Body on the Stage Page 7

  “Pick out a couple that look sound, would you? They don’t have to match. I’ll go find an armchair and a sofa.”

  Dennis picked up a few dusty chairs and set them on their feet. It was hard to see how sturdy they were when the concrete floor was so uneven, but he made his choices and went to see if Gazza needed help with the armchair. He found one sitting on its own with small clouds of dust still swirling in the air, lit by the 40 watt bulb in a wire frame directly above it. There was a grunt and a scrape from the darkness beyond.

  “Is that you, Dennis? Come and give a hand with this, will you?” Gazza’s voice was muffled. Dennis groped his way forward and saw Gazza bent over in the gloom, tugging on the end of a roll-top couch. He squeezed past and tried to locate the other end under a pile of material that he pushed back and held up with his shoulder. He squatted down to lift with his legs and found it surprisingly easy, hauling the couch free with a smooth pull upwards. Gazza, lifting on the other end, let out a curse as he stepped back and his arm banged against a pillar.

  “Ow, there’s a feckin’ nail sticking out. Some idiot could really hurt himself on that.”

  As they carried the sofa into the light Dennis saw a line of blood running down Gazza’s forearm. “Looks like someone did,” he said. “Put the couch down and stand still. That needs looking at before you go any further.” Too surprised to resist, Gazza obeyed. Dennis inspected the gash as best he could under the light then pulled out a clean white handkerchief and tied it round the cut. “Hold that above your heart and we’ll go and wash it out,” he said. “I presume you’ve got a First Aid kit on site somewhere?”

  “Er, yeah, up by the toilets. But hold on, it’s just a scratch. No need to make a song and dance about it. I’ll slap some Dettol on it later.”

  “No, it’s more than a scratch,” insisted Dennis. “And that nail was rusty. How up to date is your tetanus shot? Come on, we need to get that clean right now.”

  They made their way back onto the stage and Gazza led the way through the Green Room, past the kitchen, and up two steps to the First Aid box next to the shower and toilet. Dennis ran hot water into the hand-basin and poured a few drops of disinfectant into it. He cleaned the blood off the cut and let Gazza get a proper look at it.

  “See? That could go very nasty if it’s not treated right. If you left all that dirt and dust in there you’d have an infection that would put you out of action for weeks.”

  “Yeah, fair enough. Carry on, Doc.” Gazza allowed Dennis to finish cleaning the wound. He applied a dab of disinfectant cream and covered it all up with a good-sized sticking plaster.

  “There, that should be safe enough. Are you sure your tetanus is up to date?”

  “Yep, no worries, had one the year before last when a nail-gun took a pot-shot at me.” Gazza grinned. “Thanks, Doc. I’m sure that’ll be good as new in no time. Now can we go back and get that bloody couch?”

  Once they’d collected all the furnishings on the list Gazza called for a coffee break.

  “That’s the standard treatment for a minor injury, isn’t it? A cuppa and something sweet to eat? Best you put the kettle on, Doc.”

  “Doc?” queried Tony as he entered the Green Room, brushing dust off his jeans.

  “Yeah, the Doc here patched me up real good after a nail made a hole in my arm.” Gazza displayed the neatly-dressed wound. “Reckon we should keep him on – he’ll be handy for all those injuries we get doing set construction.”

  “What are you like with fainting women, Dennis?” Tony asked. “We’re bound to get a few of those with this show. Full houses, hot auditorium, naked men running around – they’ll be dropping like flies out there.”

  Dennis looked sideways at him. “Don’t you have trained Front of House staff for that sort of thing?”

  “Just Gerry the fireman, and he’ll be too busy checking all the fire exits and stuff. No mate, if you’ve got any first aid experience we’ll be needing you to pick up all the limp bodies and fan them back to life.”

  “Could be your lucky day, Doc. Could meet the girl of your dreams and have her swooning in your arms needing the kiss of life.”

  Dennis relaxed, realising he was being teased. “OK, I’m in. Can you provide me with an official uniform and a good sturdy stretcher? Some of those women will probably be more than I can carry alone.”

