Body on the Stage (25 page)

“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?”