Entertaining at Large Ch. 09

She was standing in the centre of a cloud of inflated balloons which virtually filled the narrow space. I had to laugh. Her head was poking out between one saying "Happy Birthday" and a second sporting a jaunty cartoon vampire. A quick perusal of the rest of her costume showed a collection of slogans celebrating weddings, anniversaries and the sub-nutritious offerings of a number of fast food joints. There was at least one inflated condom.

'Thought I'd start the new year off with a bang.'

'No pun intended?'

She stuck out her tongue and began a sort-of waddle towards me trying hard not to brush the walls. I stepped back into the waiting men to give her room.

'Watch out lads the Michelin Woman's coming through.'

I could hear George in the background making poor jokes about the problems of inflation. They got a better response as heads turned to see what was causing the commotion in the corner. I left them to it and, after she had passed me, went through to the calm of the Snug. I could hear the mini-stampede of would be urinators shoving each other out of the way in the rush to make it to the toilets first.

'Come here often?'

Scarlett was grinning at me from a chair near the gas fire. She had her legs crossed and her thigh was perfectly outlined in the clinging satin of her dress. She was searching through a small clutch bag.

'I was just going for a smoke. I'd ask you to join me but you're hardly dressed for it.'

'Actually. Only-mildly polluted air is just what I need. Give us a sec.'

I found clean undies bunched at the bottom of my bad and pulled on the jeans and jumper I had worn to get to the pub. Despite the ministrations of dozens of mouths my skin still felt sticky and uncomfortable as I shrugged into my coat.

The cold air of the outside world hit me like the combination of a double espresso and an amplified alarm clock. I took a deep breath and immediately started coughing. Scarlett smiled at me and blew a stream of smoke from the cigarette she had just sparked away from my face. The wind blew it back. We stood in amiable silence listening to the noises of the new year. Distant police and ambulance sirens provided a discordant backing track; nearer we could hear drunks chanting Xmas carols as they tried to find their homes; loud music from a number of nearby houses mingled to form an unidentifiable noise; somewhere about a street away a man and woman were screeching at each other. Scarlett shuddered.

'Reminds me of Barry.'

I reached over and squeezed her arm. She felt cold; hardly surprising given the flimsy material her dress was made of. I opened my coat and stretched it round both of us. From inside the pub we could just make out the tune to "I'm forever blowing bubbles". It was punctuated by loud cheers every minute or so. I couldn't hear the pop of bursting balloons but the explanation was self-evident.

'Must be the first time a stripper has used that.'

'I'm not so sure. Mandy helped her with the idea.'

She flicked her butt into the corner of the yard where it smouldered on a pile of several hundred of its predecessors.

'Come on. Let's get back inside before we catch our deaths.'

It was the best idea I had heard so far this year. We both started shivering when the warm air inside the pub reinforced just how cold it was outside. We rushed to the Snug and hunched close to the fire, stretching hands towards its warmth. Another cheer from the bar marked the expiration of another balloon.

'So what does the new year hold for you?'

'Same old, same old, I suppose.'

She sounded down. She stood up, went to her hold-all in the corner and started pulling on a pair of long evening gloves. They reached well above her elbows and matched the colour and material of the dress perfectly. She uncoiled a long feather boa from a carrier bag and draped it around her shoulders before turning back to me. She still bore a sad expression.

'So how do I look?'

'Fantastic. Like someone out of one of those old films getting ready for a night out at a swanky, Hollywood night club.'

'Fit right in here then.'

It was one of those throw away remarks which starts witty and ends up hilarious. We both giggled and then found we couldn't stop. I was wiping tears from my eyes before I finally brought myself under control. I couldn't shake the image of dinner-jacketed men, slinky vamps on their arms, ordering cocktails at the bar or sitting at tables waiting for non-existent waitress service.

'I'm imagining what George's reaction would be if someone ordered a tequila sunrise.'

'Or a screwdriver.'

Scarlett had obviously picked up my train of thought. We both fought hard to keep our amusement under control.

'Think he might stretch to a slow-screw-against-the-wall though, don't you?'

We were off again ending up in half-crouches each resting a hand on the other's shoulder for support. Neither of us heard Mandy come in. Who does?

'Better get ready sweetheart. Tracy's finally exhausted the town's supply of novelty balloons. You'll be on in a minute.'

