Professional Excellence Ch. 11

The Imperial, like most of its counterparts, specialised in Muzak-fuelled sterility. Manicured planters and carpeting vacuumed within an inch of its life, reinforced the absence of anything remotely original or stimulating. It was unusual to be wished good morning by a bellboy waiting with suitcases and customers by the lift. Even more so when another crossed the lobby to enquire whether we required anything. When the receptionist left her post and rushed over to us, it was clear something had happened.

'Good morning sir, madam. May I have a word, ma'am?'

I sent Michael on ahead to the dining room and was virtually dragged back to the desk by the elbow.

'I am sorry. But the manager has given all staff strict instructions not to discuss it with guests.'

'It?'

She looked around and pushed my envelope over to me. It had been ripped open and the code I had given her the night before removed.

'The alarm went off about one in the morning. Fortunately you'd told me what to expect so I knew where to go. I called the police first as you instructed.'

'And?'

'The door had been opened with a key.'

'Was there anyone inside?'

'Yes.'

'Are you going to tell me who?'

'As I said, we've been strictly forbidden to discuss it. And, in particular, to name anyone involved.'

'I shan't push you then. But you do know I set up a camera? I'll be able to check the footage.'

'The police asked if they could have a copy. They've left me a number for you to call the detective handling the case.'

'Did they arrest anyone?'

'Yes.'

'But you can't tell me who.'

'No. More than my job's worth.'

'What time will Stuart be in? There's one or two things I'd like to go over with him.'

She looked sheepish. I took out my purse.

'I don't think he'll be in today.'

'OK. Thanks, this is for you.'

I handed her a note.

'What for? I was just doing my job.'

'For not telling me who was arrested. I'll make a point of letting the manager know how tight-lipped you were.'

'Thanks.'

Michael was being pestered by a persistent waiter when I got to the table. She seemed even more pleased when I arrived and launched into a catalogue of the gourmet treats she'd be delighted to fetch for me. I sent her off to get me some toast, coffee and eggs. Michael seemed relieved.

'Stuart's been sacked.'

'Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.'

'I'm blaming you. Looks like the staff are too.'

'Bastards.'

We clinked cups while enjoying the sight of our waiter having to explain to a self-important business guest that breakfast was self-service.

The dress rehearsal was hard work. We'd run through the act once before a trial audience a week or two before. I'd told Michael that a client had let us use his house and that he and a friend would act as an audience while we made sure things worked. Up to a point that night was a success. Howard and David revisited their Claude and Eustace duet and played their parts perfectly as stooges. The individual bits of the performance passed off OK. The trouble was we'd planned it for a large audience in a large room. The allowances we'd had to make for using the confined space of my front room did not prepare us for the difficulties we immediately faced in the ballroom.

The dinner was for one hundred and twenty guests, twelve to each table. Michael honed his skills at a bar. He was used to closer interaction, but with a substantial barrier between him and the punters adding to their confusion when he got them to pull change, for instance, from a pocket without ever seemingly having touched them. A table large enough to seat a dozen was a different kettle of fish. Monty had rustled us up a mobile audience of yesterday's furniture shifters. Even they twigged that he was only 'finding' stuff in the pockets, hair or underwear of those closest to him.

We talked about it over a mug of tea at the first break. The solution was pretty simple really. Michael and I would circle the table as we worked. Monty, who was sitting in, suggested that George put a spot on us to add to the distraction. Finally, I had to be a lot more demonstrative to add to the diversion. I'm pretty sure its not breaking any Magic Circle oaths to tell you that the presence of a big-busted, big-haired babe wearing hardly any clothes and waving her arms around whilst pushing her chest out is no accident. Distraction is vital to a good trick; tits and arses are pretty good at that, particularly in an all-male crowd.

We tried the same section of the act again with the same lads after the break. Even though we did exactly the same tricks, they were completely taken in. Basically Michael was working two tricks ahead of the audience. So whatever he wanted a mark to 'find' in a pocket was being planted there a few minutes in advance while he was tipping coins out of his sleeve, or producing the same card every time regardless of who or how a deck was shuffled or cut. Monty also came up with the idea of having the other spot follow the micro-juggling. He thought anything that drew even the slightest attention to a different part of the room could only help.

