Lewis used his well-honed skills of negotiation to convince Tiger to move on from the incident with the director and resume her rehearsals. As Lewis watched her dance on stage he was captivated. She was raw, on fire. She was sensual and knowing; yet untouchable, at times even coy. The way she moved, and the way she made him feel like he was the only person she was dancing for, had him hooked like a drug. Off stage she was detached and defensive. She had a story there was no doubt. But once on stage, there was something hypnotic about her that left audiences fixated. This woman was the real deal from the inside out – a class act.
Tiger lasted another week before leaving the production for good, after she caught the director in the dressing room one lunchtime, chewing at the crotches of the girls’ panties. Tiger’s departure pretty much killed the production and Lady of Burlesque closed after poor previews.
The spell had already been cast and Lewis had made his decision. He left his job at Mayall, unsure of exactly how to make it in show business, but knowing there wasn’t a contract in the world he couldn’t negotiate, and that he simply had to work with Tiger Starr. His colleagues mocked and laughed like old biddies over the garden fence. The odd one actually patted him on the back and congratulated him for the transition from ‘City Boy’ to ‘Stripper’s Pimp’. However, a gut feeling told Lewis that the last laugh would be his.
Lewis set about moulding Tiger. He saw a way to channel her raw passion into a more high gloss, more commercial version of herself. He was travelling against the tide at that time, for back then, any kind of erotic entertainment either involved lots of neon Lycra and splayed legs, or it had to be intellectualised as ‘edgy’, ‘gritty’, or ‘subversive’ by goatee-stroking feminists in order to be regarded as art. As for the proper old-style showgirl ‘tit ’n’ feather’ revues – well they had been experiencing their own wilderness in Britain for simply decades. Lewis therefore focused Tiger on all the gloriously glamorous, expensive, chic and camp elements of her shows; why shouldn’t erotic entertainment tick all those boxes? After all, he thought it should be for women as much as men. Lewis was intent on bringing back big budget, unashamedly glamorous, theatrical erotic shows that didn’t have to masquerade as anything but that. Shows that would put the notion of the Goddess centre stage once again.
Lewis listened carefully to Tiger’s vivid dreams, visions and ideas for flamboyant tableaux and elaborate costumes. He helped her source the best costumiers from Paris to New York. She went about smoothing any rough edges, taming her hair into sleek and shiny curls, softening the bright pink into a more powdery hue. Lewis agonised that subconsciously he hadn’t moved on, that he was just dealing in a far more specialised commodity, but he came to view his role as the gardener nurturing a new rose; he watered it, pruned it, tended to it, and watched it blossom gloriously.
Tiger had taken some time to relax into the concept that Lewis wanted nothing from her, other than a straight business relationship. He needed to prove to himself he could rise to the challenge and make his new life path work, and all he asked was that Tiger co-operated and took every opportunity they both worked towards. Once Tiger had defrosted, they were a formidable team. Both self-confessed workaholics, they needed no encouragement. Before long, Tiger was the toast of London, this ‘girl from nowhere’. She performed at the hottest celebrity events, fashion shows and society balls. She worked liked a demon behind the scenes, creating bigger, more opulent shows each time, shaving away at the product, making each show smoother and glossier than the last. Lewis’ performance had been pretty spectacular himself, he had picked up the reins quickly and was like a duck to water. He ate theatrical negotiations and contracts for breakfast, and fast grew a reputation as a ruthless manager. Lewis was happy with that. His job was to protect the welfare of his artiste after all, and boy were there sharks out there who wanted a piece of Tiger.
His final piece of the puzzle was to find her a fantastic PR, who could handle the increasing pile of press enquiries that were landing at the door. He needed to find someone who could weed out the crap from the decent stuff, and help protect Tiger from the trickeries of ruthless journalists who had their own agendas. Lewis just read piles of newspapers and magazines, focusing on actors and personalities who he thought had solid profiles as respected artists, away from gossipy celeb-driven rubbish. Then he would call their agents, posing as a journalist, and ask who represented them for PR. One name kept popping up – Rex Hunter. When Lewis met Rex, he was pleased to find that he had a similar work ethic as Lewis and Tiger. Like most people, Rex was captivated by Tiger, and was delighted to come on board immediately. He fitted into their industrious little team seamlessly. Though recent events had led Lewis to wonder whether he’d been right to hire Rex at all.
