Body on the Stage

by Bev Robitai

  “Good work, mate,” said Gazza, favouring him with a grin. “A good coffee maker’s always welcome here. That’s what keeps the place running.”

  “And look what I’ve got,” said Nick. “Chocolate biscuits to celebrate a new season. Get stuck in, everybody.” He tore open the packet and offered it around.

  Dennis hesitated. “No, I really shouldn’t,” he said reluctantly. “Thanks anyway.”

  “Oh go on,” said Tony, slapping his own well-rounded belly. “You’re only a little bit wider than me. We were glad to see you turn up, actually, weren’t we guys? With a show like this full of gym jockeys, us stage crew have got to put up a solid front, eh? Come on Fenton, you’re so skinny you’d better have two, mate.” Fenton obeyed, and then held out the packet to Dennis, waving it to waft the scent of chocolate towards him.

  “Sure we can’t tempt you?”

  Dennis grinned. “Of course you can!” He bit happily into a Timtam and started to feel at home.

  Once the coffee had been drunk and there was nothing but crumbs left in the biscuit packet, Tony stood up and belched.

  “Oops, pardon me. Right then, let’s see what sort of a mess the workshop’s in after that last school production.” He turned to Dennis. “There were so many of the little rug-rats they had to use the space as an extra dressing room. Hope to God none of them got into the tool room.”

  “They were a bit young to have lock-picking skills,” said Gazza. “Nose-picking was about their limit.”

  “Have you been backstage here before, Dennis?” asked Nick.

  “No, this is my first time.”

  Quiet sniggers greeted his words and he felt himself blushing.

  “Don’t worry, mate,” said Tony, grinning. “We’ll be gentle!”

  Dennis followed them out of the kitchen, through a narrow room lined with tongue and groove boards where a long mirror circled with light-bulbs reflected their passing.

  “Make-up room,” said Gazza, a man of few words. Dennis sniffed to catch the legendary smell of the greasepaint but could only detect dust and a faint trace of perfume.

  They made their way through a door onto the stage and headed to the right, where large black folding doors were pushed back against the wall allowing access to a concrete block room filled with stacked bits of scenery. Dennis looked around with interest at the variety of storage techniques, noting the racks mounted on the walls, pipes hanging from the ceiling, and numerous recycled cupboards and shelves.

  “Don’t you ever throw anything away? Some of this stuff looks a hundred years old!”

  Fenton looked shocked. “Throw it away? Not if there’s a chance it can be reused for another show. Some of these tree cut-outs have been around longer than I have – my dad made them for a pantomime before I was born. These old bits and pieces look fine under stage lights with a fresh coat of paint.” He showed Dennis a tall piece of plywood, painted like grey stone blocks and shaped with battlements at the top. “See that tower? My mum lowered her hair from that window playing Rapunzel when she was fifteen. After that it showed up in Camelot, Robin Hood, and half a dozen ballets.”

  “This truck nearly took my fingers off once,” said Nick, pointing out a heavy platform on giant castors suspended against the wall at the side of the stage. “I was only ten and forgot to keep out of the way.”

  “Er, what’s that for, exactly?”

  “A truck is a wheeled base that goes on and off stage, usually with scenery on it. See the rake on this stage? You don’t want to get your fingers in front of a truck wheel when it gets away from the crew and starts heading for the audience, believe me!”

  They climbed down a set of rough wooden stairs to the workshop floor, where small drifts of glitter looked strangely out of place among the baulks of timber and heavy iron fittings.

  “I see they swept up well,” muttered Gazza.

  “The tool room’s secure,” said Tony, checking the padlock. “None of them got at the power tools so that’s good.”

  Dennis had a vision of five-year-olds wielding electric saws among their companions. “Does that ever happen?” he asked, faintly apprehensive of the answer.

  “Not if we catch them first and put the fear of God into them,” said Gazza with satisfaction. “The trick is to let them know if they touch things they’re not supposed to, a great rain of unpleasant stuff will come down on their heads very heavily until they have to dig their way out.” He pushed his cap to the back of his head. “We generally don’t have too much trouble.”