  They laughed. “Nah,” said Tony, “by the time you’ve done all that training at the gym you won’t need any help.” He looked at Dennis more carefully. “Hey, have you actually started losing weight, Doc? Your face looks thinner, doesn’t it Gaz?”

  Gazza squinted at Dennis. “Suppose so. Can’t say I’d noticed.”

  “Yeah yeah,” laughed Dennis. “Nice try, Tony.”

  “No seriously, you really do look thinner. Not a lot, mind you, but there’s definitely a change.”

  Dennis was absurdly pleased. It would be great to report back to Cathy that someone had noticed a difference in how he looked. Clearly her expert advice was having the desired effect.

  “Well, er, thanks. I’m certainly working on it. Although some of those actors seem to be bulking up much more quickly than I am.”

  “Well you’re trying to thin down, aren’t you, not bulk up? Don’t worry, when all that fat goes away you’ll probably find a rippling six-pack underneath! I know I had one once.” Tony patted his solid belly. “It’s probably still there a few inches down.”

  “You should join us at the gym. Cathy would soon help you find it again.”

  “Yeah, like that’s going to happen! Exercise and healthy living? No thanks. I’m not giving up my beer, it’s the only thing keeping me sane after a hard day’s work.”

  “You actually think you’re sane?” said Gazza.

  Dennis ran up the stairs to the gym that night, eager to share Tony’s comment with Cathy before his workout. She wasn’t in her office, and when he heard the tinkling music coming from the yoga room he remembered she had a class to teach and was probably getting the room ready. A burst of feminine laughter echoed up the stairwell and he turned to see Mark arriving with a very pretty blonde girl.

  “Hey Dennis, how’s it going? Ready for a hard-out upper-body workout today? This is my girlfriend Sherry.”

  “Hi Sherry, nice to meet you,” said Dennis politely, not quite sure whether he should shake her hand. What was the correct etiquette in the gym where people were half-dressed in fairly revealing sports gear? To his surprise she leaned in and gave him a quick hug.

  “Hey, Dennis! Mark’s told me about you – it’s good to see you,” she said warmly. “I think it’s great you’re joining the guys in training – God knows they need somebody sensible to keep an eye on them.”

  “Hey!” protested Mark, “that’s enough of that. Be off to your yoga class, woman. Let us real men get on with our grunting and sweating in peace.” He swatted her shapely bottom as she headed for the yoga room. “See you afterwards, sweetheart.”

  “OK babe. Bye Dennis – have fun! I’ll expect to see you soaking wet and sagging by the time you’ve finished a full-on session!”

  He smiled and nodded, unconsciously relaxing his stomach muscles once she disappeared to join her class.

  More voices in the stairwell heralded the arrival of Ricky and Simon, looking almost comic together as the shortest and tallest members of the cast.

  “Still having a go at this, are you mate?” Ricky asked Dennis. “Got to give you points for trying, I suppose.”

  They picked up their workbooks from the box on the counter and got down to the serious business of cardio endurance and pumping iron. Dennis was pleased to find that he was wheezing less and less after each cardio session on the rowing machine, and he could handle the steady increase in weights Vincenzo had written into his plan. He was still near exhaustion by the end of their hour-long session, but felt he’d made some improvement.

  Sherry and Cathy were last to come out of the yoga room when the rest of the women had dispersed, and
from the way they looked across the room, Dennis had the uncomfortable impression that they’d been talking about him. He felt a flush rising in his already beetroot-red face. He towelled off the sweat and tried to ignore them.

  Vincenzo appeared as Sherry made her way between the machines towards Mark, intercepting her with a charming smile.

  “Hello, Princess, good to see you looking so beautiful. You must have been inspired by your yoga class to glow like that. You have an inner light about you.”

  Dennis saw Sherry’s eyes widen.

  “Wow, it’s not often I get a compliment like that,” she said.

  “You should be worshipped every day,” declared Vincenzo. “A woman so beautiful is a gift to the world.”

  Mark left the machine he was working on and went over to reclaim his girl.

  “You are the luckiest man in the planet,” said Vincenzo, clapping him on the back. “Take care of this precious jewel, my brother, she’s a very special lady.”

