Twinkling mischievously, dark brown eyes settled on Nick's wrists, blinking innocently. One slim, nut-brown leg slowly wound its way between his own, snagging his calf and, jerking sharply, pulled his feet out from under him before he had a chance to realise what was going on.
"Ari!" Taking the two other players with him, the tall Irishman landed in a heap on the floor, Sara's body falling on top of his, his arms tangled with Tony's.
"What?" The young Nigerian girl grinned impishly at him, standing up easily, twisting out of the contorted positions she had maintained moments earlier.
"You did that!"
Brushing her blue t-shirt down primly, she shook her head. "Don't blame me for your lack of balance." Her low voice had a soft lilting accent to it.
"That's a good point." Groaned Tony, rubbing his head and pushing Sara's slim legs off his. "But I don't understand how we were conned into playing this!" Tossing his thick hair back he shook his head. "It's a kids game after all!"
"And you still can't play it." His twin crowed from the sofa. "I think you have to be the worst player of Twister, EVER!"
Sara Braithwaite shook her head with a giggle. How so many adults could consistently be such a lot of fun was beyond her, particularly as she was the only non-'celebrity' among them.
The twins, Tony and Toni, were re-known for their double act, while Nick was a well-reputed choreographer and dance instructor. Not to mention a hot stripper in the bargain, she mentally added with a grin.
"What's all the hullaballoo about?" An obnoxious, upper class, nasally English accent put in, more than a hint of annoyance and sheer boredom in the tone. "Are you immature children playing again?"
Clambering to his feet, Nick did his best Munkustrap salute, feigning a polite bow to the newcomer. "How are ya, Mr McFadgen?" He grinned, exaggerating his own thick, Irish accent. "Top o' the mornin' to ye!"
Biting back a grin, Andrew McFadgen shook his head, stooping his shoulders to reduce his impressive 6'3" to a shivering 5'8" and shaking his head mournfully. "Ye see, these kittens just don't get trained how they should…its ridiculous." He intoned gravely, his hands shaking.
"And someone is trying to get into character." Rolling her eyes, Toni lazily draped herself along the couch, swinging her feet up onto her brother's shoulder.
"Trying?" Andrew turned to her, a look of mock-indignation in his brandy-brown eyes. "Trying? I'll have you know I'm the best actor in this company! I know seventy speeches by heart! And I once played Growltiger! Could do it again!"
"Oh brother…" Sara buried her head in her hands, her honey-coloured braid falling over her shoulder. "On our day off from rehearsal…someone shut him up! Please!"
"Come, Lady Griddlebone!" His hands around her waist, he hoisted her into the air – shrieking – above his head, his own voice sinking several octaves. "Sing with me! Sing our last duet, my love, or I'll not put you down!"
"Help!" She squealed with laughter, kicking her legs weakly, pummelling his arms with her fists. "Genghis! Save me! Save me from this lunatic!"
Always willing to join in a game, Tony leapt to his feet, puffing out his chest proudly. "I'll save you, Gliddlebone!" He announced, falling into character as easily as the rest of them. Grabbing a pillow, he swung it at McFadgen. "Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!"
"Guys! Guys!" Holding up her hands, struggling to hold in her laughter, Ariadne drew herself up to her full four feet, six inches. "Do I need to remind you it is our day off? That we don't need to do anything?"
Without warning, Sara burst into her Griddlebone soliloquy, perched one Andrew's muscular shoulder as Tony grabbed at her ankles and attempted to pull her off.
"Hey!" Jumping up on the table, Ariadne started bouncing up and down. "Pay attention to me! Me! Hey! I'm here!" Waving frantically, she jumped one time too many and crashed through the wood. "Er…"
Caught as a human tug-of-war rope, Sara was already in pain from laughing too much when she looked over and saw Ariadne standing – subdued – in the centre of the shattered table. "Oh geez!"
"Too much caffeine, Etcetera?" Toni chuckled, lazily opening one indigo eye to regard the little dancer. "Or did Tugger just walk into the room?"
