Tease (11 page)

‘Now that outfit would have been considered quite x-rated at the time wouldn’t it, Tiger?’

Tiger looked coy, before replying, ‘Well, you could be arrested for flashing too much back then, to see a belly button was naughty. Grandma used to tell me how the burlesque houses often had a red light concealed in front of the stage that would light up to let the girls know when the cops were in the audience. All the girls knew not to flash their beaver when that light was up … and of course with all those nudity restrictions that’s where the pasties – that’s nipple covers to you, Johnson – came into effect. It was a trend to have tassels on the pasties too, many of the ladies could spin their tassels in all directions to order. Jennie Lee, the Bazoom girl, was one of the most notorious for her tassel-twirling technique.’ A huge roar erupted as Johnson Tyler calmly pulled open his blazer to reveal a pair of nipple tassels stuck to his shirt.

‘Yes, I believe there’s quite an art to spinning them, right?’

Tiger covered Gravy’s eyes jokingly.

‘Of course! But I’d take an educated guess you’re not wearing a merkin too are you, Johnson?’ asked Tiger huskily with a wink.

‘Hoho! That’s for me to know! Well join us after the break when we’ll be interviewing Joan Collins, and Tiger Starr will tell us about her new Vegas show, ladies and gentlemen, and who knows, we may even get her to do a special shimmy just for you. Ladies and gentlemen, all the way from London, Miss Tiger Starrrrrr!’ The crowd whooped and clapped and the cameras pulled back and panned across the huge television studio before cutting to the ad break. Johnson Tyler waited for the all clear to come through his earpiece, before leaning across his desk towards Tiger, upon whom the make-up girl had swooped to powder her nose and forehead.

‘Spectacular, Miss Starr. Man, that’s one cute as hell accent you have there. You look – my god, you look stunning,’ horned Johnson. Tiger felt herself turn coy. Flustered, she dropped Gravy, who scurried off across the set, with several hefty production crew in hot pursuit.

‘Oops!’ Tiger exclaimed.

‘Oh don’t worry, we’re all dog lovers here. I hope you’ll join us in the green room after the show?’ pressed Johnson. Tiger looked into his warm brown eyes, a little crinkly at the corners. At least he doesn’t botox like the rest of showbiz, she thought to herself. Tiger spent so much time with Blue and his gay army that she found masculinity turned her on. A little ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ made her
weak at the knees. Maybe that’s what had got to her about Rex.

Tiger spotted Gravy under a table, cocking his leg and making a steaming puddle as the production men huddled around and clicked, hissed and tried to entice him from under his hideaway.

‘You know what, I’d love to join you after the show,’ giggled Tiger, realising Johnson was decidedly sexy, especially with that salt ’n’ pepper hair and strong jaw. There was definitely something of George Clooney about him.

‘Great. I’m pleased.’ Johnson beamed. ‘Oh – hang on – okay we’re counting down from sixty now. I’m gonna ask you about your Vegas show and then we’ll wrap up your piece and bring out Joan Collins. You’ll stay on the couch while we do her interview.’

Tiger smoothed her dress over her knee as one of the crew whizzed across the set to plonk a bewildered-looking Gravy back in her lap.

Back in her dressing room after the recording, Tiger dabbed some Chanel behind her ears as Blue fussed with her dress.

‘Honestly, darling, I nearly wet myself when Joan walked on in that gold number, ohhh to die for,’ he gushed as he hurriedly steamed creases from the hem of Tiger’s silk Gucci gown. ‘I need to ask John Galliano to whip you up something like it, that colour would be divine on you.’

‘H’mm,’ sighed Tiger wistfully in agreement, distracted
as she watched Gravy sniffing, then decanting on the other side of the room.

‘Blue, have you taken Gravy for a walk today? He’s peeing for England.’

‘Huh, what did your last slave die of? We’ve been in between limos and meetings all day, when was I supposed to take him out? I thought you were being given an aide for this trip anyway.’

‘I didn’t bother with the aide, it’s only an overnight job. Thank god Gravy didn’t leave a parcel in the studio, that’s all I can say.’

‘Well he’s so small they don’t even cast a shadow. You could always plug him up of course. That’s what Zorita used to do with her snakes you know, she’d plug ’em up so that they didn’t shit during her shows, and when they died she’d just buy a new one.’

‘That’s just a rumour! Anyway, Gravy’s my special buddy. I’m not plugging him up.’ Tiger sniffed.

‘More special than me?’ Blue made puppy eyes.

‘Well he doesn’t get moody …’

‘Yeah, but he can’t rhinestone a bra and fluff a feather like I can.’

