Dickon took to the stage and detached the mic from its stand. Shielding his eyes against the spotlights, he squinted into the excitable crowd. Anticipation levels were high.
“Get ’em off!” yelled one wag from the back. Dickon aimed his response in the direction of the voice.
“Hello, Dad! I always knew you’d come back one day.”
The crowd roared. Dickon had pitched his tasteless riposte just right.
“And now, boys, men and assorted others, without further hairdo, I present our main attraction of the evening. The one, the only (please, God!) moustachioed minger, the hirsute harlot herself, all the way from Brierley Hill, put your hands together, if you please, for Tasha the Flasha!”
Dickon extended his arm to the nearest doorway as the crowd went wild.
The hirsute harlot failed to appear.
“Tashaaaaa the Flashaaaaa!” Dickon repeated, playing for time. “Probably can’t hear me. Got tampons in her ears again, silly moo, just because I said she was bloody-minded. All right then, gang, it’s panto time. Count of three and we’ll all call her name together. Are you ready? One! Two! Three!”
In the Ladies’, Stevens swore and dropped his illicit cigarette in the sink. He tugged his wig down, hitched up his padded bra and gave himself a last fleeting appraisal in the mirror.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered. He tottered on unaccustomed heels, feeling sick to his stomach.
A roar welcomed him like a blast of air. He staggered to the stage, grateful that the bright lights meant he was unable to make out individual faces. Dickon replaced the microphone in the stand and backed away, applauding.
Stevens turned his back on the audience. The introduction to Hey, Big Spender struck up. Stevens’s backside, in a shiny PVC skirt and fishnet tights began to move. The crowd sang along with the instrumental and yelled along with the lyrics. Stevens turned to face them, opening and closing his plastic mac in time with the music, affording them glimpses of his leopard print blouse, which was straining over his bra, which was padded with helium-filled balloons.
Buoyed by the crowd’s encouragement, Stevens became bolder. He made a V with his fingers and poked his tongue through it repeatedly and rapidly. He put the mic stand between his knees and bobbed up and down like a pole dancer - all those years of ‘research’ were finally paying off. Getting carried away, he went over on one of his ankles and almost fell into the crowd.
“Wahey!” the punters laughed, always up for a spot of slapstick.
Limping a little, Stevens was flagging. He bent his arms into chicken wings and strutted up and down. He was about to resort to the Funky Gibbon when a chant arose.
“Tasha, flash! Tasha, flash!...”
Oh yeah, he thought dimly. He opened his mackintosh wide and twirled around faster and faster. He took off the coat and thrashed the stage with it. The chant continued. Stevens peeled the blouse off one of his shoulders, exposing bare, but hairy, skin.
The applause was tumultuous. The whistles, whoops and catcalls re-energised him. He undid a button. And another.
But then he met the eye of a pink-haired lesbian who had pushed her way to the front. Stevens faltered. One of his balloons popped and the other floated free up to the ceiling.
Stevens snatched up his coat, held it protectively in front of himself and scurried from the stage. The crowd was momentarily stunned. Then someone started a slow clap. It spread like an STD at an orgy. Dickon hurried to the mic and tried to calm everyone down.
“Tasha the Flasha, everyone! Gone for a break, I imagine. The perfect opportunity for you to refill your glasses or visit the Gents’ for a piss or whatever takes your fancy. But let’s give it up one more time for Tasha the Flasha!”
He started to clap but no one joined in. Muttering darkly to himself, Dickon put the mic back in place and left the stage. He headed to the Ladies’.
He was going to have strong words with his headline act.
***
He could hear voices through the door. He pushed it just enough so he could peer in. The faces of the speakers were visible in the mirror above the washbasins. Tasha had removed her wig and was in the process of trying to take off her hoop earrings. The other bloke was that Jason one.
“Here, let me,” the Jason one said. “You’ll rip your lobes tugging at them like that.”
Stevens froze until Pattimore lowered his hand again.
“Do you think they liked me?” he asked Pattimore’s reflection.
“Mate, you were blinding!” Pattimore gave Stevens’s arse a smack.
“Gerroff!” Stevens whelped, “I’m not that kind of girl.”
At the door, Dickon’s mind was racing. Either the young copper was a fast worker or the two blokes knew each other... but from where... and how?
“But was I really good though?” Stevens continued to fish for critical appraisal.
“Once you got going, yeah. It was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
Stevens scowled. He wasn’t sure that funny was what he was going for.
“Perhaps I should try a different outfit; I don’t think these are my colours...”
Pattimore was astonished. “Mate, you did it; you’re in! Just keep your eyes and ears but not your legs open and see what you can find out about our walking dead friends.”
Dickon withdrew into the corridor. So! Tasha the Flasha was really Lizzie the Bizzie!
He put a hand to his chest. His heart was fluttering like a startled bird. Think fast, Dickon, he urged himself.
He slunk off to the bar. Two coppers on the premises and those were just the ones he knew about. Like cockroaches, the place could be crawling with them and you wouldn’t know.
And the thing to do with cockroaches is get rid of them.
“Excuse me, Luigi love,” Dickon squeezed behind the bar and the bar man. “Fetching a drink for Tasha.”
“Oh yeah!” Luigi enthused “She’s really funny. What’s her poison?”
Dickon smirked. “You leave that to me, Luigi love. You leave that to me.”
***
Tasha the Flasha did not appear to do a second set that evening. Quite a few of the patrons asked the bar staff when she’d be coming back on but Luigi - and especially Edward - could only shrug.
“Probably already gone home,“ said Luigi. “Took off all the slap and slunk out all incognito and you’d never know. Do you reckon that ’tache was real?”
Edward blinked.
“Imagine the feel of it,” Luigi continued, “Between your thighs...”
Edward blinked again.
Luigi was still giggling when Dickon came up from the cellar with a bottle of champagne. “All right, boss? Tasha get off, did she? Only some of the punters -”
Dickon looked stricken.
“Um, yeah. I paid her off. Well, novelty acts: good for a giggle but the novelty wears off, doesn’t it? Put this on ice, will you?”
Luigi admired the bottle. “Who’s the shampoo for?”
“Never you mind!” Dickon chuckled. “If your dick was as long as your nose, you’d be the most popular man in Dedley. Now, go on; call time. Get these buggers out of here. You can leave the tidying up until the morning.”
He left the barmen to close up. Luigi gave Edward a significant look but Edward was oblivious. Luigi nodded at the champagne. “That’ll be for him and his date.”
“Hmm?” said Edward.
“You know...” Luigi twisted his lips to look like Keith’s.
“Oh...”
“Mind you, haven’t seen him all night. I don’t think he’s right for Dickon. I mean Dickon’s all -” he did jazz hands, “- and that bloke’s all -” he slumped his shoulders and twisted his lips.
“Hmm,” said Edward.
They set about their closing-up routine, switching off lights and locking doors. Luigi said goodnight to the last remaining stragglers and Edward held the door open and smiled.