"You know, someone ought to tell him that white men can't do Thriller." Trevor said in Casey's ear. They were watching the racing driver executing a routine which was apparently supposed to be based on the award-winning dance track – it looked more like someone had slipped him some strychnine.
"Oh I don't know. I think he has the zombie look down to a tee." Harriet murmured. Casey rolled her eyes at both of them. "Actually, Derek does a better zombie than that." She frowned. "Where did he go by the way?"
"I had him evicted." Harriet said. "Didn't want him messing with your performance."
Casey gaped. "You did what?"
"Relax. I had him moved to the audience so that he couldn't see your costume before you went on. He'll still be here." Harriet nudged Trevor. "Who's up next?"
"Our favourite news-anchor."
"And what delights does he have to offer?"
"I don't know but I swear I spotted an afro wig."
Casey winced. "That doesn't sound good." And the others nodded their agreement.
As Michael Jackson left the stage, a bell-bottomed, afro-wearing news-anchor entered it and assumed a pose as James Brown screeched "I feel good!"
"Oh fuck!" Trevor gasped his eyes widening. "My shit! We've created a monster!"
Harriet smacked him and grimacing turned her back on the spectacle. "I can't look but tell me…how is this of our making?" She glanced behind her. "Oh dear god! I should have stuck to bland humourless performances for Casey. Inject an element of humour and everyone thinks they can do it."
"Bland, humourless?" Casey objected. "I liked my Xtina numbers."
Harriet didn't listen. "Next time, I do a celebrity show I'm having my charge sing songs from "Annie". No. Screw that. I'm not going near another reality TV show – even if the wolves are salivating at the door and the only alternative is selling my body to the lowest bidder."
Casey muttered something that sounded like been there done that.
Trevor grinned. "Aw! You two have no backbone. This is fun!"
"You're a sick man, Trevor, darling. A sick man." Harriet complained.
"But you love me really."
"You keep telling yourself that, sunshine, you keep telling yourself that." Harriet patted him on the shoulder. Casey smiled at them and then pulled a face as the dancer on the stage failed to pull off the splits.
"Ouch. Well after this, anything Chloe has to offer will be a breath of fresh air." She said.
Harriet snorted. "Of the stinky variety you get near a pig farm." She nodded towards the wings on the other side of the stage.
Chloe was waiting for her cue. She was wearing, as predicted, a white satin cat suit, tight and unforgiving against her skin. Her long blonde hair was pulled into two pigtails and there was a glitter tattoo at each of her temples. Her eye make up was luminescent blue and silver covering her eyelids to her eyebrows and her lips were full, red and glossy. She wore white leather kinky boots with platform heels.
"How the fuck is she going to dance in those?" Trevor exclaimed.
"It's Abba – Anni-Frid, Bjorn, Benny and Agnetha all rolled into one!" Harriet chuckled.
"I was thinking more Boney M actually." Trevor snorted.
"Boney M?" Casey queried.
"You're too young – and Canadian." Harriet said dryly.
"No she's not. Come on Casey. You must have heard of "Brown Girl in the Ring"…sha-lalalalala!" He launched into a little disco-inspired dance humming away. He finished with a twirl and looked expectantly at her.
Casey looked at him blankly for a moment and then turned to Harriet.
"So…any thoughts on what I should sing next week…assuming I get through?" she said, ignoring Trevor's antics.
He huffed and the two girls giggled.
"Aw! You poor sensitive tart." Harriet teased Trevor. "Casey can't help it if she doesn't understand the joys of classic camp 70s disco. You can educate her later."
Trevor looked thoughtful. "Maybe we should do a Boney M track for the final."
Harriet looked horrified. "Over my dead body!" She insisted.
"Shhh!" hissed Casey. "Chloe's about to start."
Chloe had moved onto the stage and a group of backing dancers had lined up behind her. It appeared they were also singers because they suddenly chorused,
"Aww…Freak Out!" at the same time as a lone guitar started to play the melody.
"Le Freak…C'est Chic!"
