Tease (16 page)

‘Blue! Come here, young man, and shake my hand.’ Valerie beamed the second Blue popped his head through the door. He minced over as Valerie elegantly extended a long bony finger from her hunched position in her big old moth-eaten chair. He shook it gently and curtsied for the stylish, platinum-haired dame before him.

‘My, my, you are looking well,
ma petite
,’ gushed Blue.

‘Well, I’m still here,’ laughed Valerie, ‘it’s the diet of feathers and rhinestones that keeps me going. Speaking of diet, you look like you’ve been at the fairy cakes since I saw you last, dear.’

‘How’s that for a welcome! Well never mind the cake, just a fairy would be nice. Actually I’ve been so busy with Tiger I haven’t had a chance to get myself into the gym,’ explained Blue, breathing in the cedar-scented air and glancing around at the shelves on every wall, stuffed to overflowing with fabrics and trimmings in every colour and pattern imaginable.

‘Ahh, dear, dear Tiger, I do hope she’s keeping you in check my sweetheart. I take it you’re up here to see the progress on her new piece?’ asked Valerie, her pencilled eyebrows arched questioningly.

‘Yes indeed!’ enthused Blue. ‘As well as to see you of course … so do I get a sneak preview?’

‘For you, dear? Anything,’ said Valerie as she uncurled from the corset she held in her lap. Blue looked down and gasped.

‘Oh Val. Oh Valerie, Valerie, Valerie. Exquisite!’ Blue held his breath as he studied the sparkling article before him. Every shade of pearlescent crystal, in all different shapes and sizes snuggled up next to real diamonds, all swirling in intricate patterns that flowed with the curves of the corset. It sparkled like nothing he’d ever seen.

‘It’s special isn’t it,’ sighed Valerie, running her long fingertips lightly over the diamonds, ‘I had them flown in from Antwerp like you asked. It goes in the safe at night.’

‘Oh Val. Shall we keep it and do a runner? To Necker Island, just the two of us? No one need know. We could live off this for years!’

Valerie cackled, and waved her hand at the mannequin on the other side of the room.

‘Just take a look at the train to go under the osprey fantail. I haven’t started the rhinestones yet, but that’s the base over there. I shall ask you to bring in Her Ladyship for a second fitting very soon.’

Blue approached the mannequin across the room like its long lost lover, narrowly missing knocking over a precariously balanced tower of jars filled with buttons, bugle beads and crystals on his way.

‘Look at these ruffles,’ he breathed, ogling the huge sea of rich, pale oyster-coloured silk fabric before him.

‘I know, they were an absolute bastard to sew.’

‘Language, Valerie!’

‘Oh but they were, dear. I lost count of how many hundreds of metres of fabric they used up. The crystals
are going on the underside of the train so that the audience will see a wall of sparkle from the front, and then pure ruffles from behind. I’ll still apply rhinestone between the fabric layers though, so that when Tiger kicks the tail up, the crystals catch the light from behind. It’ll move like the sparkling waves of the ocean under a hot sun. Soft. Womanly. Perfect to offset that huge glitterball and perfect to harmonise with the fountains as they spray. Then when she removes it and uses it as her blanket, the ruffles will mould to her curves. Oh Blue, it will be alive and breathing when it’s finished.’ Valerie sighed deeply, and closed her eyes for a moment.

‘Well, it’s even more than either of us could have imagined. Tiger’s going to flip,’ said Blue wistfully.

‘Ooh I almost forgot to ask,’ added Valerie, coming to life again, ‘have you had the osprey fantail back yet? Hartley needs to construct the wirework for it to slot into this corset.’

‘Hmm no, it’s still being reconditioned. It’s costing us a bloody fortune too, especially now that you can’t get osprey any more.’

‘Yes and thank goodness, there must have been a lot of herons with cold bums back in the day,’ laughed Valerie. ‘I remember some of those showgirls used to be covered from head to toe in the stuff. But there’s nothing now that can replicate that wonderful feather texture. Shame.’

‘There’s no doubt this will knock the socks off Vegas when they see this. You know what, Valerie darling?
This is how the
Birth of Venus
was
meant
to be – a rotating ten-foot glitterball rising up out of the floor upon jets of fountains, opening up to present Tiger inside her red velvet-padded Fabergé egg interior like the bird of paradise she is. Ooh, I’m getting goose bumps, look!’

‘But wait, Blue – you should use that as the title for the whole show –
The Birth of Venus
! How camp! I can just see it in lights!’