One thing Lewis made sure of was to allow Tiger space to breathe when the climb got too intense. He guessed she hadn’t had much time to herself in the past, sensing she’d spent most of it surviving. He learnt that Tiger had been sleeping on someone’s sofa when he met her that first day at the Duke of York’s Theatre. Yet every day she would make it across town to audition after audition, determined she would find work. The irony was, landing the lead in that West End show would have set her career up very quickly, but Tiger was having none of it for as long as she was compromised by the sleazy director. Lewis admired her principles. There was never going to be a casting couch in Tiger’s world.
Outside the close-knit professional relationship, Tiger was guarded about her past. All Lewis could glean was that she had left home at a young age, and somehow ended up in Spain living with gypsies. Tiger hinted that she drank heavily at that time, and Lewis suspected something stronger too. Tiger had returned to England a little before Lewis met her, to spend time with her grandmother before she died. Since Coco had been a burlesque star of the fifties, Lewis guessed she was obviously a huge influence on young Tiger. Beyond this story however, she was zipped up. Even when her parents had died and Tiger had rearranged her life to be able to look after Sienna – paying for her education, securing her a job, paying her rent – Tiger had barely shed a tear. She seemed to find intimacy tough in general, and she was a closed book when it came to her personal affairs.
Lewis and Tiger had walked a long, intense road together from a bizarre, chance meeting; each of them had transformed immeasurably since that first day. Lewis was still no closer to unravelling Tiger, but one thing they had was a fundamental understanding; one based on trust and absolute mutual respect. Tiger knew the risk Lewis had taken with her in changing his life path, and equally the other way round. They had a unique, unspoken bond that transcended, and in some ways, contradicted conventional friendship. They were unquestioningly equal, they depended on each other, yet kept so much of their lives private from each other. To this day, Lewis couldn’t even say how he felt about Tiger on a personal level – it was something he dared not even think about. One thing he did know was that he had felt an alarmingly sharp stab of resentment when he heard the gossip of Tiger and Rex’s dalliance. He knew Tiger must have had relationships over the years, but she kept her romantic affairs fiercely private. Lewis had been secretly happy with that arrangement too. He told himself that he felt bad for Tiger; that Rex simply wasn’t good enough or deserving enough of her, although Lewis couldn’t pinpoint exactly why – after all, Rex had been honourable and hard working enough over the years. He just didn’t seem to be the right man to be standing by her side. Recently Lewis had simply resigned himself to the knowledge that after fourteen years of working together, and as refined, honed and flawless as Tiger had become, she still left him mystified, exasperated, and utterly captivated.
‘Bloody hell, you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said!’ squeaked Georgia, sitting before Lewis at the bar, rapping her long nails on the chrome counter and pointing to her empty champagne glass plaintively.
* * *
Blue topped up Tiger’s champagne as the end credits of Columbo rolled on to the plasma screen. They hadn
’t moved from the bedroom all afternoon.
‘I wonder if there’s any old re-runs of The Love Boat this afternoon?’ asked Blue, flicking through the cable channels.
‘Ugh, I have heartburn,’ hiccupped Tiger.
‘Dump a brandy in the Krug, that’ll sort you out, babes.’
‘No! No more. I have loads to do tomorrow,’ protested Tiger.
‘Relax! We said we’d have a break today,’ reassured Blue, ‘anyway, spare a thought for me, I’ve got like a million bugle beads to sew onto your costume tomorrow ready for your next gig. You are still doing the new rocking horse aren’t you?’
‘Oh for Prince Romano? Yeah, the horse is in the workshop being finished. I’m having extra plumage fitted. I’m so excited, it really looks like a proper Arabian stallion.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to sort out its saddle upholstery?’
‘Aha, no I’m one step ahead,’ proclaimed Tiger proudly, ‘I sent the workshop the fabric samples from the costume you put together. They’re doing a beautiful quilted silk cover embroidered in gold to match my corsetry.’
‘Hmm, get you, Miss Organisation! Okay, well all the more reason for me to relax today and then I’ll get cracking tomorrow,’ and with that Blue knocked back his champagne theatrically.
