Beauties and the Beast (14 page)

“All right then, smart arse. You explain it. You explain how, in this filthy flea pit, there's a brand new, all mod-cons Green Room.”

“They must be modernising. Yes that's it.” Mickey's face cracked into a smile. “They've bought the place and they modernising it for the play.”

“So they start with a Green Room?”

“Well you've got to start somewhere,” said Mickey. He sniffed again. “I wish they'd get on with it, clean out whatever died under this stage.”

“It comes from, the room back there, the one with the light coming out from under the door,” volunteered Billy.

“I know,” said Mickey. “I didn't think anybody else noticed.”

“He did.” Mickey pointed his thumb in the direction of the recumbent Thornton.

Billy chuckled. “The only thing he ever sees is himself the arrogant bastard. Greedy bugger too. See how he got stuck into the food.”

“Yeah,” said Mickey. “Mind you, I can't blame him. It was class stuff.”

“You didn't do so bad yourself.” Billy let his eyes roam over Mickey's rounded belly.

Mickey's hand went involuntarily to his paunch. “I was hungry,” he protested, “And they had all my favourite dishes.”

Billy eyed the comic, sneakily. “I always thought boozers didn't eat.”

Mickey bit back. “I told you, I'm not a boozer. I just hit the bottle when my wife died.” He experienced heart pangs. God she was so beautiful.

“If you believe that you'll believe anything,” cut in Billy.

Mickey held out his hands, steady as a rock. “See? I haven't even thought about a drink. That binge last night must have cured me.”

“You can't cure alkies.”

“I am not an alcoholic!” There was fury rising in Mickey's voice again.

Billy grinned. “That's what they all say. But it's true, you never did ask about a drink.” He moved close to Mickey and prodded him in the stomach. The comic took a step backwards. “But you are fat aren't you?”

“I am not.” Mickey tried, unsuccessfully to pull his stomach in.

Billy closed in again, prodding harder and harder. “What's this then?” he countered, “Santa padding?”

Mickey turned his back on the singer. “I'm just built that way,” he muttered. Then he whirled round again. “Anyway you did pretty well yourself. I saw you stuff all those goodies inside you.”

Billy reacted with surprise. “I did, didn't I? That's funny ‘cause I've never been much of an eater. I'm always too... nervous.”

“Too doped you mean.” Mickey's face lit up. “Wait ‘till you get your withdrawal symptoms. That'll be worth watching.”

Billy interjected just a little too fast. “I don't get ‘em.”

Mickey sensed the singer's discomfort. He honed in. “You've probably never gone long enough without it. You'll start to cramp up soon enough if they don't turn up and let you out of here.”

“I told you,” Billy retorted. “I'm not hooked. I can take it or leave it.”

“That's what they all say,” Mickey mimicked.

“Maybe, but I'm telling the truth.”

Mickey shook his head sadly. “You can't stick drugs into your veins and take it or leave it. It doesn't work that way.”

Billy took in a deep breath and glared at Mickey. “Okay then,” he said, finally. “If you're so smart, tell me why I feel so good if I haven't had as fix since last night? If I was hooked I'd be screaming for it by now. It was over eight hours ago.” He flexed his arms. “I don't usually feel this good until I've had a fix.”

“And you're not a junkie.” There was derision in Mickey's voice.

“I'm not - and I can prove it.” Billy was not as certain as his tone implied, and Mickey sensed it.

“You'll be a gibbering wreck by the time you get back wherever you came from,” he said.

Billy closed in on Mickey, so close the comic could feel his breath. Odd, it was sweet which was unusual in a man with all his vices. “I won't be no wreck,” said the singer. “If I needed a fix I could get one right here and now - of any grade of any dope I wanted.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey was interested. “You carry a stash in your guitar then or up your arse where the cops can't get at it?”

“Bloody funny, ha, ha,” said Billy. “If you really want to know, it's in the room behind the door in the Green Room.”

Mickey laughed. “Now that is funny. I went in there, and I didn't see any dope.”

“Well you didn't look very hard,” insisted Billy. “The place was like a pharmaceutical company warehouse. Dope, needles, pills, powders. Rows of cocaine already laid out with silver straws next to them. Everything you could imagine.”