Slipping out from under the ruined table frame, the little dancer stuck her tongue out. "Very funny." She muttered, brushing wood chips off her shorts. "If Tugger was here, I wouldn't have been dancing on the table!"
"Put…me…down!" Amid giggles, Sara managed to speak, as Nick joined in the tug of war, by grabbing her round the waist. "I…no…laughing!"
"Can I tickle her?" Bounding over, Ariadne looked hopefully up at the three guys, in spite of Sara's demented screams of dissent and various profanities.
"Be my guest." As the resident Munkustrap – on this, the latest British tour – Nick seemed to have the final say in every kind of trouble-making even that occurred within the confines of the hotel's four walls. "We still have to make her pee herself once before the tour starts."
"Nooooooooooo!" Squirming frantically, the five feet of the slight dancer was nothing against the three male dancers, all of whom were well over the six-foot mark.
"There's NO escape!" Breaking into his demented Growltiger laugh, McFadgen resorted to his native accent. "Och aye, struggle if ye want, but there's nay escape! Nay escape at all!"
*
"What's going on in here?" Nervously pushing the door open, Philip Calvers almost wished he hadn't bothered. Almost wished he hadn't taken the job as tour supervisor. Almost wished he had a regular nine-to-five job. Only almost though.
Despite the mysteries and eerie stories surrounding the American productions of CATS, he and the other managers were all sceptical about the main 'theory' of alien abduction. "Americans," They said, "Always like to make things sillier than they are."
Taking in the scene before him, the relatively serious supervisor was hard-pressed to stifle a laugh. A crumpled twister board lay, trodden underfoot, the foetal figure of Sara Braithwaite curled – red-faced and gasping – in the centre, at the feet of the three men.
Looking away innocently, all three had there's hands clasped behind their backs, whistling as if they hadn't a care in the world. The eldest – thirty-seven year old McFadgen – ran a hand through his mussed, silvering, dark-brown hair, coughing to stifle a laugh.
Between Andrew's legs, Ariadne Mzimba clutched at his thigh, her legs wrapped around his ankle, her eyes wide with innocence, as Tony smoothed back his hair into a ponytail as usual.
Toni Smith sprawled on the sofa, her hands over her face, while the table beside her was lying on its side, a human-size hole through the centre.
"Er…" Grinning engagingly, Nick threw his arms around Andrew and Tony's shoulders, his green eyes sparkling merrily. "Nothing, Phil, old man. Why would anything be happening? I mean, its us. Would we do anything? Anything at all?"
"I choose not to answer that." Calvers replied cautiously.
"A wise answer." McFadgen nodded gravely, folding his hands. "To make a decision…ah…that would be true insanity."
Grinning, the forty-seven year old shook his head and scratched his clean-shaven jaw. "I do have to know whose turn it is to pay for the damaged furniture, though." He nodded towards the table and Ariadne winced.
"Er…it was Tugger's fault!" She mumbled, backing behind Andrew again, jumping sharply as her watch beeped. "Uh-oh! Gotta go, make a phone call!"
On her hands and knees, she fled the room, leaving Philip to inspect the damage, as the others – with the exception of Toni – started to clear up.
*
Running down the hall, Ariadne gripped her key in her slim brown hand, glancing back to make certain none of the others had followed.
It was true – they were friends. But some things had to be kept private. After all, she had only known these people for several short weeks and something as big as her secret might mean she would have to leave them.
The tour was something she had always dreamed of. Ever since she had seen CATS, ten years previously, all she had wanted to do was appear in the show and she wasn't about to sacrifice it now. Just for some silly little secret.
Slipping into her room, she hastily locked the door and reached into the drawer of her bedside cabinet, her fingers wrapping around the smooth surface of the bottle. Shaking it, she nodded at the reassuring rattle from within.
Opening the safety lid, she tipped a couple of pills into her hand and walked to the bathroom to get a glass of water.
