Читать книгу Naughty Little Secrets - Mary Wilbon - Страница 11

Sindee walked around the set, uncharacteristically humming a Christmas carol in her head, and making sure everything was in its proper place. She was very careful to move silently and unobtrusively. She didn’t want to disrupt the dance rehearsal that was taking place on the opposite side of the stage.

She ceased to hum when she found a cocktail napkin out of position. She moved it two centimeters to the left until it was exactly right. She made a mental note to tell Blair, one more time, how sloppy she was in her placement of the props.

Sindee also noticed that the set floor was littered with candy wrappers and soda cans. The idiot hadn’t even bothered to sweep the stage. Sindee made another note never to agree to have Blair as her stage manager ever again. Blair was a genius at botching every assignment. Sindee had known at the second rehearsal that Blair was going to be trouble.

An efficient stage manager was a fundamental and essential part of every good theatrical production, and Blair couldn’t cut it. She was practically useless.

Blair may have been a decent actress, but a stage manager had to be able to think quickly on her feet, and make critical decisions in emergencies, when things went wrong onstage.

Blair broke out in a sweat from straining to think slowly.

Sindee would be damned before she let Blair oversee another one of her projects.

And Sindee had plans to do a lot of projects here.

Sindee didn’t much care for Blair’s assistant, David Castrato, either. He was always buzzing around like an annoying little gnat. He was forever singing show tunes as if to let everyone know that he had a good voice and that he wanted to do more than be assistant stage manager.

Sindee didn’t think he was as brain dead as Blair, but she didn’t like David because he was perpetually and relentlessly chipper. He was always smiling. It wasn’t normal. No one was as happy all the time as David seemed to be.

But there was nothing Sindee could do. These were the people she had to work with.

Next, Sindee checked the cables for all the mechanicals that were a part of the show.

Above her, the ceiling was a riot of ropes, pulleys, and other rigging.

Right now Sindee was concerned with the large mechanical champagne bottle that was used in the finale. The cables were crossed inappropriately. This could cause the bottle to malfunction and ruin the whole effect.

Damn it, Blair! she thought. Like I really need this right now!

This officially marked the end of Sindee’s fleeting moment of Christmas spirit. If poor little Tiny Tim had been in the room with her right now, she would have snapped his good leg like a twig.

God bless us, every one, Godammit! Crack!

Sindee had always been the type to obsess over minutia. She understood that it was the attention to every little detail that gave a show its unique look and feel. Blair didn’t seem to get that.

Blair was too slack for Sindee’s liking; especially for this show.

Sindee had too much riding on this show to allow even the smallest item to be overlooked. She wasn’t going to tolerate Blair’s incompetence.

Sindee was too busy babysitting the director and the playwright, and too busy trying to give this turkey of a play all the glitter and razzle dazzle she could muster.

Sindee was making every effort to save Sorry I Missed Your Birthday from a trip to the musical trash heap.

After years of attempted persuasion by several actors in the company, Sindee had been the one to finally convince Addison and Karson to stage their first musical and they were apprehensive. The Taylors had built the reputation of their theater on classic comedies and dramas. After seven seasons, the theater was about to start showing a profit.

Now the production was way over the budget Sindee had projected, and they still had three weeks of rehearsals ahead of them.

The backers, many of whom were beginning to think that they were throwing their money into a bottomless pit, were cringing at the escalating extras, the most exorbitant being Sindee’s insistence that Addison hire her old friend, Dale Mabrey to choreograph. It had been costly to bring him back from Florida, but he was the only one she could trust to give the dance a professional touch. Besides, Dale was desperate for work and Sindee could use that to her advantage.

Sindee finished her inspection of the stage, then walked to the rehearsal piano. She picked up her Zippo lighter with the masks of Comedy and Tragedy on it.

She let her fingers run over every inch of it. She lit a cigarette.

It was a good touch, she thought. Dale had given her this lighter years ago. He had it inscribed with the words “To my Bud, S from D.” When he saw it, she hoped he would remember and get sentimental.

