Sun, Sea and Sangria

Chapter 1

‘Where the hell is the dry oil spray?’ My chest is tightening. ‘We’re on in ten and Sammy needs to be glistening like an Adonis and smelling of coconut in five.’

‘I’ve got some olive oil from the restaurant,’ Ant pipes up. ‘That’s what I’ve used.’

‘Yes, well you look like a deep-fried sausage and don’t smell much better. Grab a towel and rub it off. It’s the twenty-first century, for goodness’ sake, and nobody here is auditioning for The Full Monty.’

‘Yes, Kat,’ a few voices mumble. I don’t have the time to think about who they belong to, but I do spot one or two other super-greasy torsos.

‘Seven minutes to go. Come on!’ I’m rummaging through my bag, throwing things left and right in a fit of panic. ‘Here.’ I produce an old bottle of Skin So Soft from Avon, which I’ve been using as a mozzie repellent since my mum gave me a bottle in 1997.

‘I want you all shimmering seductively and smelling nose-twitchingly floral in three minutes tops.’ I toss the spray to my lead dancer, Marcus. ‘Go!’

Through the fog and nose-tingling scent of dry oil mist, I check myself in the mirror. My stage make-up looks like Mary Berry has daubed it on with a silicone spatula, but this glam look is for my bold stage persona. It helps me get into the character of a strong, confident woman who knows what she wants. It should look natural under the lights. Anyway, it’s the guys who need to look good out there, not me.

‘Okay, huddle up.’ The guys gather dutifully around me. ‘Right, remember that Sammy has pulled his shoulder, so when you all go into the backflips segment, he will be stage left, grinding. Don’t wait for him. Also, Marcus, that thing you did with the eye contact and the winking last night – the audience loved it. I want to see more. Remember, the crowd loves you. Do your best and let’s blow this thing up.’

There are some whoops from the audience as the amplified beats of 50 Cent’s ‘Candy Shop’ start. I’m up. I wiggle my curvy hips as I saunter onto the stage and pump the mic above my head in time to the music. The crowd whoop and cheer and the excitement is tangible. Under the glare of the bright white spotlights, I can barely make out the hundreds of people who’ve come to see the show, but the energy is electric.

‘Ladies … and gentlemen,’ because there are always a few blokes in the crowd, ‘welcome to the Grand Canarian resort complex where we are going to Blow. Your. Mind! There won’t be a fire hose or PVC thong in sight, because tonight we’re giving you your dream man. Think gorgeous Adonises who can satisfy your deepest desires. Think dreamboat pick ‘n’ mix. Ladies and gents, think the Heavenly Hunks …’

As the crowd goes wild, my five men come out dressed in distressed blue jeans and T-shirts that struggle to contain their abs. Marcus and Ant lift me into the air and turn me around as ‘I Want It That Way’ by the Backstreet Boys kicks in and the boys start to dance. It’s the same routine we do every night, but each show feels a little different depending on where we’re performing. As the boys move to the front, I slip back into the shadows.

‘They always bring the crowds,’ a male voice with a thick Spanish accent says. Gaël, the hotel manager, has appeared in the wings beside me.

I smile. It’s taken a while to get to this point. When we first started up here, there was just me, Marcus, Hugo and Pauw trying to get gigs (Pauw’s real name is Paul but everyone loves to make fun of the fact that despite living in East London his whole life, he doesn’t have a cockney accent – it’s incredibly hard to just call him Paul now). Most of the big hotels wanted tribute acts or magicians and we just about scraped by in seedy bars.

Things changed when Gaël booked us a couple of years ago for his huge, fancy hotel, on a whim, after a spate of complaining Brits rightfully whinged about a geriatric gymnast who took five minutes and two helpers to do a cartwheel and called it a show. After that, people couldn’t get enough of the Heavenly Hunks. The Canaries Today called us ‘The Chippendales for the Modern Woman’. We’re probably piggy-backing off the success of Magic Mike a bit, but I don’t think their lawyers are worried.

‘My favourite part,’ Gaël nudges me. He’s a skinny, six-foot, heterosexual guy but even he can’t help but glue his eyes to the backflips and breakdancing. Pauw does his run of six consecutive backflips as Ant, who’s a trained ballet dancer, leaps across the stage in mid-air splits, his long brown hair billowing behind him. The crowd can’t get enough of his porcelain skin.

