Body on the Stage

by Bev Robitai

  Dennis felt his heart pound. Sweat broke out all over and his voice didn’t co-operate when he tried to reply. “Er, yes,” he managed to force out the words. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Good, thank you. Right people, from the top of the page please. Go!”

  They laboured through the multitude of cues as the hours ticked past. It was well after midnight when Dennis was called on to perform and he hoped his brain was up to the challenge of remembering all Jayden’s moves. As the music began, he strode down to centre stage and stood quite still in the circle of the follow-spot. He raised his left arm and pointed to the wings. Nothing happened.

  “That was a cue!” roared Adam. “Gazza, are you watching?”

  “Sorry,” came a gruff voice from the control room at the back of the auditorium. “Didn’t recognise him. Got it now.”

  “Again please, Dennis.”

  Dennis raised his left arm and pointed. A bank of lights on the left sprang to life, bathing him in a golden glow down one side. He raised his right arm and pointed into the wings. Another bank of lights activated from that side. He gestured towards the back of the room and brightly coloured lights played across the stage, following his arm movement as he waved it back and forth.

  “Good,” called Adam, “keep going.”

  Dennis put his arms swiftly behind his back and all the lights went out except for the follow spot. He bowed low, and it went off too, leaving him to make his way off the stage in darkness. He stumbled against the edge of the proscenium arch and banged his knee but managed to exit before the next lighting cue lit the stage.

  He slumped onto the sofa in the wings and mopped his face with his T-shirt. How the hell did these guys remember all that and do it with style? No wonder Mark had folded under the strain. He hoped Mark made a quick recovery, because having Jayden in his role meant there was no safety net if anyone else got sick or injured. Cathy’s livelihood relied on the success of this show, as did the theatre itself, from what he’d gathered listening to conversations in the Green Room. It seemed almost every show came with a make or break point, where the money spent putting it on had to be recovered from ticket sales to prevent loan default or foreclosure. For a moment he wondered why the theatre crowd put themselves through such a wringer over and over again, but then he looked at the cast and crew around him and realised they were having a pretty good time despite the current hiccups. He took a deep breath and limped to his position to be ready for clothes collecting after the first strip.

  The technical rehearsal ended at 2am with a collective sigh of relief. Adam sent everyone home with a quiet word of thanks for their efforts, and the theatre was silent once more.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next night, when Mark walked into the Green Room, Dennis let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

  “Hey Mark, how are you doing? Is everything OK?”

  “Sure, everything’s fine.” He smiled rather weakly. “I’m ready to get back into it – just needed a bit of a break last night.”

  To Dennis, his words sounded oddly flat and unconvincing. “Can I get you a cup of coffee Mark?”

  “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”

  As Dennis handed over the mug he could see a noticeable tremor in Mark’s hands.

  “You sure you’re OK?”

  “Never better. I’ve just got a bit going on right now, that’s all. A bit more than is comfortable to deal with all at one time. But it’ll be all right. I’ll be fine.” He didn’t seem to convince himself and turned away, spilling a few drops of coffee from his trembling mug.

  “Hello team! I’ve got the programmes – come and check these puppies out!” Nick the promotions guy bounced into the Green Room with an open carton and put it on the props table, where Gert immediately picked it up and thrust it back into his hands.

  “That’s not a prop, Nick. Take it away.”

  “Sorry Gert!” he said unrepentantly, leaning in to give her a kiss on her withered cheek. She batted him away with a smile and wombled off to her basement lair.

  “Ooh, let’s see them,” said Jessica. “How did the poster shot turn out?” She pounced on the box of programmes and pulled one out, unfolding it from A4 to A2 size and turning it sideways to admire the centrefold photo of the four strippers. “Oh very nice! Very nice indeed!”

  The others crowded round to have a look, with wolf whistles and whoops of approval from all the straight women and the occasional gay man.