Sindee tried to look casual as she watched Dale rehearse the finale.

It had been a while since they worked together. They would always be friends, but now Sindee had to be businesslike and completely objective. She wanted to make sure he was worth all the trouble it had taken to get him here.

Sindee had seen the earlier rehearsal. The second act was slow. Lines were dropped and it was obvious the actors didn’t have a clue to what was going on. Sindee could only hope that Dale was doing his job and the songs and the dance numbers were coming together.

She looked at him as he rehearsed the chorus line. Since she’d last worked with Dale maybe a line here or there had appeared on his handsome face. Maybe he was a little gray at the temples, but other than that, he was the same friend she had known for over fifteen years.

“No! No! No! Unacceptable! Totally unacceptable! Those are not the steps I just did! You Tinkerbells are giving me a fucking President Kennedy memorial headache! Look! Half my scalp has been blown off! I’ve seen better arabesques from a line of ‘Jerry’s Kids’! What the fuck was that, anyway? ‘Look at us, we’re dancing’?”

One unfortunate young man made the mistake of laughing. Dale turned to him swiftly and without mercy. He got as close as possible to the hapless chorus boy without touching him.

“What are you laughing at, ‘Lord of the Dance’? If you would spend more time concentrating on your movements and less time worrying about what the size of your package looks like in those tights, we might be able to get some work done here.”

The young man felt his legs go rubbery.

“And take that sock out of there,” Dale ordered, tapping his pointer on the young man’s crotch. “We all know you’re not Cockzilla.”

The red-faced young man did as he was told.

Dale turned away from the chorus line ostensibly to take another sip of his Diet Coke.

Actually, he was replaying the last few moments in his mind. Inflicting shame and humiliation were talents he had honed to perfection.

He took a long, thirst-quenching drink. It went down well with his self-satisfaction. He was working on his third bottle.

God, he loved breaking balls. And to be able to break them on Christmas Eve! What a present he had been given! His joy was boundless.

He crossed his eyes and flashed a clownish grin at Sindee, who had witnessed everything. She returned his grin, then quickly tamped out her cigarette in an ashtray on the piano. She pretended to be absorbed in some sheet music to keep from giggling audibly.

By the time Dale turned back to face his scared and tired dancers, he had resumed his usual scowl. He spoke to them in a detached tone.

“If you want to dance, and I assume you do, then work with me. Follow me. I want you to reach beyond yourselves. Become the music. Become the dance.”

The chorus line fell into place, hypnotized by him.

He lifted his pointer.

“Again, ladies. And this time thrill me.”

He looked back at Sindee.

“Sindee, if you please…”

Sindee started the intro. Dale started his countdown.

“Focus…eyes front…and…5,6,7,8.”

The dancers went into motion. Dale walked among them watching their every step, calling out the dance combinations.

“Remember…together, unified, dancing as if you were one…

“And…kick, step, kick, step.

“Turn in, turn out.

“Back step, pivot step.

“Arabesque, arabesque.

“Double pirouette…and rest.

“Not bad. Again…

“And…kick, step, kick, step.

“Turn in, turn out.

“Back step, pivot step.

“Arabesque, arabesque.

“Double pirouette, and…

“Hold it…hold it…,” he said, drawing it out, making them strain. They had performed perfectly, but Dale wasn’t going to let them know that.

No one moved. All arms and legs were extended with absolute precision. He searched their young faces. No one breathed. Not even an eyelash fluttered.

Dale looked slyly back at Sindee. His strategy had worked. Over the years he had learned that all he had to do was embarrass just one of the chorus boys, and their worst fears would drive them all to perfection. No one wanted to be singled out for ridicule.

They were all still young enough to dream of being the next Baryshnikov, the next Fosse, or a budding Alvin Ailey. Dale remembered being that young, and dreaming those dreams.

Actually, he was still a young man, but at 44, his time as a dancer was almost up. All the jumping, pounding, and demanding actions a dancer’s body must endure had taken their toll. Now, all he dreamed of was inspiring a few of the ones he instructed to reach the heights he had never attained.