She was grinning at the pair of us, obviously not understanding what had got us into this state of near-collapse, but enjoying the sight of people she liked enjoying themselves. Scarlett and I hugged. I slapped her arse after she had adjusted her dress and boa and started towards the door. She let out a short squeal and blew me a kiss as she went through to the corridor. I made to follow her. I didn't want to miss her strip. Mandy held up her hand and nodded back to the two chairs near the fire.

'I wanted a quick word. Don't worry, we've still got a few minutes.'

'You've told him?'

She laughed.

'No. I'm saving that delight for another day. James?'

I had no idea what she was talking about. It must have shown in my face.

'What do you know about him?'

I stared at her, trying to guess what was behind the question. I couldn't.

'Not much. He's some kind of photography student. Works for Pilkingtons in the High Street on some sort of placement scheme. Has a permanent hard-on around naked women. Why?'

'You know his boss?'

'Justin? A bit. He took the pictures of me for Mr J. What's going on , Mandy?'

I was getting worried in a non-focussed way. I had never seen Mandy looking thoughtful before. She reached over smiling and squeezed my knee. It hurt.

'Don't panic. Nothing serious. It's just that they've got a proposal for a project. I want to know whether they're trustworthy.'

'Project?'

'Yes. Something to do with bringing out a book. Why don't you talk to him about it? James was talking about Scarlett doing the graphics and whatnot. I don't want her hurt.'

I was confused.

'How could something like that hurt her? From what I've seen, she's pretty good. Be a chance for her, don't you think?'

Mandy sighed.

'Yes.'

She didn't sound convincing.

'Our Scarlett's a pretty girl. She's talented, got a hell of an imagination.'

'Yes?'

I tried to sound neutral. I still couldn't see what the problem, if any, was.

'It's just that she has an unerring ability to pick bastards. Barry wasn't the first. If that James is just spinning her a line to get in her pants, I might well have to kill him.'

I laughed. Mandy's expression was serious. I just couldn't see her as a female James Bond. I squeezed her knee to try and reassure her.

'Don't worry. James is just a confused kid. Yes, he's obviously smitten with her - you could see that after what he did the other night. She'll almost certainly end up fucking him. I know she's really grateful to him. But Justin is gay and more than a little disgusted by women, poor soul. If he's behind the project it will be purely business. I'll speak to them both if I get a chance and let you know. If, by any chance, Scarlett does start going out with James, just make sure she carries that crop with her on the first date. That'll keep him in line.'

We both let out deep breaths; me because I hadn't made such a long speech since my last presentation at work. And that was on European Union trade rules. Mandy was obviously grateful; the assassin-within at least temporarily mollified.

'Come on. We don't want to miss her. She's been working on her act all week. It should be brilliant.'

By the time we had positioned ourselves behind the bar George was stumbling off stage leaving Scarlett shimmering under the lights. The sound of "Big Spender" boomed out over the speakers. She had struck an angular pose which accentuated the lines of her slender frame. I don't know where she had picked up the cigarette holder which she held at a jaunty angle to her lips, but it set off her whole look. Somewhere a flash went off; I thought the resulting picture would make a perfect image for a nineteen thirties-style Berlin cabaret poster.

I'm not a big fan of show tunes, but everyone knows that song. It wasn't the Streisand version, but a woman with equally powerful lungs was belting it out accompanied by a full orchestra. I could hear Mandy humming along beside me. She wasn't alone; many of the older members of the audience were singing along. But all eyes were on the stage.

Scarlett's practicing clearly paid off. She was smiling broadly as she paraded around the stage, striking poses with arms and hips as the music demanded. She maintained eye contact with the main floor the whole time drawing them in as she promised the eponymous good time. I spotted at least half-a-dozen men who clearly thought she was dancing just for them.

She must have been at least half-way through the number before the first item of clothing came off. She followed tradition, tugging at the fingers of her first opera glove with her teeth before tossing it aside. The second was rolled down and left resting across her boobs after she eased her arm out of it before sliding to the floor. Each was discarded with appreciative cheers. She then teased us all with boa-work. The long strand of feathers was drawn up her body or beneath her butt cheeks in slow easy movements. I don't know what it was doing to the guys, but I could feel myself getting a little moist. I gulped down a mouthful of water.