The music slows down and the intro to Ed Sheeran’s ‘I’m a Mess’ kicks in. Marcus appears in an open dark denim shirt that reveals enough of his smooth, toned chest to drive the audience wild. The shirt is paired with fitted, dark jeans and chunky boots. His short dark hair and light-brown skin look beautiful under the light, and the whole ensemble is one of my finest pieces of work, even if I do say so myself. He sits on the edge of the stage, making eye contact with as many lucky audience members as he can manage, whilst his silky voice gives its pitch-perfect rendition of the song. I still get chills watching him and I’ve seen this act a billion times.

‘Even I am almost falling in love,’ Gaël jokes.

‘See, that’s the point, Gaël. Women don’t want cheesy hosepipe-stroking and pant-dropping to the beat of Hot Stuff. We don’t even want to see any naked bottoms.’ Gaël shifts uncomfortably, but I’m proud of the act I’ve put together so I carry on regardless. ‘Women want sexy all-rounders. Men with talent. Half the time, the Heavenlies are fully clothed, yet you can practically hear the ladies’ ovaries scream.’

‘I admire what you’ve done. You know, if you ever get fed up of managing the Heavenly Hunks, there would be a job here as my entertainment director. I’m terrible at it.’ He laughs.

‘Thanks, Gaël, though I can’t see that happening any time soon.’

I switch my mic back on and step back into the spotlight. ‘I don’t know about you but I’ve come over all hot and bothered,’ I say over the screaming cheers. ‘We’ve had a hard day today, haven’t we, ladies? I mean, I bet some of you even had to fetch your own cocktails from the pool bar, didn’t you? Well, we’re going to slow things down and treat as many of you as possible to your own heavenly massage whilst our talented Hugo plays the piano, just for you.’

The spotlight switches to Hugo, who starts playing ‘All of Me’. As dry ice fills the stage, the rest of the guys filter through the audience giving shoulder rubs to as many audience members as possible. Those not having their shoulders rubbed are fixated on Hugo. His black hair shines under the light and his muscles ripple beneath his tanned skin as he hits the keys, his eyes intent on the sheet music. A ripple of excitement washes over me. We put on a bloody good show even if I do say so myself.

As the song finishes, it’s time for our pièce de résistance, and okay, the song is nicked from Magic Mike but we did our own choreography and I doubt Mike cares. The beat starts and the guys bound across the stage from behind the curtain as ‘Pony’ kicks in at the chorus, and the crowd are up, out of their seats, singing and going wild. Under the blue-white spotlight, with the rising dry ice, they look like mythical beings.

***

‘That was awesome, guys. The manager is really pleased with us and has booked us in for an extra show next month when we’re back from Gran Canaria, as well as the bookings we’d already secured for early next year.’ The guys cheer and there’s a bit of back-slapping. ‘We have the show over in Playa de las Americas tomorrow, which is going to be huge, and there’s a British newspaper doing a piece on the resort – they want to include a short review of our show, so I want you all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the rehearsal tomorrow. That means one drink tops in the bar tonight then bed, okay?’

I glare pointedly at Ant and Hugo. Ant looks sheepish and Hugo looks downright confused. He speaks English fairly well, but he doesn’t always catch what I’m saying if I go off on a rant and sometimes I wonder if it’s ‘selective’ understanding. I’m hoping a stern glance in his direction is enough to stop him going home with an audience member or two, tonight at least.

‘Love you, Kat.’ Pauw leans in for a hug.

‘You too. Make sure you get yourself to the doctor’s tomorrow and have that mole on your back checked,’ I say, unhappy with the raised appearance it’s taken on recently. He gives me a salute and blows me a kiss. I shake my head as he walks away.

‘Marcus, you left your driver’s licence in the dressing area,’ I sigh, holding it out to him between my fingers.

‘What would I do without you, Kat?’

‘I honestly have no idea,’ I say drily as he wanders off.

Hugo gives me a sheepish look and waves goodbye as the rest of the guys give me hugs and disperse. When I’m alone, I take a deep breath, gather my things and walk out through the hotel’s reception on a high.

Chapter 2

As I walk out into the crisp silence of the early hours, my skin bristles. I feel on edge. A man is loitering across the street. He has a messy bun and a giant camouflage-print Puffa jacket on. Granted, it can get chilly here at night in September but it’s hardly the Arctic Circle. My body is tense with apprehension; each nerve ending senses danger. He’s watching me whilst sipping something from a bottle. I tuck my bag under my arm and walk briskly past. It isn’t until I’m much closer that I realise he’s sipping some kind of smoothie drink. I relax a little, as though it’s a given that muggers don’t really worry about their vitamin intake or care much for liquefied kale. It’s silly how our perception of people works sometimes, but right now it’s making me feel safe.