Well, that, and the new crop of boy toys each show offered up to him. He had a lot of sweet sticky dreams about them. Oh, yes. Life was still damn good.

“…and rest,” he said finally.

Bone-weary with fatigue, the chorus boys let their strained arm and leg muscles relax. They sagged and sighed with relief. They had put in about four hours of rehearsal time and they were beat.

Dale tapped his pointer on the floor.

“Okay, listen up, my little sugar plum fairies. Surprisingly, that last run-through was not as pathetic as all the previous ones. I suppose it really is the season for miracles. I’ve asked Santa for some real dancers, but I suppose you’ll do until they come along.

“You are dismissed, but be back here January second at 7 P.M. Sharp. I don’t give a damn how bad your New Year’s hangover may be,” he said sternly.

“Tonight is Christmas Eve. They tell me Christ is coming. I wish the same for all of you. Now be gone.”

Sindee and Dale watched as the dancers bounded from the stage and changed into their street clothes. They watched and enjoyed as the hard young bodies were stripped of tights, leg warmers, and toe shoes and returned to jeans, sweaters, and Timberlands.

Dale hoped to fuck as many of them as possible. Sindee felt the sharp twinge of lust, too. She hoped to be fucked by as many of them as possible.

She lit a cigarette and tried to figure out which ones might be straight. Oh, but they were all so young and beautiful, she thought. Why set restrictions?

She would settle for the ones suffering from the delusion that they might be straight. The conflicted undecided ones were always good for a few laughs.

For some reason, there was always a lot of sexual energy around a theatrical production. Not that the theater itself is sexy, but performing can be a very sexual experience. All those raw naked emotions being played out, night after night under hot lights.

Gay or straight, almost everyone would be getting some action. And if you weren’t getting some action or planning to get some, you were at least thinking about or hoping to get some.

It can’t be proven that creativity causes horniness, but maybe it’s a by-product.

No matter what the explanation, the theater turned those involved in it into Lust Bunnies.

Whatever the reason, sex was just a part of the experience of doing a show.

Attractions were felt, relationships were formed. The bonds frayed then broke. Partners changed, and it started all over again with the next show.

You couldn’t do a show without some kind of sexual intrigue happening.

Drama and passion, a seductive combination. Some performers lived for it.

“God, I love the theater,” Sindee said passionately as she watched the chorus boys leave.

She finished her smoke, blowing little smoke rings in the air, confident she had made suggestive eye contact with a few of the ones she wanted.

The last chorus boy to leave was Richard, the dancer with the sock stuffed in his tights. He was always the last to dress because he was so self-conscious about his abnormally small size. Some of the other dancers cruelly called him Little Richard to his face.

Richard believed that Dale was being so tough on him because Dale was trying to help him work through his shyness.

Richard had been so grateful when he found out that he had passed the dance audition and landed a spot in the chorus line.

Richard had big ambitions, but for the time being, this little community theater show boosted his self-confidence. He hadn’t made it to the first string of the chorus line, but he had made it to the second, and he was thrilled. It was his confirmation that he had talent. His battered self-esteem needed the positive reinforcement.

Richard trusted that Dale had his best interests at heart.

Richard was stunningly mistaken in his perceptions.

As he walked out, Richard sheepishly wished Dale and Sindee a Merry Christmas.

When they were sure Richard couldn’t hear them, Dale laughed, “Merry Christmas, Shrimp Dick.”

“Happy New Year, Wee Willy,” Sindee joined in.

Now that they were completely alone in the theater, Sindee lit another cigarette, walked over to Dale’s Diet Coke and took a long drink.

“Aaaah. Mother’s milk. Very refreshing,” she said. “But next time add more rum.”

“Will do,” said Dale, smiling. He got serious for a moment.

“Have I thanked you enough for getting me this job?”

“Yes, you have,” Sindee reassured him. “But if you want to smother me with gratitude, I won’t stop you. And, just so you know, I’m not offended by excessive flattery, either.”