  Sherry blushed and giggled.

  “Yeah, right,” said Mark drily. “Come along, my little lotus flower, it’s getting late and we have to pick up groceries on the way home tonight, remember. We’re out of drain cleaner and cat litter.” He almost pulled her away from Vincenzo.

  “Oh the romance of it all,” sighed Sherry as they headed for the locker rooms hand in hand.

  There was a loud clang from the weights area and all eyes turned in that direction.

  “Let’s see you beat that then!” crowed Ricky, strutting like a cocky bantam rooster in front of his tall blond workout partner. Simon eyed him gravely.

  “You’re not supposed to drop the bar at the end of the lift. If you were properly in control you would have lowered it to the floor.”

  “Crap!” Ricky snapped. “They drop them in the Olympics all the time. You’re just mad that you can’t match my weights.” He flexed an arm. “And I’m bulking up much better than you are. Look at that bicep – now that’s a big gun.” He caressed it lovingly. “Wait till the chicks see that. They’ll be climbing across the orchestra pit to get me.”

  “Of course they will,” said Simon. “And I’ll take the ones that are left. The ones with good taste.” He ducked with a graceful sidestep as Ricky swung at him.

  “Hey, guys!” Vincenzo was there in moments, smoothing ruffled feathers. “Ricky, my man – you’re looking good, bro. That supplement is really doing the business for you. Such fast results, just like I told you, eh?” He patted Ricky’s bulging arm. “Bellisimo, yes?”

  Ricky preened. “Yeah, damn good. You’re all right, Vince.”

  Vincenzo’s smile flickered. “You got enough supply? Need another packet yet?”

  “No, I’m good thanks mate. I’m off to the showers. See you later, slackers,” he called to the rest of the guys, getting a chorus of grunts and muttered retorts in reply.

  “Hey Ricky,” called Mark, “don’t forget the meeting tomorrow night, seven o’clock at the theatre, remember?”

  “Nah, stuff it, I’m taking my girlfriend to the drag races tomorrow. Can’t make it.”

  “Sure about that? We’ll be deciding on our strip routines for the show. If you’re not there Adam might just decide you’ll be the Indian from the Village People, dancing to YMCA. Is that what you want?”

  Ricky let fly a volley of curses. “Oh all right then, I suppose I’ll be there. No pansy-ass director’s going to get me doing anything limp-wristed, that’s for sure. The races will keep for another week I guess.” He stormed off, a small thundercloud of aggression surrounding him.

  Dennis leaned over towards Mark sitting at the next machine.

  “He seems a bit of a handful. What’s he like at rehearsal?”

  “He was OK at first – bit of an attitude, but pleasant enough. But lately he’s got more aggressive and is really stroppy at times. I’m wondering if Adam’s going to tell him to pull his head in. We don’t need that sort of behaviour in the cast, and I’m not the only one who’s losing patience with him.”

  “Right. And it doesn’t matter how big his biceps are, the girls won’t fancy him if he shows that much aggro.” Dennis finished his set and stood wearily. “I’m off now. Good luck with that meeting. Might see you there since we’re doing some construction tomorrow. Bye.”

  Dennis was amused to see Ricky sitting quietly in the Green Room the following night, saying little as Adam called for suggestions from the cast. While Dennis gathered mugs and coffee supplies for the crew, he listened to the conversation. The five actors were gathered round the battle-scarred table with Adam and Cathy, who waved and smiled briefly to him before focusing her attention on the group.

  “Now I’d like to choreograph routines for you that fit with your own ideas,” she said. “Do any of you have fantasy characters you’d like to play? Anything goes at this point. We can weed out the impractical suggestions later. Mark, let’s start with you.”

  “What about some sort of super-hero? Superman was kind of romantic, and Captain America seems to get all the girls going.”

  “OK,” said Adam, “but we’d probably run into copyright issues. The big studios tend to be very protective of their rights and come down hard if they hear of any infringement. What else – something generic if possible?”

  “A James Bond-type character?” suggested Cathy, with a sideways grin at Dennis. “Just a generic spy figure. Does that appeal, Mark?”

