Body on the Stage

by Bev Robitai

  “But I must at least buy you a drink sometime, eh? Make it right between us. Show you how I think you’re such a good guy.”

  “No really, there’s no need for that,” said Dennis, a little uncomfortably. “Let’s just get back to working out, shall we? No hard feelings, I promise.”

  “Oh you are such a nice person.”

  “It’s all right, please don’t worry about it. I just want to do my workout, OK? Let’s just forget it ever happened and start fresh.”

  Vincenzo nodded in acquiescence and stuck out a slim brown hand for him to shake. “You are a good man, Dennis. We start again, no problem, no fuss. Is all good, yes?”

  Dennis shook it firmly. “All good, sure.”

  Relieved to have that encounter behind him, he sought out Cathy to see if she had a workout book for him. She was working in her office behind reception, tapping away at her keyboard looking worried. When Dennis knocked she carried on typing without looking up.

  “Hi, I’ll be with you in a moment. Have a seat if you like, I’ll only be a minute.”

  He quietly sat down and waited.

  When she finally glanced up and saw him, her face lit up as if the sun had come out from behind a dark grey cloud. “Oh it’s you, hi! Nice to see you. How are the legs?”

  “Good as gold, thanks. Your magic fingers really did the trick. But if you’ve got a more lenient workout written up for me today I’ll be grateful.”

  Cathy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh lord, I forgot all about it. Hang on, give me just a sec and I’ll get right onto it.” She shook her head, glaring at her monitor. “There’s just so much going on at the moment. I can’t keep up with all the things I really want to do because there’s all this damned admin stuff to handle.” She grabbed her hair with both hands and let out a restrained yell. “Aaaarrrgh! Bloody, bloody accounts! I hate them!”

  “Don’t worry about me then,” said Dennis soothingly, starting to back away. “I expect Vincenzo will write up something that works, as long as he doesn’t mix me up with somebody else this time.”

  “Is that what he said happened? I wonder how…oh never mind.” She blew out a sigh. “All right, if you don’t mind working with him, that’s fine. Sorry I’m so tied up here. I’ll try to pop out and see how you’re going once I’ve got these figures unravelled. If I ever manage it.”

  “Yes, it’s perfectly fine,” he assured her. “You just do what you’ve got to do. Good luck!”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks a bunch!”

  He muddled his way through the exercises without too much trouble and counted the evening a success. He’d done his workout, and he’d started to get to know the other actors, so both his physical and social targets were being met.

  Cathy didn’t manage to escape from whatever paperwork she was tied up with, so he popped his head in her door as he was leaving.

  “Hi Cathy, I’m off now. I had a good workout, and I think I’ll still be able to walk tomorrow. How did you get on with your accounts? Get them sorted?”

  She waggled a hand from side to side. “More or less.” She reached into a drawer. “Here, I’ve been meaning to give you this. It’s a bit more extensive than that last eating guide I gave you. Now that you’re working out, you should be changing your whole diet to support your exercise.” She held up a stapled handout. “This gives you a week’s meal plan from breakfast to suppertime. If you can stick to this, you’ll lose fat and build muscle quite quickly.” As he took the handout from her, she smiled tiredly. “Sorry I wasn’t there for you tonight, but I do appreciate having you here. Have a good night.”

  The worry on her face saddened him.

  At home he consulted the handout, following the instructions to make himself a seriously healthy dinner. It was high in protein, low in carbohydrates, and he found it surprisingly satisfying. A decent-sized chicken breast with a good plate of salad seemed to fill him up, and he knew he was still allowed a can of tuna and some rice wafers as his late-night snack if he was hungry before bed-time. The switch from beer to water was still a step too far, but diet ginger ale made an acceptable alternative, being cold, brown and bubbly. When he climbed between the sheets that night, with only a twinge of aching muscles, he felt a virtuous glow.

  At the next training session he was determined to try to keep up with the other guys, or at least to make a good showing in front of them. He didn’t want to feel like the left-out fat kid, always picked last for the team and not very good at anything. He reckoned with a bit of effort he could do anything they could do. Eventually.

