Dastardly Doings - Part 4

Without getting any further in pursuit of the serial killers plaguing Jimboomba, Arjy Barjy and Sean Bean have just left the police station. They are due at The Incontinental Luxury Retirement Home for lunch but in the meantime Arjy was hoping for a breakthrough. In a desperate attempt to get some clues she decides to try the least likely source of information. They head for the office of the Jimboomba Times. The door is locked and Arjy hammers on it until she wakes the staff who are taking their mid-morning doze. A despondent figure flips the lock and wanders sleepily back to her desk as Arjy and Sean step inside.

Arjy: Good morning, I’m Arjy Barjy and this is my associate Sean Bean. We represent Barjy-Bean Investigations and we would like a bit of information.

Sleepy Girl: G’morning (yawn). I am your guide to the world of news (sigh) and me name is Elsie Daubs. Did you want an ad placed or something?

Arjy: No, I don’t want an ad placed, I want some information.

Elsie Daubs: Well what information do you want exactly?

Arjy: If I knew exactly what information I wanted, I wouldn’t bloody well need to ask for it would I? It stands to reason, if I know something why would I be in here asking about it?

Elsie Daubs: Please yourself. Have you lost a dog or a cat?

Arjy: No!

Elsie Daubs: Won a jam making competition, have you?

Arjy: No!

Elsie Daubs: Then why come to the Jimboomba Times?

Arjy: I’m wondering the same myself. Look, is there anyone else I can talk to?

Elsie Daubs: They’re all busy.

Arjy: They’re asleep!

Elsie Daubs: They’re busy being asleep.

Arjy: Where’s the Editor?

Elsie Daubs: That’s his feet propped up on the big marble desk in the back. You won’t get much sense out of him this side of 3 o’clock.

(Arjy strides across the office and swipes at the huge pair of feet sending them crashing to the floor, shocking the body attached to them. Bistro Waiters leaps up and attempts to look wide-awake and Editorial.)

Bistro Waiters: Aaah! Um…yes, good morning. How are you all today? What can I do for you?

Arjy: That remains to be seen. I was looking for someone in this office who might be able to assist me in my enquiries.

Bistro Waiters: Yes, of course. But if you really need someone who can really help you …….

Arjy: Which I do!

Bistro Waiters: Then you should be talking to …….

Arjy: I should be talking to ….?

Bistro Waiters: My sidekick.

Arjy: Your sidekick?

Bistro Waiters: My sidekick.

Arjy: Who is?

(A change comes over the Jimboomba Times’ office. Bistro Waiters has developed the beginnings of a quite wicked smile. He begins to tap his foot on the floor. (Tap-tap-tappity-tap-tappa-tappa-tap-tap-tappity-tap.) The rest of the Times’ staff are suddenly and mysteriously wide awake and are smiling strangely at Arjy and Sean. They are drumming their fingers on the desktops counterpointing Bistro’s tap step. Arjy becomes aware of other sounds outside. The frantic noise of work in progress – hammers and saws, electric drills and urgent, shouted instructions. A muted brass section of a dance orchestra begins a low accompaniment to the foot tapping and finger drumming. (Pah-pah-pah-papapapa-pah-DAH-DAH-pa-pa.) The sounds grow – as does the structure in the car park.)

Arjy: What the fuck is going on here?

(She dashes outside and glares around at the madcap activity. Local builders, Tamborine Building Contractors and Allsorts Renovations are working together on massive timber structures in the car park. Griffith University Musical Society Dance Orchestra is setting up in Honora Street and on terraces dug into the bank below. Massed choirs from all the local schools are gathering and making their way to the rooftops between Video Ezy and Mitre10 where platforms are being built for them. The choirs pick up the syncopated rhythm (Doo-wah-doodidoo-wah-wah-doo-di-doodidoo.)

Arjy: What is going on? ……. Oh No! ….. YUTEMAN!!!! …… YUTEMAN! GET YOUR FAT ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!

Ron Yuteman: You called?

Arjy: What are you doing? Just. What. The. FUCK! Are you doing? You’re going off on one of your stupid tangents aren’t you? You’re going to derail this entire blog on the basis of one of your stupid, whimsical brain-farts aren’t you? Well, let me tell you – you superannuated old shit – this story is mine! I’m the lead here and I don’t expect to be treated like some sodding bit player in one of your kindergarten concerts. Just who the fuck do you think you are? Cecil B. De fucking Mille? Now get this blog back on track or I walk, and don’t test me on this – better men than you have tried!

