by Noel Amos
'I know,' said her tall dark companion, 'and he's bonking Detective Chief Inspector Spicer.'
And for once Patsy and Pandora were incapable of doing anything but spectate.
Chapter 60
Brick's performance was simple and effective. He sang his songs at the front of the stage, a lone figure picked out in the crossbeams of two spotlights. In the dimness upstage could be seen the shadows of a handful of musicians - though for the most part Brick accompanied himself on his guitar.
He talked a lot too, some twenty-five years in the business of making popular music had given him plenty to talk about. It soon transpired that he was in a mellow mood - and so was his audience. Wealthy industrialists and their wives, trendy culture-vultures and chattering taste-makers, high-brow critics and snobbish patrons of the arts - all had at some time thrilled to a Brick Tempo hit.
So when he began a long monologue about his first girlfriend and her spectacular legs and how she put her foot through the window of his daddy's Cadillac and then played the opening bars of 'Making Out on the Back Seat', a collective shiver of delight ran through the audience. Sophie was amazed to see the stuffy couple on her left - Mr and Mrs Merchant Banker as she now knew - fall into a clinch and begin energetic French-kissing as if they were teenagers.
They were not alone. All around her Sophie was conscious that hands were being held, thighs being stroked and breasts being surreptitiously fondled. The worst of it was that she too was feeling incredibly horny. She wouldn't mind spending an hour or so on a back seat with hunky Brick. It seemed she was permanently on heat these days. She squirmed uncomfortably in the too-tight dress.
Brick was continuing to delve candidly into his love life and had shifted to the late seventies and his notorious union with anorexic punk-rocker Mandi Nickers.
'I never did go for skinny women,' he drawled, 'and when Mandi took her clothes off for me the first time I nearly ran out of the room. But she had one thing that stopped me and I'd like to sing you a song I wrote about it.' He paused in mid-strum and added, 'Given the nature of the occasion I'd like to dedicate it to Candy Kensington.'
Then he began a song familiar to almost everyone in the hall. At the time of its release the childish words and simple tune had made it seem a most unlikely Brick Tempo record - factors which had doubtless contributed to its enormous success. Billy had always been puzzled by 'The Cutest Little Dimples in the World' but now, as Brick substituted 'pussy' for 'dimples' all became much clearer.
The audience loved it, clapping in time and singing the new words with gusto. In the royal box Prince Roger led the audience participation while, out of sight of the throng, his hand roamed boldly across the silky delta between his Spanish companion's long legs.
By the time Tracy hit the stage to sing her duet with Brick, the house was bubbling. So, too, was Tracy. The ballet troupe's hospitality had been exhaustive and punch had been downed in quantity. So thrilled had Tracy been to be feted by the dancers that she had thought it only fair to satisfy their curiosity about her incredible body. Thus she had allowed herself to be undressed and paraded around the dressing-room and finally reassembled in a way they deemed satisfactory.
Now she stood in the spotlight by Brick's side wearing her shirt knotted tightly beneath her swollen bust, a black mini-skirt, suspenders and stockings. This was not a costume designed to conceal her abundant charms, especially when perched on top of a tall stool in front of three hundred people all of whom appeared to be looking up her legs. Tracy didn't care. Tracy had drunk a lot of punch.
Brick had announced her to a great whoop of applause - predominantly from the males in the audience, though by now almost everyone was caught up in the fever of the occasion.
To the surprise of many, Tracy could hold a tune and though she faltered at the beginning of 'True Love', Brick's hit with Tania Tingle, by the end her voice was ringing out clearly and sweetly. The audience roared their approval, the men and the women this time. Brick threw his arms round her and gave her an enthusiastic hug which somehow stretched into a frankly open-mouthed kiss. Whistles blended with the applause.
Then they launched into Brick's new song, Tracy sitting perkily on her stool facing straight ahead while Brick stood behind her, an arm loosely draped across her shoulders.
Billy watched from the wings, feeling proud and proprietorial. Tracy was doing really well.
'I didn't know she had it in her,' he muttered.