  “And only a few wet themselves when they get the lecture,” said Nick, grinning.

  “Right, gentlemen,” said Tony, pinning sheets of paper onto a corkboard. “Here’s our schedule for the next few months. We’ve got a nice long lead-in to this one as the guys have to train at the gym to get buffed up. Won’t it be nice to see actors doing more hard work than we do for a change? I’ll put an order in for the supplies we need first thing Monday and we should be able to make a start next weekend. Sound good?”

  Grunts of assent from Gazza and Fenton.

  “I’ll be there,” said Nick, “as long as work doesn’t stuff things up by calling me in.”

  “If you think I’ll be any use,” said Dennis, “I’m happy to show up.”

  “Right then,” said Tony. “See you all next week, same time, same Bat-channel.”

  They made their way back to the Green Room, where a group of five athletic men gathered around a tall red-haired woman who was handing out printed pages.

  “Here’s your diet sheet,” she said to them. “Read it carefully and if you have any questions later, make sure you call me. What you eat will be critical to get you into the right shape for this show. Adam’s told me exactly what he needs and that’s what we’re going to give him, right? It’ll be no more fast food or weekend drinking sessions for the next three months, OK?”

  Tony and Gazza edged past the group with a shudder, with Dennis trying to lose himself behind them. He was just about to head for the exit when Jessica breezed through the door and smiled when she saw him.

  “Dennis! Just the man I was looking for.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “You said you had computer skills, didn’t you? At the auditions?”

  “Oh, yes, right. Sure, what do you need?”

  She indicated the tall redhead. “Cathy’s got a computer problem at the gym, and since she’s giving us such a great deal on training the guys, I wondered if you could possibly have a look at it for her? If it’s not too much trouble? I’m sure she could trade you some gym time or nutrition advice in return for your efforts.”

  Dennis bit back a disbelieving laugh. Him, go near a gym?

  “I’ll be happy to look at her computer,” he said, “but only if she promises not to pay me back.”

  Jessica shrugged. “Whatever works for you. Thanks – I appreciate it.” She patted him on the arm. “Hey Cathy,” she called, “meet Dennis. He’s the computer guy I told you about – says he’s happy to look at your PC. Sort out a time with him, OK?” She pushed Dennis towards Cathy and disappeared through the stage door.

  Tony and Gazza grinned. “Careful, mate. She’ll have you running laps before you have her laptop running!” Tony chuckled quietly. “I’ve heard that grown men weep when she starts training them.”

  Cathy dismissed the five actors and came over to Dennis. She was the same height as him, with striking blue eyes that held his gaze.

  “That’s very good of you, Dennis. Are you sure it’s OK? I know Jessica sometimes railroads people into helping out when they might prefer not to.”

  “No, I don’t mind fixing your computer,” he said, not voicing the thought it was actually going near a gym that gave him the willies. “Where and when suits you?”

  As she passed him a business card he felt the warmth from her fingers. “The gym’s called Intensity. That’s the address, just a few streets away. Could you possibly come round today, if you’re not too busy?”
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br />   He looked at his watch. “Are you finished here? I think I am, so we can go now if you like.” Might as well get it over and done with, while she still had the actors on her mind and wouldn’t be so likely to think about trying to convert a pasty white fat guy to her religion of fitness and food fanaticism.

  “Brilliant!” she said, beaming. “You’re a life-saver! How can I ever repay you?”

  He couldn’t help smiling at her delighted expression.

  “Let’s see if I can fix the problem first.” And please, please don’t try to repay me.

  Outside the theatre she unlocked a shiny blue mountain bike leaning against the side wall. She waved as Dennis walked past towards his car.

  “See you at Intensity in a few minutes,” she said.

  He watched until her shapely rounded backside disappeared as she propelled the bike at increasing speed down the street.

