The Tango

by Cain Hopwood

  Alfie tapped his chin theatrically. Then shook his head. “No Dimitra, I think it’s generosity.”

  Dimitra shook her head. “Well whatever it is, everyone give yourselves a round of applause and I’ll head to the green room and we’ll get on with the show.”

  The crowd cheered, clapped and whistled while Dimitra sashayed off to the right of the stage and down a couple of steps to take her place on the platform.

  “OK folks well there’s only one thing left to do before we begin and that is to introduce our trio of judges. For you tonight we have the three most eminent professionals of dance between Galah and Berooma. The heads of our three dance schools. Miss Laura, Miss Fay and Miss Kristine.”

  The spotlights spun and lit up the judge’s table revealing Miss Laura and Fay on the ends with Kristine in the middle. Kristine looked like she’d been surprised by the announcement because she was in the middle of quaffing down a flute of champagne.

  Simon kicked himself, he’d been so absorbed by the floor show that he hadn’t been keeping an eye on the table. At some point in the last couple of minutes Fay and the other judges must have crept past him. He’d missed the perfect opportunity to have a quiet word with Fay.

  He headed down the aisle towards the judge’s table. With any luck he’d have a couple of minutes before the first contestant came on. But before he’d taken five steps, Alfie’s voice rumbled over the PA.

  “Without any further ado let’s bring on our first couple, Fatty and Lilly,” he said. The curtain started drawing apart, and the instantly recognisable strains of the nutcracker suite’s dance of the sugar plum fairy drifted across the audience.

  “Out of the way dufus,” said a voice behind Simon and he scuttled back to his place by the camera. There was no way he’d be able to distract Fay in the middle of a performance. He thought back to the technical rehearsal, after Fatty’s performance they’d be taken to Dimitra for a chat, and then the judges would deliver their scores. After that, he should be able to grab ten seconds of Fay’s time, which was all he’d need for her to point out where Daryl’s partner was sitting.

  A tired looking waiter carrying a tray loaded with beers nudged Simon so he moved further back out of the way and stood next to the cameraman. The Cameraman was busy swinging his camera back and forward scanning the stage looking for either Fatty or Lilly.

  It was Lilly that appeared first. She floated out from one wing on pointe in her flying saucer tutu and wearing a smile as cheesy as the south coast. She looked like a marionette making jerky, cartoon like movements that were, however, perfectly timed to the music.

  As the first falling oboe trill faded so did she. She dropped off point and stopped with her arms hanging at her side and head hanging down. Then Fatty entered taking slow measured steps that were, surprisingly, nicely timed to the music.

  He was wearing a dark green top and the traditional garb of male ballet dancers, tights. In Fatty’s case though the combination of pot belly and skinny legs made him look as much like a giant frog as anything else. And choosing a green top did nothing to dispel that illusion.

  Titters of laughter were scattered throughout the audience. Simon squinted, he couldn’t work out whether Fatty was taking this dance seriously, or making it a comedy. The big butcher was stony-faced, but that might have been part of the act.

  Half way to the broken Lilly, Fatty performed a quite decent pirouette. The titters increased in volume and his face darkened. Once he reached Lilly, he stood close grabbed her by the waist and threw her a prodigious height. The titters in the crowd changed to ooh’s and ah’s and Lilly continued on her routine.

  And so it went, Lilly would dance for a bit, then be broken in one way or another and Fatty would pirouette, come over and revive her by throwing her inconceivably high up in the air.

  As the number progressed, the frequency of the pirouettes and throws increased. After a while even the mighty Fatty was dripping sweat in a very non ballet like fashion. Apart from the lifts, pirouettes though seemed to be Fatty’s speciality and he finished the number doing three nicely in time with Lilly.

  The crowd went wild with applause liberally peppered with whistles, cheers and catcalls. Fatty and Lilly bowed and were led off the stage by Dimitra.

  “Fabulous Fatty, it’s so great to see a bit of culture in Galah,” gushed Dimitra.

