Body on the Stage (2 page)

He had little to report when his
sister rang next, but enjoyed hearing her cheerful news of kids and
happy married life. As always, her sisterly concern for his
well-being came perilously close to nagging.

“I’m doing all right,” he told
her firmly. “No dramas, no hassles, everything’s fine.”

“But are you looking after
yourself, Den? Are you eating properly? I know you – you’ll have a
burger for lunch at your desk and a pizza delivered for dinner, and
God only knows what you snack on in the evenings.”

He’d been about to reach for a
biscuit and snatched his hand back guiltily. “No!” he protested.
“I’m doing what – well, most of what you told me to do. I have
breakfast.” (Sometimes.) “I keep a water bottle on my desk.”
(That’s growing new life forms in its green algae.) “And I do cook
my own dinners, you know.” (Of course microwaving a pizza counts as
cooking.)

“Yeah, right, Den, I believe
you. Anyway, what about social outings? Have you heard back from
the theatre people yet? When does the show start?”

“No idea. They haven’t emailed
me yet, but they did say it would be a couple of weeks.” His hand
strayed across the table.

“Dennis! Is that a biscuit
packet I can hear crackling? Are you eating those double-chocolate
Timtams again? You know how addictive they are.”

He swallowed hurriedly. “What
makes you think you can tell the difference between low-fat vege
chips and chocolate biscuit packets just by the sound on a
phone-line, eh?” Thank God he didn’t use the webcam on his laptop.
Janice had no idea how much weight he’d really put on because he
carefully tweaked all his pictures in Photoshop before sending them
to her. There’d be time to slim down if she ever decided to visit
in person. He pushed the Timtams away.

“I’ll give you the benefit of
the doubt this time, bro,” she said drily. “Just promise me you’ll
think positive thoughts and be good to yourself, OK? Catch you
later.”

After hanging up the phone he
took the biscuits into the kitchen and shut them away in a tin on
the very top shelf of the cupboard, well out of sight. After he’d
taken one last Timtam from the packet. It was a treat, so it
counted as being good to himself.

Back at his computer screen, the
email icon showed new mail. At last, the theatre had got back to
him. Now he’d have something positive to tell Janice. He scanned
the text quickly, finding he was invited to turn up at the theatre
the following Saturday for a construction meeting. He noted it in
his computer’s appointment diary and circled the date on a printed
calendar of seascapes that Janice had sent him for Christmas. Done.
Now it was official. He had a social event to attend.

On Saturday at the appointed
time he parked across the road from the theatre and took a deep
breath before getting out of the car. He lifted his head, pulled
his shoulders back, and tried to put a positive, friendly look on
his face. ‘Here I am, Dennis Dempster, happy to join in and be one
of the gang,’ he told himself. ‘I can do this.’

A handwritten note taped to the
front door of the theatre invited him to come on backstage to the
Green Room, so he followed the same shabby corridor that Jessica
had shown him on his first visit. The stage was empty this time,
and a large part of the back wall had been opened up into the Green
Room where many of the same people he’d already met were gathered
round a table.

“Hi,” he began. “I’m Dennis. Is
this the right place for the construction meeting?”

Tony looked up. “Hey, Dennis,
glad you could join us. Come and have a look at these set designs.
Have you done any building work before? Know your way round
power-tools?”

“Er, no, not really. I told
Jessica I’d be able to help with sweeping up and making coffee,
that sort of thing.” He was already regretting letting himself in
for this, but the thought of admitting defeat to his sister was a
powerful incentive to stay and make the best of it.

“No worries, we’ll find plenty
for you to do,” said Tony. “Pull up a chair – we’re just doing a
bit of planning for what needs to be built and when we’ll do
it.”

Dennis sat down, nodding a
greeting to Gazza, Nick, and the thin, pale guy whose name he
couldn’t quite remember. The construction talk washed over him,
being full of obscure terms and references that he didn’t
understand. He tried to nod intelligently from time to time and
waited until he was told what to do.