“Seriously, Sindee, I owe you. I haven’t worked in a while.”

Dale took the Diet Coke from Sindee, but avoided looking her in the eyes. He shook the bottle to mix the rum and coke then took a big swig. He wiped his mouth and gradually returned her gaze.

“I suppose you heard about the Disney thing.”

“I heard. Why don’t you tell me your side of it?”

Dale and Sindee had met years ago doing musicals in New Jersey community theaters. He was an extremely gifted dancer, and she was an exceptional singer and musician.

Dale made the rounds of auditions in New York City and landed parts in a few off-Broadway productions. Frustrated by never dancing on the “Great White Way,” he accepted an offer to choreograph a few shows on the Disney cruise ships. There he finally started getting the recognition he felt he deserved. His star began to rise.

Dale made his peace with not being the featured dancer in an elegantly mounted Broadway production and accepted his fate of teaching dance movement and technique to a bunch of cartoon characters.

Soon, he was promoted to head choreographer for Disney World in Orlando, Florida.

One day, after an afternoon performance of Sleeping Beauty, a seven-year-old boy wandered away from his vacationing Bible study group and found his way backstage.

He saw Dale with his pants down, while someone knelt in front of him, their head moving back and forth slowly. The face of this second person was obscured by Dale’s well-toned buttocks.

The boy was speechless, but fascinated. He had accidentally witnessed his Mommy and Daddy playing the same silly game at home.

But when Dale pulled his fully erect and glistening cock out of his partner’s mouth and started ramming it in and out of his ass, the boy gasped in horror. A man was on the receiving end of Dale’s dick and now the man’s face was completely unobstructed.

That man was “Prince Charming,” still in full costume from the Sleeping Beauty show the boy had just seen.

The boy started to scream and continued to scream nonstop for a full hour and a half. After that, he did not speak or utter a sound for two years.

Disney made a substantial and quiet settlement out of court with the parents of the badly traumatized child. Oddly enough, as part of the settlement, the parents had demanded free lifetime passes to all the Disney theme parks, worldwide. After all, they had five other children.

The family agreed not to go public with their lawsuit, so it did not become a media disaster for Disney, but, of course, Dale was forever banished from The Magic Kingdom.

He wasn’t even allowed at Disney’s annual Gay Day festivities.

Since 1991, hundreds of thousands of gay men and lesbians from around the world get together one weekend in summer to celebrate a Pride event at Disney. Every gay person on the planet is welcome.

Every gay person except Dale.

His picture is posted conspicuously inside all the entrance booths for the ticket takers. Security guards are in constant surveillance of the park gates to guarantee he does not get through them.

There would be no more Gay Day breakfasts for Dale with Winnie the Pooh or Tigger, too.

The Mouse can be so unforgiving and vindictive.

After that, he was unable to get work at any of the other theme parks in Orlando, or at any of the Florida theaters.

When he went on job interviews, he was always asked why he left Disney. He would attempt to skirt the question by saying something about creative differences and his artistic integrity, but no one believed him. And no one called him back with a job offer.

Soon interest in him dried up completely.

Dale’s career at Disney had soared brightly, then crashed and burned spectacularly. Now he couldn’t get arrested.

When he got the call from Sindee asking him to help stage an original musical, he saw it as an opportunity to rebuild his reputation. He swallowed his pride, packed his bags, and returned to New Jersey.

“The screaming little bastard could have at least kept quiet until my Prince had cum,” Dale concluded.

Sindee had just taken another drink from the bottle. She started laughing and spit the whole mouthful out, spraying rum and Coke all over both of them. They broke into fits of laughter. They wiped their faces and clothes as best they could.

“What happened to ‘Prince Charming’?” Sindee asked.

“He was fired, too,” answered Dale. “But with his considerable oral skills, he was able to blow his way into a job as Weatherman at one of the Florida TV stations.”

Dale took another bottle of spiked Diet Coke out of his backpack and opened it. He became very serious.

“Do the Taylors know about it?” he asked nervously.

“No. No one here knows but you and me,” Sindee replied.