  His illusions were shattered quite quickly, and by an unexpected blow to his ego. He was supposed to be doing his sets on the adductor muscle machine, sitting astride a pair of knee-pads and squeezing them together. The machine had just been vacated by a gentle white-haired old lady when Dennis sat down. He bent to adjust the weight and blinked in disbelief. She’d been pressing 35kg with those skinny old legs! The most he’d been able to manage so far was 20kg. He had to lessen the weight but he was going to look a complete wimp if anybody saw him do it. Mark and Warwick were across the aisle doing quads and hamstrings, and Ricky was behind him doing chest presses. Dennis leaned forward, took the adjustor peg out of the hole, and bent further forward as if inserting it lower down while actually pushing it in higher up. As he sat up again he got a thumbs up from Warwick and an approving grin from Mark. He nodded back to them in manly acknowledgement and got to work on his sets, reminding himself to reset the weight before he left the machine so his deception would remain undiscovered. Perhaps in time he’d be able to match the little old lady’s strength, he thought ruefully.

  Vincenzo appeared at the far end of the gym, his skin-tight lime green top showing off tanned and muscled arms and his high-cut shorts displaying slim, taut thighs. With gleaming smiles and friendly words to other gym-goers, he made his way towards Mark and Warwick, preceded by a waft of sweet-scented cologne.

  “Hey guys, how you doing? Lookin’ good, bro!” He nodded approvingly at Warwick. “Does your girlfriend like how you look too? You should bring her here, man. We can get her in for a free class or a workout session, no problem.”

  “Really? That’d be great. I’ll let her know.” He towelled sweat off his face and grinned. “She’s always talking about how she must start getting fit sometime – this’ll be a good way to get her in the door here. Thanks, Vincenzo.”

  “No problem, man. Always good to have more pretty girls round here, eh?” He turned to Mark. “You got a sweet little lady friend who needs some gym time too?”

  “She’s already a member, thanks Vincenzo. She does yoga and kick-boxing twice a week. You might know her – Sherry Rippon? Short blonde chick?”

  “Ah, Sherry, yes!” Vincenzo smiled lazily. “Lovely lady, very strong, very fit. You’re a lucky man, my friend.”

  While the conversation went on, Dennis hurriedly finished his sets so that he could alter the weight and escape from the machine without closer scrutiny.

  “Hey there, Dennis,” called Vincenzo, “how’s it going? What about you? You got a sister who’d like to come check out the gym some time? We got all kinds of beginner get-fit classes for all shapes of girls.”

  “Thanks for the offer,” said Dennis drily, “but my sister doesn’t live in Whetford. She’s a champion triathlete over in Victoria.” OK, it was a slight exaggeration. Janice had won a few awards for her events but she wasn’t technically a champion, yet.

  “Really? Is that so? Good for her.” Vincenzo recovered quickly. “You bring her in any time if she comes for a visit, OK?”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” Dennis said as he wiped down the machine he’d been using and surreptitiously changed the weights. He tossed the wad of paper towel in the bin on his way to the hamstring curl machine Mark had just vacated.

  “You guys carry on. Remember your form. Gotta do it right to get the best results, yes? Ciao for now.” Vincenzo bounced off to spread charm around the rest of the wor
kout room.

  Janice was indignant when Dennis told her about the conversation later.

  “You mean he asked the other guys about their girlfriends and just assumed you didn’t have one? What a jerk. Haven’t you mentioned you’ve been married?”

  “God no! Why on earth would Louise come up in conversation? I’m not proud of a failed marriage. My ex-wife is the last person I’d want to tell anyone about.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s a bit galling having them think you’ve always been single though. You have to get yourself a girlfriend. Get back on the horse, so to speak.”

  “Not while I look like this.” He stopped, too late to retract his words, remembering that Janice didn’t actually know how he really looked. “But I am working on it,” he continued quickly. “Going to the gym every couple of days and eating so sensibly you wouldn’t believe it. I had to buckle my belt on a tighter hole this morning and my pants feel quite loose.”

  “Really? Good for you, Den! You’ll have to send me a photo so I can follow your progress.”