‘Oh, Valerie, pure sacrilage! The finale will be something like the rape of Botticelli by Salvador Dalí on the way to Studio 54. Genius! God, I have to tell Lewis to suggest that title before Monday’s meeting!’

‘Ahhhh, but do you know how Venus came to be born, my dear?’

‘No, but you’re going to tell me, right?’

‘Basically, Uranus’ son castrated him and threw his cock into the ocean, dear. So the sea was fertilised and then out popped Venus from her giant cockleshell somewhere off the coast of Paphos! That’s Cyprus in case you didn’t know. Of course the shell was a metaphor for the vulva, which would in theory make Tiger’s Fabergé egg glitterball a huge great cu—’

‘Oh Jesus and Mary Chain! Well, I’m certainly not telling the Americans that! Let’s just keep tight lipped about it.’

‘Tight lipped?’

With that, Valerie and Blue dissolved into hysterics.

‘Darling,’ Valerie wheezed, ‘thank god Venus didn’t emerge from a bearded mussel that’s all I can say!’

Blue’s shoulders shuddered with dirty sniggers. ‘All this genitalia talk is usually my job. Get back to your rhinestoning, wench!’

Valerie settled herself back into position in her chair, breathless. ‘Oh my goodness, I’ll never be able to watch the show without giggling now!’

‘For god’s sake don’t tell Tiger we had this conversation,’ said Blue, ‘or she might … clam up or something.’ The pair erupted again.

‘Enough already!’ protested Valerie, soberly taking a deep breath. ‘Now stop, I just can’t keep my eyes on the rhinestones like this.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, maybe I should leave you to it – stop distracting you, huh?’

Valeria looked thoughtful for a second. ‘Oh what the hell,’ she laughed with a wicked glint in her eye. ‘Do you fancy a quick glass of sherry with me before you go?’

‘Now that’s like asking Tiger if she fancies getting her kit off. Of course, where is it?’

‘Over on the bureau there.’

‘Wonderful,’ sighed Blue as he reached for the sherry decanter. ‘God, I’m so easily corrupted. I can see this is turning into the perfect afternoon. Now, back to Uranus …’

Rex grunted and climbed off Sienna. He whipped off his condom, turned to face the wall and began snoring loudly.
Sienna often lamented that for all his sexual charisma, Rex was an incredibly selfish lover. She had limited experience where men were concerned, and all of it bad, but for the first time she was relieved that Rex was at least consistent. This was Sienna’s big chance. She rolled out of Rex’s bed and padded through to the sitting room to her handbag. She fished out her mobile by the light of the moon.

Tiger would have to pay somehow. The thought had been playing in her head all day like a stuck record. Tiger would have to pay somehow. All day Sienna’s mind had drawn a blank as to how to wreak her revenge. That is, until Rex had taken her to La Perle Noire in Soho for oysters and champagne. They had bumped into Blue weaving his way back home to Regent’s Park after an apparently boozy afternoon. As Blue and Rex made small talk, Sienna had slipped into one of her daydreams again, finding herself staring at the window display of the Trashy Lingerie sex shop. As she zoned out on the tacky bondage gear in the window, she was suddenly reminded of one night when a tipsy Tiger had confessed to her that she had tried her hand as a dominatrix in New York.

Sienna remembered it so well – how could it have slipped her mind? It had only been a couple of years ago. Their folks had just died and Tiger was eager to spend time with Sienna, cheering her up. There in her parlour, Tiger had lain all stretched out and fluffy in her robe after she had introduced Sienna to Kahlua milkshakes –
sisterly bonding she called it – and in this unguarded moment told her a rare story about her early performing days. Tiger had her gorgeous friend Tiffany Crystal staying with her that night, and Tiffany had brought some rancid-looking bird with her called Rosy or Rosemary or something, who Tiffany had befriended, apparently out of sympathy since the ugly old bag’s personality was less than sparkling. Sienna recalled she also had terrible snaggle teeth when she smiled and a hilarious affected posh accent that broke into a Yorkshire burr every five words or so. Apparently the two girls were doing a tour that stopped in London for a couple of nights and Tiffany was taking the ugly one under her wing and coaching her as she was rather hopeless as a dancer. Tiger had thought it a great idea that since Tiffany was in town, she should come to dinner, meet Sienna and brighten the evening up. Probably all part of the sisterly ‘bonding’ thing, no doubt.

