or even Sydney, he wouldn’t have considered flying. But in this case old Charlie had spoken to Costal Commuter, the small regional airline that ran a regular service to Sydney. For the price of some free radio ads —that Charlie could write off at an exorbitant rate— the airline had sponsored the show by donating a free charter flight to Canberra. Of course the airline would write off the full cost of every seat as if it was a scheduled flight, so they came out ahead from the deal as well.
But that left Simon standing here, looking at a small plane and wishing that Berooma airfield had a bar. The only reason he was coming along at all was because one of the competition winners had chosen David and Sophie to go with. David and Fay had already been planning to see Scorched Floor. They’d had ticket’s for months.
So instead of being accompanied by her husband, Fay was being accompanied by Simon. A Goats fanatic had won the second ticket, so Daryl and Jade were also in the party. The third couple was Izzy and Owen.
Like everything else about the fundraiser, the tickets had sold like hotcakes. Unlike the seats for the show though, the raffle tickets had not been limited, so the CWA had made a tidy sum. The plane, the limo, and the dinner out were all donated by businesses, for a nice write off, of course. So the competition winners, the celebrities and dancers were being treated to a five star experience, and the committee wasn’t out of pocket for so much as a dollar.
“Everyone can I have your attention,” yelled Betty. “Your flight is ready to go, but we first want a photo of the group for the gazette. Follow me please.”
Betty held up her camera, and led everyone outside. She’d already chosen the spot for the photo and after some jostling, posing, and clicking the job was done.
“Thanks everyone, enjoy the show,” she said and they were all hustled into the plane for the flight.
* * *
Despite his reservations, the flight to Canberra was smooth and uneventful. They were met by three limousines at the airport. And, even though Fay and Simon had expected to have to make their own way to the theatre, Jade insisted that they ride with her, Daryl, and their guest winners.
Back safely on solid ground, and cocooned in the comforting leather of the limousine, Simon began returning to his usual self.
He picked up a program that had been supplied with the limo. “Hey Fay, what type of show is Scorched Floor? All I’ve heard is that it’s fantastic. From the name I thought it would be a river dance type of thing. But this looks more like a ballet.”
“It is ballet, well mostly,” Fay said rolling her eyes. “It’s just that it’s set to rock music.”
“OK, that’s different. It doesn’t sound like the kind of thing you and David would normally bother with though.”
“No it’s not really our cup of tea. But an old friend of mine is the artistic director of the ballet company where this started, so we kind of have to go.”
David leaned forward. “It’s Joe Pasquois. Simon, do you know of him.”
Simon scratched his head. “The name sounds familiar.”
“He was one of the young principals when I was in Cats,” David said. “A real talent. He headed to New York after we closed, got picked up, and did really well. One of those success stories we all aspire to become. He has a few odd ideas though.”
Fay pulled a face. “Yes, some decidedly strange ideas. Keep your minds open is all I can say.”
Simon was intrigued, but by the expression on David’s face he figured that they wouldn’t be giving any details about the show away. “Well his shows are sold out, so he must be doing something right.”
“Oh he’s commercially successful.” A cheeky little smile slid across David’s face. “And good on him I say.”
“Don’t you get me started you old rascal,” scolded Fay.
David winked at Simon. “Fay thinks he’s corrupting the pure form of the art.”
“Crass commercialisation is what I think it is. Rock music and ballet, pah!”
“True dearest, but you can’t deny that he’s introducing a whole new generation to ballet. And that’s always been his goal, even back when we knew him.”
“His goal is noble,” Fay said. She took a deep breath and let it our slowly. “But sometimes I wonder if he’s not doing more harm than good.”
“A good question my dear, a good question indeed.”
This was all getting a bit deep for Simon, and from the expression on Daryl’s face he figured it would be best to change the subject before he and their guests dozed off.
“So will Joe be here tonight?” he asked.
“I believe so. We’re catching up for a drink afterwards, you two should join us,” David said.
Simon hesitated for a second. “As long as we’re not intruding. It sounds like you guys haven’t seen each other for a while.”
“Don’t worry about that,” David said with a smile. “It’s been years, actually decades, but despite their differences, he and Fay are very close.”
Simon straightened. “Oh, I thought he was your friend.”
“Oh gosh no, we danced together in a few different shows, but he and Fay studied together. In fact he’s the reason we’re together.”
“Really,” Simon said, intrigued. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Despite Fay’s disapproval of the show’s premise, Simon found himself enjoying it. It was definitely radical compared to a typical ballet. For that matter even a contemporary ballet looked downright pedestrian by comparison. The music was the obvious difference. It was set to a mixture of rock and pop that came straight off the 2BR hits and memories playlist. U2, Queen, The Rolling Stones and Michael Jackson were all pumped into the theatre at volume levels more typical in a rock concert than a dance show.
Once or twice during the show Simon had looked down the row of seats to see Daryl smiling and tapping his feet and Jade bobbing her head in time to the songs. Even Fay was drumming her fingers along with the music, although she didn’t seem to be enjoying the show quite as much as the others.
While the music was the obvious departure from tradition, it wasn’t the only one. There was not a tutu to be seen. In fact, there was precious little difference between costumes that the male and female performers wore. They were sheer and tight, making each dancer’s body as much a part of the costume as the costume itself. It almost looked as if the dancers were cast to highlight the androgynous style of the costuming. The men and women were nearly the same height and build.
Simon couldn’t remember seeing a more athletic performance. At times the fast paced music meant that the dancers were moving at a dizzying speed. By the end of the show they
were literally dripping with sweat, and the glistening, rippling muscles added authenticity to what was clearly a tough show for the dancers. It was a memorable performance.
As Simon shuffled along the aisle after the show was over, he tapped Fay on the shoulder. “So what did you think in the end?”
She pursed her lips. “I have to say that technically, the cast is second to none.”
“And fit,” Simon said with a grin.
“Trust you to notice that.”
The crowd, burbling with enthusiasm, moved up the aisle and then threaded its way out into the cavernous glass and concrete lobby. As he broke out of the main stream of patrons, Simon caught sight of Jade’s wavy dark hair up ahead.
He waved. “Jade.”
She turned and saw him. Then she pulled on Daryl’s elbow and moved against the crowd to join him. “Where are your guests, we’ve lost ours.”
“Same,” Simon said and looked around craning his neck to try and see over the crowd.
Daryl, a full head taller than Simon, pointed towards the big glass doors. “They’re all over there.”
“Thanks, I’ll let them know that we’ll be staying here, and that we’ll meet them at the restaurant later. OK?”
This attracted a flurry of nods from Fay and the others, so he surrendered to the flow of the crowd and let it take him towards the doors, and their guests.
By the time he’d explained the situation, and arranged a meeting place and time with their limo driver, the stream of patrons exiting the venue had thinned out. So he was easily able to make it back to Fay and David.
Fay flicked her eyebrows up. “All sorted?”
“Yes, we’re meeting out the front of the restaurant at eleven thirty, it’s about a five minute walk,” he glanced down at Fay’s feet, then looked up grinning from ear to ear. “Actually better make that ten minutes, since you have your Jimmies on.”
