Body on the Stage

by Bev Robitai

  “That’s a staging issue,” mused Adam. “Who’s head of construction?”

  “Tony – he’s down in the workshop, shall I get him?” Dennis hurried off at Adam’s nod.

  Tony arrived, dusting sawdust off his jeans. “What miracles do you want this time, Adam? The impossible, or merely the illusion of magic?”

  “We want to believe a man can fly, Tony. More specifically, Jayden here.”

  “Piece of cake. We’ve got the harness from Peter Pan a couple of years ago – stick a couple of hefty blokes up on the fly floor and Bob’s your uncle – Jayden will be zooming about all over the stage.”

  “What about flying over the audience? Could we do that, do you think?”

  Jayden and Tony looked equally startled.

  “You sure you want to put the audience at risk of having some great lump of a thespian landing on them? Oh, no offence, Jayden.”

  “I’m sure you can find a way to do it safely,” said Adam. “Start thinking about it, anyway. If it turns out not to be practical we can always come up with an alternative.”

  “Aye aye, Captain. I shall endeavour to make it so.”

  “Thank you Number One,” returned Adam smoothly. “Right, we’ve made a good start with our list of routines. Put your minds to thinking about possible moves, props, costumes and so on. Cathy, you and I will put our heads together shortly to look at choreography. Thanks everyone, that’ll do for today.”

  The Green Room emptied out except for Tony, Dennis and Cathy.

  “Right, I’m off back to the workshop where I was so rudely interrupted. Doc, bring those coffees down when you’re ready, will you?” Tony glanced at Cathy and winked. “No rush mate, take your time.”

  As he disappeared towards the workshop, Cathy laughed. “Subtle, isn’t he?”

  “Like a bulldozer,” muttered Dennis. “Sorry about that. Look, would you like a coffee too, while you’re here? I mean, since I’m making some anyway.”

  “Do they stretch to tea in this establishment? I’d love a cup of tea if you can fix it.”

  “Let me see what I can arrange. Take a seat while you’re waiting.”

  He hurriedly rummaged about in the kitchen cupboards. Surely there was tea somewhere. At last, in a drawer under some ratty old dishtowels, he found a box of teabags. “Coming right up,” he assured her, pouring boiling water into the mug. “Milk and sugar?”

  “No thanks, just black.”

  “I’ll join you when I’ve delivered these,” he said, hurrying towards the workshop with the long-awaited coffees for the crew. “Back in a tick.”

  A few minutes later he joined her at the battered wooden table that was still covered with notes from the meeting.

  “How do you go about inventing choreography for this sort of thing?” he asked. “I can understand ballet and ballroom dance and the traditional sort of thing, but strip routines? Where do they come from? Is there some sort of training school?”

  “No, there’s no Performing Arts Diploma in striptease, if that’s what you mean! It’s a learn on the job kind of thing. I spent a couple of years with the Rawhide Cowboys a while back – they were a local version of the Chippendales, and I picked up a lot of moves from the guy who devised their routines. He was great at knowing what women would respond to, and he showed me how to avoid the usual mistakes. Some directors use classically-trained dancers but that always shows up on stage – they look too graceful. Women at these shows want strong athletic manly men, not ballet dancers. At the other end of the spectrum you get the guys who are almost pornographic, making suggestive moves that really put women off. A little sexy teasing is right, but aggressive thrusting and blatant vulgarity is a real turn-off.” She made a face and Dennis laughed.

  “It’s more complicated than I thought, especially when you have to factor in the guy’s personality and chosen theme. I can’t wait to see what you come up with, especially for the vampire.”

  “Yes, I hope they don’t get too carried away with him. He’s only the understudy after all – his routine probably won’t be seen at all unless one of the guys gets sick or injured.” She drained her mug. “Thanks for the cuppa. I’d better get back to the gym now. I’m still figuring out this damned anomaly in my accounts and there’s no end to the administrative details when you run a gym. I’ll see you there tomorrow?”

  “You bet,” he said warmly. “Wouldn’t miss it!”

  To his surprise, he found he meant it.

