Tease (8 page)

‘Ma’am … um …’

Tiger stopped at the stairs and looked back at him.

‘I’m sorry, but would it be too much to ask for a photograph? My mates won’t believe I met you unless I have a photo,’ he asked coyly, producing a small digital camera. Tiger laughed softly.

‘Oh sweetheart, I haven’t much scaffold or plaster on today, you wouldn’t want to see me like this.’

‘Oh no,’ he retorted, shocked, ‘no, you’re wrong, you’re
beautiful. Much more beautiful up close. Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Tiger, sensing his shyness, ‘let’s say “cheese” then,’ and they huddled up close as he held the camera at arm’s length and managed to take a halfway decent picture of the two of them. Tiger even kindly signed some left over posters for his friends.

‘So where are you performing next? I’d love to get tickets,’ Mark puffed moments later as he humped the huge trunks of costume down the steep stairs with Tiger daintily clip-clopping her way down behind him.

‘I have lots of one-nighters to do right now, but I’m supposed to be expanding my show for Vegas. Only thing is, it’s a long way and I might miss England too much.’

‘Oh my god, well I’d definitely make the trip over the pond to see it. Will it be all new material?’

‘Well, if I decide to do it, then you can be sure it’ll be something special.’

‘I can’t believe you’d even need to think about it!’ exclaimed Mark, bringing Tiger’s mountain of cargo to the foot of the stairs with a crashing thud, nearly taking his thumb off. ‘Okay, ma’am, I’m gonna have these loaded into your limo in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. You just sit back and I’ll take care of everything.’

Mark held the stage door open for Tiger with a flourish. As she stepped out into the street she stumbled, nearly falling. Steadying herself she looked down to encounter a wall of white gladioli reaching to her knees.

‘What the—’ Mark immediately jumped to clear the towering pile of flowers.

‘No, no, it’s okay, sweetheart,’ said Tiger gently, moving Mark out of the way and crouching down to retrieve what looked like a card on top of the pile. Opening the envelope slowly she found a newspaper clipping of one of her rave reviews. Tiger was silent for a beat. She looked up and carefully surveyed the street, tapping the envelope against her palm pensively as she scanned. Aha. There by a lamppost on the corner of the Strand was the familiar squat figure of stage door Johnnie. He appeared to be hanging off the post as though awaiting a reaction. Their eyes locked across the crowded street. Tiger picked up an armful of the flowers and held them theatrically to her nose. Smiling, she stood and waved regally at Johnnie, cradling the bouquet. He patted his heart, punched the air and skipped gaily off in the direction of Covent Garden, his whoops carried on the wind behind him. Tiger laughed.

‘You have a girlfriend, Mark?’ she asked, turning to look into his lovely eyes.

‘Um, well…’

‘Here, take her a big bunch of these, okay? You’ll get the best blow job of your life tonight if you do.’

Mark laughed. ‘Thank you, ma’am. My boyfriend doesn’t actually like flowers, but if it’s okay, I’d love to take some for my mum, thank you.’

Tiger blushed. Of course. He was far too good looking to be straight.

‘Sure you can, sweetheart. Help yourself. Bye, Mark, see you around. Vegas maybe.’ Blowing him a kiss Tiger climbed into her limo with her own armful of flowers and shut the outside world out. She knew exactly who she wanted to give
her
gladioli to.

Tiger took a deep breath and flipped open her mobile. She had the number on speed dial. It kicked straight in to voicemail.

‘Mr Hunter?’ she purred. ‘Tiger.’ She waited a beat. ‘Catch me.’

Tiger snapped the mobile shut. Cheesy. Dammit! She hated voicemail.

It had been weeks since Tiger had been with Rex. Not since their first time on her opening night. She had burned inside since then. After all those years of self denial, of playing the Ice Queen to his Zorro, she had finally unleashed within herself a terrifying kaleidoscope of emotion. Of course, business always came first and, fully committed to her Savoy shows, Tiger had only met Rex briefly for press and interviews; the atmosphere between them had been unbearable. Tiger felt like a strung-out puma around him; tense and fit to burst.

No wonder she had been receiving rave reviews, the only place she could vent her sexual energy was on stage. Once, she had received advice from her favourite old burlesque legend Satan’s Angel, now sixty something. Angel had said to her, ‘Tiger baby, when you’re up on that stage, just imagine you’re doing it all for your lover. That’s
what I always used to do back in the fifties. Brought the house down every time, honey.’ Needless to say Tiger’s audiences didn’t know what hit ’em. Grown men bit their white knuckles and wept, women waited at the stage doors night after night for signed postcards, recipes and beauty tips. With Rex in Tiger’s mind, the stage was alight with passion.