Something grabs my shoulder, and my heart catapults out of my chest. I spin, fists clenched, ready to pound seven bells out of Smoothie Man or whoever it is.

When my eyes focus on the person in front of me, I get quite the surprise.

It isn’t the camouflaged man-bun-man I was expecting. It’s a dark-haired man I don’t recognise. Something about his soft-brown eyes, fixed with concern on my clenched fists, stifles my alarm.

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry.’ He holds his hands in the air. ‘Just realised how bad it was to touch your shoulder. I didn’t want to just shout a random excuse me down the street at half twelve.’

‘But grabbing a lady on a dark, lonely street at half twelve is okay?’

‘Like I said, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through, I just really wanted to talk to you and you left the hotel before I got a chance. Can we start again?’ He grins a wide smile and two small dimples form either side. He may have terrible etiquette but he is handsome. That thought is quickly overshadowed. What could he possibly want to talk to me about at this hour? I’d send him away but I’m too intrigued.

‘What is it?’

‘I saw your show tonight and thought it was great …’ He runs a hand through his hair, messing up the longer-on-top side-parting thing that seems trendy these days. ‘Anyway, I think I have what it takes and I wondered if you might have an opening for another dancer? I’ve just moved out here and I’m looking for work. I think it would suit me.’

I get a pang in my stomach. He certainly looks the part despite perhaps seeming a little older than the others, but that’s not a problem. The age range of our audience is eighteen to anything goes. I just can’t take someone on at the moment. ‘Look …’ I look pointedly at him, hoping he’ll furnish me with a name.

‘Jay,’ he says, taking the cue.

‘Jay. It’s not that I’m trying to brush you off. You certainly look the part and if you can dance I’d definitely audition you if I had space … The thing is, our profit margins are small and I’d not budgeted for taking on another dancer this year. I’m sorry.’

‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have hijacked your evening. It was just an idea. I’ve just got out here and I’m looking for work. It looked like fun, that’s all.’ He drops his head and turns to leave.

I feel really bad, not that he’s my responsibility or anything but when I first arrived out here, desperate, I was given a chance and it indirectly kick-started the Hunks. Perhaps I’m just shattered after back-to-back gigs but I want to throw him a lifeline. I’m sure we probably could afford another body on stage and it will give us an excuse to update our posters and fliers.

‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come along to a short audition tomorrow and I can keep you in mind.’

The dimples reappear. ‘Yes, great. Tell me when and where you want me.’

I shiver. Must be the arctic conditions. I rummage in my bag and pull out a tatty old business card for the bar we rehearse in. ‘We practise at three so come at two. Prepare a routine to Pony and we’ll take it from there.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there …’ he gestures to me with an open hand.

‘Kat,’ I say and take his hand in mine sealing the arrangement with a firm shake.

‘Nice to meet you, Kat.’

Chapter 3

We rehearse in a dance bar about a ten-minute walk away. The owner, Andrea, is a Spanish woman in her mid-forties who lets us use it for free. I suspect it’s for the view, but I like to think it’s because she’s my friend. I like Andrea a lot; she takes no nonsense from anyone.

When I get to Andrea’s bar my insides are twisted in all kinds of knots. In the heat of the moment when I’d invited that guy in for an audition, I wasn’t thinking. If he turns up and does a routine and he’s really bad, I’ll feel terrible for giving him false hope.

A cheerful hello breaks through my anxious thoughts.

‘Jay, you made it,’ I say, forcing a smile. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white tee and there’s a khaki bag slung over his shoulder. He’s got a certain Channing Tatum look going on – I can definitely picture those promo posters.

He shuffles awkwardly and points to the small dance floor area. ‘Should I just get straight to it?’

‘Yes please, then we’ll chat after. I have the music set up ready to go when you’re ready.’

He’s nervous, I can tell. I don’t think he’s done this before and I have butterflies on his behalf. Plenty of blokes think they can dance and look sexy simultaneously but it’s not as easy as it looks. Oh God, I’ve been here before with blokes who think they can but really can’t. As the music starts, I’m braced for something terrible.

He walks forwards bending his knees to the beat with each stride, tugging down on the hem of his T-shirt as he does. It’s not dancing but he’s got presence.