Tiger laughed and cooed over at the dog.

‘Keep still darling, nearly done,’ said Blue, rearranging satin over Tiger’s breasts. ‘Need to make sure you look pristine next to Joan in the green room,’ he murmured to himself happily. A loud knock at the door made them both jump. Gravy growled.

‘Miss Starr?’ came a muffled voice.

Blue tucked the grumbling dog under his arm and pounced for the door.

‘Oh hi, I was given this envelope to give to Miss Starr, it was left at reception earlier.’

Blue stared lasciviously at the young blond production runner standing before him who was craning his neck over Blue’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of Tiger.

‘And who are you, young man?’ enquired Blue politely, puffing out his large frame to block the view into the room.

‘My name’s Brady.’

‘Brady, I say.’ Blue broke into a grin. ‘Thank you so much, I shall pass this to Miss Starr. That sounds like a California accent to me. Nice. Will I be seeing you in the green room?’

‘Sure, will Miss Starr be coming up?’

‘Yes indeed. We’ll be out shortly.’ Blue winked and closed the door.

‘Who was that?’ asked Tiger.

‘Eye candy. Tanned Cally boy. Yum. God I love it over here. Hey, I’ve got fan mail for you, hand delivered no less.’

‘Thank you, darling.’ Tiger took the envelope and ripped it open.

Blue watched her take the sheet of pink paper out of the envelope, stare at the page, turn it over, then turn it back again and stare some more. She looked up at him quizzically.

‘Something the matter, babes?’ asked Blue, snatching the paper from her manicured fingers. ‘I know … where … you … live,’ he read out loud. ‘What the? What’s with the cut-out newspaper letters?
Murder She Wrote
or something?’ Blue looked at Tiger, bemused.

‘That’s what I thought!’ laughed Tiger. ‘Ah well, our “fan” is in the wrong country for now! If they truly know where I live then they’ll know they have zero chance of getting past the paps in my driveway without being photographed. And then there’s the full might of Gravy to contend with if they get in the house!’ she laughed, scooping up all ten inches of her scruffy Yorkshire Terrier for a cuddle.

‘Er, I’m not sure you should be laughing about this, babes.’

‘Oh, Blue, lighten up, it’s just some prankster. Either that or it’s stage door Johnnie having a laugh. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d made the trip over here the little poppet! C’mon, champagne with Joan Collins and ol’ silver fox Johnson Tyler is beckoning. You want to see Cally boy again don’t you? Put that stupid letter in the bin.’ Tiger swept out of the room, her silk dress whispering seductively against her stockings as she wafted. Blue quietly tucked the pink paper into the top pocket of his Gaultier jacket. He had a nagging feeling. He was hoping he had been dreaming earlier, but he was sure he had seen the unmistakably ugly face of Rosemary Baby in the audience.

* * *

Georgia followed Lewis anxiously through the heavy iron door of his cavernous Clerkenwell warehouse pad. He clapped his hands twice and the lights blazed on in the lounge area.

‘Thanks for supper, it was nice,’ he said, throwing his door keys onto the steel Conran coffee table with a clatter. Lewis had been in a funk with Georgia ever since the afternoon’s rehearsal fiasco, and she had been trying to smooth things out ever since. She reckoned oysters and caviar at Scott’s ought to do it. Despite her meagre dancer’s wages, maxing out her credit card on supper tonight was worth it to placate Lewis. Secretly, Georgia was peeved with her stupidity in rehearsals earlier. How embarrassing in front of everyone, damn it. Lewis had seen straight through her attempt to impress Pepper with what she could do in Tiger’s place. What was it Tiger had over everyone anyway? All Lewis’ praise for her ‘fire’, ‘heat’ and ‘stage presence’; well you could just learn that like dance moves, right? thought Georgia huffily. All she needed was a bit of arse padding in her dance tights and an expensive tit job and she’d be well on the way to sex goddess of the stage. Watch out Tiger!

Georgia heard Lewis smashing the shit out of a block of ice over in the kitchen. She figured the oysters hadn’t worked their aphrodisiac magic yet. Wandering across the open-plan room to Lewis, she stood watching him with his Garrard diamond ice pick in one hand, shovelling shards of glacier into a fat tumbler with the other.

‘Let me make you a nightcap, darling,’ offered Georgia.

‘Oh okay, go on then. I’ll stick some music on,’ replied Lewis. ‘I’ll have a dirty Martini. The shaker’s there on the side. The gin’s in the mini-fridge. Help yourself, there’s vodka in the freezer too if you prefer.’

