Tease (2 page)

‘Oh, he’s charming the guests as usual, darling. Last time I looked he was taking care of Dianne Castrelli and the rest of the Vegas scouts; stage left, four rows back.’ Blue knew that Tiger lived to please her manager. Lewis Bond was her biggest support – and her harshest critic. In fact, he was the only person in existence who could turn Tiger to ash at a glance, but then after fourteen years of working together, they understood each other like no one else.

‘You just do your breathing, babe, get in your head-space,’ said Blue with a comforting pat on her bum.

‘Oh god, I’m on edge now. Did you pop your head in on the Starrlets? They happy?’ asked Tiger uneasily. ‘You gave them their first-night gifts?’

‘Stop worrying, will you? Lewis’ girlfriend has got them all fired up.’

‘Georgia? Hmm, I’m sure she has. I bet she got Lewis fired up too while she was at it.’ Tiger tried to see the good in everyone but even she sometimes wondered what her manager saw in such an arrogant and predatory girl like Georgia Atlanta. Each to their own she supposed. She could tolerate Georgia as long as she made Lewis happy – and as long as she left her attitude at the dressing room door and danced her arse off on stage. That was all that really mattered to Tiger.

‘Right, I’m off. Enjoy it, darling!’ trilled Blue, clapping his hands together with finality. ‘It’s gonna be a helluva
show! The Starrlets look delectable. And as for you, my darling? Well, you could just stand up there and
fart
and they’d be cheering with you looking like that! Hey – you okay?’ Blue stared at Tiger, concerned.

‘Fine!’ she laughed. ‘Now bugger off!’

‘But, babe, you look like you’re going to be sick. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re not –
nervous
are you?’

‘I’m just peachy,’ reassured Tiger. ‘That smoked salmon I had for breakfast must have been a little sketchy. I’m fine. Now scoot!’

‘Okay, my darling, if you’re sure. See you out there. Break a nail!’

As Blue and Mario disappeared excitedly to stake their seats in the audience, Tiger swiftly shut herself in her dressing room and leaned against the door to steady her wobbling ankles. Darn! She never liked anyone – even Blue who saw more than most – to see just how terribly nervous she got in the last couple of minutes. She gently reminded herself that the day the butterflies stop should be the day a true performer quits the job. Nerves were the one true mark that you really cared about your performance. She’d always thought that a performer without nerves was either arrogant or bored – or smashed – and what audience wants to see any of those on stage? As Tiger leaned at the door, she closed her eyes and used her final moments to take some slow, deep breaths, a generous slug of gin and tonic, and to channel the spirit of her idol, the queen of showbiz himself, Liberace. She would need him
watching over her tonight, she thought, with the knowledge that the Vegas scouts and the entire population of London’s critics were in the audience for her grand opening. She prayed her publicist, Rex, was out there entertaining them with his usual charm.

Rex Hunter had gone to the trouble of arranging the Royal box with waitresses proffering chilled Krug for the celebrities who were now taking their seats around him. The journalists he had stuck down in the press pit along with Tiger’s younger sister, Sienna, who had just joined his PR agency, Hunter Gatherers, as his assistant. Any hack would be cynical if Rex tried the champagne treatment on with them – there was no point trying to butter them up. No, much more subtle to leave them with Sienna, who was down there happily flashing her long legs like a trooper. Whilst Sienna wasn’t quite as gorgeous and enchanting company as Tiger – few women were in Rex’s opinion – she did at least share some of her big sister’s good genes. And she could turn on the charm – when she wanted to.

The press were certainly out in full force tonight, Rex thought, pleased with himself; all the dailies, the news channels, even the long leads, all waiting for Tiger Starr’s latest offering. Rex would swoop on them in the interval when most of them would make a bid for freedom to file their copy and catch the next story of the evening.

In a way Tiger made his job easy. Her bold, sexy and unashamedly glamorous show was easily the hottest ticket
in town. When Lewis Bond had first brought his new client to Rex for a PR strategy over a decade ago, Tiger Starr’s reputation had preceded her; Rex had already heard whispers of the new girl on the block who was dancing and disrobing for princes, billionaires and movie stars. Considering few people under sixty had even heard of burlesque at the time, she was certainly whipping up quite a storm. But then, Tiger Starr was no mere burlesque dancer. She was a true star as her name suggested; a bomb-shell who exuded heat on a nuclear scale.

