Professional Excellence Ch. 11

This one is long, but I hope you'll stick with it, it covers the action of Monique's cabaret-debut weekend. There are references throughout to earlier incidents about which I've written. I've put in a little context where relevant, but you can go back to the earlier tales if you want to find out more. You'll get more of the back story of other main characters too. As usual, I'm always grateful for comments, criticism and support. Enjoy.

(Note for non-British readers: There's a reference in the text to the Z Cars theme. Z Cars was one of the earliest UK cop-show soaps. It was born and died in the 1960s, but the theme tune lived on and invokes thoughts of the police whenever it's played. You'll pick it up easily on any streaming service if you want a little background music while reading.)

BANG!

The explosion from the smoke bomb was louder than I'd expected, but I stepped out onto the small stage and arranged myself in a pose behind the veil it provided and waited for the cloud to disperse. My 35DD boobs heaved against the tight, leather, crop-top bra I had somehow squeezed into and I felt my pussy contract inside the matching hot pants. Both had been late editions to the wardrobe chosen by my husband Howard. I could feel sweat forming on my brow beneath the biker cap he'd also got me as the spotlights began to penetrate the smoke. My nerves disappeared, however, when a loud cheer went up from the one hundred and twenty men, all members of the lodge in a town some distance from my own. They were gathered for what was colloquially known as a Gentlemen's Evening.

'Hello boys.'

I'd had to write my own script and the line from the old push-up bra commercials seemed as good an opening to plagiarise as any. To judge by the noise the crowd made you'd think it was original. Not that I could see them through the bright lights shining directly at me.

I'd been nervous as a kitten about my role as magician's assistant and compère. But as I ran through the programme for the evening and the crowd laughed at every smutty innuendo I'd cribbed from YouTube clips of old comedians, I found I was completely relaxed. In fact, I was enjoying it. I realised it was the first time in days I'd been responsible only for myself, not being hassled by someone else, or worrying about clients, family or friends. So I milked the limelight, revelled in the feeling of all those men drooling over my tits and arse, and tried one or two lines I probably shouldn't have just to see what happened.

You'll be seeing a lot more of me later got the biggest cheer of the set. Gives you an idea of the mood of the room. I'd been referring to the fact Michael, the magician, and I were going to be doing at-table tricks between courses as well as short stage sets between the other performers. But tonight was obviously a night when no double entendre was going to go unappreciated. I got off stage while the going was good.

'You're not bad.'

'Thanks.'

'You on the circuit?'

I turned to see who was complimenting me as I gulped at the bottle of water one of the hotel's waiters had handed me. It was Holly Berries. Or, as one of the others had put it when she'd walked into the communal dressing room just before I went on, it's only Holly-fucking-Berries. She'd been a little known comedian when Monty - we'll get to him - had booked her six months before. Since then her appearances on late-night TV shows had increased significantly. More importantly for her current celebrity, she'd been targeted by the Daily Mail as Britain's most dangerous woman. She'd started making jokes about the corrupt, philandering incompetents who constituted the Cabinet. They didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.

'Me? No. Its the first time I've done it.'

'Wow. I always watch other stand-ups when I get the chance. Might get to nick their material.'

She gave me a look to let me know she knew where a lot of my jokes had come from. I was on the edge of speechlessness. My son Nigel had described her as C-list, borderline B when I told him I was going to see her. But she was by far the most famous entertainer I'd ever met. And she liked me.

'Listen, I've got some mates who run burlesque nights. They're always looking for compères. Used to do it myself before my agent stopped me. Give me your number, you'd be perfect for them.'

This, I decided, was going to be a good night.

That was not what I had been thinking when I pulled up outside Michael's flat the morning before. He was standing next to a huge suitcase. He looked impatient, even though I was a few minutes early.

'You took your time.'

'And a good morning to you too.'

'Leave it.'

I'd gone to pick up his bag. He gave me one of his fuck-off-and-die glares he used on people who were mildly irritating him. I knew we were friends, he knew we were friends. But the overriding principle of Michael's life philosophy was that everyone was a bastard out to screw him. It was the unspoken foundation of his trust in me that I not let on that he was a real softie inside.