Dirty Martini. That’s Tiger’s favourite drink, damn her, thought Georgia crossly. Does Lewis
have
to like everything about her? Georgia carefully rinsed a Martini glass with vermouth, realising she would have to accept that the bond between Lewis and Tiger was simply the type that comes with working at such close quarters for so many years. But boy could it make a girl feel insecure.

‘Smack My Bitch Up’ blasted the music through the stereo system at deafening volume, making Georgia jolt and smash the glass on the kitchen floor. She looked despairingly at the mess as the heavy grinding techno bass lurched and thumped through the apartment, shaking the walls with every screech of the poetic lyrics. She took an executive decision to resort to Plan B immediately.

Georgia hopped over the dirty Martini carnage on the kitchen floor and ripped off her black tube skirt to expose her long lithe legs clad in silky Wolford hold ups, topped off with a pearl g-string. Only the best for Georgia Atlanta when it came to lingerie. She slinked her way over to Lewis as he stood by the stereo and before he had a chance to speak, she jumped on him and wrapped her legs about his waist, the way he always liked.

‘Uh,’ grunted Lewis, taken by surprise.

‘I can’t wait any longer, I just need your cock up me, baby,’ breathed Georgia, feeling an instant hardening in Lewis’ crotch area. Men are so predictable, she thought, relieved. Lewis clamped his hands round her sinewy thighs and threw her onto the sofa, unzipping himself to release his raging hard on. He thrust himself into her. Without a word passing between them, they sweated their way through several positions in quick succession.

Once safely on top, Georgia grabbed the sound system’s remote and changed the music to her favourite, Prince. Fuelled with that night’s oysters and champagne she performed like a seasoned acrobat, staying focused on the job of placating Lewis after today. He was one guy she wasn’t going to lose for anything. He just knew the answers to everything, it was like nothing fazed him; plus he had a Titanium Amex card. Georgia loved his stormy ways, it kept her on her toes and longing to please him. Most importantly, he could help her career in ways other men just couldn’t.

Georgia suddenly realised Lewis hadn’t come yet. Her heart sank as she looked down to see his handsomely weathered face looking bored as she worked on his cock rhythmically as she sat on him.

‘Look at me,’ she whispered softly in his ear.

Lewis opened his eyes and stared up at her as she slowly rocked her hips back and forth.

‘Say my name,’ she whispered, pushing him deep inside her, ‘say my name.’

Georgia grabbed his hand and placed it on her buttock, ‘Just say my name,’ she whispered urgently.

Lewis smiled awkwardly, and said nothing. His eyes closed and his hand fell away from her as the opening bars of ‘Money Don’t Matter Tonight’ filtered into the room.

‘Tiger, oh Tiger. Oh baby. Oh my.’

Johnson Tyler ran his fingers softly over Tiger’s exposed back. He let out a soft moan as she skilfully massaged his cock, giving a delicate tug on his balls with her other hand.

‘Argh. Oh Tiger baby. Oh that’s too good.’

Seeing Johnson close to orgasm, Tiger pulled away with one last firm stroke.

‘More champagne, darling?’ she purred.

‘No … no, no don’t stop I was …’

‘Oh darling, I like to pace myself, you know, savour every moment.’ Tiger leaned in and spoke with her lips close to his. She smelled his musky scent, mixed with sweat. She closed her eyes and savoured the aroma. Hmm. Rex. Tiger guiltily pushed all thoughts of him aside and concentrated on Johnson. Maybe Blue was right when he’d suggested that the easiest way to get over one man was to get on top of another. It was certainly worth a try. In one movement she stood, unclipped the halter of her gown and let it slip to the floor with a swish.

‘Oh. God. Tiger. Don’t leave me hanging …’ gasped Johnson, rising from the black satin sheets of the circular
bed and reaching straight for her hips. Black satin sheets? Bachelor taste was still very much at large amongst men of a certain age, thought Tiger with a little chuckle as she slid from out of his hands and onto the bed like a prowling cat.

‘Oh baby,’ gasped Johnson, ‘stay just there. That’s an ass. God, you’re perfect.’

Tiger rose up onto all fours and kicked her stilettoed feet playfully behind her as she felt Johnson approaching her from behind.

‘Ooh that tickles!’ squealed Tiger, arching her back as she felt Johnson stroking her buttock.

‘Keep still, baby,’ whispered Johnson. Tiger heard soft crinkling of paper. That doesn’t sound like a condom wrapper, thought Tiger. Johnson had gone quiet, but Tiger could still feel tickling.