Tease (18 page)

Tiger was down to her pasties and diamond g-string as she moved through her blanket dance, writhing and slinking amongst her bed of ruffles like a cat on heat. It was pure animal sexuality. The costume looked breathtaking as it moulded with her curves. Tiger looked at ease as she used her trusty old flamenco tricks to manipulate the enormous train of ruffles, with her army of Starrlets behind her, now swinging like exquisite twinkling pin-up dolls on their own suspended perches. As the music increased in pace, Tiger leapt with each cymbal crash, and purred with each saxophone slide. The muscles in her thighs glistened as she worked up a glow. With a final dramatic jump she gripped onto the velvet tassel hanging from the glitterball above her and wrapped it about her
waist with a flourish. On cue the huge prop rose, spinning wildly in a glorious spectrum of sparkles.

‘What on earth is she playing at?’ murmured Lewis as he realised Tiger had adopted the pose of Jesus on the cross with outstretched arms as she ascended towards the flies, rotating with the glitterball, and shaking her hair as it tumbled down her back, with her diamond-encrusted pasties and merkin glittering blindingly under the lights.

‘That’s just madness. Controversy for the sake of it. Jesus was definitely not in the choreography. Fucking disaster,’ Lewis muttered to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. ‘Rex, I want a word with you later,’ he muttered. ‘This wasn’t supposed to be the friggin’ resurrection. I think Tiger just screwed up. A hunch tells me you had something to do with it. They’re gonna cut this number entirely after seeing it like this. Do you know how much that blasted prop cost?’

‘Mate, that was genius, what’s the problem?’ replied Rex, smirking. Lewis looked over at Blue, who was staring with his mouth agape. Pepper had her hand held over her mouth. Lewis’ heart sank. He held on to his seat as the Starrlets finished their crescendo with the music reaching its rousing finale as Tiger disappeared from view into the flies in a final flash of blinding lights.

The silent pause was long and pregnant. Dianne Castrelli, Vince and Johnny T huddled together.

‘Okay, Mr Bond,’ opened Dianne with her usual stern expression.

Here it comes, thought Lewis, bracing himself.

‘I can see your vision.’

Cut to the chase, thought Lewis, I can take it.

‘I think we can make the water feature work.’

Okay, now give me the ‘but’, thought Lewis, let’s get it over with.

‘In fact I think it will be quite stunning.’

Okay, now she’s going for the bad news. Come on, baby, don’t be a coward.

‘I have to say, this is pretty spectacular stuff, Lewis. It’s still camp, but it’s original, set against the more traditional showgirl pieces. In fact, I’d use the word “artful”.’

Huh? thought Lewis.

‘Yes, it’s very artful, it reminds me of a painting. Umm … I’m trying to think of the name …’

‘Renaissance?’ chipped in Blue hopefully, casting his mind back to his afternoon with Valerie.

‘Yes … the painting eludes me.’ Dianne smiled. ‘Never mind, I’ll remember it later. Now, if we can rethink the religious references at the end, I think we’re really on to a winner.’

Lewis kept his face straight and nodded thoughtfully,

‘That was quite an incredible performance you know,’ said Di, lowering her voice and looking around at the rapidly nodding Vince and Johnny T. ‘Now I heard some rumour flying around that Tiger wanted diving Siberian tigers?’

Lewis clenched his teeth, wondering how on earth Tiger
had managed to get her ridiculous request past him and direct to Dianne.

‘Really?’ Lewis coughed, smiling politely. ‘No, no, no, I think that must have been hearsay—’

‘Oh, but it’s a fabulous idea, Mr Bond. Let’s discuss it. We’ll need to check out the insurance implications but I think tigers shouldn’t be a problem. Ahh, Bosch! That’s who I was thinking of – that finale will look like a modern day
Garden of Earthly Delights
, with Tiger as Eve, rising to the skies surrounded by naked beauties, majestic animals, rising to the great disco ball in the sky. Isn’t that poetic?’

‘Ooh, all we’d need then is for Liberace to parachute in through the ceiling,’ muttered Blue with a sigh.

‘I might just ask my people to check out availability for white Bengal tigers instead,’ continued Dianne, looking eager. ‘Siberian tigers are so
passé
. Do you think Ms Starr would prefer white tigers?’

Tiger emerged in the wings after her presentation, realising with a sinking feeling in the afterglow that she had taken her baggage right out onto the stage and waved it about in the spotlight for all to see.

‘Jeez, what happened back there with the fans?’ asked Nikki as Tiger caught up with the chorus line, who were patiently waiting for her.

