A Bicycle Made For Two

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘Oh my God oh my God oh my God,’ Tom muttered. ‘Whose bright idea was this?’

  ‘Yours. Thanks a sodding bunch, bruv.’

  ‘Give over, it’ll be great,’ Deano said, hugging his box of props. He was fiercely guarding the contents until we got to the shoot. ‘This might lead to a whole new career for us.’

  He wiggled his hips slightly, as if his jeans were uncomfortable.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m commando. Got a chafing issue going on.’ He shrugged as both sets of eyes turned to him. ‘What? Seemed a waste of time finding clean undies if I was just going to take them off again.’

  I snorted. ‘You are one classy bastard.’

  ‘And you are well sexist, Lana Donati,’ he said, slapping his superior face on. ‘You’re supposed to find it arousing. Boys do when girls don’t wear pants.’

  ‘Ahem,’ Tom said.

  ‘Present company excepted.’

  ‘Well, boys are weird,’ I said. The door of the Temp loomed large before us like the gateway to hell, or at least the gateway to uncomfortable public nudity. ‘Ok, lads. No backing out now.’

  In the meeting room, the other models were milling about, chatting: our five committee members, plus Roger Collingwood and a handful of the more adventurous Ladies Who Lunch to redress the male/female balance. Yolanda was already in her dressing gown, a very short pink kimono with little hearts all over it.

  I made my way over to Stewart.

  ‘Where’s your cousin?’ I asked. ‘He is coming, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’ll be here. Harper’s always fashionably late.’

  I glanced up into his face. He looked like he’d had a sleepless night or three, his eyes puffy and tired against pale skin.

  ‘You ok?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine. I’m fine,’ he said absently. ‘See you later, Lana.’ Before I could say anything else, he’d wandered off to stand on his own by the window.

  I’d been noticing it more and more, the change in him since he’d turned up in my life again. There were still flashes of the old Stewart – that laid-back, wry humour that had first drawn me to him; the warm smile that, hard as I tried, had a nasty habit of making various bits of me flutter. But there were other times, like today, when he seemed morose and tired, when he ended conversations abruptly, or sat in brooding silence, staring into the distance. Sometimes, from the state of his eyes, I’d even swear he’d been crying. He usually managed to pull himself out of it when people started to notice, but I could tell it was an effort.

  In spite of everything, I couldn’t help feeling for the bloke. Quitting cycling had obviously broken him up a lot more than he was willing to let on.

  ‘So what now, guys?’ Tom asked the room at large, jerking me out of my Stewart musings.

  ‘We’re just waiting for Mr Brady, then we can make a start,’ Roger said, taking over in typical businesslike fashion. I was starting to think the man had been a closet naturist for years. It was true what they said, it was always the quiet ones.

  ‘Young Jasmine is in the main hall setting up,’ he continued, ‘and we can use the shower room to change.’

  ‘So, Deano, what’ve you brought?’ I said.

  ‘Aha. I’m very glad you asked. First our Miss July 2014 – one Lana Donati…’ He rummaged in his box of tricks and pulled out a couple of bicycle horns, the big, old-fashioned kind with a brass trumpet and black rubber bulb on one end. ‘…for you.’

  I cast a puzzled look at them. ‘To do what with?’

  ‘To hold in front of your boobs so I can put the caption “nice hooters” underneath.’

  I shook my head. ‘Oh, no. Not a chance, mate.’

  ‘“A honking good pair”?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I thought this calendar was supposed to be tasteful, not a Carry On throwback.’

  ‘And I thought it was supposed to be funny.’

  I looked at Tom. ‘It was your idea. Tasteful or funny?’

  ‘I think funny’ll sell better,’ he said with an apologetic grimace. ‘We’re not trying to rival Spencer Tunick, are we? It’s about giving the village a laugh.’

  ‘Traitor.’ I folded my arms. ‘Well the village aren’t having a laugh at my honking good pair, thanks very much. I told you: completely covered or I’m not doing it.’

  ‘But you can’t be, can you?’ Deano said. ‘It’s a nude calendar.’

  ‘You know what I mean. All the important bits.’