  “Oh yeah,” he enthused. “I love that! All dressed up in a swanky dinner jacket, leaping off the balcony and swinging onto the stage with a red rose in my teeth to give to some lucky woman in the front row – very cool!”

  “And peeling off the jacket to reveal sexy black holsters and hidden weapons,” mused Adam. “I like it. Put that one down, Cathy. Now Warwick, what about you?”

  “Fireman,” said Warwick firmly. “And I want to come down through the ceiling.”

  “That might be tricky in full gear,” said Adam, “but we can certainly give it a try. Good suggestion – all the ladies love a fireman.”

  “What’s your idea, Simon?” asked Cathy. “You’re a dancer so we should be able to do something really exciting with you.”

  “I can’t decide between a cop or a street kid,” he said, smoothing back his blond hair. “A cop is a kind of traditional fantasy figure for hen parties and a street kid isn’t, but I could do some great hip-hop moves that would bring the house down.”

  Adam looked thoughtful, a slender forefinger against his lips.

  “How about coming on as a cop, all very straight with your uniform and a big long night-stick, but then you peel off that layer and there’s a cheeky street kid underneath. You can toss your police hat into the wings and someone will throw you a cap in return to stick on sideways.” He pondered for a moment. “The shoes might be a problem though.”

  Dennis had an idea and couldn’t help interrupting. “Couldn’t you have just the uppers of plain black shoes, attached on top of brightly coloured trainers with elastic or something? They’d simply slip off when you were ready to reveal the ones underneath.”

  Cathy clapped her hands. “Good one, Dennis! You’re wasted making the coffee – come and join wardrobe!”

  He waved her away and went back to pouring coffee, while still keeping an ear on their discussion.

  “All right Ricky,” said Adam, “we can hear from you now. Have you any thoughts on what you’d like to be?”

  “Yeah, an army dude, parachuting in with guns blazing, ammo bandoliers across my chest, great big knives strapped to my legs, and all the camouflage gear. That would be awesome!”

  Adam cocked his head. “That sounds rather more like your fantasy than one for the women in the audience. A bit violent for today’s market. What else have you got?”

  “How about a headmaster, striding on in a long black gown with a nice whippy cane? I could bend the girls over and give them a good spanking.”

  There was a universal wincing at the idea.

  “Pos
sibly not quite appropriate,” said Adam, “to combine teachers and sex like that.”

  “Well if you’re going to rubbish all my suggestions,” huffed Ricky, “what can you come up with then, eh?”

  Adam considered him. “How about a racing car driver? We could set the scene with back projection and sound effects, and you’d come on in full leathers and helmet.”

  “He could strip down to chequered boxers,” offered Cathy, “and maybe even spray champagne as a finale.”

  Ricky smiled happily. “Could I be The Stig?” he asked. “Or just a guy in a white suit and helmet that could be the Stig?” He bounced in his seat. “Ooh ooh, I’ve even got the T-shirt that says ‘I am the Stig’ that I could wear under the suit. That would be cool!”

  Adam agreed. “I’ll look into it – make sure there’s no trademark or copyright issues to trip us up. If there aren’t, then you can be the Stig. As long as you remember our little discussion from this morning.”

  Ricky nodded eagerly. “Yeah, sure. You can count on me.”

  “Right then, we’re down to you, Jayden, our trusty understudy. You might as well have your own routine because you need to be able to replace any of our star performers and we can’t have two spies or two Stigs in a performance. What would you like to be?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that. What are the girls swooning about these days? Vampires! Could I do some kind of vampire routine? A least it would save putting on that awful fake tan.”

  “Great idea, Jayden,” said Cathy. “Well done for thinking of the woman’s perspective. We can start Team Jayden – forget Edward and Jacob! What do you think, Adam?”

  “My fall-back character was going to be a cowboy, but I think a vampire is much more interesting. Do you think you can choreograph an appropriate routine for him?”

  “Sure, no worries.”

  Dennis couldn’t help himself. “Er, excuse me butting in again, but don’t vampires fly? Could we arrange that somehow?”