Chloe launched herself into a disco routine that appeared to have elements of the hand-jive and Thriller in it and behind her, the backing dancers followed her every move.
Harriet snorted. "Le Freak is about right."
"Not bad dancing though." Trevor said reluctantly. "A bit limited, and unimaginative, but believe me Maurice is like that." He said it in a way that left no doubt that he was talking about moves other than dance routines.
Harriet laughed. "Bitch!" She teased.
"Hell yes!" Trevor grinned back. He leaned towards Casey. "You are so going to blow them out of the water, duckie."
Casey steeled herself. "Let's hope so."
Derek was sitting between two complete strangers who apparently knew each other. They were muttering across him all the way through the first three acts of the second half and annoying though it was, the only thing stopping him from asking them if they wanted to switch places was the fact that their conversation was actually quite interesting.
"What do you think of it so far?"
"Well they've obviously got Dave Marshall working the auto-tuner. I'd recognise his handi-work a mile off."
"Apart from that Pat Benatar number. Who do you think they had working that?"
The guy on Derek's left looked surprised. "You think that was "tuned"?"
"Nah. You're right. They left that raw. Which was good. You shouldn't fuck with blues." His friend replied.
"So. Who do you think is going to win this little farce then?"
"Tonight or over all?"
"Over all."
"Haven't you been watching the last few weeks? There's only one person with any serious talent."
"I guess. Are you gonna offer her something?"
"Probably. Trouble is I've been reading her bio and I can tell she's a "donate it all to charity" type."
"Hmm…Yeah I got that impression too."
"She's good though. Makes you wonder how she slipped through the talent net."
"Some people don't want fame."
"But some deserve it."
The first guy snorted. "I wouldn't wish fame on my worst enemy."
The guy on Derek's right snorted. "Yeah well I get the impression that her worst enemy has unwittingly granted her exactly that."
"Ready?" Harriet asked Casey as she watched the make-up artist touch up Casey's face.
Casey sighed. "No. Not really. If this wasn't a matter of pride against Derek Venturi I'd be dancing to something calm and relaxing right now."
Trevor came into the conversation. "You look damn hot, girl. Don't beat yourself down."
"I look like an expensive cheerleader."
"No. You don't."
"A kept woman."
"Definitely not."
"A gangster's whore."
Harriet laughed. "More like a rapper's bitch."
"Gee. Thanks." Casey groaned. "Harriet, would you mind zipping up my jacket. I can't do it in these talons."
"Sure." Harriet said, zipping up the red satin version of a hockey jacket. She zipped it to the point where the zipper was level with Casey's nipples, revealing an impressive cleavage.
"I can't believe Trevor made me wear this bra. It's like wearing a corset. I feel squeezed and moulded."
"You look it." Harriet grinned. "Go on. Show me the little thrust thing again."
"Pervert." Casey retorted but she squeezed her shoulder blades together so that they forced her breasts together and up in a little jerky movement.
Harriet laughed. "Classy. Now, get your ass on stage and show 'em how it's done."
The stage dimmed and Derek sat forward. Casey had promised him a surprise and he totally believed she was capable of delivering. The question was, what sort of surprise would it be? The sort that shocked like her Robert Smith impression or the sort that shocked like her Chloe impression? He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.
Derek could see Casey's silhouette against the backdrop. A figure posed sideways on, one leg straight, the other bent slightly, two arms extended rigidly in front of her, one higher by 30 degrees to the other. Her head followed the line of her arms and her hair was pulled back into a very straight high ponytail.
The light rose and he saw she was wearing white satin hot-pants with a diamante belt and a tight red satin jacket with something written on the back – although he couldn't see what.
A clicking rhythm started and she wiggled her hips in time to the beat as Will. started to speak.
What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
Casey turned to face the audience, the movement of her hips now pulsing through the rest of her body in a way that made all the men in the room sit up and take notice. Her hips and backside twitched and her torso rolled to extend the movement, her extra-long false fingernails tracing the distracting movement.