  “Er, perhaps in a few more days, eh? You wouldn’t notice any change yet, I’m sure.” He smacked his forehead at his own stupidity. This would take a lot of time in Photoshop.

  “So, have you met anyone nice at the theatre?” Janice’s voice took on exactly the intonation their mother had used when asking about their teenage activities. Dennis chuckled to himself, knowing Janice would be horrified at the comparison.

  “Aw, they’re just girls,” he whined in adolescent tones. “I don’t hang out with any of them.”

  There was a puzzled silence. “What?”

  “You sounded just like Mum, asking if I’d found a girlfriend yet. And do you remember how well that turned out? I wouldn’t say it was all her fault I married Louise, but there was a bit of influence, wasn’t there? She pushed things along with her gentle pressure, and then it all turned to custard without a grandchild to show for it and her best efforts were wasted.”

  “Yikes, I’d better watch that. Don’t want to turn into Mum this early in life!”

  “Oh, no danger of that, sis. Your hubby would soon jump in and put you straight if he saw that happening.”

  “Ha! I’d like to see him try! Anyway, my original question still stands. Are there any nice girls at the theatre? Or maybe at the gym?” She must have picked up on an inadvertent reaction because she pounced immediately. “At the gym? Oho, are you falling for that Amazonian body-building woman with thighs that can crack walnuts? Come on, ‘fess up! You were going to dinner with someone called Cathy, weren’t you? How did that go? Tell me all!”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” he protested. “Yes, I had dinner with the woman who owns the gym, but we’re not making any announcements yet! I’m sure she hasn’t picked a dinner service for the wedding gift list!”

  “All right, don’t get your boxers in a bunch, I was only asking.”

  “And I appreciate your interest, Janice, I really do. It’s good to have somebody so concerned about my well-being.” He stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. “Look, it’s late. I promise I’ll tell you about any juicy romantic entanglements as soon as they happen, OK? Let it go. Need some sleep now.”

  “Fair enough – just remember I’m getting my romantic fix through you nowadays ‘cause there’s damn-all here with two under-threes in the house. And enjoy that nice uninterrupted sleep you’ll be having, won’t you? Night, bro!”

  Chapter Four

  When Dennis next went into the theatre he found a buzz of conversation in the Green Room centred round a table where a newspaper was spread out. He joined the group looking at the letters to the editor column and tried to see what held their attention.

  “How did they get wind of what show we’re doing?” Jessica asked no-one in particular. “We haven’t even opened ticket sales yet. We were going to make the announcement with a big bang and a burst of promo and advertising.”

  “Looks like somebody’s doing that for you,” grunted Gazza. “Free publicity – can’t complain about that.”

  “Yes, but it’s a bit negative, isn’t it? We don’t want people thinking the show is all smut and sleaze, and that’s what this protest is implying. I bet they haven’t a clue what Ladies Night is about – they prob

  ably think it’s just a strip show.”

  Dennis followed her finger to the letter in question, tilting his head to read it. The letter-writer seemed to think the moral well-being of all Whetford citizens was being threatened by a planned lewd display of nudity and corruption at the Regent Theatre, and called on all right-thinking people to boycott the performance and prevent others from attending.

  “That does seem a bit over the top,” he ventured. “Couldn’t you send in a letter of rebuttal, putting the record straight? There must be something you could say about freedom of choice as well as explaining what the show’s really about.”

  “Good point, Dennis,” said Jessica with a nod. “Would you write a short letter to the editor as a member of the public, saying you resent the suggestion of enforced censorship or some wording like that? I’ll do an official letter as a representative of the Regent Theatre but it would be good to have some back-up from someone else.”

  “Sure, if you think I can help. I don’t know what weight my opinion will have though.”

  She flashed him a smile. “It will all keep the theatre in high profile, so yes, I’m sure it will help. Thanks Dennis, I appreciate it.” She turned to Tony and Gazza. “It’s a pity our esteemed president isn’t here instead of gallivanting around the South Pacific on a cruise, but I guess we can keep the flag flying in his absence, eh? Do you guys have any suggestions?”