Tiger and Tiffany had settled in for the night to tell Sienna their funny stories about the smell of the greasepaint; the ugly one had already drunk too much and after trying to show off by attempting a cringe-inducing splits in the middle of the parlour, now thankfully appeared to have passed out on the
chaise longue
. Tiger then regaled Sienna and Tiffany with a very interesting little tale about her early days. How she was auditioning in London everywhere. Every day. Burlesque didn’t pay the bills back then. Acting bit parts came and went, chorus-line work put a bit of bread on the table and extras work beckoned;
although she drew the line at podium dancing in naff clubs. Tiger just couldn’t seem to find a balance. Then a friend of a friend of someone’s girlfriend reckoned Tiger could earn a pretty packet as a dominatrix. You didn’t have to have sex with the guys or even strip, and you got to dress up, hone your acting skills, and get your boots licked and toilet cleaned in the process, so the girl had said.

Well, Tiger thought it sounded great as a money spinning stop-gap until the perfect West End part came along; better than temping in an office any day. She even figured out a name straight away. It was suggested by the friend of a friend of someone’s girlfriend that a dominatrix’s name should always start with ‘Lady’. Then an ‘a’ should be tagged to the end of her first name, followed by the words ‘mistress of the …’ then add the name of the most expensive power tool in her tool box.

Tiger settled on ‘Lady Tigra, Mistress of the Cheese Grater’. Since she didn’t have a toolbox, or even a power sander, she figured her cutlery drawer would have to make do for inspiration. Of course, she decided if she was going to do something, she would do it properly; and that meant going to New York to be Lady Tigra, where she had heard all the best whip crackers worked. After all, if you want to be the best, you have to learn from the best. She could earn a packet and return home with her spoils. Besides, she didn’t want to run the risk of having a client come in for a spanking or to be bottle fed who she recognised … her doctor or local MP, or something. So off Tiger went
to the Big Apple – open minded, open hearted, and brimming with possibilities of what to spend her new stream of income on. Decent lodgings, for a start. And some beautiful new dance costumes. And maybe even some nice new books; she was quite the bookworm when she had the chance to curl up on her own.

Lady Tigra lasted all of three days. As she rolled around on the floor one lunch time in virginal white Chantilly lace underwear, wrestling with a sweaty Hasidic Jew in lime green Y-fronts, Tiger knew she would never be cut out for the job. She had just about managed to make enough to cover her flight back to London.

As Sienna now punched Bob Bell’s number into her mobile she hoped she had rehearsed her own ‘Hollywood’ version of Tiger’s story in her mind enough to make it seedy, shocking and absolutely sensational. A spoonful of ‘sex for money shocker’, a dash of ‘auto erotic asphyxiation’, a liberal sprinkling of ‘sick, drug-fuelled orgies’ with the distinctive flavour of ‘brutal mistress’ should do the trick, thought Sienna, rather pleased with herself. The line on the other end picked up and a gruff voice answered. Sienna’s stage was laid out for her performance. She nervously cleared her throat, heaved a deep breath and took the plunge.

‘Mr Bell? I’m so sorry to be calling at this late hour. We’ve never met but I have something I think you’re going to be very, very interested in. I hope you have a large cheque book.’

Blank canvas, blank canvas, blank canvas, blank canvas, blank canvas, Tiger chanted in her head as she selected a charcoal-coloured eyeshadow from her make-up caddy. This was her mantra before any kind of performance. Tiger had been told by one of the first directors she worked with that when Liza Minnelli had a show, she would focus the entire day around that night’s performance from the very second she woke up. Tiger had considered this to be excellent advice, and adhered to it strictly in her own way. Starting with her own blank canvas – a clear face, and a clear mind – and slowly building towards her grand presentation was a delicious ritual for Tiger.

Blue popped his head in the door.

‘Sorry to interrupt, babes, what time shall I send Cherry and Brandy in to dress you?’

‘Oh, give it forty minutes. I’ve only just started putting my face on.’

‘No worries. Lewis and the Luxuriana mob will be here soon. Can’t wait to see it.’

‘Hmm. Well, it’ll be interesting. First time with the props.’

‘They know that, don’t worry about it.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘I’ll be back in forty, babes. Oh, and I have a little surprise for you.’

‘Oh? Don’t tell me Valerie finished the corset already?’

‘You just get back to your eyelashes. All I’ll say is that you’ll be feeling a million dollars when I’m finished with you.’