Staring at the pills sadly, she swirled the water in her glass for several minutes. It seemed so unfair. After everything else she had to put up with, she couldn't give up these things. As she did every day, she dropped the pills onto her tongue and – washing them down with the water - muttered. "Bottoms up."
*
"Great news!" Walking down the hall again, the twins had pounced on the little dancer, along with Sara. The Twister fiasco of the day before seemed to have been forgotten. "The costumes… some more'll be ready this morning. In time for rehearsal!"
"Cool!" Sara enthused, her arm around her roommate's slim shoulder, as they walked down to the dining room. "I can't wait to see my Griddlebone costume!"
"What about us?" Toni playfully slapped her brother, grabbing his long, black ponytail. "Can you believe we're gonna look the same for the first time? How weird will that be?"
"You look weird enough as it is." The twenty-year-old avoided another slap from his sister and grinned cheekily. It was true that they looked totally un-identical.
Despite being twins, they had done everything in their power to look different. Tony's once-red hair had been grown and dyed jet-black, while his sister had opted to crop her own red mane. With a lot of money spent on sunbeds, Tony had tanned so much he was compared to a blue-eyed Antonio Banderas, but Toni was as white as could be, not even a freckle on her cheeks.
And they would have remained so dissimilar, if only they hadn't been cast – naturally – as the twins, Coricopat and Tantomile in CATS. Even before they got into character, there was an eerie, in-sync style between the duo.
"I've seen some of my Growltiger costume." Wandering out of his room to join them, Andrew grinned. "I'm gonna be a right stud."
"You and your split personalities." Shaking her head, Ariadne chuckled. "Can you please explain what 'a right stud' is and how it differs from 'a wrong stud'?"
"You, young madam," He wagged his finger at her reproachfully. "Are too cheeky for your own good. You know exactly what I mean."
Looping her arm around his waist, she nodded, grinning wickedly. "Lemme check this. A back-ground-haunting Ass…" She punctuated her words with a firm slap to his rear. "An arrogant, upper-class Gus…and a Scottish 'right stud'. Is that right?"
"You got it, toots." Patting her derriere, he winked. "Although the Ass is too good to hide in the background all the time."
"Cocky bugger!" Sara snorted, as they entered the dining room. "Can we get off the subject of his rear and end and talk food, please?"
Leaning over the buffet, Tony grabbed something in his hands and turned to Sara, a wickedly mischievous expression on his face. Holding out his hands, containing two rolls, he enquired. "How about some nice, firm buns?"
"Tony!"
"What?" Nursing an injured tone, the dancer pouted sadly. "You said you wanted to talk food."
The honey-blonde dancer gave him a push, her hand flying to her mouth as he tripped over Andrew's foot and knocked Ariadne into a trolley of plates and dishes.
"Oh Ari!" Hurrying to her friend's side, Sara moved to help her up, but Ariadne shook her head, staring at blood trickling from several small cuts, shards of glass prickling her flesh. "I'm fine. Just let me go and clean up." She muttered shortly, clambering to her feet and running out of the bustling room.
"I'll go and make sure she's all right." Squeezing Sara reassuringly on the shoulder, Andrew marched out of the room after the little dancer.
*
Hot tears ran down her face as she picked jagged bits of glass and splinters of china out of her smooth brown skin, blood dripping into the smooth white sink, mingling with the running water and disappearing down the plug hole.
"Ari?" Whirling around, she hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks with her long sleeves. "Are you all right, lass?"
Unable to answer, she turned back to the sink, pushing her hand under the water, yelping as it scalded her.
"Ari," McFadgen reached out to help her, but she leapt out of reach, shaking her head.
"Don't touch me." She whispered, holding her bloody hand to her chest. "Please, Andy, don't. I don't want you to get it…I mean…oh shi…" Faltering off, she sagged to her knees, knowing she had given away too much.
"Get it?" Kneeling down beside her, he tilted her tear-streaked face up to his, concern filling his dark eyes. "What's wrong, Ari? Are you sick?"