  He waved a hand impatiently. ‘All right, we’ll come back to you.’ He nodded to Yolanda. ‘Yo-yo, or should I say Miss May: a couple of smaller ones for you.’ He handed Yolanda a pair of ordinary bike bells.

  ‘And what will my caption be?’ Yolanda asked.

  ‘How about “village bike”?’ Sue said brightly from a nearby table where she was drinking tea with Gerry and Cameron. Yolanda shot her a dirty look.

  ‘For a lady like you it has to be “ding dong”, of course,’ Deano said, his smile dripping charm.

  She giggled. ‘Oh, I love it! Thank you, darling.’

  ‘What about the bottom bit then?’ I asked.

  ‘What about it?’ Deano said. ‘Yo-yo’s a modern, enlightened woman. I’m sure she doesn’t mind the village seeing her bottom bits.’

  ‘Especially as most of the village has already seen them,’ Sue muttered.

  ‘But it’s no good covering boobs then putting everything else on display, is it?’ I said.

  ‘Aha!’ Deano lifted a finger in the air. ‘There, my dear Lana, you have hit on my cup de grass. My arc de triomphe. My piece of the resistance.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Wait a minute. I’ll just go fetch it.’

  He disappeared, coming back a second later carrying a huge bit of topiary in the shape of a bike.

  ‘Jean at the florist’s made it for us,’ he panted as he put it down. ‘To protect the ladies’ modesty. I’ve got bike pumps and helmets for us lads.’ He winked at Yolanda. ‘In a range of sizes.’

  I squinted suspiciously at him. ‘Did you get that so you could use the caption “cracking bush”?’

  He drew himself up. ‘Do you mind? I have got some class, you know.’

  ‘Did you though?’

  ‘I did, yeah.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’m not catching a word of this,’ Roger said. ‘What is that fearful row outside?’

  He was right, a terrible racket had sprung up while we’d been talking: raised voices and some sort of repetitive clicking sound. By the window, Stewart flicked back a curtain to investigate.

  He jerked it hurriedly back into place.

  ‘Shit, there’s a load of photographers!’ he said. ‘It’s like Cup Final day at Valley Parade out there. What the hell’s going on?’

  I just shrugged, looking bewildered. The same look of bewilderment was reflected on every face in the room.

  Every face except one.

  ‘Ah. Yes. I had been meaning to say something,’ Yolanda said with a guilty smile. ‘I may have been rather naughty.’

  ***

  ‘So come on, Yolanda,’ Stewart said patiently. ‘What exactly did you do?’

  ‘I just sent out a teensy press release on behalf of the group, that’s all,’ she said, flushing under his gaze.

  ‘But what did the press release say?’ he demanded. ‘You don’t get photographers turning up in these numbers for a village’s poxy nude calendar. A royal visit, maybe.’

  ‘I said we were doing it to raise money for the viaduct. The human interest angle, you know?’

  He leaned towards her. ‘And you said something else. Didn’t you?’

  ‘I said… you’d be in it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And… and Harper Brady.’ She looked up to meet our accusing stares. ‘Well, wh
at would be the point having a famous TV star here if we didn’t publicise it?’

  ‘The publicity comes after, Yo-yo!’ I snapped. ‘God, once they find out Brady’s in some tiny village hall with his clothes off they’ll break down the door. That must be story of the year.’

  Stewart groaned. ‘He’ll bolt when he sees that lot.’

  I turned to Roger. ‘Could we sneak him in the bottom way, through the cellar?’

  ‘He’d be rather recognisable coming through the village,’ Roger said.

  Deano had been looking thoughtful throughout the conversation. Now he spoke up.

  ‘I may have a typically genius Deano Teasdale plan hatching. Stewart, can you text your cousin and tell him you’ll meet him just outside Egglethwaite?’

  ‘Why?’

  He reached into his box and pulled out a green clown wig and red nose. ‘I brought these for a circus-themed shoot I’m planning for August.’ He nodded to Yolanda. ‘And we’ll need that kimono off you, Yo-yo.’

  She looked hesitant. ‘But I’ll be cold.’

  ‘Oh right. Now she gets coy,’ Sue muttered. ‘Come on, Yo-yo, get it off. This is all your fault.’