  By the time he pulled up outside Intensity, she was waving at him from an upstairs window. He climbed the narrow metal-edged stairs slowly, not wanting to be puffing when he reached the top, but he still had to pause to let his breathing catch up before advancing towards the reception desk. Cathy came out of a room nearby and put a friendly hand on his arm.

  “This is so nice of you, I really appreciate it. The main computer’s through here, in my office. Please give it a stern talking to, because it’s ignoring me completely.”

  He followed her and gave her set-up a quick look, assessing the technology he’d be working with.

  “OK, describe the problem to me. What isn’t it doing that you want it to do?”

  “You mean apart from making my life easier in every way like computers are supposed to?” She pulled a face at the desktop box. “It won’t let me print to the printer at the reception desk. I think it’s just paying me back because I haven’t put its RAM out to stud or something stupid like that.”

  “Is this networked to the other PC at reception?” He was engrossed now, checking leads and wires under the desk, intent on finding the solution.

  “Yes, I can save the document to that computer and then print it from there, but I’d much rather print straight from here the way I used to – if that’s possible. Can you make it cooperate?”

  He popped his head out from under the desk and smiled up at her.

  “I can make a computer do anything you want. This one probably just needs the printer driver reinstalled. Have you got the disk that came with the printer?” Her doubtful expression told him it was unlikely. “Don’t worry, I’ll download the latest one online.”

  Her office chair creaked as he lowered himself onto it. After a quick-fire rattle of keystrokes he looked up with a smile. “OK, Cathy, that should have sorted out the problem. Is there something you need to print so we can test it?” He levered himself up from her desk and got out of the way. Cathy opened a document, sent it to the printer, and they went out to reception in time to hear it emerging from the printer under the counter. She picked up the page and glanced at it.

  “Perfect, that’s wonderful, thank you so much.” She looked him in the eye. “I know you don’t want me to pay you back, but I do appreciate your help. Would you like a quick tour while you’re here? No obligation of course, just to show you what we do.”

  Dennis, feeling it would be rude to decline her offer, cautiously followed her into a large brightly-lit room full of what appeared to be modernised medieval torture instruments. Off to one side a lean, tanned man in a fluoro-yellow singlet helped to set the controls for a pretty young woman on a treadmill. Benches with heavy weights at the end would have been called ‘the rack’ in previous centuries. Various upright frames with cables and weights appeared to be designed to rip arms from their sockets, and what Cathy pointed out as a leg press would have folded a man double and crushed his legs into his ribcage if he’d displeased the Spanish Inquisition.

  He tried to rearrange his features to display interest and enthusiasm when she turned to face him, but realised from her burst of laughter that he’d failed.

  “Oh Dennis, have I frightened you, showing off all my high-tech machines? Look, they’re not really scary. See, that’s Vincenzo, one of my trainers, showing a new girl how to operate them. It’s not too daunting!” Her smile faded a little as she watched Vincenzo lean even closer to the client. She turned back to Dennis but his expression must still have been dubious. “I’m sorry, I forget not everyone is as keen on health and fitness as I am. Don’t worry, I’ll let you escape now.”

  She held out the folded page from the printer. “Just take this with you. It’s an eating guide that gives you an idea of healthy foods and portion sizes. I think you might find it helpful.”

  He took the sheet and smiled politely. “Thanks, Cathy. Obviously I do need a little help in that department. I’ve got a bit lazy about food, living on my own these days. This might be just what I need.” But if it says no beer and no chips, you can forget it, he thought as he tucked it into his pocket. “I expect I’ll see you around the theatre sometime. You’re training the guys for their stage performances, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, we’re getting them fit first, then we’ll build muscle, and work on choreographing their routines once we see what shape they’re in. I’m really looking forward to it, and it’ll be great publicity for the gym.” She looked at him for a moment then appeared to dismiss whatever thought she’d had. “Thanks so much for your help today. Let me know if I can return the favour, any time.” To his surprise she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as he left.

