by Bev Robitai
He looked at his watch. It was probably a bit late to call her back. He wrote her an email instead and promised himself he’d get home early enough to call her the following night.
He skipped his workout next morning, unwilling to see Cathy in case he accidentally gave away more information than he should. He knew once she asked him a direct question he’d be quite unable to hide what he knew. She could read him like a book and would know he was keeping something from her. He just hoped she wouldn’t think he was avoiding her for any other reason.
His work day seemed long, especially as the late nights were taking their toll. He had an energy drink before leaving for the theatre, hoping it would keep him alert for the evening’s stage duties.
Out in the Green Room the early arrivals among the cast and crew were clustered round the notice-board where a newspaper clipping was pinned up. He could read the headline, ‘A Night for Everyone’ but couldn’t get near enough to see the rest. Jessica skipped in with a sheaf of photocopies.
“Here you are, everyone – copies of the review. Read ‘em and don’t weep! It’s great!”
Dennis took the copy she flourished under his nose and read through the theatre critic’s opinion of the opening night. It seemed polite to make the effort, but he wasn’t all that interested until one line near the end caught his eye. ‘Snappy and efficient scene changes’, said the critic, ‘with no wasted movement.’ It caused Dennis to smile broadly. He jumped up and went in search of Tony.
“Hey, I’ve had an idea,” he said. Tony raised an eyebrow, waiting. “You know when we take the couch and bits out in the first change?”
“Yeah?”
“Well we could do it in time to the music. You know, walk on in step, and put the things down on the beat. It wouldn’t take any longer but it would add style.”
“But we’re in a blackout. Nobody would notice.”
“Ah, yes they would,” said Dennis, thrusting the review at him. “The critic could see us, and he was halfway back from the stage.”
Tony acquiesced and left it to Dennis to tell the others.
That night they tramped on with the couch all moving in step and on the beat, and the audience broke into applause in the darkness. Dennis hoped his grin wasn’t too obvious. Stardom, of a sort! He resisted the urge to take a bow.
Chapter Thirteen
Every show seemed to get better and better, with audience numbers building as word got around. They shaved several seconds off their scene changes, and the performances themselves got more polished. Jayden fitted into the cast easily and his vampire routine was very successful. Nobody lost any vital pieces of wardrobe, although a testicle was seen escaping from a G-string at one point. It was nicknamed The Hedgehog and a blurry photo of it was pinned up on the notice-board.
Everything ran like clockwork, until the second to last show of the run.
The dance routines had begun and the four strippers were in full flight. Each of the four guys had done their individual routines and the MC was doing the onstage prize giveaway that was designed to keep the sponsors happy while providing extra time for the guys to change into their Spanish costumes. Dennis was watching from his place in the OP wing when Jessica pounced on him unexpectedly and hauled him bodily backstage into the Green Room.
“Dennis! You know the group routine, don’t you? Ricky’s disappeared and we need you to take his place. Quickly, we need to do your make-up.” She dragged him into the make-up room and pushed him into a chair. Two women dampened sponges and smeared foundation over his face, blending it in with hurried strokes. “Damn, we should have got his shirt off first! Jessica exclaimed, and they stood back as she pounced on him and peeled off his black T-shirt, easing the neck-hole over his face to avoid smearing the make-up. “Thank God you have a tan.”
“That was for my after photos,” he began, but she was already reaching for his waistband.
“How far does it go?”
He grabbed at her hand. “All the way. No need to inspect it.”
“All right, I think we’re done here. Quickly, get into these.” She thrust some dark pants at him and the spare Spanish jacket that had come with the set. “Hurry! Oh God, do we need to shave round your G-string?” She reached towards his jeans zipper.
“No!” yelped Dennis, “it won’t be on display!”
He pulled on the clothes, relieved to find that both pants and jacket fitted him well. He struggled frantically to run through the dance moves in his head, remembering who went where and the sequence of actions.
They hustled him out into the wings where Jayden, Simon and Warwick were waiting, and the struggling MC was rapidly running out of material.
The view was very different from the Prompt side, and Dennis felt as if he’d changed sides from crew to actor as well. His adrenaline was pumping and he was more alive than he’d even been in his life.
The MC came off, wiping sweat from his face and flicking back strands of blonde wig.
The lights went out. The music blared and the audience cheered, eager to see more of the men they loved.
The performers started to move onto the stage. Just as he took the first step Dennis felt a hand clutch his arm to hold him back. A voice hissed in his ear.
“It’s all right, Ricky’s here. He’s going on.”
Dennis stepped aside and let Ricky squeeze past him to take his place on the stage. The lights came up, and the audience went wild. Again.
He stayed in the wings for a while, letting the excitement drain away. At last he went backstage, returned the costume and washed off the make-up.
Jessica was sympathetic. “I’m so sorry, Dennis. It was awful to put you through that, and I know you’d have been great on stage. Maybe another time, eh?” She gave him a hug.
“So what happened? Why was Ricky so late for his cue?”