“I’d like to work here again after this show is over. I’d hate for them to find out that I…”

“They won’t find out,” Sindee cut him off. “I’ll make sure they won’t. They’re very trusting. Sometimes too much for their own good. I’ve never seen a theater where the owners let the actors and the crew have access to the accounts. I’ll have to speak with them about that.”

She laughed softly.

Dale smiled and nodded in agreement. His gaze drifted toward the theater’s office. The Taylors were very trusting, indeed, he thought. The money in the office safe was available to everyone.

He returned his attention to Sindee. He drank some Coke.

Unlike Dale, Sindee’s theater work had never taken her beyond New Jersey. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the talent to turn professional. She didn’t have the temperament.

Sindee told Dale how she had auditioned for a part in the theater’s production of The Little Foxes two seasons earlier. She would have taken anything just to get her foot in the door, but luckily she landed the part of Regina Giddens, the female lead. The Taylors thought Sindee had a very strong Bette Davis quality. Davis had played that role in the movie adaptation.

After that, Sindee threw herself wholeheartedly into any production that was done at the theater, in any way that she was needed, onstage or off.

Some of the regular members in the group who had been there longer didn’t like the way that Sindee had moved in and gained the Taylors’ trust, but Sindee didn’t care. As long as the Taylors were happy with her work, Sindee could weather any backstage jealousy.

A number of the actors didn’t want to do the necessary backstage work such as stage managing, assistant stage managing, lights, or props, but Sindee performed these tasks as eagerly and as skillfully as she did her acting assignments.

The Taylors were grateful.

So by the time Sindee approached them to do a musical, for which she would write the musical score and hire the musicians and choreographer, she had earned their complete confidence. They were understandably unsure at first, having no experience with musicals, but they had faith in Sindee.

Other members of the group were salivating to do a musical as well, and even if they didn’t share the Taylors’ high regard for Sindee, they climbed on board quickly.

So the Taylors nervously agreed to do a musical, and they agreed to hire Dale Mabrey based upon Sindee’s vigorous recommendation.

“You are so good to me,” Dale said, when Sindee finished her story. “Why is it that we never got together?”

Sindee chuckled. “You mean besides the fact that ‘gayer than laughter are you’?”

“Yes, besides that.”

Sindee thought for a moment. “It’s probably because I’d always be after your boyfriends, or because I’d leave you in a heartbeat if I met the woman of my dreams.”

Dale smiled. Same old Sindee. “Still playing for both teams, eh?”

“What can I say,” admitted Sindee. “I love men and I love women. I am intentionally and exuberantly ambivalent. I refuse to choose. And besides, it doubles my chances for getting laid on a Friday night. Any more prying questions?”

“Yes. You haven’t seen me dance or stage anything since I went to Florida. And on top of that, God help me, I’m almost forty-four. Aging might be great for wine and Scotch, but it’s just slow death for a dancer. What made you recommend me to the Taylors?”

Sindee took the Diet Coke bottle from him, and placed her almost finished cigarette in his mouth.

“Do the routine you just rehearsed with those kids. Go.”

Sindee sang the musical accompaniment and clapped her hands to the beat.

Dale launched immediately into the demanding dance number and executed each move masterfully, and with great flourish.

When he was finished, Sindee went over to him and removed the cigarette from his mouth.

“That’s why I recommended you,” she said, pointing to the nearly finished smoke.

The long ash that had formed there before she first gave it to him had remained perfectly intact throughout the entire dance sequence.

“You were always as smooth and as graceful as a cat. I knew that if you were anything less, you wouldn’t have taken the job. And like me, you’re a fussy perfectionist. I knew you’d get every motion, every nuance you could out of these dancers. So, in the long run, if you’re good, I look good to Addison and Karson. I simply made a smart business decision.”

Dale did a deep grand plié acknowledging the compliment, then returned to the conversation.

“Well, your call came just at the right time,” said Dale, as he began to pack up his gear. “I really needed to get out of Florida fast. I would have sprouted wings and flown here if I could. I owe everybody money; my agent, my lawyer, everybody. Hell, I owe God money. And no one I owe is being as patient as God.”