Ron Yuteman: When you’ve quite finished. For starters, this blog is not about you – it’s about me. It only exists because Ron Yuteman is bored and likes writing stuff. Secondly, during the lifetime of this entire blog I have received only one request and I feel I owe it to my public to respond.

Arjy: Your PUBLIC? You dozy old sod, you’ve only got three readers!

Ron Yuteman: That is not the point. I have had a request and I feel it behoves me to do something about it. Doesn’t matter if you’ve got a thousand readers or one hundred, ten or only one – a blogger has a duty to …. to …….to do whatever it is bloggers feel dutiful about. And before you start on about “walking”, just remember this. The only reason you’re in the story is because I thought I would give you a chance to show what you could do. It was supposed to star Arnel Shizeknicker, that’s what she’s there for, but I took a risk and gave you a go. If you want to piss off then Arnel will step into your shoes with no trouble at all. So, if you want to continue with this, I suggest you shut your trap and start dancing to my tune – your choice.

(Arjy pouts and walks back toward the clock towers but the argument has served its purpose. The Woodies car park is a whole new world. Terraces of seating cover the Woodies Supermarket rooftop and they are rapidly being filled by locals all decked out in their Sunday best. The steps down from the upper shopping centre at the top of the car park have been rebuilt as a Hollywood stairway, wide, curved, painted ivory white and sparkling with gold glitter dust. Through the middle of the car park leading up to the new stairway a double line of twenty white Nissan X-TRAILs are parked with their backs facing each other and a five-metre gap between the two rows. Everything is set. Yuteman waves his hands over his keyboard and day turns to night. Impossibly bright stars flare in a black velvet sky and five thousand light bulbs strung about the buildings begin to flash to the beat of the orchestra, the choirs, the drumming fingers and the tapping of Bistro Waiters’ foot. Spotlights borrowed from the Beaudesert Centre begin to sway and cross each other. Jimboomba Shopping Centre has been transformed. It is like Christmas or Blackpool Illuminations or BROADWAY!

PAH…. PAAAH!

The brass section lets rip and the tempo increases. For a few bars the whole place ‘swings’ until – sudden silence … except for the tapping of a foot. Every spotlight converges on the entrance to the Jimboomba Times Office. Bistro Waiters stands in the light. He is dressed in perfectly cut evening dress complete with white tie, tails and an immaculate top hat. He holds a slim black cane across his body and even his gigantic feet look slim and elegant in the shiny black patent leather shoes he wears. One of the shoes continues the steady beat. (tap-tap-tappity-tap) Slowly at first, hesitating on the beat, Bistro begins to sing.

Bistro Waiters:
I’m ….putting …….on …..my …..top …..hat,
Tying up my white shirt,
Brushing off my tails.

He sways into the dance number. His feet are a blur as he tap dances down the walkway towards Mitre10. The cane sweeps to right and left slapping the ground every fourth beat. Bistro is a perfectly coordinated poem of dance motion. Elegance personified.

I’m duding up my shirtfront,
Putting in shirt studs,
Polishing my nails.

He swings around a pillar and changes direction. Now he is spinning and tapping out of the Mitre10 walkway and into the carp park. Throwing his cane from his right to his left hand and back again, he sweeps into the middle, the spotlights following his every move. The rhythm fluctuates and briefly syncopates during the second verse.

And I’m stepping out, my dear,
To breathe an atmosphere that simply
Reeks with class,
And I trust that you’ll excuse my dust
When I step on the gas.

The dancing becomes furiously complex as Bistro skips toward the X-TRAILs.

For I’ll be there putting down my top hat,
Mussing up my white tie,
Dancing in my tails.

The orchestra blasts the air with glorious ‘big band sound’ as Bistro Waiters throws himself at the first X-TRAIL. He runs UP the back of the vehicle and his dancing feet never hesitate as they beat a perfect cadence across the back window. Bistro twists in the air and dances off the X-TRAIL and then across the gap to the opposite vehicle. Like threading a shoelace, Bistro zigzags the X-TRAIL rows, dancing up, across and down each back window in turn. The crowd go wild and the applause is rapturous. At the last X-TRAIL, Bistro dances to the roof and performs a virtuoso tap number. The choirs take up the song as he dances and the orchestra is at full throttle.