  ‘Fine.’ She wriggled out of her robe and handed it to Deano, then sank back into her chair and started examining her nails in a state of completely unembarrassed nakedness. I shot her an envious glance. It must be nice to feel that comfortable in nothing but your own skin.

  ‘So what’s your plan, Deano?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Stewart’s going to dress Brady up in these,’ he said, shoving the pile of assorted disguise into Stewart’s arms. ‘Then they’re going to jog back here and come in the cellar way. If anyone asks, they’re a funrunner and his coach.’

  I lifted my eyebrows. ‘Hey, that’s not bad.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll claim my reward snog later.’

  ‘No you won’t.’ I paused. ‘But go on, I’ll hold up the bike horns. Yo-yo’s inspiring me.’

  Deano grinned. ‘Good girl. Off you go then, Stewart. We’ll start the shoot.’

  ***

  Twenty minutes later a breathless Stewart was back, closely followed by a seriously pissed-off clown in a sexy kimono.

  ‘…never been so humiliated in my life,’ the clown panted, obviously rounding off a much longer bollocking. ‘You seriously owe me for this, Stew.’

  ‘Suits you, Harper,’ I said with a grin.

  He blinked at me over the top of his big red nose. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘Only from when I haunt your dreams, clown boy.’

  ‘Why am I picturing you in a leather corset?’ Harper’s eyes widened. ‘You’re not that dominatrix from Kyle’s after-party, are you? Look, I was really pissed or I wouldn’t normally be into that, and I meant to return the whip, I swear – ’

  ‘No I bloody well am not.’ I hastily changed the subject. ‘Who’s next, Deano? We’d better rush this through before the press outside realise we’ve done the dirty on them.’

  ‘You can be, then,’ he said, fishing the humongous bike horns back out of his props box and giving them a couple of comedy parps.

  I winced. ‘Do I have to?’

  ‘Course you have to. We can’t take July out of next year just to save your modesty, treacle.’ He patted my arm. ‘Don’t worry, it’s only me and Jaz.’

  ‘Yep. Only two-thirds of my staff staring at me in the buff. Jim Dandy then, eh?’

  When I’d nipped into the shower room to discard my clothes, I tiptoed in my bathrobe into the main hall. Jasmine was fiddling with her tripod in front of the bike hedge, a big white screen behind it. Assorted bike-shaped shadows from out of Stewart’s hire stock lurked around the room. The lighting was low, but everything was still far too visible for my liking.

  ‘Hi, boss,’ Jasmine said with a bright smile. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Not in the mood for smalltalk, Jaz. I just want to get this over with, ok?’

  ‘Oh, no need to be nervous,’ she said. ‘Trust me, I do this all the time. Just chuck your robe over the chair there.’

  The door swung open and Deano came in, just as I’d discarded my robe and was trying to simultaneously hide my naughty bits and my wobbly bits behind his cracking bush.

  ‘Er, hi.’ I blushed deeply, covering my breasts with both hands. Unfortunately the hands weren’t really up to the job and there was quite a bit of flesh spillage round the fingers.

  ‘Hi yourself.’ He grinned. ‘Just how I imagined them. Right, let’s get on with it.’

  He came round behind me and put one hand on my bare hip. My eyes shot wide open and I jumped forward about a foot.

  ‘Deano, get your hands off me!’

  ‘Just putting you in position,’ he said in a surprised tone. ‘None of the others complained.’

  ‘Well you don’t work for them, do you?’ I hissed. ‘Just tell me how you want me: no touching. And you can get out from behind me as well, I don’t want you looking at my backside.’

  And just as I removed my hands from my bare breasts to push him away, in strode a de-clowned Harper Brady.

  ‘Look, this is taking ages, can I go next?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve got places to – ’

  He stopped short, staring at my uncovered breasts. I’d always thought dropping jaws were something you only found in books, but I could swear Harper’s chin actually hit the floor.

  I clapped my hands over my nipples, wincing in embarrassment.

  ‘Are those real?’ he asked in a hushed, reverent voice.

  ‘None of your business, mate! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out!’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. They are, I can tell.’

