by Bev Robitai
The first piece of strip music started and there was a muffled curse from high overhead. Dennis looked up to see Warwick hanging from a rope through the round hole in the ceiling, struggling to free the hood of his yellow slicker which had caught on a piece of timber.
“Is there somebody up there to help him?” Adam’s voice projected forcefully skywards and Fenton’s pale face appeared in the hole.
“Getting it,” he said. In moments, Warwick swung free and began his descent.
“Hold it,” called Adam. “Can we restart the music please?”
Warwick hung on tightly while the soundman located the appropriate track and hit play. At the cue he recommenced his slide downwards, landing with a jump right on the beat. He looked around the empty seats with a dazzling smile, slipping his yellow jacket off one shoulder then the other before sprinting towards the stage.
Dennis didn’t see what happened after that because Cathy slipped into the seat beside him and grabbed his arm, holding it as if she’d never let it go.
“What’s the matter?” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
Her eyes were huge in the dim light. He could feel her shaking.
Chapter Ten
“Cathy? What’s happened?”
There was a terse “Quiet please!” from Adam, so Dennis took her by the hand and led her into the corridor outside. In the brighter light he could see she was deathly pale. She took a deep breath and he could see her forcing herself to relax.
“There were some guys, outside the gym. Two of them. They came towards me as if they wanted to talk to me, but I didn’t like they way they looked. Something about their eyes…” she broke off, struggling for the words.
“Two men? What did they do? Are you all right?” Dennis looked her over carefully, searching for injuries.
“I’m fine,” she said, breathing deeply. “There was a tall blond one and a stocky red-haired one, both big, solid guys. I ran for my bike and leapt onto it before they figured out what I was doing. By the time they ran after me I was pedalling away from them at a rate of knots.”
“Good for you!”
“But they followed me. I saw them do a u-turn in a big black SUV and they came after me. I only managed to get away from them at the last red light. But from where they were stopped they could see I came here. Do you think we should call the police? Suppose they come and try to make trouble?” She glanced behind her at the door to the street.
Dennis was reeling. Nothing in his uneventful life had prepared him for anything like this. Were these guys really a threat or was Cathy over-reacting?
“I’m not sure. Perhaps we should go and see if they’re here first, lurking outside – otherwise we don’t really have anything to report, do we? I mean, they haven’t actually done anything illegal; they didn’t even run the red light.”
“I suppose.” She didn’t sound keen. “You go and look then. I’ll wait here.”
Over her shoulder, at the far end of the corridor, he saw a large figure trying to peer in through the glass panel of the door to the street. He pulled her aside into the shelter of a large coil of rope. “Just stand over here for a minute. I think one of your scary friends is looking for you.” His voice came out rather more high-pitched than he would have liked, but the way she clung to him implied she still regarded him as a source of safety and comfort.
“Did you see him?” she hissed. “Isn’t he huge? I mean, they both are. I think we should call the police, I really do.”
“Hold on, I’ve got a better idea. Wait right here and keep out of sight. That door’s locked so they can’t get in unless they break it down. I’ll be right back.” He ran swiftly along the corridor the other way, towards the stage door, and disappeared through it before she had a chance to protest.
He found Tony, Gazza and Fenton in the workshop and told them about the unwelcome visitors at the door. An evil grin spread across Gazza’s weathered face.
“Really? Do you think we should go and talk to these gentlemen?”
“Yes, I think that would be a very good idea. But do be careful – they look pretty threatening.”
“We can do ‘threatening’ too,” said Tony, slapping a massive crescent wrench into his palm with a meaningful look. “Oh yes.”
The four of them picked up the biggest and heaviest tools they could see and made their way to the corridor, where Cathy pointed at the door. The handle was jiggling up and down, and a large shape loomed in the glass. The four crew guys advanced towards the door and took up station two on each side. Gazza nodded to them and unlocked it.
“Can we help you?” he enquired, in carefully measured tones.
“Yeah. We want to have a word with Cathy Kelly. Can you ask her to come out please?” The tall blond man made an effort to be polite but Dennis shuddered at how cold his eyes were.
“I’m afraid Miss Kelly is busy just at the moment,” said Gazza, equally politely. “Would you like to leave a number where she can call you at her convenience?”
There was a snarl from the red-haired man in the background. Tony and Fenton took a step closer to the doorway, their workshop weaponry clearly visible.
“Oh never mind, I’m sure we can find her when we want to,” said the blond man, with a quelling look at his companion. “We’ll catch her another time when she’s not so…busy.”
“How about you leave her alone instead,” Dennis blurted out. “She doesn’t want to talk to you so stay away from her.”
“Oh, well of course, if you say so,” said the blond man, sarcastically. “We’ll be off then. Good night.” He and his companion walked away. As Gazza closed the door there was a burst of mocking laughter outside.
Inside, the four guys looked at each other.
“Well that was interesting,” said Gazza. “What sort of friends have you been making, Dennis?”
“Me? Why me?”
“They looked like body builders with muscles like that. Aren’t they from that gym you hang out at?”