I don't think anyone there had noticed the chair at the edge of the stage until Scarlett coiled the boa over its back and placed the cigarette holder on the seat. Her whole performance was mesmerising. The whistles started when she leaned over the back of the chair shaking her hips vigorously behind her and giving us all glimpses of her cleavage as she leaned forward. She's not the biggest of girls, but that mattered not a jot. The exposed skin on her apple-sized boobs blushed pink, the clinging satin outlined the perfect shape of the rest of them.

The straps on the gown seemed to drop off her shoulders by themselves. It was only as she drew her arms out of them that I noticed it had happened. She eased down the long zip which held the dress together with Her back to us all. But never did her eyes leave the audience, not the smile her lips. When the tune demanded it she syncopated the beats by jerking her head from one side to the other. There was a significant risk of a whiplash injury, I thought.

With the dress undone it seemed to flow down her form as the final long fade started. The now, more subtle, movements of her hips and torso must have helped, but I'm sure I'm not the only one who considered whether the whole visual effect was being orchestrated by some kind of remote control mechanism. As she stood barely moving the appreciation was thunderous. The light caught the silk of her undies and the nylon of her stockings; it was almost hypnotic. I'm sure most of us would have been more than happy if the act had ended there. I was surprised at how enthusiastically I was clapping myself. When Mandy let out a shrill whistle, we smiled and nodded at each other to confirm the brilliance of the shared moment.

Nina Simone is probably the least appropriate performer for any stripper to choose. I looked puzzled as the first unaccompanied stanza of "Feeling Good" sang out. The deepness of her voice was enhanced by the high bass on the balance. Scarlett stood barely moving, the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathed was probably the most significant motion. I looked at Mandy puzzled; she squeezed my shoulder reassuringly briefly and then broke into a grin as the big band broke in and the dancer became animated.

Poetry in motion is a much overused phrase. It was never more appropriate than the early hours of New Year's Day down at the Crown. I remember the track flowed seamlessly into "I Wish I Knew How It Feels to Be Free". When I thought about it later on, I smiled remembering the joy on everyone's face as Scarlett left the stage and circled the room. The poignant lyrics seemed to strike a chord with everyone; they certainly did with me. I studied Scarlett's face as whirled and wriggled. The sadness and joy seemed to spread through her like tides and then past her into all of us.

The two tracks combined probably took a little over five minutes. Between them, Nina and Scarlett took us on a journey from despair to pure joy. What I do not remember was how she lost her clothes; the stripping was an organic part of the whole. The whole room seemed to come back to the present as the music faded and Scarlett was standing completely nude, the cigarette holder back clamped between her teeth. She could have been standing there for long minutes so mesmerising was her dance. The applause started slow, but after a few moments everyone was on their feet.

At first it was just clapping then the foot stamping and table banging shook the room. The cries of "more" and the whistles which then followed were not the usual lusty rudery of testosterone-driven impatience; I know mine weren't. I think the lot of us were joined in the knowledge that whatever it was we had just seen, we were not going to forget it for a long time. Scarlett stood beaming occasionally wiping sweat from her brow, blowing kisses to all corners of the room and once or twice rubbing her eyes to clear tears. No one wanted her to leave and there was an audible groan when she eventually picked up the clothes she had neatly piled on the chair and, with a last wave, stepped off the stage and made her way through to the Snug at a trot.

The clapping and cheering did not stop. She winked at me as she passed and I waved a hot hand. George took the stage but made no attempt to interrupt the acclaim. He had his hands on his hips and an expressionless face. It was only when he looked at his watch after about five minutes that laughter punctuated the cheers and it began to slow and quieten. I think most of us were, like me, waiting for George to put into words the feelings we had all experienced over the last ten minutes as he raised the microphone to his mouth. Silly us.

'Tell you what. If that one had bigger tits she'd be not bad as a stripper.'

The reaction was a mixture of laughter and outraged booing. He was covered in a confetti of thrown beer mats so dense he had to raise his arms to protect his face. He had, however, broken the spell. I slipped away as he started announcing the routes for free rides home from Alan.

I grabbed the still naked Scarlett when I got into the Snug and we jumped up and down whooping for a few seconds. I brushed her hair away from her face and looked into her eyes. I needed to see whether she was as delighted as I was, or whether the deep sadness of some of Nina's words had been deliberately chosen. She was babblingly happy.