Then, he tears the T-shirt down the front exposing his smooth, tanned chest then throws the tattered tee to the ground. I almost gasp. I don’t know why; I watch the guys do this every night. I suppose I just wasn’t expecting it. Then he jumps down into a one-armed push up and turns it into a humping action, then he leaps in the air and does a backflip – all in time to the music. It definitely grabs my attention and I thought I was immune to all things hot-guy.

When he finishes, he picks up the tattered remains of his T-shirt and dabs the sheen from his forehead and neck before looking at me sheepishly.

‘That’s pretty much it,’ he says.

‘Have you danced like this before?’ I ask.

He shakes his head. ‘No, I did gymnastics as a kid and a bit of street dancing when I was a teenager but mostly, I just watched a load of YouTube videos this morning.’

I smile at his honesty. ‘Well, you pulled it off. You did well.’

He breathes a sigh of relief and his body visibly relaxes. ‘So, did I make the all-famous Heavenly Hunks?’

I ponder this. A few minutes ago I was certain he wasn’t right for us, but now I’m on the verge of sacking the guys and having him as a solo act. I have to be sure that it’s my brain and not my very distracted eyes that wants this guy. I’ve calculated the costs – we can afford him and it will give us a new edge. His brow is furrowed; I’m torturing him here. ‘How about a month’s trial to see how you get on?’

He smiles and I notice a clean, straight set of teeth and those dimples again. ‘Sounds good.’

‘Great, I’ll go over all the details with you, contracts and whatnot, and then you might as well stay on and rehearse. We’ll introduce you into the show tonight if you’re up for it?’

The rest of the Hunks start to pile in and Andrea breezes over in a multi-coloured, floor-length kaftan and hugs me. Her musky perfume envelops me as her long, wavy blonde hair tickles my face. ‘Kat, my dear, it’s so good to see you.’

‘You too, Andri.’

I turn to Jay. ‘If you want to stay for the rehearsal, we can try and squeeze you into a small part of the show in Playa de las Americas tonight if you like?’

‘I’d love to.’ He’s visibility excited.

‘Grab a drink and you can meet the guys,’ I say, and he walks over to a table where Andrea has placed some iced water.

‘So, a private show hey?’ she says, giving me a wink. ‘Does he do them for all the girls?’

‘It was an audition,’ I say drily. ‘I’m thinking about expanding the group and making the Heavenly Hunks even bigger and better than we already are.’

‘Well the more hot guys you want to bring into my bar, the better.’ She flashes me a grin. ‘I actually thought he might have been your date.’

‘What, in the middle of the afternoon to a bar that isn’t open yet? Give me some credit. Besides, you know I don’t date.’

She shrugs. ‘I thought perhaps you’d changed your mind – that’s all.’

I roll my eyes. ‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Noted. I’ll feel less guilty about ogling the new guy then.’ She grins.

‘You’re still married,’ I remind her, laughing.

‘And I’ve done nothing wrong.’ With that, she disappears.

‘Okay,’ I shout to the Hunks who are in the process of welcoming Jay. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

Chapter 4

On stage, each dancer is honed to perfection, but something about Jay catches my eye. Obviously, he had the full-body appraisal in his audition earlier, but to my shame, I’d taken little notice of his face other than a fleeting acknowledgement of his celebrity doppelgänger. His flawless tanned skin looks like caramel under the light and his jaw is chiselled to perfection. Even from a distance, you can see a depth in his eyes. As he dances, I’m drawn to him. I can’t tear my eyes away no matter how hard I try. There’s a tattoo, a quote of some sort, on his inner bicep that wraps itself around and emphasises his muscles. I wish I could read it.

He’s a bit older than the rest; maybe that is what’s making me feel so captivated. There’s a maturity in him that I don’t see in the others – like each fine line on his face tells a story of something deeper. It makes me feel weird. I don’t look at the dancers this way; it’s wrong. In the end, I convince myself that I’m watching in a professional capacity – I have to see how the new guy gets on and get a feel for the audience perception; nothing more.

The cameraman I’ve hired to get some new promotional shots of the Hunks stays behind to give me a flavour of what he’s captured. He’s taken reportage-style shots so they’re not posed. Instead, he’s captured the Hunks doing what they do best – showcasing their talents on stage whilst looking good. Ignoring the hideous photos of me (think shiny face and hair plastered to my head), I think we’ve got some great material. I’m excited about making the Hunks an even bigger name in the Canaries.