The case ended up on the back seat. The boot was already full of my stuff. My husband Howard had only accepted that I take the gig after I agreed to let him choose my outfits.

'There's nothing to those outfits. You're practically naked most of the time. What's in all those bags?'

'A lady, Michael, should travel prepared for any eventuality.'

'If you were a lady I might buy that line.'

Our relationship was based on neither of us giving an inch. We'd reached a modus vivendi whilst working out the act. Mostly because I agreed to everything he said. My contribution had been to push the boundaries to make it even more daring. When we weren't talking magic, we went straight back to sniping. I'd decided on the way over that we couldn't and shouldn't keep that up for two solid days. This was as good a time as any to break the bad news to my friend. I put the car in gear and headed for the motorway.

'I think we should declare a truce for the next couple of days. Try to behave like normal colleagues. Agreed?'

'What are you on about now?'

'Look Michael, we've got a one hundred mile drive, then we've got to sort the venue out, meet the others, deal with last minute emergencies and god knows what. Then there'll be the whole day tomorrow and finally the show. We'll not get through all that if we're having a dig all the time.'

'Maybe.'

'Good. It'll be difficult for me too, remember. But we must think of the children.'

He gave a strangled yelp which was as near as he ever came to laughing. We drove, mostly quietly, on the way to the motorway. I had another bombshell to drop.

'You know Monty has booked us a shared room?'

'What?'

'He told me the hotel was full. I can always find myself a B&B or something.'

'No.'

'I don't mind. I can afford it '

'I'm not having you waste your money.'

'I promise, no funny business. Unless you want to.'

'No funny business it is then.'

He held out a hand. Even though we were doing seventy, and traffic was busy, I thought it safest to take my hand off the wheel and shake it quickly. The rest of the journey went quite well. We even managed to chat briefly. That is to say, I rabbited on about family, TV shows and stuff and Michael would say oh or interesting when I left a long enough break for him to get the hint.

We both went quiet after checking in and getting the keys. The room itself was quite large. Michael put his case on the smaller of the two beds. We both mumbled things about it being comfortable and having a nice view as we dodged around each other hanging up clothes in the single wardrobe. I asked if he minded me having two drawers in the dresser. But when I started unpacking bras, panties and stockings he announced he was starving and was just off to the coffee shop for a bite.

He was still there when I came down thirty minutes later. It was time for us to meet Monty. The receptionist directed us to the main ballroom where work had already started setting out the room for the next evening. Monty was at the far end issuing instructions to a young man in a suit with a hotel name tag. He in turn was barking orders to a squad of even younger men who would move things around until shouted at to stop. Everything ground to a halt when Monty saw us and rushed across.

'Monique, Michael, you're here. And bang on time. Commendable, commendable. I could tell you tales. Its been one disaster after another. But listen to me going on. You got your room? How was the journey? Traffic and what have you?'

He hugged me tight and kissed me on both cheeks. When he had finished and turned, Michael took a step back and extended his hand as far as he could. Not one for that hail-fellow-well-met stuff our Michael.

'Stuart, Stuart. Where is that boy when you need him?'

He was in fact about three paces away and by his side before he'd finished speaking.

'Stuart, this is Monique.'

He paused to look me up and down and smile.

'Looking very lovely. And Michael. They're our master and mistress of ceremonies as it were. Yes, yes, no show without them. Key to the whole event.'

Stuart was sneering at us from behind Monty's back. Michael's face was unreadable. I sensed trouble ahead. Monty was oblivious to everything as usual and continued to praise us effusively.

'We have things to do, Monty.'

'Sorry Monique, sorry everyone. Me going on again. Nervous. What can I say? Big event, biggest in the lodge's history.'

'So.'

'Yes. Last thing. Stuart. Michael and Monique must have everything they want however large or small. Any instruction which comes from them. Treat it as if I said it myself.'

'Yes sir.'

'Fantastic, spot on. We're on the same page. Exciting? Right what's next?Flowers. Let's go and see how you've done with the instructions for centrepieces. Good man.'

He started to walk away then stopped abruptly. Stuart collided with him and the pair of them almost hit the floor.

'For goodness sake Stuart. Eyes open man. Now why did I stop? Oh yes, electrician and lighting. You did get your chap here, I hope.'

