Body on the Stage (8 page)

At the next training session he
was determined to try to keep up with the other guys, or at least
to make a good showing in front of them. He didn’t want to feel
like the left-out fat kid, always picked last for the team and not
very good at anything. He reckoned with a bit of effort he could do
anything they could do. Eventually.

His illusions were shattered
quite quickly, and by an unexpected blow to his ego. He was
supposed to be doing his sets on the adductor muscle machine,
sitting astride a pair of knee-pads and squeezing them together.
The machine had just been vacated by a gentle white-haired old lady
when Dennis sat down. He bent to adjust the weight and blinked in
disbelief. She’d been pressing 35kg with those skinny old legs! The
most he’d been able to manage so far was 20kg. He had to lessen the
weight but he was going to look a complete wimp if anybody saw him
do it. Mark and Warwick were across the aisle doing quads and
hamstrings, and Ricky was behind him doing chest presses. Dennis
leaned forward, took the adjustor peg out of the hole, and bent
further forward as if inserting it lower down while actually
pushing it in higher up. As he sat up again he got a thumbs up from
Warwick and an approving grin from Mark. He nodded back to them in
manly acknowledgement and got to work on his sets, reminding
himself to reset the weight before he left the machine so his
deception would remain undiscovered. Perhaps in time he’d be able
to match the little old lady’s strength, he thought ruefully.

Vincenzo appeared at the far end
of the gym, his skin-tight lime green top showing off tanned and
muscled arms and his high-cut shorts displaying slim, taut thighs.
With gleaming smiles and friendly words to other gym-goers, he made
his way towards Mark and Warwick, preceded by a waft of
sweet-scented cologne.

“Hey guys, how you doing?
Lookin’ good, bro!” He nodded approvingly at Warwick. “Does your
girlfriend like how you look too? You should bring her here, man.
We can get her in for a free class or a workout session, no
problem.”

“Really? That’d be great. I’ll
let her know.” He towelled sweat off his face and grinned. “She’s
always talking about how she must start getting fit sometime –
this’ll be a good way to get her in the door here. Thanks,
Vincenzo.”

“No problem, man. Always good to
have more pretty girls round here, eh?” He turned to Mark. “You got
a sweet little lady friend who needs some gym time too?”

“She’s already a member, thanks
Vincenzo. She does yoga and kick-boxing twice a week. You might
know her – Sherry Rippon? Short blonde chick?”

“Ah, Sherry, yes!” Vincenzo
smiled lazily. “Lovely lady, very strong, very fit. You’re a lucky
man, my friend.”

While the conversation went on,
Dennis hurriedly finished his sets so that he could alter the
weight and escape from the machine without closer scrutiny.

“Hey there, Dennis,” called
Vincenzo, “how’s it going? What about you? You got a sister who’d
like to come check out the gym some time? We got all kinds of
beginner get-fit classes for all shapes of girls.”

“Thanks for the offer,” said
Dennis drily, “but my sister doesn’t live in Whetford. She’s a
champion triathlete over in Victoria.” OK, it was a slight
exaggeration. Janice had won a few awards for her events but she
wasn’t technically a champion, yet.

“Really? Is that so? Good for
her.” Vincenzo recovered quickly. “You bring her in any time if she
comes for a visit, OK?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,”
Dennis said as he wiped down the machine he’d been using and
surreptitiously changed the weights. He tossed the wad of paper
towel in the bin on his way to the hamstring curl machine Mark had
just vacated.

“You guys carry on. Remember
your form. Gotta do it right to get the best results, yes?
Ciao
for now.” Vincenzo bounced off to spread charm around
the rest of the workout room.

Janice was indignant when Dennis
told her about the conversation later.

“You mean he asked the other
guys about their girlfriends and just assumed you didn’t have one?
What a jerk. Haven’t you mentioned you’ve been married?”

“God no! Why on earth would
Louise come up in conversation? I’m not proud of a failed marriage.
My ex-wife is the last person I’d want to tell anyone about.”

“Yes, I see what you mean. It’s
a bit galling having them think you’ve always been single though.
You have to get yourself a girlfriend. Get back on the horse, so to
speak.”