“All right,” said Tony at last,
leaning back from the table and stretching. “We’ve done enough for
a Mallowpuff, as they say. Dennis, you suggested you could make the
coffee. Come and meet our ancient water heater.” He led the way
towards a space enclosed by a shoulder-height wall where an elderly
fridge wheezed gently and a tired dishwasher leaked beside the
sink. “Turn this knob to fill it, up to about here, then flick the
on switch. Mugs are in the cupboard under the bench, coffee, tea
and sugar are in these pull-out bins. Go for your life.”

Relieved to have something to
do, Dennis assembled a row of battered brown glass mugs and
rummaged in several drawers to find teaspoons. While he waited for
the water to boil, he took more note of his surroundings. The
pattern on the scarred formica benchtop was worn away in places but
the counter was clean and tidy. There was an elderly space heater
beside the back door, and beyond that a rail attached to the
ceiling held a large beige curtain that could separate the space in
the corner from the main room. There were several high wooden
tables in there with mirrors surrounded by light-bulbs, and Dennis
realised, with a minor twinge of excitement, that they were make-up
tables. Suddenly it seemed possible that he was getting involved in
actual showbusiness.

“Hey Dennis, where’s that coffee
then? The water’s boiling.”

He jumped, suddenly aware of the
increasing shriek of the water heater’s steam vent announcing its
readiness. He carried the coffee mugs to the table, retrieved milk
from the fridge, briefly considered looking for a jug for it, but
gave up and put the bottle on the table.

“Good work, mate,” said Gazza,
favouring him with a grin. “A good coffee maker’s always welcome
here. That’s what keeps the place running.”

“And look what I’ve got,” said
Nick. “Chocolate biscuits to celebrate a new season. Get stuck in,
everybody.” He tore open the packet and offered it around.

Dennis hesitated. “No, I really
shouldn’t,” he said reluctantly. “Thanks anyway.”

“Oh go on,” said Tony, slapping
his own well-rounded belly. “You’re only a little bit wider than
me. We were glad to see you turn up, actually, weren’t we guys?
With a show like this full of gym jockeys, us stage crew have got
to put up a solid front, eh? Come on Fenton, you’re so skinny you’d
better have two, mate.” Fenton obeyed, and then held out the packet
to Dennis, waving it to waft the scent of chocolate towards
him.

“Sure we can’t tempt you?”

Dennis grinned. “Of course you
can!” He bit happily into a Timtam and started to feel at home.

Once the coffee had been drunk
and there was nothing but crumbs left in the biscuit packet, Tony
stood up and belched.

“Oops, pardon me. Right then,
let’s see what sort of a mess the workshop’s in after that last
school production.” He turned to Dennis. “There were so many of the
little rug-rats they had to use the space as an extra dressing
room. Hope to God none of them got into the tool room.”

“They were a bit young to have
lock-picking skills,” said Gazza. “Nose-picking was about their
limit.”

“Have you been backstage here
before, Dennis?” asked Nick.

“No, this is my first time.”

Quiet sniggers greeted his words
and he felt himself blushing.

“Don’t worry, mate,” said Tony,
grinning. “We’ll be gentle!”

Dennis followed them out of the
kitchen, through a narrow room lined with tongue and groove boards
where a long mirror circled with light-bulbs reflected their
passing.

“Make-up room,” said Gazza, a
man of few words. Dennis sniffed to catch the legendary smell of
the greasepaint but could only detect dust and a faint trace of
perfume.

They made their way through a
door onto the stage and headed to the right, where large black
folding doors were pushed back against the wall allowing access to
a concrete block room filled with stacked bits of scenery. Dennis
looked around with interest at the variety of storage techniques,
noting the racks mounted on the walls, pipes hanging from the
ceiling, and numerous recycled cupboards and shelves.

“Don’t you ever throw anything
away? Some of this stuff looks a hundred years old!”

Fenton looked shocked. “Throw it
away? Not if there’s a chance it can be reused for another show.
Some of these tree cut-outs have been around longer than I have –
my dad made them for a pantomime before I was born. These old bits
and pieces look fine under stage lights with a fresh coat of
paint.” He showed Dennis a tall piece of plywood, painted like grey
stone blocks and shaped with battlements at the top. “See that
tower? My mum lowered her hair from that window playing Rapunzel
when she was fifteen. After that it showed up in Camelot, Robin
Hood, and half a dozen ballets.”