She barked a laugh. “Ha! It was those two goons that came here the other night. They just don’t want to give up, do they? Ricky shot out to his car to have a quick smoke and they were hanging around out back. They grabbed him and threatened to beat him to a pulp if he didn’t take on dealing steroids at the gym for them. He struggled like hell, apparently, and managed to shout loudly enough that one of the crew out back heard him and called the police. There was a patrol car nearby and they grabbed the two heavies and arrested them. Jack’s going to be delighted,” she grinned.
“So Ricky raced back inside just in time to go on stage, did he? That was lucky! Well, for him anyway. I bet he’ll be telling everyone all about it as soon as the show’s over.” His tone dulled. He was still feeling the letdown, and the departing adrenaline was leaving a prickly, uncomfortable sensation all over his body.
“There’s some news I can tell you, if you want to hear it? About Mark.”
He nodded. “Go on then.”
She looked around the Green Room. “Somewhere quieter, I think.”
She took him up to her office where he perched on the edge of the desk as his legs were still a little bit shaky.
“Jack said Mark confessed to the murder, but the charge is being reduced to something like involuntary manslaughter. Since Vincenzo had apparently been giving him steroids without his knowledge, he wasn’t fully responsible for his actions while under their influence. And there was provocation.” Her voice was grim. “Vincenzo was sleeping with Sherry. Mark knew Vincenzo got her pregnant because Mark couldn’t make love to her any more due to the steroids. When he tackled Vincenzo about it, Vincenzo actually laughed at him. In a burst of rage Mark picked up a dumbbell and hit him with it, then tried to hide the body in the river.”
“So the actual killing was done at the gym?”
“Yes, they’ve done the scene examination and cleared the place to reopen already. I thought you’d have known that.” She looked at him curiously. “Aren’t you seeing Cathy?”
“I’ve been staying away so that I didn’t spill the beans,” he said. “You told me that stuff in confidence and I knew I couldn’t k
eep a secret from her.”
“Oh Dennis, you’re such a good guy! Look, now that the case is pretty much closed, I’m sure it’s OK for you and Cathy to talk about it. The sentencing will be announced later but he’ll probably get something quite light – maybe even home detention.” She grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. “Go and see Cathy – she must be wondering what the hell’s happened to you. Go Dennis, go now!”
He did.
Chapter Fourteen
Final night. There was a full house, as word had got around that Ladies Night was the hottest ticket in town and every female under fifty wanted to see it before it closed. The audience could be heard hooting and hollering even before the house lights went down, and Dennis wondered how the actors were going to cope with an audience this lively.
“They’re a rowdy lot,” commented Gazza. “I bet the boys will have their hands full with some of them, especially the ones in the hot seats.”
“Yeah,” moaned Ricky. “Half the front row is full of women from my work. How am I supposed to dance in front of them and take my clothes off? It’s so embarrassing!”
“Just pretend they’re strangers,” advised Tony. “Blank out their faces and imagine it’s just another show. You’ll be fine.”
“If any of them are in a position to give you a raise or a promotion,” suggested Gazza, “you could give them some extra attention, if you know what I mean.”
Ricky turned pink but the wheels in his head were clearly turning.
Tony made the obligatory final night speech about keeping things sensible and refraining from playing jokes, and the company took up their positions for the last time.
All through the show Dennis felt pangs of sadness as he thought ‘this is the last time we’ll ever do this’ at each scene change. It was almost like leaving school – that feeling of melancholy because the close friendships will never be the same again and life is about to change. He tried to enjoy every last moment in a rosy glow of sentiment. All the time a tide of excitement was bubbling up inside him. He hoped the instructions he’d given out would be remembered when the time was right.
At interval there was an extra spread of goodies on the table. Clara-Jane squeaked with concern at the cream-filled meringues and stood beside them, handing paper napkins to any performer who took one with a stern admonition to keep their costumes clean. Dennis noticed that she snuck two or three herself, but whether that was to keep them away from the actors or just for her own enjoyment, he wasn’t sure. His own taste had moved away from such high fat, high sugar confections and he was just as happy with the platters of fresh fruit that Erica had thoughtfully provided. He nibbled on grapes and watched the rest of the company chattering and laughing. Ricky was retelling the tale of his legendary escape from the two villains, who had grown considerably bigger with each new version of the story.
Dennis felt restless. He eased himself through the crowd to the stage door and went down the corridor to the street out front. Patrons were spilling out onto the footpath to smoke, chat and make phone calls, their figures bathed in golden light from the foyer.
A group of girls on the other side of the street spotted Dennis and rushed over to him.
“Are you in the show?”
“Can I have your autograph?”
“Will you sign my T-shirt please?”
He hesitated for half a second, then shrugged. Why not – his name was in the programme after all. He took the proffered pens and paper and scrawled as dashing a signature as he could manage. Even across the tight white T-shirt of the adoring blonde. They screamed and giggled and raced off into the night clutching their trophies.
Dennis smiled to himself. It felt like a good omen.