'Of course, sir. Charles.'

He even clicked his fingers. A man we hadn't noticed until then got up at the side of the stage, slowly folded his newspaper and slotted it into the long side-pocket of his overalls before ambling over. Monty gave him the full-beam smile and shook him warmly by the hand.

'Charles is it? Do you prefer that? Never really worked with a Charles. Charlie, yes, Chas, yes. Was at school with a fellow who styled himself just 'C'. Doing five years last I heard. Sad story.'

I held out my hand to the bewildered looking man.

'I'm Monique.'

'My friends call me Charlie.'

'This is Michael, I'd stick to just that if I were you.'

'Yes, yes, must get on. You'll be working with and for these two for the next couple of days if that's acceptable to you.'

'He'll do what he's instructed, sir.'

'Stuart. How many times do I have to tell you? We want a team. Not sure whether Monique or Michael is the captain. No. Tough call that one.'

He looked at us both as if asking us to answer. I hadn't told him about the truce, so he just coughed and turned to Charlie.

'Be delighted, sir.'

'Good chap. But call me Monty, everybody does. But now I think about it 'M' has a certain je ne sais quoi. Stuart. Onwards and upwards.'

He was pacing towards the exit before the hapless assistant manager had a chance to get off his mark. We watched them go. Michael waited until Stuart had his hand on the door before calling out.

'Oh Stuart, just one thing.'

I'd never heard Michael sound so affable. Stuart held and door and scowled.

'Go on then man. Find out what he wants. You can catch me up. Toodleoo everyone.'

Everyone in the room, which included the eight or so lads who had been moving tables and were now just lounging in the comfy banqueting seats, watched Stuart bustle back until he was in front of Michael.

'I need one of your lads to do a bit of fetching and carrying. I can see they're all busy, but if you could spare one for say half-an-hour, I'd appreciate it.'

I could see Stuart remembering Monty's words an instant before whatever he was going to say came out of in mouth. He metaphorically swallowed them and almost choked.

'George, get over here. The rest of you, about your work. You.'

He glared at the skinny youth who had come as fast as his legs could carry him.

'Report to me as soon as you've finished. I've got a special job for you.'

This time he virtually sprinted out of the room, increasing his pace as he hit the door and leaving it to swing shut in the faces of the lads who were trailing him. Michael waited for a full minute before speaking.

'Wanker.'

'You enjoyed that didn't you?'

'You know Monique, I think I might be cut out for senior management. Come on then, lets put our feet up and have a chat about what's going to happen.'

We all went over to the nearest table. George remained standing while the rest of us relaxed. Michael glanced up frowning.

'Sit down lad, we're all mates here. Which reminds me. I presume you were chosen 'cos you're his least popular person. Right?'

'I suppose.'

'Is that because you're really crap, or have you done something to piss him off?'

George looked at each of us in turn. Charlie and I smiled at him encouragingly. Michael was just Michael.

'Well he caught me putting union membership forms in the staff lockers and since then...'

'I'm going to have that bastard before we leave here. Right son, sit down and don't make me have to ask you again.'

He looked at Charlie.

'You know him?'

'A bit. Seems like a good lad.'

'Can you work with him, help him get up to speed?'

'Sure, we can do that can't we George? Do what you're told and ask for a proper instruction if you don't get what I'm saying, OK?'

'Yes sir. Thank you sir.'

I put my hand on Michael's arm to stop him speaking.

'First names only here, George. You don't want to get on Michael's shit list and if you call me sir I'll give you a good smack, capice?'

He laughed, blushed and looked at his hands all at the same time. He had quite a nice smile.

'Right then. First order of business. George, hop up to room... sod it, I've forgotten what number it is.'

'Seven-oh-six. Here's the key.'

'On the small bed there's a big case. Open it up, toss out all the clothes and stuff - the bed'll do - and bring it down here OK?'

'And on the floor by the window there's a small vanity case - one of those small squarish ones women carry -'

I knew young men better than Michael.

'- bring that too if you can manage. Don't strain yourself though.'