“This truck nearly took my
fingers off once,” said Nick, pointing out a heavy platform on
giant castors suspended against the wall at the side of the stage.
“I was only ten and forgot to keep out of the way.”

“Er, what’s that for,
exactly?”

“A truck is a wheeled base that
goes on and off stage, usually with scenery on it. See the rake on
this stage? You don’t want to get your fingers in front of a truck
wheel when it gets away from the crew and starts heading for the
audience, believe me!”

They climbed down a set of rough
wooden stairs to the workshop floor, where small drifts of glitter
looked strangely out of place among the baulks of timber and heavy
iron fittings.

“I see they swept up well,”
muttered Gazza.

“The tool room’s secure,” said
Tony, checking the padlock. “None of them got at the power tools so
that’s good.”

Dennis had a vision of
five-year-olds wielding electric saws among their companions. “Does
that ever happen?” he asked, faintly apprehensive of the
answer.

“Not if we catch them first and
put the fear of God into them,” said Gazza with satisfaction. “The
trick is to let them know if they touch things they’re not supposed
to, a great rain of unpleasant stuff will come down on their heads
very heavily until they have to dig their way out.” He pushed his
cap to the back of his head. “We generally don’t have too much
trouble.”

“And only a few wet themselves
when they get the lecture,” said Nick, grinning.

“Right, gentlemen,” said Tony,
pinning sheets of paper onto a corkboard. “Here’s our schedule for
the next few months. We’ve got a nice long lead-in to this one as
the guys have to train at the gym to get buffed up. Won’t it be
nice to see actors doing more hard work than we do for a change?
I’ll put an order in for the supplies we need first thing Monday
and we should be able to make a start next weekend. Sound
good?”

Grunts of assent from Gazza and
Fenton.

“I’ll be there,” said Nick, “as
long as work doesn’t stuff things up by calling me in.”

“If you think I’ll be any use,”
said Dennis, “I’m happy to show up.”

“Right then,” said Tony. “See
you all next week, same time, same Bat-channel.”

They made their way back to the
Green Room, where a group of five athletic men gathered around a
tall red-haired woman who was handing out printed pages.

“Here’s your diet sheet,” she
said to them. “Read it carefully and if you have any questions
later, make sure you call me. What you eat will be critical to get
you into the right shape for this show. Adam’s told me exactly what
he needs and that’s what we’re going to give him, right? It’ll be
no more fast food or weekend drinking sessions for the next three
months, OK?”

Tony and Gazza edged past the
group with a shudder, with Dennis trying to lose himself behind
them. He was just about to head for the exit when Jessica breezed
through the door and smiled when she saw him.

“Dennis! Just the man I was
looking for.”

“Really? Why?”

“You said you had computer
skills, didn’t you? At the auditions?”

“Oh, yes, right. Sure, what do
you need?”

She indicated the tall redhead.
“Cathy’s got a computer problem at the gym, and since she’s giving
us such a great deal on training the guys, I wondered if you could
possibly have a look at it for her? If it’s not too much trouble?
I’m sure she could trade you some gym time or nutrition advice in
return for your efforts.”

Dennis bit back a disbelieving
laugh. Him, go near a gym?

“I’ll be happy to look at her
computer,” he said, “but only if she promises not to pay me
back.”

Jessica shrugged. “Whatever
works for you. Thanks – I appreciate it.” She patted him on the
arm. “Hey Cathy,” she called, “meet Dennis. He’s the computer guy I
told you about – says he’s happy to look at your PC. Sort out a
time with him, OK?” She pushed Dennis towards Cathy and disappeared
through the stage door.

Tony and Gazza grinned.
“Careful, mate. She’ll have you running laps before you have her
laptop running!” Tony chuckled quietly. “I’ve heard that grown men
weep when she starts training them.”

Cathy dismissed the five actors
and came over to Dennis. She was the same height as him, with
striking blue eyes that held his gaze.

“That’s very good of you,
Dennis. Are you sure it’s OK? I know Jessica sometimes railroads
people into helping out when they might prefer not to.”

“No, I don’t mind fixing your
computer,” he said, not voicing the thought it was actually going
near a gym that gave him the willies. “Where and when suits
you?”