“Definitely not,” said Cathy, coming towards them. “Not my kind of clientele at all. Did you see the development on that gingery guy? Didn’t look natural to me – he’s had a lot of chemical assistance, I think.” She stopped, looking at Dennis. “I wonder if there’s a connection with Vincenzo. Maybe that’s who he was getting his supplies from. But why would they want to see me?”
“Perhaps they’re hoping you’ll buy from them to keep supplying his clients,” said Dennis.
“Well they can think again,” she said. “You know my feelings about steroids. No way on earth would I have them anywhere near my gym.”
“Yes I know that,” said Dennis soothingly. “But they probably think Vincenzo was supplying with your knowledge. Once you tell them that he was doing it on his own and that you have no intention of selling the stuff yourself, they’ll back off. You can threaten to call in the cops - I’m sure they won’t want that sort of attention. It should be easily solved.”
“So this is drug related, is it?” asked Tony. That dead dude was a dealer?”
“It’s not definite but it looks that way,” said Cathy. “So if those guys come back to the gym I’ll just tell them I don’t want to be a part of it and they’d better leave me alone.”
“Do you think we can stand down the armed guard then?” said Gazza, sounding almost disappointed.
Cathy put her hand on his arm. “Yes. Thanks so much for looking after me, Gazza.” She smiled at him winsomely. “You guys too, of course. You’re a very intimidating bunch, all armed to the teeth like that. No wonder the bad guys ran away.”
They mumbled and shuffled a bit and headed back to the workshop.
“I guess we’d better get back into rehearsal,” said Dennis. “If you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine now those big bruisers have gone. If I see them again I’ll make it clear Vincenzo was acting alone and their products are not welcome at Intensity. Hopefully that will be the end of it.”
They
crept back into the darkened theatre in time to watch the third and fourth strip routines. Dennis held Cathy’s hand to give her reassurance. He’d heard the faint tremble in her voice and it made his heart ache.
Out in the middle of the stage the trapdoor was open. As the familiar strains of the Top Gear theme blared though the speakers, there was a muffled clank and Ricky’s head appeared slowly through the opening in the stage. Dressed in a flimsy white overall, he rose until his knees were visible but then the motion stopped. Adam held up a hand to halt the music.
“What’s happened?” he called. “Can’t we get you any higher than that?”
Ricky appeared to be having an argument with his feet. “Higher! You have to get me at least another fifty centimetres to stage level! No, I can’t just step up, it would look dumb.”
Another head popped up through the hole.
“Sorry Adam,” said Tony. “Bit of a technical hitch with the jack. We just need to reposition it. Won’t be a tick.”
Ricky shot downwards suddenly and an angry yell of “Hey, watch it!” floated upwards. A few minutes passed as Adam tapped his pencil impatiently.
“OK, should be all set now,” called Tony, and Adam signalled the sound cue. This time Ricky stood motionless as he glided right up to stage level, and at the end of the third bar he stepped forward to begin his routine.
Denis felt subtle tensions in Cathy’s muscles as she watched Ricky performing her choreography, her body mimicking his movements. He leaned closer to her.
“Those overalls don’t look much like The Stig’s driving suit, do they?”
“They’re just for rehearsing in,” she whispered back. “He’ll have a proper suit for the show but wardrobe is still working on it. Some problem with where to put the Velcro tape.”
He thought about that for a moment. “Don’t they just sew it all round the seams?”
“They tried that but it was too much. Ricky couldn’t make the pieces come apart at all. They need to come free in one smooth pull so they had to take it off and use smaller bits with gaps in between.”
On stage, Ricky tugged the top half of the lightweight painters’ overalls apart and threw the pieces behind him, then swivelled his hips towards the women in the front row. He called Erica over and indicated she should pull at the waist of the trousers, while he carefully held the rest of the material so her tug didn’t undo them too far. She obediently yanked a corner free and scuttled back to her seat covered with embarrassment. Clara-Jane went up to pull on the other side for him, then Ricky gyrated to the middle of the stage and pulled the pants apart with a flourish, flinging the pieces into the audience. Erica and Clara-Jane whooped and cheered.
“That’s much better than the bit I’ve seen him doing earlier in the play,” murmured Dennis. “Has he suddenly improved, or is it your expert choreography?”
Cathy giggled. “You nitwit! The scene in the play is part of the story. They’re supposed to be hopeless then – haven’t you read the script?”
“No, I’ve never even seen one.”
“I’ll lend you mine, if you promise to look after it. They have to be handed in after the season and they keep pretty close tabs on them. Then you’ll know what’s going on.”
The distinctive notes of the James Bond theme music filled the auditorium and there was a scuffling noise above their heads. Suddenly with a sharp whizzing sound Mark went past the edge of the balcony aiming straight for the right hand side of the stage. The thin wire he was hanging from dipped alarmingly under his weight but he made a smooth approach and squeezed the brake on his handpiece to stop just before he crashed into the fluted gold and green column of the proscenium arch.