  “I couldn’t have done it without Lilly.”

  Their banter continued back and forward, but Simon had his eyes glued to the judge’s table. Fay and the others were conferring and like a sprinter at the blocks Simon was readying himself for a dash across the room.

  “Let’s see what the judges thought,” Dimitra said and the spot swung from her across the room to the judges taking everyone’s eyes with it.

  Like the TV show, the judges launched straight into the critique.

  Miss Laura went first. “While I can’t fault your execution Lilly, I’m not sure your theme of a marionette lined up with Tchaikovsky’s. Fatty, your performance was fine although I’d have liked to seen a little more variety. I’m giving you seven point five.”

  This elicited some grumbling and jeers from the audience.

  The next judge was Kristine, and she started her critique obliviously. “Fatty, that was great, I love that song, and Lilly I liked the marionette thing too. I’m giving you nine,” she said lifting her empty glass in salute.

  A round of applause banished the earlier jeers.

  Fay waited until it faded before she began. “Lilly you chose your material well. That is a classic piece of music that everyone knows. It’s ideal for a newcomer like Fatty. You also played to his strengths in preparing him. Fatty you showed… Unbridled athleticism. You also demonstrated good timing and musicality. I give you eight point five.”

  The spot light swung back to Dimitra and Fatty so that the crowd could see his response. Simon prepared to make a bee line for the judge’s table. But, as he took his first step a dangling cable caught on his foot nearly tripping him. Before he could react the table with the cameraman’s bits and pieces collapsed with a crash.

  Something must have become unplugged in the rat’s nest of cables under the table because, just then, a roar rose from the car park outside that fairly rattled the windows of the hall.

  “You fool,” said the cameraman between gritted teeth. “Quick, plug it in before those neanderthals outside storm the hall and tear us to bits.”

  Simon dropped to his knees and looked at the mess of cables under the table. Seeing a small torch he flicked it on and started tracing cables. The long cables leading outside were still connected to a box, but the box wasn’t plugged into anything.

  Simon grabbed the first cable end he could see and tried to plug it into the box, but it wouldn’t fit. Spying a second end with a different connector he saw the matching socket on the box and plugged it in. Immediately a cheer rose from the car park and he breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. But the cameraman wasn’t listening, he was focused on his viewfinder which was showing the stage curtains sweeping open.

  The next act was beginning, Simon had missed his chance.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Once again Simon had missed his opportunity. But, just as he considered going to talk to Fay anyway, music filled the hall. Then David Ellis burst on stage with a heel slide that looked like it could have only been performed on ice. David slid to a stop smack bang in the middle of the stage. Then he spun, transfixing Simon and the rest of the audience, with a look that oozed pure star power.

  All thoughts of talking to Fay vanished from Simon’s brain. Like a kid on his first trip to the circus, Simon just stood there and drank in the sweet beauty of the way David moved, and the brilliance of the way that the routine was organised.

  “Now that guy is what I call a pro,” muttered the cameraman.

  Simon just nodded in agreement. He’d seen the routine countless times in rehearsal, but here from the audience’s perspe
ctive it was like watching them dance for the first time. Even Sophie looked good. She was wearing a bright blue ruffled dress that could have come straight out of Ginger Rogers’ wardrobe. She didn’t move like Ginger, but where she lacked a little polish, the dress helped make up for it.

  And then, disaster struck. Maybe it was a slightly raised floor board on the stage, or possibly a small patch of Fatty’s sweat. David was in the middle of a series of simple shuffle time steps, really just marking time on the spot while Sophie was promenading around him. His stage smile was abruptly wiped from his face and replaced by a twisted grimace. He teetered for a moment but then collapsed, grabbing his knee and venting out a raspy scream like a tortured animal.

  Simon rushed forward, but before he could make it even halfway to the stage it seemed everyone in the hall sprang to their feet. The aisles between the tables filled with people. He could see Fay struggling to get down from the platform the judge’s table stood on, but her aisle was also jammed full.

