Page 36 of Dancing Fools and All That Jazz

Monica

The “Dancin’ Fool” routine is fantastically high energy.

We are all dripping when we come off stage.

It was going perfectly, but then Ingrida made one major mistake, which could have thrown us all.

However, she dealt with it brilliantly. It happened near the end of the dance.

At the point where we all travel stage left, one behind the other in those crazy back-bent-forward-at-right-angles-walks, swinging our arms with our heads turned to the audience, Ingrida went stage right.

At first, I hadn’t noticed. I was at the front of the line.

But as I led the walks round full circle, I could see she was the wrong side of the stage.

Ingrida acted spontaneously and, as if it was part of the dance, she gave an exaggerated move, raising her hand to her open mouth and did an about turn.

Speeding up the walk to double time, she raced to the end of the line and tagged on just in time for the fast Charleston sections.

It was inspired. In fact, as we returned to the dressing room, we all joked it should be included as part of the routine next time.

‘I was so shocked I had danced to wrong side, I had to think – how you say – on my feet what to do to make it look as if it had been put in the actual dance. I still cannot believe I managed to hide mistake. I hope Clarissa will not be cross.’

‘Cross? She’ll be delighted. It was brilliant, Ingrida. Completely in time with the music. What a pro.’

Although it’s just what I would have said, I’m tiring of Ruby taking every opportunity to reaffirm her new best buddy.

However, nothing can take away the sense of euphoria which started when we threw our hats into the air on the last note of the music.

There was incredible applause, and I had turned to smile at all the dancers before indicating when to take our choreographed exit.

Ruby had winked at me. She had tears in her eyes and for a split second I forgot why I was so angry with her.

I had to fix the wide smile to my face for the audience before I gave her the nod, the cue for a few bars of music to replay and for her to clown-act gathering up the hats.

We each placed our hats individually into Ruby’s hands, one on top of the other before dancing to the exit and Ruby pretended to almost over balance with the topsy-turvy stack held at arm’s length.

We watched her from the wings as she milked this for everything she could, and the audience laughed and clapped in time to the music when she pantomimed catching up the precariously teetering pile as if it was out of control.

Watching her, my jaw momentarily tensed but I have vowed to put thoughts of her betrayal out of my head. I’m here to dance and immerse myself in the positivity it creates. My life is going to take a different direction and I’m going to dance to a tune of my own making from now on.

The others chatter happily down the corridors to the dressing room but quieten when we approach the door. From the shouts and shrieks that greet us, it is clear Sheila’s group is back.

We arrive in the vestibule to see them changing into skimpy black and red costumes.

The split black skirts are teamed with tight crimson tops, half-torn-half-ripped in what I think is a punky goth style.

They also wear red lacy wrist gloves with no fingers and black fishnet stockings held by bright red suspender belts.

Heavens. There’s a lot of flesh on display.

Asha turns her head and nods to us all, and we stop talking as we enter the room in silence. We move to our line of mirrors, sit on our chairs, and turn our backs on Bold as Brass.

In the green room, we had all agreed we would completely ignore the women.

‘We will not dignify their actions with a response,’ Asha had urged us. ‘They should not have the satisfaction of knowing they upset us.’

‘Besides, there’re other ways of getting even,’ Ruby had added cryptically, but I am getting into the habit of switching off the moment she speaks.

The voices of Sheila’s women slowly peter out when they are met with a barrage of silence.

They soundlessly touch up their make-up and place squares of red-edged black netting in their hair, fixed with combs.

These form short veils over one side of each face, and I have to grudgingly admit they are subtle but effective and give the minimal costumes a much-needed sophisticated, almost French, touch.

Sheila eventually breaks the quiet and looks at me through the mirrors.

‘Left the dressing room in quite a mess, didn’t we, ladies? Stuff everywhere.’ She puts her hands on her hips and exchanges grins with her group.

When we say nothing, she adds, ‘Oh dear, have all the dickie-chickies lost their voices?’

Ruby bangs her fist on the table – causing Asha and Ingrida to recoil – and swivels round in her chair to face Sheila. ‘Christ, how old are you, Sheila? Twelve?’

A couple of the Bold as Brass women snigger.