My intros and set pieces were a disaster. Monty loved them and the lads coopted away from manual labour were eagerly polite. It was, after all, that or going back to humping stuff around elsewhere for them. But talking to nine in a huge empty space whilst decorators, waiters, cleaners and sundry others went about their preparations oblivious to what you were saying was disconcerting. Monty laughed at everything. I got the impression a lot of the lads didn't get most of my nicked jokes. I was a wreck by the time we broke for lunch.

Monty's lauding my brilliance was no help at all. Charlie was more objective telling me I needed to be more confident in my delivery. George followed his lead. Only Michael was blunter.

'Of course you were crap. Even I've heard most of that material before. But remember, the audience tonight will be progressively more pissed. You'll be virtually flashing all you've got at them. They'll lap it up.'

'Thanks. I think.'

I was pleased when one of the bellboys came over and told me there was someone in reception wanting to see me urgently. When I got there I found a mousy woman about my age. She was holding her handbag in both hands and wringing the handles. I couldn't work out whether it was terminal nerves or she was just upset.

'Are you Monique?'

'I am, what can I do for you?'

'I'm George's mum.'

She looked at me as if that would explain everything. It was clear from her demeanour that this was not a woman come to ball me out for slipping her son the wank mags she'd discovered under his bed. I drew her over to one of the sofas provided for guests to conduct semi-discreet conversations and offered her refreshments.

'No. No thank you. But I would like to ask you a favour.'

'I'll try to help? Is it a problem with George? I just saw him. Everything seems fine.'

'No, its not that. He told me what you'd done for him. We're both ever so grateful. No, its me.'

'What can I do?'

'I can't go. I need you to tell him. I just can't, you've all been so kind.'

I was now completely lost.

'Go where? Tell who? I'm sorry, I'm not following you.'

'Mr Plimpton.'

'Monty? What has he done?'

'He called last night to confirm the booking for the restaurant. He was ever so nice.'

'So what's the problem?'

'George had told me, of course. I thought he was winding me up. He's like that sometimes. You know lads.'

'I do. I do. I'm still not sure what the issue is. Monty just wanted you to have a good evening. I'm sure its the sort of thing George would do himself if he had a job which paid decent wages.'

'But I can't.'

'Come on. Be blunt. I can't for the life of me see what the problem is.'

She started to cry and blurted out that she had nothing to wear. I looked at her. She was respectably dressed. Her clothes were clean, but had definitely seen better days. It was clear she had nothing better at home to go out in.

'You need a dress. Come with me.'

I'd estimated we were about the same size, so I took her up to seven-oh-six. I had her sit in one of the armchairs while I selected a couple of options.

'We have red. Or we have black. Which would you like?'

I held two of my cocktail dresses in front of me. They were two of my Hideaway uniforms. Sexy, but respectable enough for public display. She clasped her hands to her mouth.

'I couldn't.'

Some reactions are so predictable its best to ignore them. I offered her the bathroom to try them on. I'm better stacked on top, so I expected the tighter black number would fit better. The red suited her colouring, but was not as figure hugging. I gave her my assessment and, after more protests, accepted the loan of the black.

'Good choice. I usually wear it with stockings and suspenders. Would you like to borrow some of those too?'

'No, this is already too much. I'll stick to tights. I'd feel safer.'

I found her a suit bag to take the dress home in and handed her tissues while she cried for a few minutes longer.

'Are you busy this afternoon?'

'No. Why? Is there something I could do for you in return. Name it. I'd be delighted.'

I took the phone and asked reception to put me through to the beauty salon when they picked up. Whoever answered there wanted to whisper her thanks to me for my role in getting Stuart dismissed and of course an immediate appointment for a full makeover was made available. That meant more protest and tears. But after using up the rest of the tissues, we smiled our way downstairs to the salon for her treatment. I stopped her going through her litany of thanks yet again as we got to the door.

'You've raised a great young man. He's essential to our show. Thank you for being the mum you are. Did he give you the present he got you, by the way?'