As Rex surveyed the press pit below, he noticed trouble in the form of one journalist, Lance de Brett. A caustic bugger on a good day, Lance had taken to sharpening his claws for Tiger’s reviews, especially over the last year or so. Rex often wondered if he was one of these men whose dick shrivelled when faced with a powerful woman – after all, attack is known to be the best form of defence. Still, Rex’s twenty years as a publicist had also taught him there were some journalists who had simply raised cynicism to an art form, and if Lance had just watched Jesus walking on water he’d have certainly given him a bad review for not swimming. A shame then, thought Rex soberly, that the bastard could still make or break a London show. Lance had given
Saddam the Musical
five stars in the
Telegraph
and the bloody thing was still running two years later. In a funny kind of way Rex was slightly in awe of Lance’s unapologetic wickedness; it had clearly taken him all the way as a journalist.

‘Careful! Take your foot off my dress! Who’s got my drink?’ a thick, Italian New York accent interrupted Rex’s thoughts. Turning his head, he was knocked out by the sight of the infamous Libertina Belle, being escorted by at least six waiters, literally falling over themselves to help her to her seat. Perking up, Rex was suddenly pleased he had dressed for the occasion. With a deep olive tan and thick, dark hair now sun-kissed courtesy of a recent trip to the Bahamas, along with his toned stocky frame encased in slick Saville Row tailoring, Rex had definitely noticed more than the usual number of heads turning on his way to the theatre. He just knew the effort wouldn’t be wasted on the immaculate Libertina Belle. Of course Rex didn’t normally go for actresses – too devoid of personality he had always found. But there was something delightfully raw and brassy about Libertina Belle in person, despite her astounding classic beauty and the on-screen sophistication that suggested otherwise. Libertina was the first woman he had felt pure animal attraction for since … well, since Tiger. But since clients were strictly off limits, a rule Rex adhered to steadfastly, Tiger would always have to remain his favourite secret fantasy. But Libertina … she was fair game ready to be poached.

‘Oi! Belle!’ hissed Rex above the bubbling chatter from below.

‘Rex! Baby, I had a funny feeling we’d see each other this evening,’ winked Libertina as she took her seat.

‘Ah well, aren’t you the lucky lady.’

‘So how’s business, dahling?’ Libertina fluffed her long raven hair and swilled back her Krug like a footballer’s wife. ‘Not bad, judging by the world’s paps outside, hmmm?’

‘Business is always good, babe,’ boomed Rex. ‘You’re looking good for the cameras too, loving the hair wavy like that, babe. Fiery, like you.’ He leaned in and continued in a hushed tone, ‘Although you’re looking a little tired – you should slow down on the work, babe, you know it can be a poison chalice being as in demand as you are.’

A flash of indignity blazed in Libertina’s hazel brown eyes at this remark; Rex just relaxed and beamed care and concern back at her. Bingo. He always liked to make a really rude remark to a woman he fancied – he found this little trick made them feel insecure and eager to win him over by the end of the night.

‘So, anyway! I keep hearing all about Tiger Staaaaarr back home,’ drawled Libertina, changing the subject graciously, like a true pro. ‘She’s making waves from across the pond alright. I can’t wait to see her performing in all her glory. I met her during New York Fashion Week last season and god, Rex, she looked amaaazing. The woman’s a goddess!’ she gasped. ‘Oh Rex, look there’s Elton on the other side, daaamn! He has his own box! Look, over there, Rex. You didn’t say he was coming.’

‘Oh didn’t you know, Tiger’s playing for a huge Vegas
deal tonight with the new Luxuriana Grande! Well, Elton had to come check her out of course, seeing as her show could be across the Strip from his this time next year!’

‘Wow! That’s incredible! Good for her! Oh, Rex, you have to take me over to Elton in the interval!’

‘Anything, Libertina, anything,’ murmured Rex.

Pulling his gaze from her glossy pouting lips Rex surveyed the buzzing crowd settled below. The scene was certainly set. Tiger had done well to get her show on here, thought Rex with sincere admiration. This was probably one of the most beautifully fitted theatres in Europe in fact, and originally built specifically to stage the works of Gilbert and Sullivan. But tonight’s show would be worlds away from the opera.

The house lights began to dim. Soft murmurs of ‘shh, shh’ wafted on the air, amplifying the palpable excitement. Rex shifted around in his red velvet seat and started to wring his hands. Libertina squeezed Rex’s shoulder from behind and leaned in, sloshing the last of her icy Krug down the back of his blazer.