'That was great. I could go and do it again right now. You know, when stuff comes together like that it's wow. Did you see their faces?...'

I put a finger on her lips. And she bit it. It hurt. A lot. By the time I had finished squeezing it underneath my armpit, then sucking on it to ease the pain before examining the teeth marks closely for any signs of bleeding, she was half dressed.

'Unnecessary, Scarlett. Completely uncalled for.'

A cackle was all the reply I got. I tried to frown at her semi-concerned expression. We both ended up giggling.

'Seemed to be the right thing to do at the time.'

'And there was me thinking you were becoming an artist.'

She started letting words tumble out of her again. This time I just let her and went to get her a drink from the bar. When I got back she was fully-clothed in jeans and T-shirt. She downed the proffered alcopop like a student sports star in a drinking contest and reached for my Perrier. That went the same way. The inevitable belch took an age to conclude and by the time it finished the moment for discerning conversation was dead. We went outside so she could smoke. The men in the queue for the toilets clapped as she passed. She gave one of those haughty waves the queen uses as we squeezed by them..

We both shivered when the cold air hit us and huddled together in the corner of the shelter. It offered at least a little cover from the wind.

'What's this project James has been talking about?'

'Oh, he asked you.'

'What?'

'To edit?'

I was confused. So I said so.

'His boss apparently, has turned up some sort of office diary.'

I was still none the wiser.

'Its got a lot of notes and stuff about the models, and magazines and stuff, and what he got up to with them. You know?'

I had a pretty good idea.

'So where do you fit in? Or me for that matter.'

'I told James I'd done graphic art and he asked whether I'd be interested in doing lay out and art work if they get a book together. Why are you asking?'

She wasn't hostile, just curious. I tried to sound nonchalant.

'Oh Mandy asked me what I knew about it. She's worried James might be trying to exploit you.'

That made her laugh, which resulted in a coughing fit, which got worse when the icy air hit her lungs as she gasped. She tossed her cigarette and pulled me back inside.

'I'll have a word with her. Tell her not to worry. I like James, but he's not my sort really. Much too nice. He's even asked me out on a date. Politely. Asked if I'd like to go for a meal.'

I touched her arm.

'Maybe nice is what you need right now.'

She didn't look convinced.

'Anyway. I think there's going to be quite a committee vetting your next beau.'

She laughed.

'With the underlying threat of violence if they don't treat you right. I'm going to be on it too.'

She was momentarily serious.

'Thanks. I'll bear that in mind. Anyway Julian? Justin?'

'Justin.'

'Yes. He thought you might be the person to read through the diaries and knock them into shape.'

It was my turn to laugh.

'No way. I'm OK with business reports and memoranda but I wouldn't have the first idea about producing a book. I know someone who would do a good job though.'

She looked expectant.

'Someone whose hobby is collecting old porn mags?'

'George?'

'Nah. I doubt he can read. Probably still moves his lips to form the words when he frowns at them.'

We both laughed.

'As soon as James mentioned it I knew I knew someone who would be good. I just can't think who it is.'

'Mr J?'

She slapped her thigh.

'You're right. He'd be perfect. Plenty of time on his hands. Huge collection of dirty magazines according to Tracy.'

'Want me to ask him?'

'Yeah. Talk to Justin too, if you don't mind. I wouldn't say no to doing a bit of modelling as well if the chance is there.'

We went through to the bar. Everyone was pleased to see Scarlett again. There was another round of applause which grew as word spread. Drunks clutched her arm while they attempted to string words of appreciation together; the more sober kept their comments to simple thanks. It gave me a chance to look around.

In the quarter of an hour or so since the entertainment ended, the place had been transformed from cosy neighbourhood tavern into a cross between a transport interchange and a cafeteria. There were still a few tables where drinkers were keeping the party going. Most, however, were trying to wake drunk friends, find their coats or search out that special someone to have the first argument of the year with. By the door Jake was trying to sort out groups of a suitable size for Alan to take home. Given that he was stupid with no sense of the town's geography and most of those waiting were pissed and in the mood for a fight, it was not going well. It was only his size and belligerent attitude that stopped punch ups breaking out. I left them to it.