George hopped off like he was on his way to tell someone or another the red coats were coming. It became clear that no one had told Charlie anything about what was expected of him and they started talking technical straight away. I went off to find the dressing room. It was a large room. Four curtained cubicles had been set up on the far side. There were dressing tables with decent lighting. Lockers for each of us. A side table with enough cups to cater for a Women's Institute AGM, waste baskets, sockets for everyone's mobiles to recharge at the same time, you name it, it was there. The piece de resistance, so far as I was concerned, was a shower room next to two toilets.

I almost skipped back to tell Michael the good news. I got there just in time to see George stagger in carrying both cases. I rushed over to take mine and point out Michael's had wheels. The four of us reassembled to catch up.

'I want you to go through my stuff, Charlie. You know what we want to do now. We might have to go out and buy some more things. Make a list and I'll ask Monique to sort it out with Monty.'

'Right Michael. I'm probably going to need George to hold a tape measure and fetch and carry.'

'No problem.'

'But you told Mr Worthington I'd only be half-an-hour.'

'Who?'

'Erm Stuart.'

'I was lying. Don't worry, Monique's in charge of all personnel matters for the show. If Mr Worthington cuts up rough, she'll hold him down while I hit him.'

That gave us all a bonding laugh.

'Next order of business. Tea. You've got mates in the kitchen right George?'

'Well yes, but...'

'I know, staff are not allowed to eat or drink hotel comestibles. Tell them The Great Mephisto and his technical crew require four mugs - mugs mind - of tea. That OK with you Monique?'

'One of the boys me.'

'Not with those... excuse me. Of course you are.'

I was gobsmacked. This had to be the first time Michael had ever apologised for anything in his life.

'You should check out the dressing room when you get a chance, Michael. Its amazing.'

'I'll go while George rustles up the tea.'

'Before you do, you don't happen to know if Stuart is still with Monty and where they are, do you?'

'I did hear him balling Stuart out when I came down the staff elevator. He's messed up the flowers, apparently. I can show you while I go to the kitchen, if you like?'

'Oh and George.'

'Yeah. Tell the kitchen supervisor to bill the lodge for a pot of jasmine tea for four, lemon, no milk. But only if you think he or she will do it without grassing us up.'

'She's OK. I'll ask.'

'Good boy. That Stuart won't know whether he's coming or going by the time I've finished with him.'

We walked together to the door. George seemed a lot more relaxed.

'Do you enjoy your job?'

'Fucking hate it. Oops sorry.'

'Don't apologise. I work with Michael.'

'Do you do anything besides this, if you don't mind me asking?'

'Business services.'

'Any jobs going at your place?'

'Not at the moment, but if anything suitable crops up I'll call you.'

We could both hear Monty shouting down a phone - I'd never heard him raise his voice in the whole time I'd known him - at someone who was probably the florist. George was about to turn back to the kitchen when I stopped him.

'Word to the wise. Don't get carried away here. Michael really has got it in for Stuart. Charlie and I can stand up to him if we think he's going too far. You're too young. And Stuart will give you hell if he thinks you're in with us..'

'OK. Thank you. But frankly, this is far and away the best day I've had in this place. If it gets me the sack, there's plenty of zero hours, minimum wage jobs for kids.'

He actually whistled as he walked away. I took a deep breath before going in to see the other two.

'Monty, I need a private word. But before you go Stuart, we're going to need George until the end of the show. Bring someone in to cover for him if you need to, will you? Thanks.'

If I could have had a photo of Stuart's face, Michael would have given me the whole of his fee for it.

'Oh, and I need the keys - all of them - to the dressing room.'

'Why?'

'It's actually none of your business, but since you ask so nicely, privacy and security.'

'Privacy and security? There can be no changes to the fabric of the room. Our contract is quite clear.'

'There will be four women changing in there. I will not stand for stray members of hotel staff or drunken lodge members wandering in there while they do so.'

'I can assure you...'

'No you can't. This isn't my first rodeo, cowboy. As for security, there's a lot of expensive equipment and costumes in that room. I'll be installing my own measures so that any culprits can be apprehended, but for everyone's sake, if I'm the only one with keys then the buck will stop with me if anything untoward happens.'

'I'll have to speak to the manager.'

'Then do that straight away. And ask him if he's still available for golf next Thursday would you? Come on, chop chop. Jobs piling up and all that.'