by Cain Hopwood
Simon butted in. He walked over to Valmay and pointed at the single name on her list. “It’s OK Valmay see, Daryl’s doing something a little different. Just call him up and I’ll do the rest OK?”
Valmay unclipped her pen and scribbled a couple of notes in a flowery hand. “Off you go then.”
Simon led Daryl out into the corridor and up the backstage steps to the wing, where Rosamond waited for them.
“Daryl dear, the curtain will be closed, now are you on stage when it opens or are you coming on from the wings?”
Daryl looked at Rosamond blankly.
“Don’t worry, that’s why I’m here,” Simon said. “He’ll be on stage.”
Rosamond made some notes on her clipboard and waved them on.
“Come on,” Simon said and led Daryl on stage. The lights weren’t fully on, but even so the heat hit him like a wall.
“Aren’t the curtains supposed to be closed?”
“It’s OK, they’re only open for the technical rehearsal, just pretend they’re closed.”
“Right. So I stand in the middle, sorry, centre stage?”
“That’s right.” Simon looked around and frowned. “Rosamond?”
“Yes?” came her voice from offstage.
“There’s supposed to be four couples here as well, they’re from one of the warm-up acts.”
“Sorry dear, we’ll have them with you in a second.”
Simon positioned Daryl. The other dancers ran on and he signalled the crew to test the lights. The rest of the hall disappeared in a blaze of light.
“Bloody hell they’re bright,” Daryl said. He shielded his eyes. “I can’t see a thing out there.“
“Apart from the heat they’re actually a blessing if you get a bit of stage fright. They make it easier to imagine that the hall is empty,” Simon said.
“No such luxury at footy games.”
“True, well I guess you’re used to having hundreds of people staring at you.”
Daryl chuckled. “Depends on the game, sometimes we’re lucky to get that many,” he said pointing out at the empty hall.
They stood on stage while the crew cycled through the lighting configurations Simon had given them.
A minute later Betty’s voice called out. “Kill the lights,” she said. The stage lights faded out. “Now Daryl, once you and your partner have taken your bows, Dimitra will call you over to the green room.”
She pointed to her right at the worksite. From this angle, Simon could now see what they were building was a small stage extension. It was still a frenzy of activity though, so Dimitra was standing instead on the stage stairs.
“Over here dears,” Dimitra said waving them forward. “Now you’re familiar with the television show Celebrity Dance right?”
Simon and Daryl nodded.
“Good, well this platform is like the greenroom in the telly show. Once you’re here we’ll have a little chat about your number. Then the Judges will deliver their scores.”
Daryl nodded. “Gotcha, like a post match interview.”
“Exactly.” Dimitra beamed a smile at Daryl. “Now do you have anything specific we’ll be chatting about, or are we doing it off the cuff.”
“Sorry?”
“OK, so off the cuff it is,” she said. “Now last thing, once the scores have been given you’ll return back stage through that door.” She pointed to the stage door behind the construction zone.
“Thanks Dimitra,” boomed Betty’s voice. “Now Daryl, once you’ve received your score you’ll need to stay in the ready room with all the other couples. Once the winner is announced, then that couple will need to reprise their number as the closing act of the show. So don’t go anywhere, or drink too much, OK?”
“OK gotcha,” Daryl said to Betty. Then he lowered his voice and leaned toward Simon. “What’s she mean by reprise?”
“She means do it again,” whispered Simon.
Betty consulted her clipboard, then nodded.
“OK everyone that’s the technical rehearsal done. Let’s setup for the warm-up acts,” she announced in a loud voice.
Simon and Daryl descended the steps and picked their way across the floor.
“I’m starving, do you want to grab a burger at Con’s?” asked Daryl.
At the thought of a burger Simon’s stomach growled. “Absolutely,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
By the time Simon and Daryl returned to the hall the tailgate party in the car park was in full swing. Music was thumping out of the open car windows and from PA systems setup on the back of utes. Big screen TVs were scattered about the car park each with an attendant crowd of worshipful watchers.