  When he arrived at Intensity next day he found Vincenzo, Warwick and a stocky dark-haired girl standing by the reception counter. Her artfully tangled mane of hair was a match for Warwick’s unruly locks, and she was squeezed into a tight T-shirt and leopard print leggings.

  “You are one fortunate fellow, Warwick,” Vincenzo said. “This heavenly creature is very beautiful.” He turned to the girl and kissed her hand. “For you, I will make a special routine to polish that beauty into brilliance. You trust Vincenzo, I will make you shine, yes? Come, Leonie, I will take you to the cardio machines and show you just what to do, si?”

  Leonie looked back at Warwick in mute appeal as she was towed away but he just laughed. “You go, girl! See you in an hour.” Seeing Dennis standing there he shrugged. “She could lose a few kilos, won’t do her any harm. Might as well make use of the gym, eh? She was just sitting at home eating whatever was in the cupboards, so this way the groceries will last longer. He’ll get her in shape and I get the benefit.”

  Dennis tried not to look shocked. If he had a girlfriend, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t want Vincenzo anywhere near her. “Don’t you worry about letting her go off with him like that?

  Warwick didn’t seem concerned. “That little fairy? You can tell he’s gay by that frigging perfume he uses. His interest in girls is all an act. Besides, he wouldn’t dare mess with my woman – I’d break him in two.” He loomed menacingly over Dennis. “You know I’d do it, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course mate, no doubt at all,” said Dennis, worried by the light of battle that had suddenly filled Warwick’s eyes. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. So, er, what’s your workout today, upper or lower?”

  “Lower,” he said. “Gonna give the quads a good hammering after the cardio. You?”

  “We’re on upper. I need more definition on my lats.” He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant – it was just a phrase he’d heard the others using. Warwick burst out laughing. “You’ll have to find them first, man! Go do some pull-downs and see if they pop out from the blubber!” He slapped Dennis on the back. “Just kidding man, you’re fine. Good to see you making the effort.”

  The comment really stung, and Dennis was relieved to see Mark arrive so he could escape from the conversation. He knew Warwick was just teasing, but it was the sort of cruel remark that Louise would have made.

  Now he just wanted to get on with his workout. If he timed it right he’d finish as Cathy came out of her yoga class. But first he watched as Vincenzo put Leonie through her paces on the cross-trainer.

  Before starting it up, Vincenzo stood behind her on the treadmill, showing her how to hold the handles and move them back and forth. He seemed to be standing closer than necessary, and Dennis very much doubted Warwick’s assertion that Vincenzo was gay. Just because he wore bright colours and had immaculate grooming, it didn’t mean he was any less interested in women. Leonie was plainly enjoying the attention.

  “Hey, Dennis – you going to sit there dreaming all night?” Mark’s abrupt tone shook Dennis from his trance. “Time to spot my lifts, OK? You remember how to spot, don’t you? If I start to waver you take the weight and get it onto the peg, yeah?”

  “Sorry Mark, didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

  “Well just try to stay with me, will you?”

  Dennis blinked. “Are you OK, Mark? Feeling all right?”

  Mark rubbed his hands over his face. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry I snapped. Just been feeling a bit fed up lately.” He grinned ruefully. “I may hav
e bitten off more than I can chew with being in this show. My job’s getting more and more pressured and I hardly have time to see Sherry. I don’t know what she does when I’m not around. We never talk, and it’s been ages since we went out together. If she didn’t come to the gym I’d barely get a chance to speak to her.” He looked down at his beefy arms. “If I wasn’t looking so damn good I think she’d give up on me altogether. Come on dude, let’s make more muscle. It seems to be the only thing I’m good at right now.”

  Vincenzo came over to them and offered to spot for Mark.

  “You go do your sets, Dennis, I’ll look after our main man here, OK?” He took up position at the head of the bench. “So, Mark, you doin’ well, eh? Bulking up fast. You’re going for the bodybuilding contest later this year, si? It’s after the show, so you’ll have plenty of time. You’re looking great now but by then you’ll be truly spectacular, man.” He waited patiently for a reply while Mark finished his lifts, helping him to replace the bar onto the pegs. Mark groped for his hand towel on the floor and wiped his face.