A chorus of oohs and ahhs broke out from the scattered audience members. Mark bowed to the applause, peeled off his black leather gloves, and began his routine. He removed his shoes (with the socks inside, Dennis noted) and placed them neatly at the base of the column. Then he twirled to show off his well-cut tuxedo before shrugging it off his shoulders and down to his wrists. The shirt beneath was pristine white with narrow ruffles and a black bow tie, which was pulled undone and left around the neck as Mark teasingly unbuttoned the shirt. The ladies in the audience clapped and called to him to hurry up. He took his time, flashing it open first one side then the other. At last he whisked it right off to display his tanned, naked torso. Dennis had seen Mark’s body a dozen times at the gym but he had to admit that on stage and under lights, it was pretty spectacular. There was a stampede to undo the belt buckle but Mark granted the favour to Erica, looping the strap around her neck and pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear. Her middle-aged face beamed as she returned to her seat.
“That should ensure good Green Room suppers for the season,” murmured Dennis in Cathy’s ear.
“Not something you should care about,” she reminded him with a grin.
Mark completed his routine and ran off, leaving his shoes and clothing scattered across the stage. Fenton ran out and retrieved the articles, carrying them into the wings.
“Good,” called Adam. “Thank you! The smoothest retrieval yet. Actors and crew, get it worked out between you.”
The actor who’d done the grape-eating scene earlier in the show came on and told a few more jokes, acting as an MC. Dennis let the familiar lines roll over him but sharpened his attention when the final dance routine was announced. This was where he needed to pay attention if he was to fulfil a useful role as stand-in. He sat forward in his seat and tried to memorise the moves as the four guys took up their positions across the stage. Adam went down to the front row and herded the women there to sit in the aisle seats, whispering instructions to them. Dennis smirked as he guessed what might happen when the guys were standing on the arms of those seats. Sure enough, hands went up legs and fingers caressed thighs, causing the guys to wobble and lose the beat.
“Sharpen up, gentlemen,” called Adam. “This is nothing. Stick to your routines.”
They peeled off and did their forward rolls down the aisle, looking relieved when they were safely back on stage.
Afterward the rehearsal Adam gave his notes, and Cathy gave the actors a few extra comments at the end.
“It’s all right, guys. Don’t worry about being handled while you’re dancing – I’ll show you the techniques to use to deal with it. First and most important point; you should always be polite and charming. This should be a flirtation, not a confrontation. If a hand wanders where you don’t want it, just grab it gently, bring it to your lips and kiss it, then give it back. Nine times out of ten the woman will be so happy with the attention that she’ll stop looking for more.”
“And on the tenth time?” asked Warwick.
“Then we’ll call Gerry the fireman in with a hose and cool her off for you.”
“Yeah, a high pressure hose that’ll wash her right out of her seat and down the aisle,” cackled Ricky, “all in a tangled heap!”
“Oh you little scamp!” said Cathy archly, and gave him just enough of a smack round the back of his head that he sat up and took notice. “We’re nice to our audience. Got the message?”
“Yes Cathy, sorry.”
“Now, another thing. I saw some of you throwing bits of your clothing into the audience. Think about that for a minute. What do you suppose is likely to happen to those items when there’s a full house of excited women in here?”
“I sort of assumed they’d put them on the edge of the stage when they left,” said Mark. “I suppose that’s wrong, is it?”
“They’d become trophies, boys. Precious souvenirs of a naughty night out. Those boxers and briefs would go on display in office cubicles all around the town, and our wardrobe budget would take a hammering to replace them. Tell you what, I’ll see if we can get some disposable items you can throw to the crowd, but for the rest of your gear, make sure your bits and pieces land in a pile behind you that’s practical for a stage hand to run out and collect in a blackout. If you throw shoes over that side of the stage
and jacket over this side and your shirt up the back, it’s going to make a long and messy scene change trying to retrieve them all. Got that?”
“Yes, Cathy,” they chorused.
Dennis hid a smile. She was so good at handling the guys. But the thought of the heavies that had come looking for her earlier made his smile disappear. She wouldn’t be able to charm those two, no matter what.
When they left the theatre that night he looked around carefully to make sure the street was clear of lurking hit-men.
“Can I give you a ride home? It’s late, and I don’t like to think of you cycling home in the dark.”
She looked at him. “I have lights and a fluoro vest – I’ll be fine. And if you’re worried about those two heavies, I promise I’ll take the back streets and make sure I’m not being followed. Don’t panic on my behalf, but thanks for your concern anyway. It’s nice that you care.” She leaned over to give him a light kiss.
“What time are you going in to work tomorrow?” he asked her casually. Her eyes sharpened.
“Probably about six-thirty. Why?”
“Oh, I just thought I might come in early and do my workout before going to the office, just to get it out of the way. With rehearsals filling the evenings it’s a bit hard to fit it in at the end of the day.”
“But I thought you hated early mornings.”
“Well, it’s only for a little while, isn’t it? Once Ladies Night is over, I’ll have my evenings back.”
She smiled. “I’m so glad you’re planning to keep up with the gym even after the show finishes. That’s great! We’ll make a fitness fanatic of you yet.”
Her comment derailed his train of thought. He’d got so used to working out now that he’d never even considered stopping when the show ended. He liked how he looked and felt now. Of course he wouldn’t want to go back to the fat, unhealthy lump he’d been before.