Of course, Tiger still had her new acts to rehearse while she did the evening shows at the Savoy, so she hardly had a second to even blink let alone socialise. And then Lewis was on her case every spare second trying to persuade her to do Vegas. To counter the sporadic platonic meetings, Rex frequently sent texts to Tiger of the single
entendre
variety which only served to send her into further paroxysms of lust. Despite keeping calm on the surface, she was already planning an extended repertoire for their next ‘meeting’ to top all others.

Tiger looked out of the car window. Vladimir seemed to be hurtling towards her Regent’s Park palace at a good five miles per hour. Typical London congestion, she thought, irritably. She settled back into her seat and flipped open her mobile again.

‘Lewis? Tiger. Just checking in.’

‘Have you done the “get out”?’

‘Yep, I’m all loaded out.’

‘Good girl. Have you got all your costume ready for your show tonight?’

‘Yeah, Blue’s at home steaming and fluffing the poodle
costume. He’s been revamping all the girls’ puppy dog outfits ready too. It’s the charity benefit tonight, right?’

‘Yes. The diamante dog basket’s already over at Hampton Court being rigged up. The stage was set up in the grounds last night, it looks great. Sparkling chequerboard, all a bit
Alice in Wonderland
.’

‘Oh great, I’ve been looking forward to this one. I like a bit of
al fresco
.’

‘Hmm. Sure you do. You only have time for a thirty-minute soundcheck tonight. Sorry, it’s all I could get. They’re putting on a red carpet catwalk show with Kate and Naomi and it’s cut right into the set-up time. And I’m only putting on four of the Starrlets with you, the stage size is a bit tight as someone fucked up with the dimensions of the golden staircase – it’s big enough to fill the gardens at Marseilles.’

‘Jeez, Lewis, I forgot to check, did you sort the giant topiary poodles I asked for? You know I wanted them out by the maze to set the scene.’

‘Oh god yes! I forgot to tell you, the charity is very pleased with you for that idea – they only managed to get Jeff Koons to make the giant poodles as a special art installation!’

‘Wow! Amazing, I love his work! Will he be there tonight?’

‘I would have thought so. I know the sculptures are going to be auctioned off to raise money, so brownie points go to you. This will attract some huge private collectors,
and a wadge of cash for the charity; the art world’s absolutely buzzing about it.’

‘Fabulous! So when’s my call time?’

‘Well, Georgia’s already down at the grounds rechoregraphing with Pepper; she wants the girls to slide down that big gold staircase while you’re being carried onto the stage in the dog basket by the butler boys. Your call time is 6 p.m. to load in, for a six thirty soundcheck. Guests from eight, be ready for your photocall and champagne reception at nine, and you’re on stage at eleven. You’ll be expected for a private drink with the hosts after your show. I think Kylie’s singing a couple of numbers, then they’re all dancing ’til dawn.’

‘Okay. Can you ask the spot operator to give me a lilac gel? It’ll look best with the pink outfits.’

‘I already asked, it’s fine.’

‘Great! See you at six.’

‘Oh, Tiger?’

‘Uh huh?’

‘We need to sign on Vegas, time’s running out.’

‘Oh no, not Vegas again. Do we really need to talk about it any more?’

‘I can hardly see what’s to hesitate about, Tiger. You’ve wanted it for fifteen years. You’re doing it. End of. See you at six.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘I hate that.’

‘Sorry.’

Tiger ended her call and sighed, knowing the Vegas argument was imminent that evening. Tiger just couldn’t risk public humiliation at the hands of the critics. A Brit in Vegas was fair game at the best of times, and if Lance de Brett’s malevolent words on her opening night had been a sign of things to come, Tiger had everything to lose. More than that, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt her confidence evaporating; ironic after having worked so hard for so many years for this opportunity. Why, when she seemed to have the world at her feet, did she feel so troubled?

Pushing all thoughts of the evening’s show to the back of her mind she pulled the limo’s privacy screen back.

‘Vladimir, this traffic is ridiculous; can you just drop me at Rex’s office round the corner, then take all my kit home. Blue knows what to do with all the trunks. That cool with you?’

‘Yes, Ms Starr. No problem.’

Vladimir jerked the Towncar into a violent U-turn amidst crazed beeps and honks and within minutes safely deposited an excitable Tiger at the door of Hunter Gatherers’ headquarters, armed with sweet smelling gladioli.

