He was exceedingly quiet as Lucinda led him back to the seat, beside his lover. 'I think he needs a large drink of something non-alcoholic! I'll go and get a glass of water!'

'Well! Lucinda's done something, that few others have achieved.' His lover had put her arm round him for comfort. 'You haven't said anything for at least a minute.'

'But ...' He couldn't say any more. Tears were rolling down his cheeks.

A minute later and Lucinda had now sat on the other side after handing him a tumbler full of fizzy water. 'Here! Drink this! It's only Perrier!' He took a small sip and shakily placed the glass back on the table. 'Don't worry! I told her this morning, when we decided to sort out your life for you! She knew exactly what I was going to do!'

'You don't mind!' He had turned towards the other woman.

'Not this time!' She kissed him and taking a tissue she dried the tears away from his face.

'You do mean that!' More tears erupted.

'Anyway, I think that there's a certain lady not that far from here, who's equally guilty. The trouble is, I more than quite like her and I have a lot to thank her for!'

***

The comedian had now returned after a brief interval. 'Did you all enjoy that?' The audience showed their appreciation, as the spotlight searched for and caught the programmer and the two women in its beam. 'I think I'd have fallen off, if someone had told me, I was going to be a father, whilst I was in that position.' The programmer stood, took a bow and the audience clapped. 'It's certainly not in the Kama Sutra! Feeling better now? You wait until the baby's born! You'll feel a lot worse!'

As the noise died down, he called for quiet, as the large brass gong was wheeled back onto the stage. 'As you know, Tuesday is our amateur night.' He looked all around for any possible would-be stars, as the spotlight searched. 'So before the main act tonight, is there anybody who would like to show us their talent.' Again he searched the audience. 'Or perhaps their lack of it!'

The first and only act was the worst comedian, that anybody had ever seen. He wasn't particularly rude and he really didn't offend anybody. It was just that he lacked any material, humour, style, timing or any sensible mode of delivery. His complete shambles of an act, lasted for only forty-five seconds before the cruel gong asked him to leave.

'Well! That's poor!' The comedian had now returned to try to drum up more victims. 'Last week we had six! Still they were as all as bad as he was!' He looked and the light followed his gaze towards Lucinda. 'Can you sing, Lucinda?' She shook her head vigorously. 'She can, you know! Lucinda's very talented. Trouble is she hasn't learnt to keep her legs together! I'll tell you what Lucinda, the baby'll hurt a lot more coming out, than it did going in!' The champagne cork she threw back, just missed its intended target.

But Lucinda knew someone or rather three who could sing, as it was one of the reasons she had employed them to smooth the deal in the first place. Slowly, Melanie rose and gathering the twins, she walked with them to the centre of the stage.

'Now! You girls look interesting!' They had all gathered around him. 'What do you do?'

The twins had started fiddling with his tie, pulling it up so that it made a noose. 'We have interesting ways of dealing with sexist comedians!' Slowly Melanie was stroking his hair the wrong way. 'Well! At least it's real. I can see a patch here, where it's stopped growing. Or is it that your head is getting a bit too big and you've split the wig!'

He pulled back. 'Do you do anything?' Melanie danced backwards and forwards, like the showgirl she once had been and could still be. 'So you dance?'

'And we all sing!' Melanie had taken a microphone. 'Could we have three microphones, please? With stands!'

The comedian called and the request was granted.

'How good is your band?'

'They're all right, if they haven't drunk too much!' The band blew him a raspberry. 'No! they're good!'

'Do they know all of those Supremes songs? How about Abba? All of those good sing-along tunes, eminently suitable for beautiful and sexy chanteuses like us!'

***

The three girls started with the old Abba song, Waterloo, following it with Baby Love. As they finished the old Supreme's song, Melanie waited for quiet and then spoke into the microphone. 'Do you want to hear any more?' A strong affirmative was returned. 'Do you want to see any more?' The reply was the same, so the three girls turned to the middle of the stage, bent forward and showed their names to all sides. Lucinda was pleased to see, that they were now all correct. 'And some more?' The audience was now going wild, as the girls threw their jackets to the side and starting on the old Phil Spector song, originally sung by the Crystals, Da Doo Ron Ron.

Four more songs and they were having difficulty finishing, as the cheering would not subside and shouts of 'More!' were becoming increasingly incessant. The comedian asked for the lights to be dimmed and taking three bottles of his best champagne, he strode between them and called for a bit of calm. 'How about this? I'll do a deal with you! We'll let them do one more song and then we'll have to let them go!' There was still a small amount of dissent. 'We've got a lot to see tonight and we're now running very late.' Someone called him a spoilsport.

'How about an encore of Da Doo Ron Ron?' Melanie was speaking. 'Does everybody know the words?' There was no doubting the response. 'Cue the music!'

There was probably never a version of the song done that way ever before. Within a few seconds of starting, the girls had shed their dresses and they belted out the song with an amazing gusto, a large amount of sexuality and not a small amount of humour and fun. After the audience had extracted a further chorus, they finally gave up exhausted and taking in all of the cheering and the kisses from the comedian, they returned to their seats.

***

The darkness was now almost complete in the club, only a single spotlight shining on the comedian, who had come to the centre of the stage to introduce the main attraction of the night. 'Well! This is it, folks!' Someone called for him to get on with it! 'Here they are, at great expense all the way from southern California, the performance artists, that have been a complete sensation, both in their exhibition in some posh gallery in Bond Street and in sleazy clubs and theatres like this one all over Britain! Can I have complete silence for The Coupled.'

Immediately the light extinguished and for perhaps twenty seconds there was no light at all in the club. Then a single spotlight shone to guide and lead the next performers from their high entrance through the tables of the auditorium and onto the circular stage.

A short, muscular man appeared and waved to the audience. He was not muscled like a typical strongman, a body-builder, or even an athlete, as he had more the build of the principal dancer of a great ballet company, with slim, strong and lithe limbs, and a hard, fit body with muscles that showed the benefit of many hours of the best care and development. His gleaming, tanned, oiled and apparently hairless body, was naked except for two gold rings in his nipples, a small leather pouch, chained around his loins to preserve decency and a matching hood that completely covered his head. His eyes peered from behind dark-lensed holes in the leather, whilst there appeared to be just the tiniest of holes so that he could breathe through his mouth.

Copyright 1999 by Ewart Higgins