Sindee began to gather her things, too. When they were both ready to leave, Dale turned to her.

“So, you’re the only one here who knows my dirty little secret. I guess that means I have to do whatever you say to keep your silence. Who do you want killed?” asked Dale, laughing offhandedly at his own joke.

Intrigued, Sindee looked at him and asked, “Who do you have in mind?”

Dale stopped laughing. It took a few beats before he realized she was now joking with him. Then he laughed again when he was sure she had been toying with him.

“Maybe it won’t come to that,” she said, sounding cagey, “but I have figured out a way we can get some extra money out of this place.”

She waited for his reaction. She watched him as she lit a cigarette using the lighter he had given her.

Sindee made sure he saw the masks. She took a long drag, then slowly released the smoke.

He didn’t speak, but she knew he was interested.

Sindee stepped closer to him. Dale leaned in.

“I’m working on a personal project in addition to this show,” she said. “I won’t tell you how I got the start-up money, so don’t ask me. You don’t want to know. That’s not your concern. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes you find yourself doing things you never thought yourself capable of doing. But, at any rate, I have the money now, and I’m ready to go. I need your help. It could mean a lot of money as a result if we do it right. Are you in?”

Dale took a long look at her. “You practically own me. Of course I’m in,” he said.

“Good, we can talk about it over a drink. That is, of course, unless you have other plans for tonight?”

Sindee was fishing for information to see if he had met anyone special yet. She had tried to get Dale to go out for a drink after several of the rehearsals, but he had always rushed out immediately afterward, brushing her off, always with the excuse that he had to meet someone.

Sindee was dying to know who. Maybe she could get him to open up about it tonight.

Sindee was the theater’s most accomplished gossip. She got all the tasty tidbits on everyone. It was killing her that Dale had a secret he wasn’t sharing with her.

“No, no,” Dale said. “I don’t have any plans for tonight either. I was just going to go home, turn on the TV and watch Lifetime, the cable channel for women and gay men. It’s their annual ‘Twelve Days of Christmas Agony’ marathon. Every movie is a ‘My husband was a cheatin’, lyin’, wifebeatin’ bastard, but I loved him anyway, right up until I killed him’ extravaganza. But if we’re going out for a drink, I really have to pee first.”

“Well, the exit is right over here: closer than the men’s room. Why don’t you just do it in the parking lot?”

“Whip it out in the parking lot, in winter? I know what you’re up to, my sexually schizophrenic friend,” teased Dale. “You just want to see the cock that cost Disney millions.”

Sindee returned his teasing. “Of course I want to see it. But, I am the most sexually clear person you will ever know. Being bisexual means I just want to fuck everyone.”

Dale smiled and hugged Sindee and they began to laugh boisterously.

“Are you two ready to leave?”

Startled, Dale and Sindee looked up into the balcony in the direction of the voice.

“I’m getting ready to turn off the lights,” called out Rachel.

“Yes, we’re leaving now,” Sindee replied, trying to sound as calm and nonchalant as possible.

She exchanged a worried look with Dale and they both wondered how long Rachel had been standing there and exactly how much she had overheard.

Again Rachel spoke, “Have you two seen Addison?”

“You might try the office, that’s the last place I saw him,” Sindee said.

“Thanks,” said Rachel. “Good Night. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.”

Both Sindee and Dale smiled nervously up to her and waved.

As Rachel closed the balcony door Dale whispered, “Oh my God! Well, I don’t have to go to the bathroom anymore. She just scared the piss out of me.”

Dale took hold of Sindee’s arm and pulled her in close. He stole a look over each of his shoulders. He spoke very softly, his eyes searching the theater. He wasn’t going to chance being surprised again.

“How much do you think she heard…everything?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just get the hell out of here and go for that drink,” Sindee whispered back.

“We’ve got a lot of planning to do.”

The two friends quietly left the theater together, each confident they were spending the approaching Christmas with the one person they trusted without reservation.