  ‘Funnily enough, yes,’ I snapped. ‘Restaurant salaries don’t tend to cover major cosmetic enhancement, you might be surprised to learn.’

  ‘Restaurant… hey!’ He pointed at me. ‘I do know you! That waitress from the weird place with all the pigs’ heads, right? You pretended you didn’t know who I was and I pretended to be a pain in the arse.’ He grinned at the memory.

  I turned to Deano. ‘Why the fuck is he still talking to me?’ I muttered. ‘Get him out, can you? I feel vulnerable enough as it is.’

  Deano marched forward and grabbed Harper by the arm. ‘Come on, mate. No coming in while the ladies are exhibiting, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Harper said, jerking his arm away. He was still staring as if hypnotised at my breasts. ‘I’m just talking.’

  ‘No, you’re just leaving.’ Deano grabbed his arm again and guided him forcefully to the door. ‘You can chat when everyone’s got their clothes on.’

  ‘Bye – er, waitress,’ Harper called as Deano ejected him, waving to me over his shoulder.

  Jasmine was gazing at Deano with worshipful admiration.

  ‘That was amazing,’ she breathed.

  ‘Thanks.’ He frowned. ‘What was?’

  ‘The way you defended her honour. Like a knight from the olden days, all strong and chivalrous.’

  ‘Oh Jesus,’ he muttered. ‘You spend too much time in the Middle Ages, Jaz. Let’s get on with it, eh?’ He handed me my horns. ‘Here’s your honkers, Lana. Just smile seductively and try not to slouch.’

  ***

  When I was done, I went back into the meeting room and nodded to Harper, who was chatting to Stewart.

  ‘Ok, pervert, you’re up.’

  ‘Right. Er, hey, what was your name again?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  Harper frowned for a second. ‘I know! It’s Lana, right? Lana… Italian.’

  I smiled. ‘Nice try.’

  ‘Why did you call him a pervert?’ Stewart asked when Harper had gone to disrobe.

  ‘Because he barged into the hall while I was starkers and stared at my breasts for a full ten minutes.’

  Stewart wince
d. ‘Oh God, he didn’t.’

  ‘He bloody did, I was there. I remember because it was the first time I’d had my arse on display in that hall since a split leotard incident at a ballet recital when I was five.’

  ‘Tell me he didn’t ask if they were real.’

  I frowned. ‘He did actually. Why, does he make a habit of this sort of thing?’

  ‘No, he’s just got a… you might call it a fetish.’

  ‘For big boobs? Him and every heterosexual bloke in the known world, mate.’

  ‘All right, not a fetish then. I guess he just sees a lot of implants in his line of work, so he’s built up a thing about the… you know, ones like yours. Sorry.’

  He was blushing beetroot now. I was quite enjoying it.

  ‘And what’s your preferred size, Stewart?’ I asked with a teasing grin. I couldn’t help myself. Getting my kit off in the Temp had obviously been liberating.

  He managed a smile through his blushes. ‘All depends who they’re attached to.’

  Fifteen minutes later Harper came back in and jerked his head at the door.

  ‘You’re next, Stew. Mr December apparently.’ He chucked Stewart a Santa hat. ‘The lad said you’ll be needing this.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Stewart said, placing the hat on his head.

  ‘I don’t think that’s where he wants you to put it.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’ Stewart took the hat off again and stretched it. ‘In that case, we’re going to need a bigger hat.’

  There was a muttered ‘oi’ in my ear. I turned to find Tom lurking behind me.

  ‘Oi what?’

  ‘Did I hear you doing boob-related flirting with Stewart McLean not so long ago?’

  ‘No,’ I said, colouring. ‘I was just winding him up. He managed to turn it into flirting.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like him.’

  I watched Stewart’s broad back leaving the room. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well, he seems to have lost his other fan anyway,’ Tom said, nodding to Yolanda. She’d reassumed her kimono and was clustered around Harper Brady with the other women from Ladies Who Lunch, hanging on his every word.

  ‘You didn’t really go to the front lines to research Soar, Mr Brady?’ one of the women was saying.

  ‘Yes. It was dangerous, of course, but nothing compared to what our troops face every day.’ Harper shook his head. ‘Those courageous men and women.’