‘Whaddyamean?’ asked Tiger.

‘I mean, well, wow I’ve not seen you use them like that before! You were a warrior!’ breathed Nikki admiringly.

‘Cor, yeah I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of you!’ laughed Frankie.

‘Hmm. Come on, girls, lets just take our bows, eh,’ sighed Tiger, preparing for a deafening silence.

As she demurely walked out in front of the stage her audience cheered, whooped and clapped. As Tiger bowed, allowing a smile to creep across her face, she could see Pepper jumping up and down, Rex leaning back and whistling loudly, even Lewis clapping loudly and cheering. Tiger caught Di Castrelli’s eye; she proffered a big wink, accompanied by a knowing nod and a beaming smile. Tiger breathed an enormous sigh of relief and allowed the sound of clapping and cheers to ring loudly in her ears as she bowed once more.

Cheers and screams surged through the air as Poppy raced round the pitch with lungs burning, arms outstretched, hockey stick held high in the air, and the wind blowing sweaty ringlets of hair away from her flushed, elated face. Hundreds of pairs of feet stamped on the metal boards of the tiered seating either side of the pitch as hands clapped frantically along with the cheering. A few low boos rang out from the losing team. All of a sudden Poppy was swept up into the air as several pairs of hands jerkily hoisted her above their heads to celebrate the winning goal in the last ten seconds of the match.

‘Put me down!’ squealed Poppy, laughing her head off. This just made her team mates spin her round even faster. Poppy looked anxiously around from her vantage point for Mr Rogers, hoping he had watched her scoring that crucial goal. She caught him out of the corner of her eye at the sidelines, standing tall with legs apart, arms crossed, nodding and beaming, his thick blond hair tousled in the breeze. Their eyes locked for a second. Yesssss, thought Poppy, he would be so pleased with her! She knew this would make up for the shame of the catfight last week; she knew she could prove she was a good girl at heart.

Back in the locker room after an extremely rowdy bus ride back to school the last remaining girls were stuffing their damp gym skirts and muddy hockey boots into their kitbags. The air was thick with Impulse body spray and ‘Red Door’ eau de toilette.

Poppy felt a hand on her backside and jumped round with a start.

‘Emma! You made me jump!’

‘Ha! Why, who did you think it was?’

‘Well not you for a start, you’ve been a bitch all week.’

‘Yeah I know, actually Marina had a bit of a go at me tonight before the match. She told me I had to say sorry to you. She said she thinks I’ve been mean. We are supposed to be on the same team after all right?’

‘I’m not just talking about hockey.’

‘I know, I know. Look, can we forget all that stuff from before? You know you nailed ’em good and proper tonight, Pops!’

‘You know I hate “Pops”.’

‘Whatever, that tackle was fierce! You shoulda seen that cow’s face when you got the ball, she started hopping to make it look like you’d got her in the shins, it was classic!’

‘So I take it we’re mates again.’

‘Yeah, only ’cos you put us all in Mr Rogers’ good books though. Even if you do keep shaking your boobs at him. God he’s so gorgeous when he’s smiling.’

Poppy blushed and smiled to herself as she reached in her bag and felt the green sweater she’d had in her kit bag
all week. It had obviously been a lucky charm for tonight. She decided maybe she wouldn’t give it back straight away.

‘Listen, I’m off, Mum’s waiting outside,’ said Emma. ‘You need a lift? Your mum does night school on Wednesdays, doesn’t she?’

‘Yeah, but it’s okay, I could do with the walk home, I’m still buzzing. It’s a nice enough evening, the sunset’ll keep me company.’

‘Okay, if you’re sure.’ Emma gave her a look as if she was mad. ‘See you tomorrow. Triple maths – can’t wait.’ And with that Emma skipped off out of the locker room, kitbag and satchel slung over her shoulder.

Poppy pulled on her own blazer hurriedly as she realised she was the last one to leave as usual. She flicked the light switch of the locker room before pulling the door shut behind her. Making her way out of the sports block she paused to tie up her shoelace. A hand grabbed her shoulder as she knelt down. Poppy sprung up, alarmed, and as she span round came face to face with Ed Rogers.

‘Well done, Poppy, you were really fantastic tonight,’ said Ed.

‘Oh, thanks, it was – it was so much fun.’ Poppy blushed, suddenly wishing she’d put some mascara back on after her shower.

‘Tell you what, why don’t you come to my cabin for a minute? I could show you the designs for our new team strip.’