  “Actually I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Vincenzo. I’m dropping out, I’m afraid. The little woman is getting too upset and won’t let me take on another project. She’s already complaining about the time the theatre takes up.”

  He began the next set, pushing up the heavy bar with controlled movements.

  “Oh no you’ll be fine, I’ll fix it with her,” said Vincenzo airily. “Once the show’s done you’ll have lots of time. We can make you the best out of all these guys and you’ll ace the competition. Cathy will help with your poses and routines, an’ I’ll make you magnificent. Whadda you say, Mark? Come on man, a win for you with me as your trainer, it looks real good for me.”

  Mark lowered the bar and shook the blood back into his arms, then shook his head just as firmly. “No, Vincenzo. I’m grateful for your help with the show, but I don’t want to take it any further, thanks. All I want is to get back to a normal life that’s just work, home and Sherry. At least for a while. We need to spend time on us for a change. Why don’t you ask Warwick? He’s looking pretty good under your training. He’d probably be keen.”

  Vincenzo’s eyes flashed with annoyance but he nodded. “Yes, he’s doing all right. Not as well-defined as you but plenty of size. OK my friend, you carry on now. I go sort out a few things.”

  Dennis watched him disappear towards the boxing studio at the back of the gym where Warwick, Jayden and Ricky had gone to do some cardio work on the punch bags. Somewhat curious about how Vincenzo might persuade Warwick to compete, Dennis ambled over to use a machine near the doorway so he could hear the conversation inside.

  “…oh yeah, looking pretty good with all those muscles, eh? You know what? You should enter the body-building contest that’s coming up, man, you’d do great. You’re the best in the middle-weight section, better than all the other guys round here. With my training and the right food supplements, you’d ace the contest, man. Are you up for it?”

  Dennis smiled to himself at the smooth-talking Italian.

  There was an angry retort from Ricky. “What the hell? What am I, Vincenzo? I’ve got better definition than him – why aren’t you asking me to be in your damn contest?” Dennis could imagine the stocky little guy bristling with resentment.

  “I was just gonna ask you,” said Vincenzo. “You’re nineteen, yes? There’s a Junior category you’d be perfect for. You’d cream those little guys, right?”

  “I don’t want to compete in some kid’s competition! Why can’t I be in the men’s section – are you saying I’m not a man? What’s the point of taking all these bloody supplements if I’m not allowed to compete with the rest of the guys? Are you saying I’m just a spotty kid, you bastard!”

  Dennis was startled by the naked rage in Ricky’s voice.

  “Settle down, Ricky,” came Warwick’s deep rumble. “I’m sure Vincenzo knows the best category for you to compete in. Don’t get your friggin’ undies in a knot.”

  “Screw you! Bunch of assholes the lot of you!” yelled Ricky, storming out of the boxing room and flinging his gloves onto the floor as he strode off. His training partner Simon went to intercept him but Ricky shoved him away. They all heard him stomping down the stairs and then a loud slam as the door to the street shuddered in its frame.

  Chapter Five

  “What’s got into those thespians tonight?” Tony came into the Green Room after crossing the stage where rehearsals were in progress. “They’re bitching and moaning out there like girls locked out of a chocolate shop. Adam looked about ready to blow his stack.”

  “Probably sulking about their outfits or something,” said Gazza. “Or about who goes first for the dance routines. You know thespians.”

  Dennis slipped away to stand unobtrusively at the side of the stage so he could see how things were going. Adam stood downstage on the apron, his grey curls backlit by one of the bright working lights. The actors were standing in a loose semi-circle in front of him, squinting against the glare. Their body language ranged from relaxed to fully wound up, and it was clear who wasn’t happy.

  “But WHY do I have to lose my dreadlocks? They’re a statement of who I am. I’m against all the crap the cosmetic companies try to make us believe, selling us shampoo and conditioners and all kinds of useless hair care products. Dreads clean themselves naturally – you don’t need all that stuff!” Warwick was getting himself in a lather that had nothing to do with soap bubbles.

