The club was soon filling up for an early show so that everyone could be out in time to catch the Bastille Day fireworks and parties that were planned all over the city. Word had gotten out that this would be Sashay’s last appearance, so the nostalgic and curious were out in force. Extra tables were crammed into the balcony section in anticipation of a major Shadow party. The first hint I had of Rudee’s plan was when I noticed that some of the regular employees weren’t at their usual places. Maurice and Henri, looking very suave with their bulletproof coifs polished to a high gloss, were working together behind the bar, mixing drinks masterfully. Maurice was rhythmically shaking a cocktail mixer over his head while his brother was spinning variously coloured bottles on the bar and pouring two at a time from high above the glasses like a mad scientist. To one side of the stage I spotted Mink Maynard in a tuxedo uncoiling a microphone cable and checking over some notes. On the other side, Dizzy was laying out some vacuum cleaner–type hose, and we exchanged smiles.
The regular petrified piano player was absent, and in his place was an odd-looking character I didn’t recognize, with a long set of gold lamé tails and a too-tall top hat. He was stationed to the left of the stage on a circular riser with velvety material draped around the bottom, at a multi-tiered set of keyboards. He was making last-minute adjustments to a set of pedals when he turned toward Mink side stage to offer a thumbs up. From beneath a silly handlebar moustache, a goofy grin emerged that I recognized right away as belonging to Rudee. The buzz of voices was loud in the club as the Shadows passed through their private entrance to fill the balcony to capacity. Michelle, the cigarette girl, was dispatched with an overflowing tray to take care of their smoking needs, and I was very glad not to be in her place tonight. I’d seen enough of that rancid crew for one lifetime, and I figured they wouldn’t be too thrilled to see me.
The lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted in expectation. I saw Henri loading a bunch of glowing greenish drinks onto a tray that was bound for the balcony. A spotlight found Mink Maynard, who strode centre stage, bowed formally, and began his introduction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, mesdames et messieurs, a night to remember is yours to be sure. As the curtain falls on the Moulin D’Or and these magic moments will be no more, travel with us to the world of dreams and give yourselves up to the queen. Sail away to childhood’s shore with la Reine des Rêves, Sashay D’Or!”
His voice rose at the end as the fog from Dizzy’s smoke machine seeped into the room, making the floor look like a misty pond at dawn. Rudee began with a low, mysterious wash of chords that floated out of the speakers encircling his riser. The rhythmic blue lights I recalled from the first time I’d experienced Sashay’s show were twinkling like soft stars over the crowd, which grew quieter and quieter. Sashay swept onstage in a cascade of silky scarves as Rudee’s music rose to meet the moment. Seemingly transported in time herself, Sashay resembled the woman I’d seen on the old Lido poster as she wove her spell on the audience. If not for the ridiculousness of Rudee, I’m sure I would’ve been caught up in it myself. His riser slowly began to rotate and elevate, adding a dizzy, swirling quality to the music. The smoke machine was working overtime, and Sashay seemed to be floating on waves of foggy satin, back and forth, dipping and spinning, her skirts and scarves overlapping in a golden cascade. The audience was, to say the least, mesmerized.
For once, the Shadows sat in rapt attention as the show reached a majestic climax. Rudee’s hands flew over the keyboards. His feet pumped furiously on the pedals and his top hat twirled wildly as his riser ascended and teetered dangerously over the transfixed crowd. Sashay spun like whipped cream, jewelled gloves twirling in time to the spellbinding waves of music. When she finally disappeared in a column of golden mist and the music slowly eased, the audience was transported. Downstairs, happy faces shone like children at play, and laughter flowed through the dreamy crowd.
To my shock, above it all, on the balcony the Shadows were having a wild time of their own. They ran their hands through candles and laughed until their fedoras flew in the air. One was making shadow sharks on the wall while his pals could barely contain themselves, snapping their arms like giant jaws. Another was making rude sounds and causing his trench coat to billow around his bulky body while another had his coat over his head and was racing back and forth on the balcony making ghost sounds. Mink, Dizzy, Maurice, Henri, and Rudee gathered side stage to marvel at the sight.
“Wow,” said Dizzy, “what were you playing, Rudee?”
“Ughoman’s ‘Mesmerata Nocturne,’ with a few additions of my own.”
Maurice and Henri proudly pointed out the mostly empty glasses of green nectar on the Shadows’ tables. “Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder, non?” said one brother as the other grinned widely.
Mink coiled up his mike cable and laughed. “And how about Sashay’s dance? That should chill their nasty plans.”
Suddenly a door slammed loudly backstage, and a rush of footsteps was heard in the hall. Through the doors to the kitchen burst Louche, followed by Scar and Phlegm. They stopped just inside the club and stared at the action on the balcony, momentarily stunned by what they saw. “Scar, hit the lights and cut that smoke machine. Phlegm, round up those losers, now. We’ve got a night’s work to do,” barked Louche.
He was, if possible, even unhappier than he had been during the fight with his brother. The Hacks and I concealed ourselves backstage, wondering how this was going to play out, and Rudee rushed to Sashay’s dressing room. Louche strode across the room like a prison warden who’s just stopped an escape attempt. The Shadow play ended abruptly, and they hastily grabbed hats, coats, and smokes and unsteadily made their way out the private exit. Scar joined Louche and Phlegm on the balcony. They conferred briefly, one picking up a nearly empty glass of green liquid and sniffing it before slamming the glass down and smashing it on the table. Louche shot a look back toward the stage over the heads of the confused patrons, seeming to scan the area for suspects. He then violently kicked over a table, scattering the contents, and exited to join his departed thugs.
I left the other Hacks and went backstage to find Rudee, where I bumped right into Blag in the dim hallway. It was like walking into a wall. “Sorry. Oh Blag, I’m glad to see you.” I fumbled for words.
“So this was Daroo’s big idea? Bore the smokies stiff with his feeble tunes and some dry ice? This was supposed to get them out of the way, then everything would go happily ever after? Does he drink his own drool for breakfast?”
“Blag, I know it didn’t work, but I’ve got an idea. Can you take me to Madeleine’s office?”
“Sure kid, but this better have more juice than Daroo’s cheeseball show. C’mon, my car’s in the alley. I doubt we have much time.”