‘Oh Rex, baby,’

‘Argh, for fuck’s sake.’

‘Look it – it’s okay…’

‘Sorry, Vicky, this hasn’t happened before …’ Rex spat into his palm and pumped his cock furiously with his
hand, muttering curses and willing it to get past marshmallow consistency. Fuck you, Tiger. Fuck you for messing with my head, thought Rex, breaking into a sweat as he pummelled away. Vicky rose from the palatial-sized bed and coolly pulled a Marlboro Light from the packet by the minibar.

‘It’s not me is it?’ asked Vicky, standing by the open window, jutting her little tits towards Rex and trying to look sexy.

‘Argh you stupid bitch, no! It’s me!’ Rex liberated his cock and flopped forwards onto the bed, concealing his excuse for manhood. Vicky looked visibly offended.

‘Sorry. Sorry, look I’m just stressed out, babe, I shouldn’t have taken the afternoon off really. I have a shitload of work to do before tomorrow, I guess I’m just preoccupied. Sorry, babes.’

‘Yeah, I’m sorry too,’ said Vicky quietly as she exhaled a long thin stream of smoke and tapped her nails on the windowsill.

‘Here, put some clothes on,’ muttered Rex, throwing a bathrobe lamely in her direction.

‘What?’

‘I mean, well you just look cold, that’s all,’ mumbled Rex, realising he had pissed Vicky off enough by now that he could guarantee she’d be deleting his number from her phone within the hour.

‘Look, if there’s someone else,’ started Vicky.

‘Babe, I only have eyes for you,’ responded Rex, on
autopilot, as visions of Tiger swam tantalisingly before his eyes. Those magnificent bouncing breasts, that amazing arse, running his hands over her glorious hips and taut stomach as she mounted him like a rodeo champion. That roaring infectious laugh of hers, those voluptuous lips, swallowing up his helmet as her soft pink hair tickled his balls … Rex now felt his cock rigid, drilling a hole in the mattress.

Looking up he saw that Vicky had gone and locked herself in the bathroom, and he was sure he could hear her snivelling over the sound of the running shower. Great. Suddenly he hated himself. What was he doing here in a six hundred quid a night hotel suite, at lunchtime like some hooker’s John? He ached with longing, he needed to be with Tiger, wrapped in her curves, smelling her perfume, tied up in her arms. Now her show was over he was ready and able to spend time with her. Properly. He’d waited this fucking long to meet his match, he wasn’t about to blow it. Women are just women, right? A fuck’s just a fuck, right? Well, Tiger Starr wasn’t just any woman. She was a magnificent goddess, with an endearing vulnerability in balance with her formidable womanly power; and Rex Hunter was ready to rise to the challenge. And god, those tits! He was on his knees now, hand closing around his throbbing cock. Three strokes later he lay happily crumpled on the bed, satisfied and smiling like a smitten schoolboy.

* * *

Tiger tried to mask her horror as she looked at what lay before her on Sienna’s desk.

‘I knew you’d find it hilarious, bless her!’ laughed Kat.

Tiger tried to smile but she was dying inside. Before them on the desk were pages of copier paper with every last square inch decorated with signatures reading ‘Mrs Sienna Hunter’, ‘S. Hunter’ and ‘Ms Hunter’. Beneath those were a collection of pictures of Rex; not just any pictures, but ones that had been taken of him with Tiger at various events, which now had Tiger cut out of the frame.

‘Look, Sienna will be back from her break soon, please put these back where you found them, Kat, she’ll be mortified if she knows we’ve seen them,’ begged Tiger.

‘Oh relax, doll, she won’t be back for an hour at least; she’s off on an errand in St John’s Street. Look, I’m putting them back now.’ Kat patted Tiger on the shoulder.

‘Okay, you know, it’s just…’

‘Yeah yeah, she’s family, I know. Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have laughed, but honestly, the juniors we’ve had through here who’ve fallen for Rex – I never thought a smart cookie like Sienna would go for it as well!’

‘She’s smart you say?’ asked Tiger, perking up.

‘Yeah! She’s alright, you know! She’s been working hard. She made a few cock-ups at first but she learns fast. We give ’em some shit here, mind you. So many dolly birds pass through thinking it’s all champagne lunches and networking … and Rex of course.’ Kat rolled her eyes
theatrically. ‘We have to sort out the wheat from the chaff. But Sienna – she seems tough! The girl’s got balls!’ laughed Kat.