Tease Page 2

  ‘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.

  Streams of iridescent bubbles floated and winked around Tiger as she splashed about in her bath to the rhythm of ‘Harlem Nocturne’. The frosted glass panel in the bath made no question of her nudity. With one hand Tiger lightly traced the silhouette of her breast. Arch the back! she reminded herself, exercising every last vertebrae to squealing point. As bubbles floated past her she burst them at her fingertips as the music swelled into a voluptuous chorus. On cue, she sank deep into the tub. Keeping her head carefully above the shallow water, she kicked up her legs into a vertical position, just as her thirty Starrlets took their positions too, synchronising with each of her carefully choreographed leg movements.

  Waves of applause rolled over them as Tiger and her chorus girls expertly scissor kicked, posed, stretched, swam, and cycled their legs rhythmically through the crescendo with fountains of water jetting up into the air behind them, programmed in time with each kick and every crash of the cymbals. From her position down in the bath Tiger blinked repeatedly with the s
pray from the fountains and the glare from the lighting rigs above her. Holding her legs gracefully above her head in a muscle-burning splits position and counting the beats with gritted jaw, she wondered if she had remembered to leave some food out for her little terrier, Gravy. And breathe! she reminded herself as she emerged from the tub into full view with a glowing smile, kicking her feet playfully amongst the bubbles.

  The Starrlets moved into a new tableau, preparing for Tiger to rise from her tub like a majestic Venus from her shell. With one hand Tiger clasped her fluffy bath towel across her front and tantalisingly patted herself dry. With the other hand she slid on her sparkling g-string in one long smooth movement, slipping it inch by inch over her taut thighs. With her back to the audience she dropped the towel as the g-string settled into the crease of her peachy buttocks. A cheer went up in the theatre. Facing the band nude like this, Tiger raised an eyebrow and shook her breasts as a playful ‘hello’. A couple of bum notes rang out from the brass section. Pete on the double bass patted his heart faintly between strums. No matter how many times they saw Tiger’s saucy flash, she never lost her ability to thrill.

  Tiger knew now to step up the pace. She covered herself in fans of thick ostrich plumes and descended her plinth. Joined by a chorus of thirty flapping wings behind her she revealed and concealed her glorious hourglass figure, using the feathers to tantalise with the kind of expertise that made the enormous fans appear to be weightlessly and flirtatiously caressing her. In fact they were excruciatingly heavy, with a twelve-foot wingspan. They often gave her cramps in her hands, but she would never let the audience see that. She rotated the fans in turn through the air above her head in seamless figures of eight, then drew them fluttering slowly over her form. She used them as majestic peacock tails, cheekily revealing her derriére, but always using one of the fans to carefully conceal the right parts, constantly teasing. Diamond powder shimmered in the lights as it fluttered from the feathers with each swish. The audience sat in awed silence.

  Tiger’s sister Sienna sat in the press pit, impatiently tapping her foot. Just how did Tiger manage to make it seem as though you were in a room with her on your own, she wondered. Just as the Mona Lisa appeared to smile at you from anywhere in the room, Tiger always seemed to be shaking her breasts just for your eyes only. Their parents might have been ashamed of the way Tiger made her living and Sienna was certainly never one to give her sister credit, but even she had to admit Tiger was pretty awe-inspiring up there on stage. Sienna was also loath to acknowledge that she wouldn’t mind some more curves of her own, but nonetheless found herself unfastening the top button of her blouse and rearranging the fabric to show some of her own cleavage. This was particularly out of character since she had always endeavoured to hide her bustiness throughout school. Yet now as she fiddled absent-mindedly with her blouse she wondered what it would feel like to be up there under the lights, holding the audience rapt. She did have longer legs than Tiger after all, she thought sniffily, even though she had been mercilessly teased at school for being way too knockery and completely out of proportion with her long scrawny limbs. Of course, Sienna would never, in her eyes, ‘lower herself’ to Tiger’s antics on stage, but imagining herself up there was preferable to the reality of being stuck down here with all the bad-tempered journalists while her boss got to swig champagne in the Royal box with the celebs. Talk about being in Tiger’s shadow … literally.

  Sienna sighed as her eyes grazed across the crowded gathering of photographers, and dutifully checked they weren’t taking any more shots. The protocol dictated that they were only ever allowed the first three minutes of a show to get their pictures, so that the artistes on stage could then relax into the performance and concentrate on pleasing their audience rather than thinking about their best angles for press shots and being blinded by flashguns. Sienna could see a couple of the photographers now gripping their cameras tensely, clearly frustrated by the myriad forbidden photo opportunities on stage as Tiger weaved her magic spell. As a ripple of gasps swept across the audience behind her, Sienna grudgingly stared back up at her sister.