'I did,' whispered a voice in his ear.
Billy turned to study the woman by his side. The neck was long, the hair elaborately coiffured, pearls glinted in the lobes of her ears and the eyes looking into his in the half-light were, as he well knew, a cool stony grey.
'So you should,' he replied, 'you're her agent.'
Imogen chuckled softly, the sound audible only to Billy as the musicians swung into the number. On stage Brick was nuzzling Tracy's neck and both hands had found their way around her waist onto her bare midriff. Tracy, singing out to the manner born, did not appear to notice.
'I suppose you are about to remind me that it is thanks to you that Tracy is still my client. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten.'
Tracy and Brick were warbling on about roaming in each other's valleys and his hands were now toying with the knot in her shirt.
'Now you come to mention it, Imogen, I was thinking of asking for a bonus. After tonight Tracy is going to be hotter than ever. Especially if what I think is going to happen, happens.'
'And what's that?'
There was really no need to ask, for at that moment Brick and Tracy hit the climax of the number. As they both belted out the final refrain about love among the peaks and Tracy flung her arms wide, the tails of her shirt parted to display her fabulous hills in all their pink and heaving glory. To the readers of the Daily Dog this was a familiar sight but the assembled company were thunderstruck.
'What bonus did you have in mind?' asked Imogen coolly as the applause hit them like a wave.
Billy placed a hand on her hip and slid it very deliberately over the firm spheres of her buttocks, savouring the smooth swell of flesh beneath her satin sheath.
On stage Tracy had only just realised that she was displaying her magnificent mammaries to the world. Covered in confusion she turned to Brick and threw herself into the sanctuary of his arms.
'How about it, Imogen? I reckon you owe me a favour.'
She took no steps to remove his exploring hand from her buttocks, indeed she seemed to rub her arse against him, but she said, 'Isn't Tracy enough for you? Or Katie? Or Candy?' Then her fingers were in his groin tracing the outline of his erection through his trousers. But when the curtain fell and a giggling Brick and Tracy stumbled from the stage wrapped in each other's arms, she was gone.
Chapter 61
The buzz of conversation was loud in the short intermission following Brick's performance. There was much shifting of bums and crossing of legs and craning of necks to ogle fellow spectators. The effect of Arnold's punch was evident in sudden bellows of rude laughter and spontaneous displays of affection not normally witnessed in public. Nevertheless, for the moment, the lid was still on the powder keg...
In a small side box lady Carmella Mills found herself happily participating in an unlikely conversation. She was flanked by her young nephews, Giles and Thomas, nineteen and seventeen respectively. She had known them all their lives - she had changed their nappies, for God's sake! - and yet here she was earnestly discussing with them the varied shapes of women's breasts. Their faces were flushed, as was her own, and their beady curious eyes kept straying to her bust. She should never have worn this dress, it was much too décolleté. And yet it was pretty and her bust, as many could attest, was her very finest feminine attribute.
'I bet yours are just as big as hers,' said Thomas.
'And just as firm, Aunt Melly,' said Giles, already an adroit flatterer. 'You must have broken lots of hearts.'
'Stop buttering me up, boys,' she said, wonde
ring why her heart was racing quite so fast, 'or I'll tell your mother.'
'You'll tell Mother we said you had the best tits in the house?'
'Thomas! How dare you?'
'Don't be angry, Aunt. After all, it's perfectly true.'
In the aisle seats of the front stalls Araminta Hush tut-tutted her disapproval to her escort and live-in lover, Lionel Broth.
'It's not the sight of mounds of puppy-fat that puts me off, it's the coarseness of it all I find offensive,' she said.
'The crudity not the nudity, you mean,' responded the Irish novelist, who was something of a media face in his own right. 'Personally, I thought it was rather touching. He handed to her the mantle of his amour with Tania Tingle and she accepted it. He gives her a lifeboat to a musical career, she gives him her bountiful breasts. It seems a perfectly fair bargain to me.'