‘What did you bloody say?’ Sheila steps forward with a backward glare at the offenders in her group. One of her dancers holds up her phone to film what they no doubt hope will be a blazing row.

Ruby stands up and steps forward. She is a good six inches taller than Sheila and when she is up close, she looks down on her. Ruby speaks slowly and clearly, ‘FOR – FUCK’S – SAKE – GROW – UP.’

Sheila’s face goes crimson. Her lips appear to try to form words, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

The stand-off lasts half a minute before the large-busted member of Bold as Brass lightly taps Sheila’s shoulder and says softly, ‘Sheila, we need to go. We’re on after this dance.’ She points to the screen.

Sheila breaks eye contact with Ruby, mutters a barely audible, ‘Fucking DECKs,’ and the group mobilises, picking up bright red concertina fans and leaving for the stage without another word.

‘Good for you, Ruby,’ Cath and Bonnie slap Ruby on the back.

Ruby smiles, grabs her bag, and also heads for the door. ‘Gotta go.’

‘You’re not supposed to go out in costume,’ Asha calls but Ruby has left, and we all start to change into our rehearsal wear.

‘Where’s Fay?’ Bonnie asks.

‘She did not wait for Ruby’s exit off stage.’ Asha starts to undo her waistcoat. ‘She dashed ahead of us. Look, her coat has gone so I guess she has put it over her costume and gone out for a bit.’ Asha shrugs as she pulls on her black DECK top.

‘Well, we have a good hour or more until our next dance. There’s a break after Sheila’s group has performed,’ Cath adds.

‘Let’s go for a coffee at the theatre café. I could do with a change of scene.’ Bonnie takes off her jazz shoes and stops as Asha slumps down into one of the chairs next to her. ‘You all right, Asha? You’ve gone very pale…’

Asha gives a small nod and puts her hand up to her head. ‘I… I came over a bit dizzy.’

Ingrida crosses to her and squats to look at her. ‘You probably need something to eat and drink after the energy we expend in “Dancin’ Fool”. Come on, we will get some cake, ja? ’ Ingrida passes Asha a bottle of water and we all quickly change.

I check my phone and smile to see Bruce has sent a text.

Butch, baby, I’m bringing Curtis and Divinity, from the Friends of Dorothy show. Are we are going to have some fun! See you later, you hunky cowboy, you.

I send a thumbs up emoji and quickly delete the message even though there is no chance of Vince seeing it.

‘Oh look,’ Bonnie cries, finger pointed at the screen. ‘Sheila’s group is about to start.’

The television shows the dozen women get into their places. Under the lights, the tops look shockingly see-through, leaving nothing to the imagination. I cannot quite make up my mind if they are in the worst possible taste or an inspired and quirky design. They certainly hold the eye.

Bold as Brass form a tableau in the centre of the stage with open fans, each dancer holding theirs at arm’s length at different angles.

I stare at the positioning of the fans; this looks more than familiar.

Then an image flashes across my mind and I realise why.

We had similar costumes in a show we did several years ago – tight black skirts over red and gold leotards – except our tops were not so sensual and definitely did not show our underwear. Tame in comparison to Sheila’s garb.

The dance starts and I instantly recognise the moves.

‘What the…?’

‘What is it, Monica?’

‘This number. It’s one of Clarissa’s former winning routines.’

‘No!’

‘Where’s the programme?’

Bonnie leans forward and runs her finger down the listing on the mirror.

‘Oh, my goodness. You’re right. It’s “Roxanne”. We did this, let me see… in 2019 I think.’

‘The sly, wee hallions. This is Clarissa’s dance.’ Cath slams her hand down on the dressing table.

‘Monica, is this right? Are you say to us Sheila has steal this dance from Clarissa? All of the choreography steps?’ Ingrida stares at the screen.

‘Stolen it move for move. Look.’ I stand and place myself under the screen where I dance the moves on the spot in exact time with the women out on stage.

‘I don’t believe it! They have not even attempted to disguise Clarissa’s steps.’ Asha has perked up and is on her feet, looking from the screen to me. ‘It is phrase for phrase. That woman is outrageous. I hope Clarissa is watching this. She should put in a complaint. We will rally round her.’