***

‘Jay!’ I exhale, loudly. ‘For fuck’s sake stop sneaking up on me in the early hours.’ After Jay’s first show, we’d gone for a drink not far from where we live to celebrate but now I’m ready for home.

‘Sorry, Kat, I didn’t mean to scare you. I found these in the dressing room and thought they might be important.’

I glance at the clear squidgy things in his hands and almost drop dead with embarrassment.

‘Thanks,’ I say, as heat floods my cheeks.

‘What even are they?’

I swallow hard and croak, ‘Chicken fillets.’

His brow furrows with confusion. Seriously, what person has never seen these before and why are my cheeks hot? The guys all know I wear these on stage.

‘You put them in your bra and they give you a bit of extra va-va-voom. It’s part of my stage persona.’

‘Ahh.’ He glances away and I think the awkwardness is over.

‘But why?’

Okay, the awkwardness is not over.

‘Just to give me a bit of shape while I’m on stage.’ I can’t believe I’m explaining gel breast enhancers to one of my employees whom I barely know. I look at the sky, wishing a giant meteorite would hurtle down from space and land on me.

‘Ahh.’ He nods. ‘Well, you don’t need them. You have a great figure.’

Seriously, a meteorite, please!

I swallow hard and it takes me a second or two to compose myself. In future, I’m booking a taxi to take me home after a show to avoid any more run-ins like this.

‘At least one of you is heading home,’ I say changing the subject. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Hugo left with a couple of older women, and Pauw went home with his partner, Phil. Ant was with Sammy drinking cocktails in the bar with an attractive brunette, and I haven’t seen Marcus since the hotel foyer.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Typical. So how come you’re heading home? It sounds like the night is just getting started for the others.’

‘I’m just obeying orders,’ he says, fluttering his eyelids in an attempt to look virtuous.

‘We’ve another gig tomorrow but I said you could go for one drink.’

‘I know. I just need my beauty sleep.’

‘Is that so?’ I give him a sideways look. This is the first glimpse I’ve had of his sense of humour and for some reason, it surprises me. What else do I need to know other than how his muscles make his T-shirt strain and how his intense brown eyes can cause a lower-abdominal stir in the back of a crowded auditorium?

‘Do you always go home alone?’ he asks.

‘That’s a bit personal.’

He laughs softly. ‘I don’t mean like that. I meant … don’t you mind wandering the streets by yourself at this hour?’

‘I’m used to it.’

‘I get it. It’s the twenty-first century, you’re a modern, independent woman who doesn’t need a chaperone—’ I cut him off with a warning glance and he holds his hands up in surrender. ‘All I’m saying is I might appreciate someone walking me home at night. That guy with the smoothie the other day was pretty dodgy-looking.’

Nice backtracking.

‘If you’re feeling vulnerable, I’d be happy to walk you home.’ I humour him even though he’ll be out until all hours having fun with the rest of them in no time at all, once he realises his soon to be acquired ‘minor celebrity status’.

‘You did well tonight,’ I say. He did too. I must admit I was on tenterhooks putting him up there after only one rehearsal. He only danced to one track – right at the end – but I was nervous as heck as he went on stage. I needn’t have worried: the crowd seemed to love him.

‘Thanks, Kat. When I saw all those screaming women, I was terrified going out there.’

‘Those YouTube videos have really paid off,’ I tease.

We walk in silence for a little while, and I ease into the feeling of having company on a walk I’m so used to doing alone. My ears still have a soft ringing in them from the loud music of the show, so it feels good to let them recover.

‘So, Kat, how come you’re not out hitting the bars and chatting up the fellas?’ Jay asks unexpectedly. Initially, I bristle, then relax. Somehow, his northern accent – he’s from Manchester, I think – makes him sound friendly and cheeky rather than too direct. Besides, he doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know this is a topic that’s not up for discussion.

‘I’m here to focus on the business. There isn’t time for much else, and I have my work cut out playing mum to the guys. Do you know I had to show some of them how to use a laundrette?’

Jay shakes his head and laughs softly.

‘I can’t really be doing with another man in my life,’ I say honestly.

Fair enough,’ he says.

‘So what brings you to Tenerife anyway? The world-class entertainment?’ I ask, glad to get the focus off me.

‘Nah, I’m just here for the career prospects.’

I look at him with a raised eyebrow.

‘To be honest, I’m here for a quiet life. I didn’t have all that much to stay in the UK for,