  “I like the arrangement, the way the photographer posed the guys diagonally in their Spanish jackets. Striking, and very dramatic with the upper circle seats in the background.” Jessica gave Nick the thumbs-up. “I liked the idea of the standing in the river shot, but this could be even better. It’s good to feature the theatre to keep it in people’s minds for the year. Well done Nicholas. Your knighthood should arrive any day now.”

  She took the programme over to the notice-board and pinned it up so both sides could be read. “OK everyone, you’ll all get one as a souvenir at the end of the run. Leave the rest in the box for now, please. Let our patrons have first crack at them. Now then, this is the final Dress Rehearsal, so full make-up and costumes please. It’s time to give this show the full Monty.” There was a shout of laughter. “But strippers, you can leave your G-strings on. Hats are optional,” she added with a wink.

  Dennis felt a new level of professionalism backstage. The casual days of hanging around building things and chatting over coffee were gone. Now everyone in the theatre was focused on the show and their particular part. Rules were followed, rules Dennis had only heard about in movies or TV shows.

  “Beginners, please,” came the call, and he grinned. They really did say that!

  The actors finished the final touches to their make-up and headed for the stage door. Gazza had already departed for the control room, and Tony chivvied the rest of the crew into position. Dennis followed obediently into the OP wing ready for the first scene change. The same old house music played for five minutes, the house lights dimmed, and they were away.

  Dennis thought it all went pretty smoothly – the technical bits seemed to work, including the smoke, and the actors remembered their lines. The staging was correct with the right drops for the right scenes, and all the props were where they should be. But Adam called them for notes immediately after the final curtain and had a whole page of writing on his clipboard.

  Cast and crew gathered at the front edge of the stage and down the steps as Adam stood in the aisle facing them.

  “You can do better than that,” he said. The faces in front of him fell. “Warwick, you were slow with your line in scene two – that needs to be much snappier otherwise the whole scene loses momentum. Mark, you looked like you had other things in your mind the whole way through. We need you to focus on your audience – they’ve paid to see you perform so give them a hundred percent not sixty.” He consulted his piece of paper. “Tony, those scene changes could still go faster. Have a look at how you can streamline things to save time. We’re still running a bit long and it’s not just the actors.”

  Dennis flinched as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. Now it felt personal, and the criticism stung. Crew work not good enough? Well they’d make damn sure it was better the next night, and the one after that.

  “I know we’ve got a really good show here and you’ve all worked very hard. Just kick it up one more gear for opening night and you’ll have a great season,” Adam finished at last. “Go home, have an early night, and bring all your energy tomorrow. Thank you.”

  Dennis thought ruefully about his photo shoot the next day. He was carb-depleted already in preparation, so energy might just be a problem.

  The day of his photo shoot was almost unbearable. It had been scheduled for mid-afternoon Friday so he could take time off work, and he was only allowed sips of water during the day.

  By the time he reached the photographer’s studio he was faintly light-headed and really not feeling him
self, but to his relief Cathy was there to guide him through it.

  “Come on Dennis, the really tough part is almost over,” she said, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the hanging black backdrop. “We practised all the poses last night so you know what to do. Grab the dumbbells and do a few sets to get your muscles pumped up then Andrew here will shoot you as quickly as he can, OK?”

  He looked at her, sighed, and picked up the dumbbells as instructed. Two minutes later he was sweating gently and ready to drop. Andrew sprayed him with a light film of oil and positioned him on the backdrop paper.

  “Tense your abs,” he told Dennis. “Twist a little to the left, and step back a bit with your right foot. Perfect.”

  A series of flashes went off leaving Dennis blinking. “Did I close my eyes?” he groaned.

  “No, that’s fine. Lift your chest and turn towards me. Good.” More flashes. Dennis felt his muscles trembling.

  “God, this is hard work,” he said in surprise. “I always assumed modelling was easy.”

  “Nope,” said Andrew cheerfully. “I always tell models to be ready for a good hard workout. By the time they’ve held a position for several minutes they really feel the pain, no matter how fit they are!”