'Well, it would appeal to you, wouldn't it? It's just the kind of thing you go in for yourself. Don't think I haven't noticed your new researcher has udders that wouldn't disgrace a Guernsey cow.'
'A cruel shaft, my uptight beauty. I don't think you of all people should be making comparisons with cows.'
'Fuck you.'
'Especially when you are looking such a picture. You are easily the most desirable woman in the room and beside you neither Tracy Pert nor my poor slandered researcher are worth a second glance.'
'You slimy bum-sucking Irish bastard.'
'That's better. Now, why don't I slip off during this lull in the entertainment and see if I can find us a drink. You should have had one in the interval, you've got to learn to relax.'
'OK, Lionel, but you'd better hurry, you won't want to miss Melissa Melone. I hear she makes Guernseys looks under-developed.'
'Pandy, what the hell is he doing here?' Patsy was agitated and upset. It was not the first time she had posed this question since they had witnessed Danny's tryst with Ambrosia Spicer. Pandora was getting fed up.
'For God's sake, Patsy, how should I know? He's a cheeky bugger, that's all I can say. Perhaps he's just cocking a snook at authority - or snooking a cock, in his case.'
'Pandy! This is serious. My husband's on the run. The place is crawling with police. Sophie Stark is snooping around. Danny's just betrayed me with that horrible Ambrosia Spicer. And those people in front of us are virtually doing it in public! Everything's going crazy!'
'That's true but there's nothing we can do about it. Just think what a great book we'll get out of all this at the end of the day.'
'What a great book you'll get, you mean. I'll be stuck visiting Danny in Parkhurst for the rest of my life, I can see it. That's if I can bear to face that bastard ever again.'
'Rubbish, Patsy, don't be such a wimp. You're with me now. And you've got to admit that your Danny is good for something.'
'What's that?'
'Shafting the police. I took great pleasure in seeing DCI Spicer get her comeuppance.'
Danny was astonished at what was going on. All around him people were kissing and cuddling and flirting outrageously. The most staid middle-aged worthies seemed to have their arms draped around one another and everywhere he looked hands were dipping into bodices and sneaking beneath hems. Surely it wasn't normally like this at these fancy occasions?
Danny couldn't help but stare as he systematically combed the seated throng in search of his quarry. Unfortunately, from his position halfway back and to the side of the dress circle, there was a large proportion of the audience who were not in his line of sight. Billy Dazzle must be amongst them, he decided, and that horny policewoman too. For this he was most grateful. Exciting though the encounter with Ambrosia had been he had had no wish to prolong it. Especially since her physical approach would doubtless have soon lead to the discovery of the pistol strapped to the small of his back.
Beside him, a well-built young woman with bare shoulders and flawless creamy skin began to laugh hysterically. As she did so she dropped a hand onto the thigh of the man on her other side. Danny watched closely - he couldn't help himself - as she slid her fingers into her companion's groin and shamelessly began to massage an obviously appreciative erection. The girl laughed on, her dimpled shoulders rippling enticingly. And as the lights began to dim, without once glancing in Danny's direction, she dropped her other hand into his lap. Danny gently removed it, he'd had enough of unsolicited approaches from strange women. But later, when Melissa began to sing and the hand reopened negotiations with his loins, he didn't have the strength to resist.
Chapter 62
Melissa's first notes, loud and pure and unaccompanied, rang through the darkness and instantly stilled the shuffling buzz of conversation. It was as if a great hand had reached down from on high to touch each and every member of the audience on the forehead, bringing instant peace. There was a collective sigh of contentment and then a gasp of delight as the stage was suddenly illuminated.
Melissa Melone was an acknowledged expert at manipulating stage lighting - the best since Dietrich, it was said. However primitive the conditions, however mulish the local technicians, Melissa always appeared a divinity under lights.
Tonight she radiated sex. Dressed in a flesh-pink sheath that clung to her like a coat of paint, she seemed almost naked. Her statuesque form - the tall columns of her legs, the swollen sweep of her hips, the twin cupolas of her breasts - dominated the stage. Even the memory of nubile Tracy faded from the mind when confronted with these lush curves. Melissa was a combination of exaggerated feminine characteristics that set every man in the audience on fire and filled every woman with pride in her sex. That was the magic she exerted - everybody in the audience loved her.