  The CWA ladies swarmed up onto the stage like ants, clipboards were thrown aside and they rushed to help David. But David’s show tune music was still pumping out of the PA and together with the frenzied activity on stage it made the whole scene look like a macabre Benny Hill skit.

  “Everybody please sit down!” roared Alfie into his mic rattling the glasses on the tables. “Make way for Fay.” He pointed at the judge’s table and like Moses parting the red sea the aisle cleared. She climbed down, ran to the stage, and was lifted up to be at her husband’s side.

  “For god’s sake kill the music,” Alfie said and seconds later the PA was shut off. A CWA lady whispered in his ear and he nodded. “Can someone near the door run and fetch the ambos. They’re in the car park.”

  Stuck where he was at the back of the hall Simon turned automatically. But, before he could take a single step, the doors to the hall burst open. In stormed Muzza, still shirtless, and flanked by the rest of the Goats front row. He was pushing through the crowd like a human snowplough with one of the paramedics following in his wake.

  “We’re on it! Outta the way,” Muzza bellowed batting aside a chair like it was a blowfly.

  Simon squeezed up against the camera as Muzza and the paramedic swept past. They scattered penguin suited patrons before them as they cleared the path to the stage. The paramedic went to work immediately, giving David a shot that quickly calmed him down.

  After that, things were a bit of a blur for Simon. A second paramedic arrived with a stretcher, and they worked on David for a few minutes before drafting a couple of the Goats to help lift him carefully onto it.

  However, as they were preparing to wheel him off the stage, he reached out and plucked at Muzza’s stubbies. The big prop called Alfie over, purloined his microphone, and put it to David’s lips.

  David’s amplified laboured breathing filled the hall and the crowd fell silent. Everyone waited, expectant, wondering what he’d have to say. Even Simon found himself leaning forward.

  “The show must go on,” croaked David as the paramedics wheeled the stretcher off stage with Fay in close attendance.

  Old Charlie Melia was standing at the very edge of the stage. And, after the stretcher had passed, he shouldered his way up the stage stairs. Muzza, still holding Alfie’s microphone, was watching David’s departure. Charlie walked over to him and simply held out his hand.

  Muzza passed him the mic and Charlie brought it up to his mouth. “I want to drink a toast to that man. So, champagne for everyone on me. Alfie, will you do the honours, I’m as dry as a nun’s gusset,” he said, then handed the mic back.

  Laughter rang out in the hall again.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  By the time Simon made it back to the ready room some semblance of normality had returned to the hall. The CWA brigade were back on duty with clipboards at the ready, while Alfie and Dimitra were entertaining the audience with some improv.

  “Did you see? What happened?” asked Daryl the moment he returned.

  “Yes, I saw it all, but I have no idea why he slipped. The routine was going like clockwork one moment, and the next he was on the floor screaming.”

  “Yes, we heard that back here. It was horrific.”

  Simon looked around the ready room. It only had a curtain separating it from the stage, so David’s screaming would have echoed around. It would have sounded like a working medieval torture chamber deep in some dank dungeon.

  “After that there’s not much to tell, your goats buddies turned up with the ambos.”

  “So now what?” asked Daryl.

  “Well, you heard David. The show must go on, it’s what he wanted.”

  Daryl nodded. Then he looked up. “Hey you didn’t…”

  “No, sorry. I couldn’t find Fay until the show started, and then…”

  Daryl slumped. “Thanks for trying.” He then steeled himself and took a deep breath. “We’ll just have to do it like the crowd are expecting then I guess.”

  Simon put his arm around Daryl’s shoulders, or tried to at least. “You’ll do fine mate.”

  They sat down and prepared to wait.

  Wendy and Doctor Hudson were the first cab off the rank. It would be tough to get the crowd going again after such a downer. But the upbeat rock and roll number helped. By the end everyone back stage was tapping their feet and spirits were lifting.

  Wendy and the Doctor also seemed to get a good reception from the crowd. Both Miss Laura and Kristine also liked it and gave them eights.