“You're imagining all right,” chuckled Mickey, “dreaming. It was a club bar - a gentleman's club bar and it smelt like money. Every drink you could think of - and it was help yourself. I could have got rotten in half an hour.”

“Crap,” snapped Billy. “It was filled with dope.”

“The drugs have addled your brain,” sneered Mickey.

“More like the booze has smashed your brain cells,” yelled Billy.

There was a pause as both men sifted their brains for more inane ammunition, but they had no time to resume for Thornton's voice, projected at full volume, cut through the air.

“There were no people,” he said.

Chapter Eighteen

Angela and Diana had shed any pretence of respectability or dignity when Lucy fixed them with a look that commanded complete compliance. The repellent ooze that was their master floated into multi-forms, each more compelling than the other to the women. The stench that emanated from the ooze was wafting perfume to senses heightened by the epitome of lust and evil.

Clothes were torn from bodies, bodies drenched in sweat and juices. The need was indescribable.

“Billy Winter?” The whisper was barely audible, but it sank deep into the mind of the beautiful blonde. “You prefer him to me?”

Angela groaned and lunged forward, but the shape changed, a wisp of smoke now, acrid like burning rubber.

Diana stood naked, flesh burning, mind screaming. “Me,” she gasped. “Me.” She tried to brush past Angela as the smoke hovered out of reach. Angela grabbed her by her shock of red hair. Then they fought; biting, kicking scratching. The smoke became ooze again. It stretched, warped, bent, and quivered in oily, rainbow ripples. It came close to the women, unsaid words of encouragement inspired wilder groans and blood. The scratches and weals grew scabs and leached pus.

The ooze suddenly grew into a human male form. It was tall, strong, handsome, and double phallused. There was an unsaid command and the women stopped their fight still panting, bloody, and wild eyed. They stared and then hungrily fell open-mouthed onto the phalluses, children of evil feeding from the father of corruption.

The male stood unmoving until with a cry of triumph he felt the release. It was scalding, metallic, molten. The women felt the burning, the agony the unspeakable pain, and yet the pleasure and the sweetness were equally unbearable.

They fell back to the ground, thighs dripping and glistening, mouths blackened and smoking. The male grew, taller and wider. The phalluses became gigantic. He gathered the women in his scaly, taloned hand and pinned them on the twin phalluses.

They screamed in pain and exquisite delight, bucking, riding. Again they felt his release lava hot and burning. He released them and they fell to the ground. Replete, finished. How could anyone but he satisfy their unearthly desires? No-one.

“Not even Billy Winter?” The voice was mocking. “See to them. The time is close.”

The male dissolved into smoke and hovered over the computers. The desire was gone. The women dressed quickly. The sores and bruises healed. They were once again, cool, calculating and efficient.

None of the men heard any of the unearthly sounds. They just smelt the darkness. When Thornton broke his silence, Billy closed his eyes and clenched his fist. “Jesus,” he said.

“Well, well,” said Mickey, cheerfully. “You're not dead after all.”

Thornton stood. “I was meditating,” he said in modulated tones.

Billy opened his eyes and glared at the actor. “More like you nodded off,” he said.

Thornton looked down his nose at Billy. “Nonsense boy,” he said evenly. “I meditate. It's a technique I use to bring my inner qualities to the surface. It helps me prepare for a role. It expands my mind.”

“You mean like LSD?” Billy's question was genuine.

Thornton sighed. “Trust you to think something like that. I said it expands my mind, not destroy it.”

Mickey stood silently. His eyes open wide as if he were concentrating hard. His mouth was open. Then he snapped it shut. “What was that you said,” he asked Thornton.

The actor was perplexed. “Expand the mind,” he said.

“No,” said Mickey impatiently, “before that, when you woke up.”

“I was not asleep. I was just explaining... ”

“I know, I know,” said Mickey.

Thornton sighed. “I said there were no people.”

“Yeah,” said Mickey. “In the Green Room that's right there were no people. All that food and nobody here but us, the women and whoever lives in that stinking tomb in the wings - and that little bloke in white, who never touched a thing. Funny don't you think?”

“Exactly,” boomed Thornton. “A feast had been prepared. The Green room looked like the galley of the Mary Celeste.

“Mary who?” asked Billy.