“Not while I look like this.” He
stopped, too late to retract his words, remembering that Janice
didn’t actually know how he really looked. “But I am working on
it,” he continued quickly. “Going to the gym every couple of days
and eating so sensibly you wouldn’t believe it. I had to buckle my
belt on a tighter hole this morning and my pants feel quite
loose.”

“Really? Good for you, Den!
You’ll have to send me a photo so I can follow your progress.”

“Er, perhaps in a few more days,
eh? You wouldn’t notice any change yet, I’m sure.” He smacked his
forehead at his own stupidity. This would take a lot of time in
Photoshop.

“So, have you met anyone nice at
the theatre?” Janice’s voice took on exactly the intonation their
mother had used when asking about their teenage activities. Dennis
chuckled to himself, knowing Janice would be horrified at the
comparison.

“Aw, they’re just girls,” he
whined in adolescent tones. “I don’t hang out with any of
them.”

There was a puzzled silence.
“What?”

“You sounded just like Mum,
asking if I’d found a girlfriend yet. And do you remember how well
that turned out? I wouldn’t say it was all her fault I married
Louise, but there was a bit of influence, wasn’t there? She pushed
things along with her gentle pressure, and then it all turned to
custard without a grandchild to show for it and her best efforts
were wasted.”

“Yikes, I’d better watch that.
Don’t want to turn into Mum this early in life!”

“Oh, no danger of that, sis.
Your hubby would soon jump in and put you straight if he saw that
happening.”

“Ha! I’d like to see him try!
Anyway, my original question still stands. Are there any nice girls
at the theatre? Or maybe at the gym?” She must have picked up on an
inadvertent reaction because she pounced immediately. “At the gym?
Oho, are you falling for that Amazonian body-building woman with
thighs that can crack walnuts? Come on, ‘fess up! You were going to
dinner with someone called Cathy, weren’t you? How did that go?
Tell me all!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” he
protested. “Yes, I had dinner with the woman who owns the gym, but
we’re not making any announcements yet! I’m sure she hasn’t picked
a dinner service for the wedding gift list!”

“All right, don’t get your
boxers in a bunch, I was only asking.”

“And I appreciate your interest,
Janice, I really do. It’s good to have somebody so concerned about
my well-being.” He stifled a yawn and looked at his watch. “Look,
it’s late. I promise I’ll tell you about any juicy romantic
entanglements as soon as they happen, OK? Let it go. Need some
sleep now.”

“Fair enough – just remember I’m
getting my romantic fix through you nowadays ‘cause there’s
damn-all here with two under-threes in the house. And enjoy that
nice uninterrupted sleep you’ll be having, won’t you? Night,
bro!”

When Dennis next went into the
theatre he found a buzz of conversation in the Green Room centred
round a table where a newspaper was spread out. He joined the group
looking at the letters to the editor column and tried to see what
held their attention.

“How did they get wind of what
show we’re doing?” Jessica asked no-one in particular. “We haven’t
even opened ticket sales yet. We were going to make the
announcement with a big bang and a burst of promo and
advertising.”

“Looks like somebody’s doing
that for you,” grunted Gazza. “Free publicity – can’t complain
about that.”

“Yes, but it’s a bit negative,
isn’t it? We don’t want people thinking the show is all smut and
sleaze, and that’s what this protest is implying. I bet they
haven’t a clue what
Ladies Night
is about – they prob

ably think it’s just a strip
show.”

Dennis followed her finger to
the letter in question, tilting his head to read it. The
letter-writer seemed to think the moral well-being of all Whetford
citizens was being threatened by a planned lewd display of nudity
and corruption at the Regent Theatre, and called on all
right-thinking people to boycott the performance and prevent others
from attending.

“That does seem a bit over the
top,” he ventured. “Couldn’t you send in a letter of rebuttal,
putting the record straight? There must be something you could say
about freedom of choice as well as explaining what the show’s
really about.”

“Good point, Dennis,” said
Jessica with a nod. “Would you write a short letter to the editor
as a member of the public, saying you resent the suggestion of
enforced censorship or some wording like that? I’ll do an official
letter as a representative of the Regent Theatre but it would be
good to have some back-up from someone else.”