‘Oh, well – sure, I’ve got a few minutes.’ Poppy’s heart
raced. Five minutes with Mr Rogers! Wait until she told Emma, Claire and Marina! Thank goodness Mother wasn’t waiting for her at the gates tonight, there was a god after all, she thought excitedly.

Ed’s cabin was cramped, with team photographs, trophies and medals on all the walls. Any spare wall space was filled with scribbled match schedules and typed class timetables. Poppy perched nervously on a stool and looked around. In the corner stood a grey locker out of which was spilling what looked to be Mr Rogers’ own kit, underneath piles of school sweatshirts. She figured the new team strip samples must be in there too.

‘So, Miss Adams. You’ve been a very good girl today. Would you like to be the first to try on the new sweatshirts?’

‘Cool!’ said Poppy, wondering where she should change.

‘Well, why don’t you just slip out of your blouse. I won’t look.’

Ed turned to the locker and rummaged amongst the piles of kit. He hummed happily. Poppy took her blazer off, and went to undo her top button. She hesitated. The girls would think she was a slapper if she told them she had taken her blouse off in front of a man, whether he was looking or not. She thought better of it.

‘Mr Rogers, shall I go to the girls’ changing room?’ Ed turned to her and stared at her quizzically.

‘Why do you need to do that, Poppy? You’re safe with me. Don’t you trust me?’

‘Oh yes, Mr Rogers, yes of course. It’s just that, well—’

‘You’re okay with us being here together, aren’t you?’

‘Of course, yes.’

‘I don’t invite just anyone into my cabin you know.’

‘Oh thank you! I mean, well, great, I’d love to try on the new stuff if that’s cool with you.’

‘Yes, it’s fine with me, Poppy. Well then. Let me help you.’

As Ed fumbled with Poppy’s top button, his breathing became heavy. His face hardened in concentration. Poppy’s excitement turned to alarm. What was he doing? He wasn’t smiling any more. Had she upset him? Maybe she’d offended him. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him.

‘It’s okay, Mr Rogers, let me undo—’ Poppy didn’t have a chance to finish, as Ed ripped her shirt open, exposing her ample bosom spilling from her cheap peach satin bra. Poppy gasped, and fearfully held her arms up to hide her breasts. Ed locked his arm about her waist and reached for the wall with his other hand to turn off the cabin light as he firmly yanked her body up against his.

Poppy hobbled through the common. The night was closing in. Mother would be getting home about now. If she hurried, Poppy would only be a few minutes late. She wondered if Mother would be able to tell. She would kill Poppy if she found out what had happened, she would be in deep, deep trouble for leading a man on. She’d definitely
be sent to boarding school if it ever got out. And how on earth would she explain another ripped shirt? Mother would think she’d been fighting again. Poppy knelt down by a large oak tree and retrieved a tissue from her bag. She spat in it and scrubbed at the dried blood on her thigh. Tears filled her eyes. She was hurting and confused. Her friends must never find out, they would hate her. They would say she deserved it for drawing attention to herself.

She scrambled to her feet and started to hum manically as she walked, hoping to drown out the vicious cackling voices in her head. She choked her tears back, anxiously singing the words to ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ as she struggled home alone in the dark.

‘I’m so sorry about what happened, Sienna,’ comforted Rex.

‘Unfortunately, it’s just not a simple scenario – the media world’s a complicated beast,’ he sighed, turning back to his laptop.

‘So, hang on, let me get this straight. You told Tiger to tell her own side, right?’ persisted Sienna.

‘No, no, no. Bob Bell’s sub ed called me to warn me the story was going out. He gave me twenty-four hours to get Tiger to spill the beans in her own words. He had his own agenda.’ Rex turned from his desk to face Sienna.

‘Look, I’ll give you the abridged version. Some sewer rat journo’s got a lead on a scandal; I still don’t know how, I always thought Tiger was snow fuckin’ white and water fuckin’ tight. The journo has gone to New York to dig around and he probably offered a big pay-off to some crackhead, grudge-bearing dominatrix bitch for spinning a yarn about Tiger. Probably put the words in her mouth himself. Sewer rat journo then sticks in a load of his own fiction which is disguised in the final article with the words “our source said … blah.” The newspaper gives your big sis the golden opportunity to ’fess up in her own words –
in the process they may also bluff her to hopefully give even more away. In the meantime the newspaper goes back to crackhead bitch and the original lead whoever that was, and says, “I’m cutting your fee,” from say, twelve grand to three; for example, telling each that there’s a better story from another source. Crackhead bitch gets screwed over, the original lead gets screwed over, Tiger gets screwed over, the winners are sewer rat journo and the newspaper. Got it?’