Feeding this cacophony of light and sound was a spider web of extension cords that would have given Shelob in Mordor pause for thought.
As Simon and Daryl made their way through the crowd a drunken shirtless slob with a face like a bag of smashed crabs leapt from his camp chair with surprising grace. “Dazza! Go the Goats,” he yelled and bounded over to give Daryl a punch in the shoulder.
“Muzza, you fat bastard of a prop. Pleased you made it,” Daryl said smiling warmly. Then he frowned. “But what are you doing out here? I got you and the rest of the team tickets for the show.”
“Mate, we don’t wanna be in there with the stuffed shirts in their penguin suits. Give us an esky of VB and a barbie any day. Right lads?”
A resounding cheer rang out from the surrounding crowd. People crowded in from the periphery to see what the commotion was about.
“So what did you do with the tickets Muzza?” asked Daryl.
“We sold em to the highest bidder. Made a bloody killing too hey lads.” This got another cheer. “But you know the best bit Dazza?”
“What?”
“We took all that dosh and put it in as votes for you. I mean shit, it’s free money so it may as well go to the hospital right.”
“You guys are incredible,” Daryl said giving Muzza a thump on the back that sent his jowls wobbling.
Simon smiled. Muzza, like the rest of the Goats, might be a little rough around the edges. But he knew a good cause when he saw it and his big cholesterol loaded heart was in the right place.
“You got time for a brewski?” Muzza said with a hopeful grin.
“Not sure mate, better check with the minder,” Daryl said and turned to Simon. “How about it?”
Silence fell and every eye nearby looked at Simon. Not since the tender age of sixteen when someone had passed him his first flagon at a bush party had Simon felt such peer pressure. The desire to say yes was visceral.
Simon looked at his watch and heard the collective intake of a crowd about to be disappointed. He took two steps to stand in front of Muzza and stood as tall as he could. “Gee I’d hate for him to get pissed, dance like shit, and loose the comp.”
Muzza’s brow furrowed. “Jesus you’re right mate, that’d be a waste.”
Simon stood there, pretending to think about it. Then he winked at the big prop. “But, we got time for one I guess.”
* * *
“Simon Travis, Daryl McKenna! What in the lords name do you think you’re doing?” rang Fay’s voice across the car park.
Simon and Daryl sprang to their feet sending their beers tumbling like bowling pins.
“Shit, we’d better get inside,” Simon said.
“Yeah I think you’re right.” Daryl gave Muzza a thump on the shoulder. “Thanks for the beers Muzz, but we’d better head in before we’re any further in the shit.”
The two lads spun on their heels and strode off towards Fay. She was standing between the hall’s two doormen with an expression on her face as dark as a summer thunderstorm. They quickened their pace and let her shepherd them through the door and into the hall’s reception area where they were greeted by the enticing aroma of roast meat and beer.
“Sorry Fay, I only had the one,” Daryl said in a small meek voice.
“Thanks for the rescue Fay,” Sim
on said.
“Not a problem Simon, good luck in the show now Daryl,” Fay said in a soft voice that was nothing like the one she’d used out in the car park. She gave them both a pat on the arm and then disappeared into the crowd.
“What?” Daryl said twisting around.
“I texted her just after we sat down,” Simon said. “I asked her to come and extract us if we didn’t appear inside in fifteen minutes.”
Daryl’s head moved up and down. “Clever. So what do we do now?”
“Well we can’t really hang around here can we?”
Daryl’s eyes gravitated towards the bar. “Why not?”
Simon swept an arm to their right and left. “Look at the crowd, this is a black tie event. We’re not really dressed to mingle.”