“The Mary Celeste, the sailing boat they found floating, empty... oh never mind, you wouldn't understand anyway.” Thornton did not like to waste words.

“There was a ton of food all right,” agreed Mickey. “Somebody went to a lot of trouble if it was just for us.”

“Yes,” said Thornton. “There was enough to feed a theatre full of first night freeloaders.”

Billy turned to Mickey. “You saw that little bloke as well then?”

“Of course,” said Mickey. “He kept talking to me. He was a real little oddball.”

“I'll say,” cut in Thornton. “He tried to pick me up in the toilet. Dirty little man.”

“He didn't seem that way to me,” said Mickey. “He was a nice sort of bloke, but he talked funny.”

“Maybe he was the chef,” said Billy. “When he spoke to me he ran off and disappeared in the corridors at the back of the hot food bar.”

“He kept telling me not to do the show,” said Mickey.

“Same here,” said Billy.

Thornton glared at the men. “You are both out of your tiny minds,” he said. “He was a little pervert, probably the toilet attendant. He was never in the Green room and even if he had been he couldn't have disappeared. There was only one door apart from the entrance - and that certainly didn't lead to the kitchen.”

Mickey chuckled and threw glance at Billy. “That's true,” he said.

Thornton closed his eyes and a look of ecstasy crossed his face. “I haven't seen a display like that outside of a Tijuana brothel.

Mickey laughed. “He thinks it was a chemist's warehouse.”

“You said it was a gentleman's club,” countered Billy. “You never mentioned it was a brothel.”

“It had everything from leather to chains. My God it was a palace of perversion.” He closed his mouth. He was not about to mention the costumes. That was his secret.

Mickey took a step away. “You all right?” he asked.

“Of course, why?” asked Thornton.

“Well I went in there and there was plenty of leather, but no bloody chains. It was a club room,” insisted Mickey.

“Hell Fire Club room,” said Thornton.

“You're both bonkers,” said Billy.

“It sounds as if we're all bonkers,” said Mickey.

“Maybe they put magic mushrooms in the soup,” said Billy.

“Somebody's done something,” said Mickey emphatically.

Billy roamed towards the edge of the stage again. Then he bellowed. “Is there anybody there?”

Mickey jumped. “Jesus,” he gasped. “I wish you wouldn't do that.”

“Hey!” Billy came trotting back. “Maybe it's a haunted theatre, maybe there's nobody here at all.” He looked to the back of the stage. His heart almost stopped. The computer bank had gone.

‘What the... “

The others turned to follow the gaze of his wide-open, frightened eyes. They saw nothing unusual. The patterned screens blinked silently. Billy blinked and in that instant the hardware returned.

“What's up?” asked Mickey?

Billy pulled himself together. “Nothing,” he said. “I just thought... I was just thinking, maybe there's nobody here at all. Maybe everything is a figment of our imagination.”

Thornton looked him up and down. “No figment of your imagination could possibly appear in mine.”

“I don't suppose it would.” Billy was stung. “Two of them are good looking chicks.”

“Is that remark meant to mean something?” said Thornton.

“If you want it to,” replied Billy. The edge of raw nerves had slipped back into the voices.

Thornton drew back. “You are a Barbarian,” he boomed.

Billy laughed. “You mean like Conan?” he asked. Then his eyes lit up and he began to glide round the stage making hooting sounds. “Maybe I'm a ghost,” he said, laughing. “Maybe we're all dead, like in one of those horror movies where everyone's dead and nobody knows it.”

Mickey felt fear again; fear of the unseen, the unknown. Where were those damn women? “Shut up!” His voice was close to a scream. “Shut up.”

Billy stopped his cavorting. “If they don't come soon I'm shooting through. I don't even want the job.” Thoughts of the riff crept into his mind. He was lying. He did want it, desperately. The band would be his passport back to the top.

Thornton, memories of the costumes surfacing, said: “Of course you do.”

“You'd be crazy, not to.” Mickey too was remembering the room.

“Well I bloody well don't.” He persisted with the lie.

“Then,” said Thornton disdainfully, “you are as feeble-minded as you look. If they want someone of my calibre, they must have something truly spectacular.”

“There's something not right,” said Billy.

“It's your head,” snickered Mickey.

“Laugh if you want to,” retorted Billy. “You said there was something fishy going on yourself.”