“Sure, if you think I can help.
I don’t know what weight my opinion will have though.”

She flashed him a smile. “It
will all keep the theatre in high profile, so yes, I’m sure it will
help. Thanks Dennis, I appreciate it.” She turned to Tony and
Gazza. “It’s a pity our esteemed president isn’t here instead of
gallivanting around the South Pacific on a cruise, but I guess we
can keep the flag flying in his absence, eh? Do you guys have any
suggestions?”

“Yeah, let’s make a heap of
copies of the letter and hand them round the strip clubs with
discount vouchers for tickets,” said Tony. “Might as well get the
professionals on our side.”

“You just want an excuse to
visit all the strip clubs!” Gazza accused him. “Your missus won’t
take too kindly to that!”

“Curses! I’m busted!” said Tony,
laughing. “Better get the single guys to do it then.”

“Oh no,” said both Dennis and
Fenton.

“It’s a daft idea,” said
Jessica. “If you want to run it past our Head of Promotions you
can, but I doubt Nick will give the go-ahead.”

“Where is our little ray of
publicity-seeking sunshine today? Isn’t he gracing us with his
presence?”

“No, he’s got some kind of work
event he has to go to. He said he’d get here as soon as it
finished. I expect you can carry on till he gets here, can’t you?”
Jessica patted him on the shoulder like a wayward child, grinning
at his muttered retort. Ignoring him, she turned to Tony. “What’s
on the schedule today, mate?”

Tony consulted his battered red
clipboard. “Today, Jessica, we’ll be finding the furniture we need
to go on stage, and checking out the ceiling round the chandelier
to see if it needs strengthening before anyone is lowered through
the hole.”

“Someone’s coming down through
the ceiling? In the middle of the auditorium? That’s a bit risky.
Whose idea was that?”

“Adam thought of it the last
time he was here. Looked up and saw there was a circular trapdoor
above the chandelier and said it would make a great entrance. He’s
really keen to use it for the show.”

“I guess you’d better check it
out then. But for God’s sake be careful up there and mind where you
step. We don’t want anyone crashing through the ceiling, it’s
irreplaceable moulded tin and over a century old you know.” She
looked surprised as the others burst out laughing. “What?”

“Nothing, Jessica, just admiring
your dedication to keeping our lovely old theatre safe, that’s all.
Actors and stage crew are a renewable resource – there are always
more of them coming along!”

She shook her head impatiently.
“You guys can take care of yourselves – it’s the theatre that needs
looking after. Who are you taking up there, anyway?”

Tony looked around to see who he
had to choose from. Dennis tried to edge out of his line of sight,
not wanting to provoke any unfavourable comments about size. “I
reckon Fenton’s the safest bet, the skinny bastard. That all right
with you, Fenton?”

The slender, pale young man
shrugged in agreement. “Sure. Will we need the big ladder or are we
just working from above?”

“Just up above for today. Right,
you other guys go under the stage and drag out whatever you see
that might fit this list.” Tony handed Gazza a page from his
clipboard. “See you for a coffee in an hour or so. We’ll all need
one by then to wash the dust out.”

Dennis had resigned himself to
squeezing into the cramped spaces under the stage again, but this
time Gazza accessed the storage area through the stage itself,
prying up a trapdoor that Dennis hadn’t even noticed before as it
fitted flush to the surface with the joins covered in black-painted
masking tape.

“Might as well go in the easy
way,” said Gazza. “And we can bring the bits and pieces straight up
the stairs instead of hauling them around.”

“Do you use the trapdoor for
shows much?” asked Dennis. “Is it still traditional for genies to
pop up during a pantomime these days?”

“Yeah, we do open it up now and
again. I’ll bet Adam will have plans to bring someone through it
for this show just to make a nice dramatic entrance. If he’s using
the ceiling you can bet he’ll do something with the trap. Probably
fly someone down from the box as well, knowing him. He’s good at
using all the available spaces for best effect.”

Dennis hadn’t heard Gazza string
so many sentences together before and guessed it was an expression
of rare approval. “It sounds interesting,” he ventured. “I’m
looking forward to seeing how the show is put together.”

They eased their way down a set
of wooden steps to the under-stage storage bays.