'No. What was it?'

'Boys, eh? I've one myself about George's age. They'd forget their heads if they weren't glued on. I'll remind him. Cheerio.'

I left her, timid, in the care of a perfectly made-up receptionist and went across to the jewellery franchise which was just off the main entrance. There, I selected a simple string of pearls for delivery to the salon gift-wrapped and with a card with George's name on it. It was just what the dress needed.

I went back to rehearse the finale confident my monologues would go down a storm. Anything less than rapturous applause and I'd know there was no such thing as karma.

It was hard work. Our last stint on stage followed the second stripper. We'd thought hard about how we were going to top her performance. We went for a combination of raunch and spectacular. But it needed not just Michael and me, but Charlie, George and maybe one other to work in perfect synch. Essentially, Michael was going to make things appear and disappear in various parts of the room. In small spaces, it was both funny and slick. Again, we'd underestimated the problems with translating it to the ballroom. On top of that, the technical pair were up on the gantry whilst we were on the stage. We all had to do a lot of shouting.

Pete and Joseph showed up in the late afternoon. We decided that was as good a time as any to call it a day. We'd got everything down between us, but it was still going to be a fingers-crossed job for the show itself. Monty had arranged for all the performers to have a meal together before the start. Everyone, except Holly Berries, was being paid enough to compensate them for cancelling other gigs they might have. Holly was due to deliver her set, then buzz off to appear on a chat show and later, an adult quiz on one of the smaller terrestrial TV channels.

I borrowed George to help me move my stage gear down to the dressing room. The act now required a lot of changes throughout the evening to make the final illusion work. I commandeered one of the curtained changing areas and a make-up desk, not so much to claim territory but so that I could set out my dresses, underwear, stockings and sundries in the strict order I'd need them. Stella and Ruth showed up as I was setting things out. This time escorted by hotel staff in recognition of Ruth's role in bringing down the martinet manager. They were completely cool with the arrangements I'd preempted. Ruth went off to the coffee shop with Michael and Stella settled down in a quiet corner to read. Turned out she was stripping to finance her way through PhD studies.

We all gathered to eat about six. Velda had transformed herself into a gypsy mystic, Joseph removed the ruffled sleeves from the dress shirt he was going to wear so as not to get soup on them. Pete's Stay Calm and Keep Folding T-shirt would probably have benefitted from a few drips of gravy. Monty was in full dress suit. He decided, for some reason, that we'd benefit from a pre-show pep talk to send us on our way. As he was exponentially more nervous than any of us were, it never happened. He stuttered and stumbled through about a dozen incoherent sentences before I took over. I just told them that if they wanted Monty to live long enough to pay them at the end of the night, they'd better not mess up. The sentiment seemed to set the appropriate tone and I got a small round of applause.

The door was open and the sound of arriving guests began to filter through to us by the time we finished the creme brulees which had been provided for desert. We divided up, some to make coffee, others to check their outfits. Stella and Ruth flitted between each of us helping where needed, otherwise, flattering choices and encouraging confidence.

Charlie fitted me with the microphone head set. I was wearing so little for the opening announcements we became more intimately acquainted than his wife would have approved of. As he had to teach Michael how to do it as well, so that he could reattach wires and transmitters after each change, there were times when I had four male hands groping about inside shorts which had been designed to look as though they'd been painted on in the first place. Charlie went off to his station in the gantry his overalls looking a little bulkier in the groin region than they had when he arrived.

I popped out to walk around to try and get some stretch into the clothes I was barely wearing. Another under manager had been loaned to act as stage manager. She was already nicer than Stuart and we chatted briefly about the best places to get fetish gear whilst peeking through the curtains to watch the room fill. When I went back to the changing room Holly and her driver/manager, a no-nonsense looking woman in a business suit, had arrived. Holly was obliging all and sundry with selfies while her assistant laid out stage clothes. She allowed Madame Velda to read her palm - more success apparently; accepted a three-dimensional star from Pete and was suitably impressed by Joseph juggling costume jewellery earrings. The manager almost assaulted Michael when he asked Holly to check her bra for loose playing cards. The minder wasn't even mollified when she found change for the pound she'd reluctantly given him in the inside pocket of her suit and watched Michael with dagger-eyes.