  “You can grow them back after the performance season,” Adam said patiently. “I’d prefer you to have normal hair for the show, please. And gentlemen, I would have thought it was obvious, but would you please defer any intended tattoos until after the season? I’m sure our audience would prefer not to be up close to swollen red limbs if things go wrong and infection sets in. Be patient - in another few weeks you can have your bodies back, but for now they belong to me. Is that clear?”

  There was a reluctant murmur of agreement.

  “Er, excuse me, Adam?” The girl playing the part of Glenda the choreographer put her hand up. “Does that mean we should keep our hair the same as it is now? Only I was thinking of having it cut short and coloured for my sister’s wedding next month.”

  Adam eyed her. “What colour?”

  “Um, just a dark red, sort of a plum shade. Would that be all right?”

  He sighed. “As long as it’s not lime green with orange streaks, that’ll be fine. You’re playing a choreographer so a little outrageousness is acceptable, but we don’t want you upstaging the boys, do we? Right people, can we get back to blocking now? Time’s a-passing.”

  Dennis tiptoed back to the Green Room, and finding it empty, followed the sound of voices round to the workshop.

  “Ah, there you are Doc,” said Gazza. “Come and hold the end of this, would you?” He held a power drill poised over a length of wood. “The bloody vice is broken and I need this made steady to put a couple of holes in.” Dennis moved quickly to lend a hand. Working smoothly together they managed to get all the components of the night-club set cut and prepared for assembly.

  After a couple of hours of solid work, Tony called a break.

  “Time for food, people. Who’s for a burger or three? I’ll go and fetch them if you give me your order and the cash.”

  “Where do you get them from?” asked Dennis.

  “Och, from the wee Scottish restaurant just across the road,” grinned Tony.

  Dennis looked blank. “What Scottish restaurant?” He tried to recall seeing any eating establishment with tartan décor in the area.

  “The one with the golden arches, mon, have ye no tried their burrrgers and frrries?”

  The penny dropped. “I’ll no eat from the clan MacDonald, man – ma mother was a Campbell!” Dennis’s Scottish accent was a little rusty but it made the others laugh. “They’re still trying to kill us but now it’s with fat and salt. Still, I suppose I could have a chicken salad with low fat dres
sing. Can you face ordering something that healthy, Tony, or should I come over with you?”

  “You’d better go with him,” said Gazza. “He’s likely to subvert your nice healthy dinner with a side order of greasy fries and some sugar-laden fizzy-pop.”

  “As if I would! But come with me anyway Doc, you can give me a hand to carry it all. I wouldn’t want to drop Gazza’s sugar-laden fizzy-pop in the middle of the street.”

  As the others tucked into their greasy burgers, the smell of the oil was almost enough to put Dennis off his own meal, but he’d still have sold his own sister for a handful of their fries. He almost caved in and asked for some, but the thought of all the exercise he’d have to do to burn them off was enough to dissuade him. That and the fear of ridicule if he begged for fatty chips now that he’d publicly declared his intention to slim down and get fit. He chased the last shred of lettuce round the plastic container instead, feeling he was on the moral high ground.

  After two more weeks of his best efforts, Dennis reckoned he was actually seeing results. His pants were definitely a size too big now, he needed a new, smaller belt because he’d run out of holes, and when he stood on the scales at the gym he had lost almost four kilograms off his original weight.

  “Dennis, you’re doing really well!” said Cathy as she entered his new measurements into his records. “Look at that – eight centimetres off your waist and six off your hips – that’s great going. Do you feel better for it too?”

  “I guess I do,” he said with mild surprise. “It’s hard at workout time because I feel muscle-sore and tired after the exercise, but once that wears off I have much more energy than I had before.”

  The satisfied look on her face could almost have been described as smug. “So you’re happy to keep going then?”

  “Of course! It’s like reinventing myself after a long hibernation. I feel like I’ve been stuck in a cave for a year doing nothing and getting nowhere, but now I’m kind of reborn…” he broke off, embarrassed. “God, that sounds terrible. Sorry, I’m talking a load of drivel – just ignore me.”