  Tiger was on the homeward strait and unleashing the full might of her seductive wiles as she dressed sensually for her audience in stockings, heels and her magnificent Dior cocktail dress, before mounting the riser for her final reveal. Her dancers had arranged themselves about her with their fans held in such a way as to entirely frame her beautiful face with enormous flower petals of ostrich feather. One by one and in quick succession the girls whisked away the fans for the final reveal. There stood Tiger rising from a sea of gold and fountains, draped in her final layer; the most colossal arrangement of rich pink feathers and ruffles, a replica of a cape Liberace had originally worn for his grand exit from a Fabergé egg back in the 1960s. With a flourish she swept open the cloak like a soaring bird to expose a lining entirely made of the fluffiest, floatiest feather fronds. Audience members in the first row caught a waft of Chanel No. 5 on the breeze.

  On the blackout a cheer erupted like an explosion as the audience jumped to their feet to applaud. Oh lordy, thought Tiger, allowing herself some breathless panting while concealed by the blackout, they’re already on their feet and they’ve got the rest of the show yet. Keep going, girl! As the spotlights found her, she held her breath, switched on the megawatt smile and took her bow, as poised as if she’d hardly lifted a finger. My god, I think Liberace is actually smiling upon us right now, thought Tiger, proudly holding her shoulders back and chest out for her first standing ovation of the evening.

  Chapter 2

  ‘You were only giving it ninety-nine per cent. It’s not good enough. I need one hundred and ten per cent.’

  ‘Look, I know I almost lost my footing near the phone, but—’

  ‘You can’t afford to operate at ninety-nine per cent. It has to be perfect, you know it makes all the difference.’

  ‘Well, the audience were with me all the way—’

  ‘That’s a bullshit argument, Tiger. You shouldn’t have slipped, for crying out loud, what were you thinking?’

  ‘Oh come on – the bubbles from the bath had made the stage slippery! The stage clearly wasn’t swabbed properly between numbers. I didn’t stand a chance! It’s not like I went down, thank god. No one even noticed but you – no thanks to your fabulous stage manager.’

  ‘Not only that, Tiger, I could even see you breathing in the second number.’

  ‘Is this a joke—’

  ‘Listen, I don’t want to see you out of breath up there. It should always look effortless, and that takes a lot of work! You have to work harder. Keep your mind sharp up there—’

  ‘Lewis, come on! I worked so hard out there! I performed my heart out! Those smiles were all genuine. Sorry three standing ovations clearly aren’t enough for you.’

  ‘You think this is about me? You’ve got it wrong, lady, this is for your benefit, not mine. And it’s always been that way, make no mistake. I could just fuck off home and count the money. No, this is for your own good. I’m the only one who cares about you enough to tell you that wasn’t your best performance.’

  ‘Oh! You care! That’s a new excuse for always tearing me apart! Well, you’d better be a good Samaritan in that case, and enlighten me – what was my best performance?’

  ‘You haven’t done it yet. You have to aim higher every time.’

  ‘That’s such a typical answer from you!’

  ‘It’s only right to tell you the truth. It’s why we’ve come so far. You can’t take your eye off the ball for a second. I only hope the Vegas lot didn’t see that slip.’

  ‘But … but that was a great show and you know it was good, you w-w-w …’

  ‘Look, if you don’t listen to what I’m saying then you don’t deserve to do well. Do you understand that? This is all for your benefit you know. You can’t afford to drop the detail for a nanosecond, it’s what put you at the top, and it’s what’s keeping you here. You think you have no competition out there by
now?’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t be referring to your charming girl-friend Georgia by any chance, would you?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Have you started wondering if maybe your ageing good looks aren’t the only reason she made a beeline for you?’

  ‘How dare you! She’s not like that. And anyway, you’re the one who handpicked her at auditions. I’m just saying there’s always going to be someone newer and younger snapping at your heels, that’s all.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock! I’m not worried about the competition. You might also have noticed that all the best dancers in the country are in my troupe! And like you said yourself, I put them there! So do I look like I’m the type to waste time getting anxious about n-new girls?’

  ‘I’m just saying—’

  ‘Oh, for god’s sake, I c-can’t deal with a post-show assassination barely five minutes after I’ve taken my bow. This is just so unfair! I can’t think s-s-straight.’

  ‘Great, now you’re getting upset. I thought you were always the tough one, remember?’