  “Yeah, let’s make a heap of copies of the letter and hand them round the strip clubs with discount vouchers for tickets,” said Tony. “Might as well get the professionals on our side.”

  “You just want an excuse to visit all the strip clubs!” Gazza accused him. “Your missus won’t take too kindly to that!”

  “Curses! I’m busted!” said Tony, laughing. “Better get the single guys to do it then.”

  “Oh no,” said both Dennis and Fenton.

  “It’s a daft idea,” said Jessica. “If you want to run it past our Head of Promotions you can, but I doubt Nick will give the go-ahead.”

  “Where is our little ray of publicity-seeking sunshine today? Isn’t he gracing us with his presence?”

  “No, he’s got some kind of work event he has to go to. He said he’d get here as soon as it finished. I expect you can carry on till he gets here, can’t you?” Jessica patted him on the shoulder like a wayward child, grinning at his muttered retort. Ignoring him, she turned to Tony. “What’s on the schedule today, mate?”

  Tony consulted his battered red clipboard. “Today, Jessica, we’ll be finding the furniture we need to go on stage, and checking out the ceiling round the chandelier to see if it needs strengthening before anyone is lowered through the hole.”

  “Someone’s coming down through the ceiling? In the middle of the auditorium? That’s a bit risky. Whose idea was that?”

  “Adam thought of it the last time he was here. Looked up and saw there was a circular trapdoor above the chandelier and said it would make a great entrance. He’s really keen to use it for the show.”

  “I guess you’d better check it out then. But for God’s sake be careful up there and mind where you step. We don’t want anyone crashing through the ceiling, it’s irreplaceable moulded tin and over a century old you know.” She looked surprised as the others burst out laughing. “What?”

  “Nothing, Jessica, just admiring your dedication to keeping our lovely old theatre safe, that’s all. Actors and stage crew are a renewable resource – there are always more of them coming along!”

  She shook her head impatiently. “You guys can take care of yourselves – it’s the theatre that needs looking after. Who are you taking up there, anyway?”

  Tony looked around to see who he had t
o choose from. Dennis tried to edge out of his line of sight, not wanting to provoke any unfavourable comments about size. “I reckon Fenton’s the safest bet, the skinny bastard. That all right with you, Fenton?”

  The slender, pale young man shrugged in agreement. “Sure. Will we need the big ladder or are we just working from above?”

  “Just up above for today. Right, you other guys go under the stage and drag out whatever you see that might fit this list.” Tony handed Gazza a page from his clipboard. “See you for a coffee in an hour or so. We’ll all need one by then to wash the dust out.”

  Dennis had resigned himself to squeezing into the cramped spaces under the stage again, but this time Gazza accessed the storage area through the stage itself, prying up a trapdoor that Dennis hadn’t even noticed before as it fitted flush to the surface with the joins covered in black-painted masking tape.

  “Might as well go in the easy way,” said Gazza. “And we can bring the bits and pieces straight up the stairs instead of hauling them around.”

  “Do you use the trapdoor for shows much?” asked Dennis. “Is it still traditional for genies to pop up during a pantomime these days?”

  “Yeah, we do open it up now and again. I’ll bet Adam will have plans to bring someone through it for this show just to make a nice dramatic entrance. If he’s using the ceiling you can bet he’ll do something with the trap. Probably fly someone down from the box as well, knowing him. He’s good at using all the available spaces for best effect.”

  Dennis hadn’t heard Gazza string so many sentences together before and guessed it was an expression of rare approval. “It sounds interesting,” he ventured. “I’m looking forward to seeing how the show is put together.”

  They eased their way down a set of wooden steps to the under-stage storage bays.

  “Right then, for now, we’re to dig out a couch, two old dining chairs, an armchair, and,” Gazza consulted the page, “a couple of wooden beer crates. Follow me to the furniture bay.” Head bowed to avoid hitting the wire-caged sprinkler heads, he took Dennis further into the dimly-lit labyrinth of passages than he’d been before, into an area where ancient chairs were piled up on each other like the fossilised remnants of long-closed cafés.