Biting back a sob, the little dancer stared up at him, suddenly looking like the little child she had been when the doctors told her what was wrong with her. Her eyes seemed too big for her face as she softly replied. "You…you could say that."
Stumbling to her feet, she gestured him to follow her into the main room and opened her drawer, handing him the small bottle of pills. Sinking down on the bed, she watched his expression change from puzzlement, to thoughtful, to startled understanding.
"People with HIV take this kind of medication." He said quietly. There it was. No fanfare. No fireworks. A simple statement of fact.
"Yeah…" Staring down at the floor, she shrugged sadly. "That's my main prescription…I have a lot, ya know. Don't have any choice anymore…" Rubbing her forehead wearily with her uninjured hand, she shrugged again. "I'm HIV positive. There. Now you know."
"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked, sitting down beside her, his voice hushed. She was just a kid. Only seventeen and she had been hiding something like this. "Didn't you trust us to understand?"
Wrapping her hands in her loose shirt, she shrugged her shoulders again. "Dunno. I thought they might get rid of me."
"C'mon, kid. You know they don't put down cast members. They might want to, but they're not allowed." Chucking her chin, he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder, reassured by her soft laugh. "Listen, we're here for you. You have to trust us with stuff like this."
"Trust." She laughed harshly, slowly unwrapping her hand and gazing down at the punctured skin. "I trusted my old friends with my…secret." With a muffled sob, she managed to whisper. "They abandoned me. They thought even touching me would give them it."
"Oh, Ari…"
"Can you imagine?" She continued softly. "People you've known all your life jumping away so they won't be 'infected' by your dirty touch? And I don't even know how I got it. It's just not right."
"It must have been terrible." Hugging her against his chest, he could feel rather than hear her crying. "But we're not like that. I mean, we're in show business. We all have encountered HIV and AIDS in some form. Why would we hate you for something that's beyond your control?"
"You're too good to be so understanding." She looked up at him, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "Should I tell the others?"
Nodding, Andrew reassuringly squeezed her uninjured hand. "It would be better if you explained everything to them…we are friends, you know."
"Ya know," She remarked softly, gazing up into his concerned brown eyes, "For the big, rough n tough Growltiger, you're really just a big kitten."
His hand flew to his mouth in an attitude of shocked disbelief. "You found out my secret!" He gasped, glancing around furtively. "You promise me you won't tell anyone?" She nodded, sniffing back her tears and grinning. "This is one secret I think should remain so, don't you agree?"
"You bet, kitten-boy." Smirking wickedly, she impulsively threw her arm around him, hugging him tightly, so he couldn't see the hot tears that were coursing silently down her face.
"Kitten-boy?" He murmured, gently holding her close, stroking her wild, curly mane. "This is all I'm gonna hear from you now, ain't it?" Shaking his head with a soft groan of annoyance. "I hate blackmail! I hate it!"
"Now you tell me." He could hear a trace of laughter in her strained voice. "I'll have to remember that."
"Damn!" Giving her a fond squeeze, he sat up. "Now, shall we see about getting that hand of yours cleaned up? We can't have our Etcetera missing a rehearsal cos of a sore mitt."
"Hey!" Standing up, Ariadne swatted at him with her foot. "You just want to ruin my plot for an extra day off!"
"You bet I do, sweetie." Winking mischievously, he added. "I also want to see how you look in that stretchy lycra. If I'm, going to look dumb in it, I want to see everyone else do it at the same time."
"Swine." She muttered, looping her arm through his. "If that's the case, we'd better head to the theatre. My doc's showing up there." She stuck her tongue out in an expression of distaste. "He gets everywhere."
"Haven't you heard of the 'An apple a day keep's 'em away' theory?" McFadgen asked mildly, opening the door.
Grinning as she tugged the door shut, she replied. "Sure I have."
"And?"
Fighting back a wide smile, she locked the door, turned to him and – as seriously as she could – replied. "My aim isn't that good."