I'm a get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.
Casey stuck her backside out and ran her hand over it as it wiggled.
My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps (Check it out)
Derek's jaw dropped. Casey dancing to Black Eyed Peas was definitely a surprise. Suddenly all the blood in his body headed southwards and he found himself breaking out into a sweat. He watched her run her taloned hands over her breasts and ass as she writhed on the stage and he swallowed hard.
"Fuck! I'm in love." The guy next to Derek gasped. His friend had gone pale and crossed his legs. Despite his own predicament, Derek chuckled.
My love (love), my love, my love, my love (love)
You love my lady lumps (love),
My hump, my hump, my hump (love),
My humps they got you,
Casey had now been joined on stage by her own backing dancers who were mimicking her movements. Lots of sinuous movements and stroked backsides – all of them sporting nail extensions long enough to make a grown man cry.
I'm a make, make, make, make you scream
Make you scream, make you scream.
Cos of my hump (ha), my hump, my hump, my hump (what).
My hump, my hump, my hump (ha), my lovely lady lumps (Check it out)
There wasn't a set of eyes in the room that weren't on Casey. She had an amazing body and the outfit she was wearing was breathtaking, particularly for Derek because when she turned her back to the audience for a little wiggle and thrust she revealed that the wording across her back spelled clearly "Venturi".
"Shit!" Derek muttered under his breath. Casey had just branded herself with his name.
"Lucky fucker." The guy on his right hissed. Derek frowned, wondering if the guy had suddenly recognised him, but when the guy clearly wasn't looking in his direction he decided on balance that the guy was just expressing an opinion. He turned his attention back to the stage.
Casey and the girls were now lined up, legs apart and performing their own little hand jive; alternate hands on hips and the backs of their heads, thrusting their hips forward, pouting. The movements had an almost Egyptian feel to them, jerky and yet seductive. It seemed that every time they used the word "hump" or "lump" Casey jerked her ass or breasts in a way that Derek doubted was acceptable on a family television station. Fortunately, this station had no such family policy.
They say I'm really sexy,
[The way Casey's pelvis was wiggling was bringing tears to Derek's eyes]
The boys they wanna sex me.
[And did she have to touch her own breasts with those fingernails like that?]
They always standing next to me,
Always dancing next to me,
Tryin' a feel my hump, hump.
[Slap! Her hand crashed onto her backside. Oh sweet BJ…]
Lookin' at my lump, lump.
[Derek remembered a conversation where she had objected to the word "lumps" in regard to her anatomy. The little…]
You can look but you can't touch it,
If you touch it I'm a start some drama,
[Arms above her head in a sort of fusion between Egyptian dancing and a boxing stance]
You don't want no drama,
[Egyptian head jerks]
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama
So don't pull on my hand boy,
You ain't my man, boy,
I'm just tryn'a dance boy,
And move my hump.
Derek watched transfixed like everyone else, but with an added excitement that came with knowing that this whole performance was about proving something to him – and that in a short while he would be spending the night with the beauty currently thrusting her ass in his direction. Can anyone say foreplay?
What you gon' do with all that junk?
All that junk inside that trunk?
I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk,
Get you love drunk off this hump.
What you gon' do wit all that breast?
All that breast inside that shirt?
[Casey flexed her shoulder blades back and forth and her impressive cleavage jerked up and down quickly in time to the next line.]
I'ma make, make, make, make you work
Make you work, work, make you work.
Derek groaned aloud and then, embarrassed, glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but their attention was elsewhere. He doubted anyone was watching him.
He doubted if anyone could remember their own name.
He knew he couldn't.
So it was a good job Casey had written it on her back for him.
AN: www[dot]youtube[dot]com[slash]watch?v=iEe_eraFWWs&ob=av2e
This was a difficult scene to write because I didn't want to put all lyrics there and I wanted to portray the dance, so all I'll say is that to truly appreciate the flavour of Casey's dance, go watch the "My Humps" video on YT. My routine isn't identical, but you get the idea…