“Yeah, well.” Self doubt emerged. “I just wondered why they weren't here.”

“I don't know,” said Billy. “One minute, it seems okay and the next, some sort of mystery. What if it's all a big con? There is no show. They've just got us here for... whatever.”

“There'd be no point,” said Mickey. “Why would anybody want to do that? There's no sense to it. Let alone money - and nobody does anything unless it means money.”

Billy's pallid face suddenly became ashen and he slumped down on a chair, his Fender banging noisily on the ground. Thornton stared, wondering. Mickey moved forward, but not too close. “Are you all right?” he said gently

Billy's eyes were luminous with fear. “We've been kidnapped,” he said hoarsely.

Thornton brayed a laugh. “This is hardly Mafia territory,” he said. “Who on earth would kidnap people by taxi cab?”

“They'd get millions for me,” muttered Billy, still terrorised by his own imagination. “And I dare say they'd get a few quid for the pair of you.”

Thornton snorted, ego rising. “A few quid; there'd be more people willing to raise my ransom than would be for yours”.

“Jesus, what an ego,” muttered Billy.

Thornton eyed him coldly. “Boy, with talent like mine I don't need an ego.”

Billy burst out laughing.

Thornton was unfazed. “Your suggestion is nonsense. Kidnapped? If that's their ruse why the interrogation, why not just lock us into a cell or something? Why haven't they made us tape messages or made a harrowing video recording to send to the people they intend to extort the ransom from?”

“Maybe they haven't got round to it yet,” said Mickey.

“Nonsense,” said Thornton. “Being held for ransom in this day and age is highly unlikely. Blackmail would be more conceivable,” he added, thinking of the video display he'd seen.”

“You're right there,” said Mickey, his thoughts travelling on similar lines.

“I don't care what you say” countered Billy. “It's an idea. It's the only one anyone's come up with - and it makes sense.”

Mickey looked round the silent stage. “Anything would make sense in this place. It's unreal.”

Thornton shook his head sadly and joined Billy on a chair. “The one thing that doesn't make sense is why they'd want you two to work with me,” he said sotto voce.

“There's more to it than that.” Mickey's voice had a serious ring to it. “Nothing here has been normal has it? There've been lots of strange things happening.”

“Only in your tiny little mind,” said Thornton. “Look at it logically at least. We came to a theatre, an old one admittedly, for an audition. Management have some new technique, which isn't surprising these days, and they give us lunch. What's strange about that?”

“The whole set-ups funny,” said Mickey.

Thornton eyed him pityingly. “Well it's not made me laugh, nothing here has raised even smile.” A pained expression overtook his face. “And please don't tell another of your excruciating anecdotes.”

Mickey strolled over to the actor and eyeballed him. “You've got no soul, that's your trouble.” Thornton grunted and crossed his legs before turning his torso away from the comic.

“You reckon its all logic,” Mickey continued. “But is it? Look at us, no matter what your opinion is, the fact remains, we are all big names, and none of us do auditions for anybody. People just book us.” Billy focused on Mickey. The comic had full attention from both men. “Except,” he paused for effect and felt the silent plea, “except we are doing an audition. The thing is, why?”

“Yeah,” said Billy. “So if we've not been kidnapped. What's going on?”

Thornton sighed. “What you say is true, to a point, but you let too much imagination interfere with your thinking. We are auditioning, but for something so special it needs me. There is nothing, weird or unearthly about anything.”

Mickey detected uneasiness underneath Thornton's bravado. The comic closed in. “No?” he said. “Then what about that Green Room - and the stuff they have on video.” He paused. “Nobody could have got hold of that tape. It's locked away. Safe. And those two women - don't tell me they're normal.”

Billy was keen to agree. “That blonde keeps looking at me as if I were her dinner.”

Mickey took up the argument again. “Who are they? I've been in this business a long time and I've never heard of them. Lucy? The man we never see? Caduti? Verdilet?”

“That sound like Mafia to me,” cut in Billy.

“More like the unholy trinity,” said Mickey, long forgotten fragments of religion surfaced from the sludge of memory, “the mother, the daughter, and the unholy ghost.”

“Oh do be quiet,” groaned Thornton. “I'm trying to make some sense out of all of this.”