‘Blue …’
‘Yes, babes?’
‘I’m a bit nervous about the new Vegas stuff we’re working on.’
‘Oh behave.’
‘No really, they’re over for the development meeting next week. It’s the “work in progress” meeting thing.’
‘Oh relax. We’ve had the glitterball costume on the go for over two months now! Jeez, that reminds me I need to get down to the studio and see where Valerie and Hartley are with the outfits.’
‘I’m not worried about that! The director has seen the designs anyway, he’ll understand if they don’t have every single crystal sewn on. I’m just really nervous for some reason. It doesn’t seem rational, I mean we have amazing routines taking shape, and I know the Starrlets are gonna look amazing. Pepper’s using ten of them, and the rest are resident chorus girls from Vegas. I guess I just feel a bit hassled myself. You know, I have to get the new rocking horse piece right for the Prince Romano show in a few weeks, and yet I can’t seem to get my mind off Vegas. I just feel uneasy about the show. I can’t put my finger on it.’
‘Run it by me again, which pieces made it to the final cut for Vegas?’
‘The directors are still finalising it – there’s more acts to agree on. So far they have confirmed the Starrlets for the Poodle act, the Alice in Wonderland act, and the fifties carwash with rhinestoned Rolls Royces, and they’ve put together the male troupe for the big James Bond medley I wanted. I’ll do the film noir telephone and the Cleopatra bathing in asses’ milk as my headline numbers, plus the big Busby Berkeley-style piano number. They’ve secured two of my favourite features too, Minnie Diamond is doing an adagio act in which she’s the pendulum in a huge Venetian clock, and Viva La Diva’s doing her Napoleon act, with dressage on a live stallion, Lipizzaner style. Oh, and of course I’ll come out again to perform the glitterball Fabergé egg as the grand finale. Lewis thinks they’re really close to agreeing to let me have the water feature with programmed fountains for that one, like Liberace used to have behind his rotating piano. Lewis says it’s busting their budget, which is why it’s taken so long for them to sign it off. They’re figuring out a way for the glitterball egg to rise from the pool so it looks like it’s being pushed up by water jets.’
‘Woah. But the opening won’t be for—’
‘Nine months, I know. But it’s creeping up so fast. They start teching in three months, can you believe?’
‘Jeez. I must admit, after the Savoy, a year ahead sounded like plenty of time.’
‘Exactly!’ Tiger looked suddenly tired and anxious. ‘Oh, I think this champagne is making me giddy,’ she whimpered, fanning her face frantically.
‘Oh, babes, come on, you’ve got it all under control. The whole team is on it. Lewis has all bases covered, plus you get to work with the Vegas Philarmonic on the score, the art director’s the best in the biz, you’ve got the best of the Hollywood lighting designers, and you get on with the director, right?’
‘Well, naturally. He’s amazing, he’s done all the epic shows, but—’
‘No buts. You have a crack team, and besides …’
Blue paused as he registered a crinkling beneath him as he leaned back onto the pillow.
‘What’s this – Tiger?’
Tiger blushed. ‘Oh it’s just another silly letter. I was going to show you.’
‘Oh really?’
‘It’s nothing.’
Blue ripped the envelope open. ‘I watch you sleeping?’
‘Yeah, as if.’
‘You will see me in your nightmares? No way. Tiger, this is plain old creepy.’
‘I know. And that’s all it is. Just a sad old bloke, or, or … or a practical joke or something. Ha bloody ha. Johnnie knows where I live, maybe it’s his stupid idea of a joke.’
‘But what if someone really has been here at the house?’
‘It’s just a bluff. Some weirdo. Anyway, let’s go eat. I can’t sit here worrying, it’s making me feel sick. There’s seven whole hours of Sunday left, let’s make the most of it.’
Blue felt distinctly troubled about this new letter and wandered over to the sash window three storeys up, wondering if someone could really have got up there. He tapped his fingers uneasily on the windowsill, remembering the letters Rosemary Baby used to send to Tiffany Crystal. Within moments, however, thoughts of roast dinner clouded his mind.