He’s putting on his top hat,
Tying up his white shirt,
Brushing off his tails.

Bistro’s gigantic feet seem to act in isolation. The rapid and complicated series of movements they perform are inhuman but Bistro’s elegant body follows them with the silky flow of oil on water. His cane swinging, top hat juggling, hesitations, windmill turns and explosive responses thrill the crowd and they cheer as they, or any crowd before them, have never cheered before. Bistro ends the dance segment with a huge leap to the tarmac where he crouches for a moment then begins to climb the Hollywood stairway. Three steps up, one back then three steps up again, he progresses, his dancing feet fluttering. When he reaches the top, Bistro strikes a pose with one arm extended to the dark opening of the upper shopping centre. The orchestra and choir segue into a verse from an old Beatles song.

I don’t really like to stop the show,
But I thought you might like to know,
That the singer’s going to sing a song,
And he wants you all to sing along.
So let me introduce to you …………

And a booming voice rolls across the sky. It could be the voice of James Earl Jones but it is Yuteman talking through a bit of concrete sewer pipe.)

Yuteman: Yes, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Here is what we’ve all been waiting for. To meet the lovely sidekick of Mr. Bistro Waiters. I give you – the delectable – the outstanding – the incomparable – the totally unbelievable – and lots of other things besides ……………….. MS. ANGELINA NOTSOJOLLY!!!!!

(Angelina Notsojolly trips daintily into the spotlight and takes Bistro’s hand. She is dressed in black bombazine with huge gold cabbage roses sewn down one side. The gown is absolutely hideous. They begin to walk down the stairs. They are stately – dignified. The audience applause is deafening. When they reach the foot of the stairs they pause, gazing into each other’s eyes. Then, from all around, dozens of dancers burst from the doorways of all the shops. Jimboomba Times staff in black body stockings and gold boaters take position beside Video Ezy staff dressed in orange. The green and red of Woodies dancers take front position with hairdressers and travel agents behind them and Mitre10 dancers in blue begin to circle them all. Finally the Library dancers in white tutus and ballet slippers skip down the walk way and sweep to the back of the assembly. The orchestra begins the next number and Angelina Notsojolly sings.

Heaven, I’m in heaven,
And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak,
And I seem to find the happiness I seek,
When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek.

The number is a triumph. The dancers swirl and twist, one group with the other. Angelina and Bistro dance in each other’s arms as Angelina continues to sing. The couple sway and dip, spin and sweep. Their feet are matched to perfection (apart from the size) and they dance as one.

Just before the end of the song the orchestra breaks into an up-tempo swing version of the tune and the massed dancers begin to tap dance in unison. Their feet now crashing out the rhythm, it is a ‘Hollywood Musical’ classic demonstration of the hoofers art. It is perfect synchronisation through music and can only be described as a spectacle of sight and sound that literally moves the earth and brings the audience to their feet. Finally with a last resounding CRASH! the feet and music stop. Time and dancers freeze until …. gently at first … a familiar melody continues - grows. Bistro and Angelina sing together.

Heaven, I’m in heaven,
And the cares that hung around me through the week,
Seem to vanish like a gamblers lucky streak,
When we’re out together dancing ….
They glide around each other one last time and finish up…….
Cheek to cheek.

The audience erupts! They cheer, they stamp, and they clap until their hands are raw. The applause goes on and on and they are shouting for Angelina Notsojolly - until a furious voice bellows out of the end of the sewer pipe.)

Arjy: OY! –YUTEMAN!!

(Sudden silence falls like an avalanche.)

Arjy: YUTEMAN! YOU DON’T THINK YOUR “PUBLIC” MIGHT POSSIBLY THINK THAT WAS, JUST FRACTIONALLY, A TINY LITTLE BIT OVER THE FUCKING TOP – DO YOU?

(The spell is broken. The crowd splits up and wanders away. The dancers drift back to the shops. The Jimboomba Times dancers tug bits of body suit out of the cracks of their arses and Angelina Notsojolly tears off cabbage roses in disgust. Bistro Waiters looks around the now empty car park, sighs, drops his topper in a waste bin and ambles back into the office. Daylight returns.)

Sean: What now Arjy?

Arjy: Ahh – fuck to the lot of ‘em! Get the car, Sean. We’re going to lunch.

TO BE CONTINUED.