The routine picks up in tempo and I pull back to watch it critically. I have to admit they are dancing it well and even without being able to hear the soundtrack, the number has impact.

This’ll get a high score.

‘Watch. At the end, they’ll all swirl into a group around a central figure.

Then they’ll each stretch out a leg to run a hand down to the toe.

And right on the last phrase of “Roxanne”, they’ll all make a sudden move to open their fans and raise them high to the ceiling.

If you remember, Bonnie, we had to have those stretch leotards under our skirts as the tops we were going to use kept snapping or riding up. ’

‘Oh yes, I do remember. Those leotards were sparkly red and gold. I think I still have mine somewhere.’

The women do exactly as I predicted, but as they make the final dramatic reach with the fans held high to the ceiling, the bra tops of two of the dancers dramatically tear at the shoulders and drop down.

‘Oh my God.’

‘No.’

We all put our hands to our mouths as we watch the women struggle to cover their bare breasts.

The large-bosomed woman is floundering as she tries to drag the top from under her sizeable wobbling chest. It’s the same dancer Sheila had berated for making a mistake in their first number – I think her name’s Bridget.

Sheila makes a dash to assist Bridget with her costume malfunction.

She stands in front of the woman and leans over to help hitch up the broken top, but as she does so, her skintight skirt rips from the top of the rear split to her waistband exposing a sparkling thong framing her large white buttocks for all the audience to see.

I give an involuntary gasp. What a nightmare.

We are too shocked to say anything at first. Although I’m sure Asha muttered some remark about Ruby as she shakes her head in disbelief.

‘Well, she’s certainly giving a holy show of herself. Gives a whole new meaning to something going arseways.’ Cath begins to snigger.

‘I don’t think that was quite the end they had planned.’ Bonnie chuckles.

Ingrida is also starting to laugh. ‘It was a very big end. Ja? ’

I have to smile. ‘They certainly fleshed it out.’

‘Oh, my goodness. Look here. The programme describes the routine as a cheeky tango number.’ Asha points at the description with glee.

‘Not just cheeky but delivered with bare-faced cheek.’ Cath is now laughing heartily.

‘All that bare flesh.’ Asha starts to titter. ‘And that horrible rhinestone thong. So crude.’

‘Krude?’ Ingrida gives a belly laugh that is infectious. ‘Ha ha. This word, krutis . In Latvian it mean breast or tits.’

I find myself laughing too and we all rock about guffawing as more witticisms are added.

‘You can definitely say it went tits up.’ Bonnie is dabbing her eyes.

‘They were busting out all over.’ Asha laughs.

‘I’ve heard of the bottom dropping out of your world, but that takes the biscuit,’ Bonnie adds.

Ingrida is now holding her cheeks as she laughs.

‘What? Ingrida, what is so funny?’ I ask, chuckling with her.

‘This… This words Bonnie say. Biscuit and bottom… it is very funny.’ Ingrida is shaking as she chortles aloud.

‘Oh Ingrida, you crease me up.’ Bonnie starts, but Ingrida goes into hysterics, which sets everyone else falling about with laughter.

‘That finale was a bit of a bummer.’ Cath is holding her sides.

Bonnie raises her water bottle and on cue we all shout, ‘Bottoms up.’

Our laughter starts to die down and we see on the screen that Sheila’s group is leaving the stage.

‘Quick. We have to go out.’ Asha announces.

‘What? We’re dancing in another hour or so,’ I say.

‘We do not want to be here when the Maggots get back. I, for one, will not be able to keep a straight face. Come on, we can go to the café. Give it twenty minutes – we will still have plenty of time to get ready – and hopefully Sheila’s lot will have left by then. They have done their last dance.’

We grab our bags and pull on our jackets.

‘We must find Clarissa and see what she wants to do about the theft of her number.’ Asha leads the way as we hurriedly leave before Sheila’s group returns.

‘You have really happy glow, Monica,’ Ingrida tells me as we head for the café.

‘I guess the dance, the laughter has been cathartic…’

Ingrida looks puzzled.

‘It means cleansing, liberating…’

Ingrida nods understanding and I repeat the words in my head. Cleansing… liberating… An image of Jean-Claude flicks across my mind and my buoyancy is instantly accompanied by a pleasant flush of desire.