Chapter 12
Sienna waved the waiter away, deciding his presence would distract from the full impact of her strut across the restaurant towards Rex Hunter. She felt all eyes on her as she strode forcefully across the black-and-white marble floor, doing as her sister had taught her and making the most of her assets. Today Sienna was capitalising on her deliciously long, coltish legs. She had always considered them a drawback, following ten long years of being called ‘Twiglet Legs’ by her classmates; at least until Tiger had taught her to embrace her gawkiness along with her unwanted bustiness and turn it to her advantage over the last couple of years. Tiger liked to call it ‘accessorising the outfit god gave you’. So, with Sienna’s newly honed air of confidence, along with her butt-skimming Moschino Cheap ’n’ Chic dress that Tiger had just bought her, she sensed every pair of female eyes clouding in envy as they watched her passing, and every man’s gaze travelling up the seams of her carefully chosen vintage silk stockings. The morning power-meeting clientele at The Wolseley was well known for being an intimidating blend of fashionistas, film producers and hedge-fund managers. Excited to be attending her first power meeting, Sienna now felt a sense of achievement at being admired by such a discerning bunch. Even if she was only Rex’s Junior, she was on her way.
As Sienna approached her boss, she saw that his eyes were locked onto his BlackBerry. Damn him, thought Sienna, peeved that Rex had missed the spectacle of her entrance. She dropped her vintage scuffed leather attaché case – another Tiger hand-me-down – onto the white tablecloth with a thud. Rex grunted without looking up, as he continued to briskly tap out an email.
‘Err, Rex?’ Sienna nudged, gently.
‘Hmm … wait … okay done.’ Rex finally stood up and popped his BlackBerry into his inside pocket, ‘Sorry doll, just had to get an urgent email off before the Mail supplement goes to print. La Boheme at the National got incredible write ups from the previews so I persuaded the Mail to give it a colour feature in “Cultural Week”. Gate-fold. I got Lance on the job yesterday. I’ve played a blinder again, doll, busting through the week’s column-inch targets as usual.’ Rex didn’t even register Sienna’s new outfit. Typical man, obsessed with his column inches, Sienna thought to herself. She leaned in to kiss him, but Rex fended her off with a handshake.
‘Daytime is
business, doll,’ he whispered, clocking her immediate pout.
With immaculate timing Lance de Brett loomed up at the table.
‘Damn, I thought I was early for once!’ said Lance, pumping Rex’s hand cheerily, and leaning in to air kiss both Sienna’s cheeks. Sienna threw a sarcastic glare over at Rex, and pulled up a chair to sit next to Lance.
‘Actually I think we’re all a few minutes early,’ said Rex. ‘Shall we kick off with a Bloody Mary?’
‘Perfect! That’ll blast the cobwebs away,’ replied Lance as he caught the waiter’s eye. ‘Three Bloody Marys, please, make mine very spicy,’ he ordered. The waiter smiled and nodded before melting away. Actually, Sienna loathed tomato, but was too polite to say anything. She was just thrilled to be having her first proper brunch meeting, and with a top cultural journalist like Lance de Brett, no less. Wow, if only my mother could see me now, she thought to herself wistfully. Her smile faded as she then wondered if Rex would have brought her to the meeting if they weren’t sleeping together. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind.
As Rex grilled Lance about his last night’s mischievous exploits, Sienna’s eyes darted around the restaurant, becoming aware of one, no two … no three, slightly nervous-looking young girls sitting bolt upright at their respective tables. Each of them wore very new looking outfits, and were fervently scribbling notes as their bosses held court with their clients. One of the girls on a neighbouring table looked up from her pad. Her big brown eyes locked with Sienna’s for a moment. They both smiled tentatively, recognising a fellow assistant when they saw one, before looking away again awkwardly. Sienna began to wonder how many Juniors like her – and like the other three Junior Girls in the restaurant – had passed through Rex’s office … not to mention his bed, over the years. She shuddered involuntarily.
‘Got those details down, Sienna?’ asked Rex.
‘Yes of course! Erm, how do you spell that?’ Sienna knew she’d been caught daydreaming again. Rex shot her a look, and wrote the name ‘Bob’ on her notepad, very slowly. Sienna flushed immediately, and was relieved that the waiter had arrived to unload three tall Bloody Marys from his tray. She braced herself and gulped the slippery cold tomato concoction before her anxiously.
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