  Later that day he pulled out the healthy eating guide and studied it. It didn’t actually look too bad, if you were allowed to add in ice-cream and chips now and again. He liked chicken breast, and lean steak was a favourite too. A baked potato would be OK instead of chips, as long as he could have plenty of butter on it. Let’s see… butter…oh, he was only allowed a teaspoon of spread a DAY? But that had to cover 4 slices of toast at breakfast and two muffins at morning tea time! That would never do. He crumpled up the sheet and threw it in the rubbish bin.

  When Janice called in the evening he sat through several minutes of her regular lecturing about what he should be eating. “You should reduce your carbs bro, and cut out as much sugar as possible. Honestly, you’ll feel so much better for it.”

  That was when he remembered the guide. He retrieved it, smoothed it out, and described to her in great detail what new dietary regimen had been recommended to him. Janice sounded so delighted that he promised himself he’d give it a try. Perhaps for a week or so, just to see how it felt. If it made Janice happy, it was worth a go.

  He took the list with him on his next trip to the supermarket. It showed him areas like the fruit and veg department that he’d barely ventured into before, but kept him away from several favourite places that he’d practically worn tracks to, like the ice-cream freezers. It was like visiting a whole new store. He dutifully loaded up his trolley with skinless chicken breasts and cans of tuna, chunky rice wafers and various salad ingredients. The list even specified which salad dressings he was allowed so he stocked up on 97% fat-free mayo and ‘lite’ French dressing. His hand reached out automatically towards the biscuit shelf as he went past but he pulled it back, feeling very virtuous as he headed for the checkout.

  Ha, this ‘get a new life’ business was a snap. He’d met some friends, started a regular social life at the theatre, and now he was all set up to change his eating habits and get back the lean teen body he hadn’t seen for the last fifteen years.

  His new-found enthusiasm lasted as long as the first head of lettuce. After five days of skim milk coffees and potatoes without butter he was ready to crack. When he’d thrown the slimy remains of the lettuce leaves onto the grass clippings composting in the backyard, he went inside and grabbed the Timtams from the top shelf, dunking each sweet chocolate-covered wafer into a cup of hot coffee and groaning with pleasure as the delicious crumbs dissolved on his tongue. Why should he deny himself such treats? Life was short �
�� it was important to make the most of it. He finished the pack and sat back contentedly, ignoring the small voice of conscience nagging at him in his sister’s tones. Who cared whether he was fat or thin? So his colleagues might call him Dumpster Dempster – so what? He could still be a worthwhile person no matter what size he was.

  Cathy’s list was filed away in the bottom drawer in the kitchen to hide under the barbecue skewers, supermarket bags and the instruction manual for the blender.

  Chapter Two

  “Hey, big guy – glad you could make it!” Tony’s friendly greeting rang out from the kitchen as Dennis entered the Green Room. “We’ll be needing your expert catering services in here later on, but for now we’re going to get some flats out from under the stage. Can you give us a hand?” He came out of the kitchen and gave Dennis a quick look over. “It’s a bit cramped down there but nobody’s got stuck yet so you should be OK.”

  Dennis took Tony’s laugh and wink with a smile, hoping he was joking. Perhaps he should have stuck to that diet sheet after all.

  Fenton and Gazza came in then, along with a tall, muscular guy Dennis thought he recognised from the auditions.

  “Hi Tony, Dennis,” said Fenton. “This is Mark. He’s scored a role in the show but is keen to help with construction until rehearsals really kick in.”

  “So you’re going to be one of the strippers that all the women salivate over, are you?” said Tony. “Good to know you’re not just a pretty face.”

  Mark smiled. “I’ve worked hard building these muscles so I might as well put them to good use. Got any heavy lifting to do?”

  “Mate!” said Tony, “you’re the answer to a maiden’s prayer! Come with me.”

  They all trooped down to the confined and awkward storage bay beneath the floor of the stage, where they had to walk partly bent-over to avoid banging their heads on the timber joists. Mark made himself useful by heaving out a selection of wall panels which the others carried up onto the stage. Sweating and uncomfortable, Dennis envied Mark’s easy grace and strength.