  “You’re doing well, sweetie,” Cathy encouraged him. “Almost done. And that tan we sprayed on you last night looks fabulous, by the way.”

  “OK Dennis, turn around and we’ll shoot your back. Arms up, brace your legs, and don’t worry about smiling for this one!”

  Dennis complied meekly. All he could think about was a juicy steak and a long drink of cold water.

  “Great sculpting on those lats!” Cathy enthused. “Nice butt, too.”

  “Glad you like it,” said Dennis, struggling to keep his glutes tensed.

  “OK, I think we’ve got you covered, Dennis,” said Andrew at last. “Shall we just grab a few shots of you and Cathy together?”

  Dennis looked at Cathy. “You may have to hold me up,” he warned.

  She giggled. “Come on, Big Boy, you can do it. Do your best muscle pose and I’ll stand beside you and go ‘Ta da!’ as if it was all my own work.”

  They took the shot and did a few more until Dennis felt himself getting dizzy and sat down rather suddenly on the floor.

  “Can I have a drink now please?” he asked plaintively.

  Cathy was full of remorse. “Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry, I got carried away with capturing how great you look and forgot all about how awful you’re feeling. Here, drink some of this, but slowly, OK?” She handed him a water bottle. “Your body is beautifully cut up and very depleted right now but you’ll soon bounce back. It’s not something you should do more than a couple of times a year but it isn’t long-lasting.”

  “Wait till you see these photos,” said Andrew. “You won’t recognise yourself!”

  “I showed him your before photo,” confessed Cathy, “so he’d be able to match the pose and make an accurate comparison shot.”

  “You’ve done really well,” said Andrew. “I know how much work it takes to lose the fat – it’s not easy, is it?”

  “It helps to have a good trainer,” said Dennis. “So that’s it? I’m done?” He looked down at his chiselled abs. “Whaddya know – I guess I’m finally a hunk!” He was starting to feel better already. “I think I should take my lovely trainer out for dinner as a thank-you gesture.” He looked up at Cathy. “Yes?”

  “Let’s hold that thought,” she said. “I believe our presence is required at the theatre for the next few nights, remember? And it’s opening night tonight!”

  “Good God, I almost forgot! This cutting up process really messes with your head, doesn’t it? Yeah, after the show then. Cool. Just shove something food-like in my mouth for now and I’ll be brave and carry on.”

  “You got it, Superman.”

  When they arrived at the theatre that night Dennis was astonished at the change in atmosphere. There was an indefinable sizzle of energy about the place, from the sound of hurrying feet across lino floors to the urgent buzz of conversations in every corner.

  The only person seemingly unaffected was Gert, the elderly props lady, who was methodically laying out the numerous items the actors would use on the props table, each neatly in its outlined space. Everyone else seemed to have been given fresh batteries, or been plugged into mains power for a massive recharge of energy.

  Adam moved among the performers, giving a few last-minute reminders here and there. Tony was doing the stage manager’s check of set and scenery while Gazza ran through the lighting cues and the sound guy checked the mikes and speakers. Dennis wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to be doing anything and hoped somebody would tell him if he was.

  “Is it always like this?” he asked Cathy quietly.

  “Oh yes, once there’s an audience out front the whole game changes. Even the smell of the place will be different after tonight. Jessica told me about it at the first show I did and she was absolutely right.” She smiled. “Go into the foyer during interval and you’ll see.”

  “Half hour call!” said a young blonde woman walking through the Green Room. “Half hour call.” She disappeared through the make-up room leaving increased activity in her wake.

  Dennis glanced around to see what the actors were doing. Ricky was practising one of his routines over in the corner while Simon did some stretches. Warwick filled his water bottle and Mark sat hunched over his script, re-reading his lines for the first scene. They’d been made-up, had their hair combed, fresh squirts of deodorant applied, and were wearing the scruffy casual clothes required for the opening scene at the pub.