‘God, I feel nervous for Tiger. Make sure she comes out for the after party, I’d love to meet her again,’ she whispered loudly in his ear before settling back in her seat.

Rex pictured Tiger waiting backstage right now, knowing how tense she would be, and he willed her to do well. If she pulled it off tonight and got the Vegas deal, that would mean everything to her. He crossed his
fingers out of sight and focused on the velvet curtain ahead.

The heavy red swags parted. The first deafening brass stabs leapt from the twenty-piece big band arranged on stage. As the music swelled, the thousand-strong audience let out a huge appreciative gasp as a cascade of glittering showgirls poured from the wings, bobbing their way uniformly across the stage to the beat, led by their striking Viking-esque dance captain, Georgia. Each girl was poured into a 1950s-style gold lamé swimsuit with cutaways to show their glorious breasts, the ensemble topped off with a sparkling gold swimming cap. On stage, Barry, the first trumpet, could be seen cowering as the army of pneumatic, nipple-tasselled showgirls advanced on him with vigour.

Underneath the stage, wedged uncomfortably in the elevator underneath the trap door, trussed up in her glamorous Hollywood bedtime attire, Tiger’s stomach churned. She hated this wait, she always felt she needed the bathroom right about … now.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ came the voice of God announcement, cutting through the excited gasps and rendering the audience rapt, ‘welcome to the Savoy Theatre! Without further ado, please welcome on stage the star of this evening’s show! She’s the ultimate bomb-shell! She’s our own national treasure! She’s the incomparable, the one and only … Tigerrrrrrr Starrrrrrr!’

The last words were lost as the crowd erupted in to something like the cheer that went up when Arsenal had slaughtered Chelsea the previous week. As the platform slowly rose, bringing Tiger up onto the stage through a haze of dry ice, the heat from the spotlight hit her instantly like the comforting rays of the sun. She trembled
en pointe
like the wings of a majestic butterfly as she felt the vibrations from a thousand pairs of hands clapping and feet stamping the floor, whilst her chorus girls paraded round her glass-fronted slipper bath on the central plinth. Looking out from the stage, Tiger was blinded by the lights, her audience merely a smoky chasm of black beyond the first two rows. A hit of adrenalin coursed through her as she elegantly fluttered across the plinth before stretching her strong gleaming legs into a positively leisurely arabesque. Immediately drawing her audience in with her feline gaze, she playfully prepared to take her bath, twinkling on tippy toe as she teased off her diaphanous bathrobe and satin corset, before bending over in a most suggestively supple manner to loosen the silky ribbons of her ballet slippers and reveal her cute red-painted toes. She beamed into the crowd, inwardly thanking her stars that she couldn’t see the faces out there, especially tonight.

Fourth row from the front, slouched deep in his velvet seat and sporting his usual pinstripes, black Brylcreemed hair and a stubbled jawline that was more accident than design, Tiger’s manager Lewis felt a tic start in his cheek,
adding to his general air of a brooding Mafiosi. He kept one eye on the poker faces of the Luxuriana Grande scouts, hoping to detect a hint of a reaction. The deafening cheers of the glamorous crowds did little to sate him. Annoyingly, Lewis could hear Blue gushing on about the costumes right in the next seat, grating on him like a buzzing fly. Grabbing the nearest thing to hand, he jabbed his Mont Blanc pen violently into Blue’s side, silencing him swiftly.

Flicking his attention to the stage Lewis watched Tiger carefully. He registered a spark of fire brimming in her eyes, detectable only to someone who had worked with her for a very long time. He knew she had entered what she called ‘the zone’ and he relaxed his shoulders a fraction. Lewis squinted as he scrutinised the Starrlets intently; a long line of shapely limbs multiplied and refracted across the stage. Ah, Georgia. His latest platinum-blonde fuck, up there leading the troupe; leaping into an effortless
jeté
with those long, long legs. An effusive dance captain, great on stage. No presence, but god she could dance. And boy could she give great head … it was about the only time she shut up, he thought ruefully. If only she weren’t so damn skinny. Lewis looked sideways at his Vegas guests to see a few of them scribbling furiously. Tapping his foot nervously in time with the drummer he forced his attention back to the magnificent scene unfolding on stage.