  It was only when the judges were reading out the scores that Simon noticed Fay was missing. Then he recalled that she had accompanied David as he was being wheeled out with the paramedics. He opened his mouth to make a comment about it to Daryl. But when he saw the expression on the big rugby player’s face he decided against it.

  Fay should have already briefed her friend on what was going to happen, and the mystery woman would be ready to swan on stage and dance with Daryl. At least Simon hoped she was ready. Daryl was looking pretty nervous already, and Simon was beginning to doubt this whole authentic tango plan that Fay had come up with.

  Simon looked up and saw that Mayor Grimshaw and his partner had left and he could hear the strains of Copacabana starting up on the PA. Something about the routine must have struck a chord with the audience, because peals of laughter rang out through the performance. Before the last notes of the song had even died away they received resounding applause, and plenty of cheers and whistles.

  Miss Laura however wasn’t a fan, and she only gave them a seven. Kristine though thought it was “brilliant” and slurred a nine point five into the mic as a reward.

  As soon as they were done the instantly recognisable, playful flute sample in ‘The Nosebleed Section’ lilted out of the speakers. It was the track that Izzy and Owen were dancing to.

  “Clever choice,” muttered Simon.

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s a well chosen piece to dance to. The Hilltop Hoods are an Aussie band. And, because this track samples that old piece of music, it’ll appeal to the oldies as well as the young crowd.”

  Daryl just nodded and resumed looking at his feet.

  “Come on,” Simon said. “Let’s go up into the wings and have a look.”

  He dragged Daryl out of his chair but, as they went to go, Valmay stopped them with a penetrating stare. “I haven’t called you two yet,” she said.

  Simon looked around at the empty room, and then back at Valmay. “We’re the only ones here, Daryl is on next.

  Valmay made a show of consulting her clipboard, then crossed them off. “OK you two. But straight into the wings, nowhere else OK.”

  Simon nodded and pushed past Valmay with Daryl in tow.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Simon and Daryl crept up into the wings like a couple of schoolboys sneaking in the back door of the cinema. Even though the stage was bathed in a microwave like glow, the wings were dark and they had to watch their step.

  Noseblee
d Section was thumping out of the stage monitors and Izzy was doing her level best to send her uncle to an early grave. But Owen was not going quietly. He kept popping and locking along with her right to the very end, even though his face was as red as his tracksuit.

  Across the stage in the opposite wing Simon could see the four couples waiting to go on as well. He gave them a thumbs up.

  “Ready?” he whispered to Daryl.

  A mute nod was all he got as a reply.

  Izzy and Owen’s number pounded to its conclusion, with Owen still alive, and they received a thunderous reception from the audience. They took their bows. Then they took some more bows. Then, even though the applause had nearly died away, they bowed again.

  “Stop milking it Izzy, we’ve got to setup,” muttered Simon.

  Eventually Izzy and Owen moved forward and the main curtain swung shut. Simon picked up a small round table and walked quickly, but quietly, out onto stage and placed it at the back of the stage. He signalled Daryl to come out while the four couples came on from the other side.

  In the background he could hear Dimitra chatting to Izzy and Owen, Izzy doing most of the talking of course, and he rushed back to the wing for two chairs returning to place them on either side of the table. He unrolled a backdrop that read “Hernando’s Hideaway” and the scene was set.

  Daryl, like the well coached rugby player that he was, was already in position and standing just in front of the table. The four couples were spread out and looking a little uncertain of what their role was.

  “Bunch up a bit more guys,” whispered Simon. “You’re supposed to obscure Daryl. Now, you all know your cues?”

  All eight of them nodded.

  “Right, just be sure to be offstage by the first ‘Ole’,” he said. Simon was fairly confident they wouldn’t stuff it up. They’d all had stage experience and all they had to do was go off one at a time during the intro to the song. Their job was to give the audience something to look at while the mystery dancer was coming up from amongst the audience itself.