When the curtain finally came down at the end of the show it was nearly impossible to convince the audience to leave. They stayed in their seats, yelling, clapping, and demanding the return of the strippers. Gazza turned off the house lights but they still stayed put. Finally the four guys, showered, changed and ready to socialise, invited the audience to join them in the foyer bar.
As the scrum in the auditorium receded, Tony and the rest of the stage crew were able to get on with setting up for the after-show party. There was an occasional tradition, after the right kind of show, for members of the stage crew to put on a performance of their own. It was generally a wicked lampooning of the actors’ performances and this show laid itself wide open to their particular brand of affectionate mockery. With stifled giggles, the crew set the stage ready to perform their parts.
Out in the foyer the crowd was slowly thinning. Dennis slipped around to come down the foyer stairs and judge how long it would go on. He saw a group of women bale up Warwick and Ricky by the bar and beg for autographs. One girl handed Ricky a marker pen and opened her blouse. Without batting an eyelid he signed across her breast, and signed programmes for the others. Warwick, presented with the open blouse, signed the other side with equally cool aplomb, but when the girls had gone they turned to each other in shocked but delighted disbelief. Dennis could see their lips form a few shell-shocked words.
“Dude, that was a naked breast!”
“Yeah, it was hot, wasn’t it?”
They looked around eagerly for more autograph hunters but the members of the public had dispersed and only the cast, crew and friends were left for the official Final Night Party.
The proceedings began in the auditorium once everyone had been chivvied back inside, well-provided with drinks and nibbles. Dennis sought out Cathy and sat with her in the front row, holding her hand. She’d wanted to sit out of the way further back but he insisted on going as close to the stage as he could get.
Tony mounted the centre steps and called the group to order, tapping on a microphone to check it was working.
“Good evening!”
“Get yer clothes off!” came a single voice among the other replies.
“No, I don’t think you’d want that,” laughed Tony, patting his generous belly. “We have more entertaining items on the agenda, thank God.” He launched into a detailed list of thanks, covering everyone who had contributed to the show. Popular members of the company got an extra cheer from the crowd, and Dennis was delighted when Cathy was applauded for her efforts in training the actors. He heard a few whoops for his own name as well, and turned to see who might have been responsible. Jessica waved, grinning, and Gazza gave him a thumbs-up.
“And now it’s time for the Golden Paddle Awards,” said Tony, pulling a tattered sheet of paper out of his pocket. “Our traditional prize for the biggest stuff-up that could be seen by the audience. I’ve had a wide range of nominations, from just about every department. Wardrobe even scored two.”
Clara-Jane looked indignant. “Impossible!”
“And the nominees are…” Tony paused for silence.
“Ricky Henderson, for missing his cue and leaving our poor MC stranded on stage, reduced to telling jokes he’d read in his last Christmas cracker.”
“Wasn’t my fault!”
“Next, a joint nomination. Clara-Jane Smisek for producing a G-string that allowed the Hedgehog to escape. And Warwick, the owner of the Hedgehog.”
There were cheers and shouts of “Show us the other one!”
Tony continued through the list. Dennis was fairly certain he’d done nothing to deserve a nomination and was relieved when the final winner was named. The Hedgehog was deemed to have had the greatest effect on the audience and Warwick sheepishly mounted the steps to claim his trophy. He waved the small gold-painted paddle aloft to thunderous applause then bowed low with a flourish.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” said Tony, “the crew of Ladies Night is proud to present to you our own version of the successful show you’re all familiar with. While we get ourselves ready, our resident seamstress and raconteur Clara-Jane will entertain you with some poems and stories.” He handed her the microphone, then grabbed it quickly to say “Back soon!” and hurried off.
Th
e red velvet curtain came down and Clara-Jane took up her position in front of it, lit by a circle of light from the follow-spot.
Dennis relinquished Cathy’s hand and left the auditorium to go backstage to change.
Once the first performers were ready and standing in the wings, Clara-Jane finished her piece and came off.
The lights went out, and the curtain rose.
Jessica stood centre stage, suddenly lit by the follow-spot. She raised her right arm and pointed up towards the bank of lights on the right, but nothing happened. She added a flourish, a wave, then jumped up and down waving with both hands until the lights came on. Breathing a dramatic sigh, she raised her left arm and pointed. Nothing. She looked at the audience. She extended one finger in a vigorous salute towards the lights and they came on. Everyone cracked up. She completed the introductory sequence and left the stage. The room went dark.
A sudden shout and loud thud sounded. When the follow-spot came on it showed Fenton and some rope arranged in a tangled heap on the aisle floor beneath the hole in the ceiling. Wearing the yellow fireman’s coat, he struggled to his feet. “I’m OK,” he called, and limped convincingly towards the stage. He did a bit of comic business struggling to lift his feet in their heavy boots up the steps. Then as ‘Burning Down the House’ rang out over the speakers, he stripped off his clothing to reveal a skinny, pale, and hairless chest that had all the girls in the audience yelling “Put it ON! Put it ON!”
In the wings, Dennis had butterflies in his stomach and a horrible feeling of doubt. Could he do this? More importantly, could he do it well?