Her voice had many colours and she used it to unveil a variety of songs from the most simple to the most dramatic, from peasant serenades to arias from Verdi and Puccini. Behind her the Bedside Orchestra responded to every twitch and swoop of the baton wielded by Sebastian Silk. And then she embarked on the new song cycle, the Poor Pussy Suite.
The audience was bewitched. Even the Philistines were transported.
God Sumner stared bug-eyed like a beached cod, glorious visions of the Pert mammaries already fading. In the cultural stakes, he concluded, this Melone woman was a world-beater. Pity she wasn't British. An unfamiliar condition afflicted his nether regions, tenting his trousers - to the excitement and perplexity of Mrs God, his beloved Henrietta.
In the royal box, Prince Roger for once sat completely still, oblivious of all but the intoxicating vision on stage. Her wonderful voice thrilled even his impoverished musical soul. By his side Inez fingered the royal erection which, while never exactly princely in size, was at the moment bigger and harder than it had ever been before. She promised herself she would have it up her bum later, she was sure she could take it comfortably. She'd bet he'd never done that before. It ought to be worth a diamond bracelet at least...
In the dress circle Danny Fretwork was being torn in two. He was here to find Billy Dazzle and blow his brains out, yet he was paralysed! His eyes were glued to the erotic vision on the stage and his penis was poking out of his pants, throbbing to the ministrations of the young woman in the next seat. Danny shot a swift glance to his right. Her pretty pouting face was a picture of concentration as she stared straight ahead, chewing her lower lip. Her left hand was busy with Danny and her right was performing the same service for the man on her other side who, in turn, had his hand up her skirt. It dawned on Danny that throughout the theatre men and women were masturbating each other to the golden voice of the woman on stage.
Melissa was now approaching the climax of the piece. Just as she had promised Sebastian, it was to be a literal climax for many present. As she hit the final sequence, holding on to the incredible top note at a volume that swelled and obliterated the orchestra, all over the theatre men ejaculated.
Henrietta Sumner was astonished to feel the growing pool of wetness beneath the hand she had affectionately placed over God's tented dress trousers. In the royal box Inez de la Puta hastily reache
d for the mirror in her handbag to wipe the royal spunk from her eye. In the circle the pouting girl next to Danny swore to herself she would never, ever forget the night two men came simultaneously all over her hands.
And next to Lady Carmella Miles a subdued voice whispered, 'I'm sorry, Aunty, I've wet my trousers.'
'Well, you'd better take them off then, Thomas,' she replied. 'And you, too, Giles. At once!'
There was tumult in the auditorium. Men were recovering from the spasms in their loins only to leap to their feet and applaud. Women clambered on seats to see above the throng. The noise of whistles and shouts and clapping was deafening. On stage Melissa was surrounded by well-wishers. Seb leaped to kiss her on both cheeks. Candy and Imogen were there, pushing back the over-eager and trying to organise an orderly curtain call for the great diva who blew kisses and smiled and basked unashamedly in the approbation.
Then came the bouquets, for Sebastian, for Candy, for Brick and Tracy who had emerged hand in hand and finally for Melissa herself. This last was a gargantuan bouquet of red and white roses proudly carried by Arnold. He presented them with a flourish and bent to kiss her on both cheeks - the only man on stage who was taller than she was.
It seemed to Billy, watching from the wings, that they were engaging in quite a conversation. As Arnold whispered in her ear the singer's eyes opened wide with surprise and she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. The chef spoke again, he was smiling but Billy could see that, for him, this was no light-hearted matter.
The applause had now turned to a rhythmic handclap, accompanied by foot-stamping. An encore was required. Melissa gracefully allowed herself to be persuaded and the stage cleared. The musicians regained their places, Sebastian picked up his baton and the opening bars of the Poor Pussy Suite once more floated through the theatre.