  By the time the calls girl came around saying “Ten minute call, ten minutes to curtain everyone,” the tension was strung like a bow.

  At “Beginners please,” the Green Room emptied. Dennis swam with the surge of bodies out to the OP side of the stage and immediately noticed a strange hubbub coming from the other side of the vast red curtain. Behind it, everyone was quiet, moving silently and conversing in whispers. Out front, the rustle of programmes and clink of glasses punctuated numerous conversations as the evening’s patrons took their seats.

  Dennis saw the performers exchanging excited smiles as their adrenaline levels rose to the occasion. This was why they did it. The set of pre-show music faded away and the audience slowly hushed.

  The house lights went down.

  The curtain went up swiftly as Warwick, Ricky, Simon and Mark bounded onto the stage as if spilling out of their local pub, already calling out their lines to give the show an energetic start.

  Dennis was mesmerised. The stale old lines he’d heard a hundred times already suddenly seemed brilliantly clever when the audience laughed, and that response swept the actors even higher. The whole show suddenly seemed much wittier, and lines Dennis had seen no merit in before got roars of applause.

  He felt a tug on his sleeve and Tony pulled him backwards from the edge. “Dude, stay back. If you can see them, then they can see you, remember.”

  “Sorry!” Dennis whispered, retreating to a safer spot in the wings.

  It was almost time for the first scene change and his palms were sweaty. He wiped them on his black jeans and took a deep breath to steady his nerves.

  Blackout. The actors went past him feeling their way offstage and he picked up one end of the couch with Fenton at the other. It felt unbelievably exposed walking out onto the stage, even though the lights were so low he could hardly see. But he could hear, and the sound of nearly four hundred people so close by was very intimidating. As the music played there was a rolling laugh as parts of the audience recognised the LMFAO song and how appropriate it was.

  He put down the couch, did what he needed to do, and hurried back to the shelter of the wings as ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It’ faded out.

  The lights came up, the next scene started, and Dennis identified what he was feeling as sheer exhilaration. He hadn’t been seen, but he’d walked onstage and done his
job and been part of the show, and there was a warm glow of satisfaction about it. He could feel himself grinning like an idiot.

  He found a place to sit in the wings and watched the next scene, revelling in the audience response and feeling absurdly proud of the whole affair.

  By the time interval came and the lights went down at the end of Act One on a row of near-naked backsides on the stage, he couldn’t wait to get into the Green Room and share the buzz with the rest of the company.

  ‘Isn’t it going brilliantly?” he enthused to Jessica. She smiled.

  “Oh, I know that look. You’ve been infected, Dennis. You now have the same disease as the rest of us who are doomed to spend our lives in the dark worshipping the cruel mistress of live theatre. Welcome to our merry band!”

  “I never knew it would be so…” he dredged his mind for the right word, “exciting, compelling, rewarding. Is this how you feel every show, Jessica?”

  “Well, it does wear off a bit, and some shows are more successful than others, but yes, the magic never quite goes away.” She stroked his arm fondly. “Go and grab a coffee while there’s still some food around. The actors will have had their share by now so there’ll be a scramble among the crew for what’s left.”

  Dennis thought about the rice wafers tucked away in his bag but decided the eating plan could stand the small deviation if he helped himself to a piece of Erica’s fruit loaf. He’d do a few extra press-ups next morning to work it off.

  He noticed a group clustered round the notice-board staring at a piece of paper and went over to see what it was.

  “Good figures for an opening night,” said Tony, looking pleased. “I know a heap of them are comp tickets but there are no empty seats at all. The reviewer should be impressed.”

  Dennis had given his complimentary tickets to a couple of the women in his office and he hoped they were enjoying the show. Perhaps he’d see them afterwards in the foyer.

  “Act Two, five minutes!”

  Dennis returned to the wings with renewed excitement. He couldn’t wait to see how the strippers would be received by the women in the audience at the end of the act.