Tease (3 page)

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 spray 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.

‘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?’

‘I’m
fine
th-thank you.’

‘Let’s just continue with this tomorrow. I’ll give Pepper comprehensive notes for your rehearsal session in the morning. I’m off to the lobby to listen in on what the punters are saying, and I won’t be at the after party. I’ve asked Georgia to make sure the girls don’t drink alcohol under any circumstances. I also want you to get an early night. You have a heavy workload tomorrow before the next show and Rex has interviews lined up he’ll tell you about. Oh, and by the way, there’s a queue of fans building up outside the stage door in the cold for you. You might
pull yourself together before you go down – stuttering in front of fans is not a good look.’

‘Fucking hell, doll, I thought this was meant to be an after party, not a bloody autograph line-up,’ moaned Rex, crunching on an ice cube irritably as his eyes darted about the packed lounge at L’Homard.

‘You’re my publicist. You should be pleased with your handiwork!’ teased Tiger, handing a pen and freshly autographed paper to the barman, just as Georgia, Frankie and Nikki staggered giggling from the bar towards the rest of the Starrlets, still in their seamed dance tights and clutching illicit bright blue cocktails. Tiger rolled her eyes to the heavens, and savoured her dirty Martini with delicate sips. She felt Rex’s gaze still on her.

‘You seen the ol’ tank commando tonight? I’m surprised he’s not here,’ Rex probed.

‘Who, Lewis? Oh you know him, why go to a party when there’s more work that could be done!’ laughed Tiger. ‘Anyway he doesn’t like it here, thinks it’s too vulgar,’ she mumbled, giving a cursory nod at the enormous giraffe head protruding from the gold-fringed velvet behind her.

‘So he didn’t want to at least raise a glass to you for pulling off an amazing show?’ persisted Rex.

‘Oh, he already came to see me in the dressing room back there.’ Tiger had no intention of discussing Lewis’s blow-by-blow critique of every aspect of her performance.
It was clear though that that her nonchalance wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all a street-smart operator like Rex.

‘Right,’ he said with a dead-pan smile. ‘That was just before you came to the stage door with puffy eyes?’

‘Oh that – no I just got eyelash glue in my eye—’

‘Oh cut the crap, I’ve heard you both at it hammer and tongs after the shows. Every time he – what does he call it – “gives you notes”. Notes! Excuse for him to lay into you if you ask me.’

‘No, no, you don’t understand. Lewis just tells me the truth. He always has my interests at heart you know, I mean, we’ve travelled a long road together—’

‘Look, there’s quite a difference between constructive criticism and a gratuitous slagging, you know.’

‘Okay, so the critique can get a bit relentless, I admit that.’

‘So tell him to fuck off.’

‘I can’t! Try and see it from Lewis’ point of view. He just assumes I listen to people telling me I’m a star, I’m fabulous, I’m this, I’m that, all the time. But you know me, I’m shy. I’m my own worst critic, and I don’t hear the compliments. I don’t think Lewis realises that. I think he sees his role as keeping me level headed.’

‘Or bringing you down a peg or two. He’s a bully.’

‘No! He just has my interests at heart.’

Rex gave a cynical little snort. ‘He’s a control freak, babes. Let me tell you a secret. You know what all the stage crew say when they’re working with other celebrities?
They ask, “So how bad’s the manager, on a scale of one to Lewis Bond”?’

Tiger gasped and stifled a giggle. ‘That’s his job! Oh, darling, Lewis has been honing the “nasty gatekeeper” act for years! Duh! He’s exactly the kind of manager every gal needs!’

‘Really? You sure about that? Don’t think the Starrlets didn’t hear him kicking off at you earlier.’

‘Oh right. News travels fast. I’ll bet that came from Georgia. She probably had a bloody glass up against the wall listening in, cheering him on from the sidelines. Now if you
really
want to talk about control freaks—’ Tiger leaned in to wave a manicured finger in front of Rex’s bemused face ‘—from what Blue’s told me that Georgia Atlanta’s just Thatcher on rollerskates. She already has Lewis well and truly under the thumb!’