Even though dinner wasn’t due to start for some time yet the reception area was filling fast and the people milling around were dressed to the hilt. Of course, in Galah, black tie meant different things to different people. Some men were dressed in tuxedos that they’d probably bought sometime in the seventies. For others black tie meant that black jeans were perfectly fine. Women’s fashion varied even more drastically with hemlines that went from the floor, what Simon would have considered a proper ball gown, to little black dresses that would have made Cher blush.
Daryl looked Simon up and down, and then down at himself. They were both wearing jeans, but they weren’t even black jeans. “Good point.”
“Let’s head backstage,” Simon said.
Daryl nodded and they headed left around the edge of the room. When they came out into the main hall they stopped and took in the sight. The workmen had finished the judge’s platform, and the stage extension that made up the ‘green room’. Against the back wall and not far from where they were standing a cameraman had a video camera setup on a tall tripod. He was wrestling to tidy up a rats next of cables, splitters, and amplifiers that was threatening to engulf a small card table that held his notes, spare batteries and other odds and ends.
“Looks like Muzza will get a good view,” Simon said pointing at the cable strung overhead and back out to a window.
The rest of the hall had been packed with tables all set with white tablecloths and silver. About half of the tables were already occupied. Wine beer and champagne coolers were being emptied at a hectic pace. And, even though only half the patrons were seated, the staff were moving at double time to keep up with the orders and clear the empties.
“Champagne sir,” said a bored but familiar sounding voice from behind them.
They turned to see the extraordinary sight of their local MP, Perry Coatsworth, dressed in black and whites and carrying a tray of champagne glasses. He didn’t look to be enjoying his new role.
“We’re crew, best not sir,” Simon said. “Come on Daryl, we’d better get back stage.”
Perry nodded and wandered off while Simon and Daryl scooted around the back of the leftmost tables to get to the stage door. It was guarded by one of the CWA ladies who regarded them suspiciously.
“Daryl McKenna and Simon Travis,” Simon said.
She checked her list, then made a couple of ticks and let them through.
* * *
Simon sat in the ready room with Daryl and the other contestants twiddling his thumbs. They’d been in the makeshift dressing room for about an hour. Out in the hall, dinner, and the pre show entertainment, was in full swing.
In fact the warm-up acts were nearly a full show in and of themselves. So far they’d had song and dance numbers from various stage shows, and a particularly good rendition of the classic duet ‘Baby it’s cold outside’.
According to the schedule they didn’t have very long before the first competition couple were due on stage. The audience were whooping and applauding the pre show acts with well lubricated enthusiasm. Back stage though, things were quiet.
In Simon’s experience each performer dealt with nerves in their own way. Most of the pros were talking to their celebrities in low voices trying to keep their spirits up, and the butterflies down. Simon looked across at Daryl, who in the last few minutes, had started looking down at his feet and frowning.
“What’s up?” Simon said softly.
Daryl’s shoulder twitched in a tiny shrug. “I’m just wondering what if.”
“What if what?”
“What if I can’t dance with this mystery woman. What if we don’t click and it all goes wrong.” He looked at Simon, his face clouded with worry.
“Daryl, relax. Remember that first run through you had with Fay? It was a good one.”
“I guess.”
“Well this woman is supposed to be a way better tango dancer than Fay. So if you could lead Fay, you’ll easily lead her.”
“Can you go out and talk to Fay, find this woman and just scope her out for me,” Daryl said.
Simon screwed up his face and was about to protest. But before he could, Daryl ploughed on. “I know. It’ll ruin things if she comes in here. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t chat to her. And, maybe you could dance with her a bit, just a couple of steps. Then you could let me know how she moves.”
“I suppose that would be OK at least I’ll be able to tell you how tall she is.”
Daryl’s face brightened, “Thanks Simon, you’re the best.”
For a second Simon basked in the warm glow of Daryl’s adulation. Then he gave him a wink and walked out the door. Over the last eight weeks he’d found himself growing to like the big daft rugby player. Actually daft isn’t fair, he thought. He just misses some really obvious things, particularly when it comes to Jade.
