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Music blared out, loud enough to be momentarily startling, and the performers swung into movement. I watched them for a minute or two in silence. They seemed to be making a better fist of it this time through. Balloch and I were alone in the stalls, the gorilla he had arrived with having remained with his band at the stage door. Everyone in the place seemed to be ignoring both of us, acting as we were invisible, or at least not worthy of attention. Certainly the artistic director still fussing on-stage paid us no regard whatsoever, and there was none from the assistant stage managers, scene shifters and other assorted hangers-on who could be seen in the wings, or moving about in other parts of the auditorium. On the other hand, nobody had challenged him, or me either. I concluded it was just standing orders: the Big Boss is a busy man, so carry on as if he wasn't there, unless he specifically called you, in which case your immediate and complete attention will be required. So I sat back, affecting a relaxed and curious manner, and once again playing the part of the wealthy potential investor with time and money on his hands. Balloch had been eyeing me curiously while I watched the antics on the stage. Now he chose to interrupt my reverie. "So you like our show, then?" "Well, it all seems like jolly good fun," I drawled, "But surely the dancers don't normally dress like that?" Balloch snorted with barely-suppressed amusement, but managed to turn it into a badly-disguised cough. "They certainly don't," he answered breezily, "But you don't need to take my word for it. Come and see the show this evening. Bring a friend." He dug into an inside pocket - I managed to suppress my instinctive reaction to people who unexpectedly pull things from inside pockets with barely a shudder - and pulled out some pieces of cardboard. "A couple of complementary tickets," he announced, in a tone which suggested that he was giving me the keys to the kingdom, "For the late show. It's very popular. You'll like it." I accepted the tickets graciously, making a show of inspecting them with the appropriate degree of attention. "So what is this investment opportunity, exactly?" I asked, trying to get the right mixture of curiosity and enthusiasm into my voice. I didn't really need to ask, of course. Even at the most cursory inspection, it was clear that, in the right hands, this theatre would be a real money-spinner. Bash out a half-dozen shows a year and change the content frequently, so that the punters would keep coming back for more. They would be shows full of jazzy sex-appeal, put on by performers with adequate technical skills and a minimal level of stage presence, but with luscious and perfect bodies. The kind of Goblin who would not flinch from displaying large fractions of that flesh, the remaining fractions being barely-concealed by tight-fitting costumes of intricate and flamboyant design, all feathers and sequins and iridescent colours. I could see that Balloch was about to launch into another bout of high-pressure sales spiel. But I was spared the burden, on this occasion, by a sudden commotion on-stage.
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Part 22