'Monique to the stage, Monique to the stage. Curtain up in five minutes.'

I didn't even know there was a tannoy system until the announcement. And didn't know whether it was a fixture or Charlie had installed it off his own bat. I shrugged off the silk dressing gown I'd been wearing to cover myself up, took a deep breath and made for the door. I could feel all their eyes following me - good sign, I thought. Only Joseph piped up with a comment.

'Actors say break a leg, I'm not sure what's appropriate for what we're doing.'

'Ladder a stocking maybe?. I'll let you know if they're throwing things in a tick.'

Two minutes later I was on stage.

I was exhilarated when I came off and boosted even further by Holly's praise. Something of my energy must have already filtered back to the dressing room. The place was buzzing when I got back and everyone crowded round offering compliments and asking questions. I found myself babbling excitedly and trying to answer everyone as I got through to my changing cubicle and stripped off the leathers to get ready for the first at-table round. It was only when they all went quiet that I looked round and then realised they had shut up because I was now completely naked. I made wide eyes and put my hands on each side of my face.

'Ooh, la, la.'

That made them laugh and I reached for the pair of bright scarlet satin granny-pants I needed for the first appearance. There were five courses to dinner. That meant four changes during that section. Then Holly, a short stage piece from the two of us, then the two strippers and our finale: that was four more. The basic idea was that the translucent or net dresses would get more and more revealing and the underwear smaller and smaller as our appearances went on. We weren't going to draw attention to them, necessarily, but expected that the audience would soon catch on and a lot of attention would be on me at the start of each bit, giving Michael the chance to carry out nefarious plots.

Howard had developed an encyclopaedic knowledge of women's erotic clothing and the firms which supplied it. The two old ladies who ran the Nighty Nook, possibly the last specialist ladies lingerie store in the region, had gone above and beyond finding, adjusting and eventually making underwear, suspender belts and stockings in the brightest shades of the rainbow we could find. We'd decided white could replace the colour indigo - you try and tell the difference between it, blue and violet - and gold for the final act. That was a lot of taking things on and off, but I'd practised at home and was confident I could do it. The way everything was lined up at the start of the event made the cubicle look like I had OCD.

We walked through a cloud of dry ice into the room as waiters disappeared with the last of the soup plates. We spread out around the room and the show was on. We'd been told we had ten minutes. I felt the warmth of the spot as it fell on me. Any doubts that my dress would cover the underwear completely were soon dispelled. A small man at the far side of the table stood to get a better view as we approached.

'Hiya, Red.'

'Good to see you.'

I did a pin-up pose and all eyes were on me. Michael ran through a series of card and coin tricks. The idea to move around the table was a winner. As well as improving the flow of the tricks. It gave us the chance to adjust the way the men were sitting. Ostensibly this was to give us space, but allowed him to slip things into pockets, or indeed pull something out. The highlight came just before we left the table. Michael would ask one of the men what the time was. His watch, of course, was gone. It was looped now around my garter and the 'victim' had fun getting it back. The fact I needed to put my foot on the edge of his chair exposing plenty of leg, stocking top and underwear gave Michael the opportunity to complete the planting of anything he needed to put in place for later tricks.

We managed a couple of tables during the break between courses, which meant we'd easily visit everyone before dinner finished. Back in the dressing room I listened to the buzz of satisfaction from the others as I stripped out of my clothes and started dressing in my next outfit. Madam Velda had given the same instant assessment of everyone at her tables as she had when we'd met her before picking one or two at each one for a bit of handholding. Pete and Joseph were also pleased with the way things had gone and were looking forward to round two.

Stella, Ruth and to a lesser extent Holly, were great. The first two made drinks and hustled round passing things. They were both funny and supportive. I got the feeling Joseph and Pete might be falling in love. Holly and her manager were mostly on phones to TV stations, but the comic did chip in when she wasn't. I managed, at last, to get my selfie with her which my son promptly sent to all his friends.