Chapter Thirty
Simon returned to the main hall via the same stage door that he and Daryl had entered through. From the look of the tables, dessert was just wrapping up, so it wouldn’t be long before the first competition couple would take to the stage.
Even though the house lights were off, each table was adorned with candles, so Simon didn’t have any trouble navigating through the maze of tables.
The only trouble was that the judge’s table was empty, and Fay wasn’t anywhere nearby. He mentally kicked himself when he realised that of course she wouldn’t be sitting at the table until the competition began. He cast around trying to see her in the crowd, but the dark hall, and the flickering red light from the candles made it hard to pick out faces.
But, he noticed that the clipboard brigade of CWA ladies were rushing around and whispering into their headsets. And with the stage empty, he figured that the first contestant would start soon. Once the main show was underway he would know exactly where Fay would be.
The tango was to be the last performance of the evening. So, he should have plenty of time to chat to her, and the mystery dancer as well.
Feeling pleased with himself, he moved back along the aisle to stand at the back of the hall, just beside the video camera. He was out of the way here. He also had a good view of the judge’s table so he’d be able to waylay Fay when she arrived.
He hadn’t been standing long when the spot lights started spinning and flashing on the main curtain and the announcer came over the PA.
“Ladies and gentleman, the time has come for the main event of the evening. Please put your hands together for your host, the star of the 2BR afternoon program, Alfie Mills.”
The hall erupted in applause. Then the heavy velvet main curtains gave a ponderous twitch and opened just enough to expose Alfie. He was wearing a tuxedo the colour and size of a glacier, and beaming his Donnie Osmond smile out at the audience like a searchlight.
“Ladies and gentlemen it’s truly an honour to be here with you tonight. We have an incredible evening’s entertainment in store for you. But, before we get to any of that I’d like to present my gorgeous co-host to you all. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for the graceful, the ravishingly beautiful, the elegant… Dimitra!”
Alfie stepped to one side and Dimitra joined him onstage waring a full length ball-gown that looked to b
e constructed entirely of sequins. Between the flashing of Dimitra’s dress and the nuclear glow coming off Alfie’s tux, Simon felt like he was back up on stage with the lights full on.
“Thanks Alfie,” cooed Dimitra. “You’re looking quite dapper yourself.”
Alfie had a little preen but then collected himself. “I do believe the lady has taken a shine to me,” he said and gave a big obvious wink at the audience.
He waited for the laughter to subside and then his tone dropped. “Now as you are aware this extravaganza of entertainment is all for a cause, and a good cause it is. Many people in this area undergoing chemotherapy have to travel to get treatment, sometimes daily. This puts a huge burden on them and their carers. As you will know it’s been the goal of the fundraising committee to raise the fifty thousand dollars the Berooma hospital needs to buy a chemo machine.” Scattered cheers rang out in the audience.
Dimitra put her hand on Alfie’s shoulder. “Alfie, I’ve got some news for you, and everyone here.”
“What is it Dimitra?”
“Well, as of this morning, the final voting boxes came in. The committee has tallied up all the votes in preparation for tonight. Now, you’ll all hear the totals for each contestant as we go, but you can imagine the committee’s surprise when they realised that there have been over sixty thousand votes cast in the last eight weeks!”
The scattered cheers multiplied, then whistles were added before applause drowned everything out. Once it died down Dimitra continued. “So this afternoon, the chair of the committee wrote a cheque for fifty thousand dollars and took it up to the hospital administrator.”
“That’s incredible Dimitra, I’m amazed at the generosity of the people of Galah and Berooma.”
Dimitra cocked her head and looked at Alfie. “Do you really think it’s generosity?” she said in a playful voice.
“What else would it be Dimitra?” Asked Alfie using a tone that would have been at home in play school.
“You don’t think that Galah folk not wanting Berooma contestants to win, and the Berooma residents not being able to stand the thought of a contestant from Galah winning, had anything to do with it.”
