Post by DavidMc on Sept 6, 2007 15:37:27 GMT -6
For A Few Euros More.
Morris stared into the mirror and straightened his bow tie.
“How do I look then?” he swung around to face Ivan who was busy pulling on a black wig.
“Like Frankenstein in drag.”
“well at least I’ve still got all my own hair, which is more than can be said of some people.”
The dressing room door swung open and a ferret like face appeared. “you’re on in ten minutes.” And as quickly disappeared again. Morris suddenly felt apprehensive. Taking up a cabaret career at the age of 67 was a daunting task.
“You’re doing WHAT!” That had been his wife’s reaction when he’d announced his new career a week ago. “Cabaret! But you can’t sing a bloody note Morris. Your tone deaf!”
Nagging and excuses. That’s all he ever got from Jean. She was so flaming negative, but someone had to make an effort. Their pension was being eaten away by inflation and a bad exchange rate. No there could be no more beating about the bush. He had to go out and earn some money.
“look Jean, it’s a piece of cake, everybody’s doing it along the coast, I’ve been talking to Ivan and we’re both of the same mind, We’re forming a duo.. and he knows this fella Bob who can set us up with some gigs.”
Jean however refused to be impressed.
“Bloody hell! Now I’ve heard everything. Why can’t you set up as an estate agent like everybody else around here?”
“That’s the trouble with Women. No imagination” had been Ivan’s take on the matter. Of course it was alright for him to say that, he was a widower and no longer had to run the daily gauntlet.
Anyway, now here they both were, minutes away from their debut. They’d dubbed themselves ‘The Luxury Twins’ and Morris’ chest had swollen with pride at seeing their poster outside the restaurant. Actually the place was a bit of a dive, but they had to start somewhere. Apparently the restaurant “La Tartanita” was owned by a Russian syndicate.
“But it’s perfectly respectable” their new agent Bob, had added hastily. A little too hastily Morris had thought at the time.
Morris was fidgety, he was anxious to get the show on the road so to speak. He turned to Ivan who was struggling with an eyebrow pencil. He shot his partner a quizzical look, he wondered about Ivan sometimes.
“Have you got the tape machine set up okay” They intended singing their set to a backing track Ivan had painstakingly recorded with the help of his grandson.
“Stop worrying Morris, you’re like an old Woman, everything will go like clockwork.”
“Just as long as the bloody thing doesn’t explode in our faces!”
Strains of music could be heard from beyond their dressing room door. Actually it was more like a glorified broom cupboard then a dressing room.
“Well that’s our cue” said Ivan rising to his full height of five foot five “destiny beckons.”
They both left the dressing room and entered the dimly lit restaurant. There was a compère of sorts dressed in a crumpled tux and who had clearly been drinking too much. He slurred into the microphone….
“I’d like you all to give a big Torre Blanco welcome to the LUXURY TWINS!!! Lets hear it for the LUXURY TWINS!!!!!!” He sounded more like a boxing promoter than a cabaret compère.
There was a smattering of lukewarm applause from around the half filled room. The ‘Luxury twins’ took a position in the middle of the floor and Morris spoke nervously into the microphone.
“Thank you all for that wonderful welcome. We’d like to start off our set with an old Elvis number… ‘The wonder of you’…”
Ivan had just got through the first ‘Whooahao’ when the sound of gunshot rang out….
Later, they would both bemoan their lack of awareness. There had been a strange atmosphere in the place from the moment they entered. Too many gentleman in stiff black suits and sunglasses. Too many ladies who looked like. Well, who looked like professional ladies. And as Ivan had retorted at the time “too many bloody Russian accents for my liking.”
These small signals had passed them both by, engrossed as they were in their impending debut. Still we live and learn. When that first bullet ricochet off the wall - as they say in the movies - ‘all hell broke loose’ The ‘professional ladies’ lost their poise and ran screaming for the exits, and Morris found himself pinned to the floor by seventeen stone of Ivan.
“Get off me you fat bugger, I can’t breathe.”
“I think I’ve been wounded “ wheezed Ivan “I think I’ve been shot in the arse.” Around them it was like the fourth of July as the gunfire echoed around the restaurant.
Little known to to the ‘luxury twins’ they had walked right into the middle of a turf war between two rival Russian syndicates. A hangover from Moscow days and scores were now being settled in a warmer clime.
Finally Ivan rolled off his partner and Morris was able to breathe again. Almost immediately he was hauled to his feet by a large gentlemen wearing a black suit and sunglasses.
“Come viv me, I think it is not safe for you.” Apart from being a master of understatement the gentlemen had a grip like iron and the thought occurred to Morris that if he wasn’t shot to death he would surely be squeezed to death. But as he was in no position to resist he let himself be lifted and hustled out of the nearest fire exit and into a narrow passageway behind the Restaurant. Morris found him self joined a few minutes by the limping figure of Ivan.
“Bloody hell Morris this is a nightmare!”
“Well at least we’re both still alive, let’s get out of here.”
Linking arms they stumbled towards the main road to the accompyment of wailing police sirens. In all the confusion Morris had completely forgotten that his wife Jean and a group of their friends had hired a mini-bus in order to attend Morris and Ivan’s big night. And just as the ‘luxury twins’ were climbing into the back of a taxi, Jean and company were entering the front door of the Restaurant….
Morris and Ivan were sixty yards from their urbanisation when Morris’ mobile rang.
“Where the bloody hell are you Morris? I’m going to murder you!”
Morris gulped heavily before answering “I’m sorry love I.. er completely forgot there was some bother er and er…”
“Never mind all that… come and get me out. I’m at the flaming police station… Me and the girls have been arrested, the stupid buggers think we’re on the game.”
Three hours later after much explanation, contrition and humble pie eating They all gatherer in Morris’ front room to review the damage. Ivan’s injuries were entirely superficial – his left buttock had been grazed by a stray bullet – and apart from a few aches and pains Morris had escaped unmolested. At least from the Russians, Jean on the other hand had meted out several painful swipes of her handbag.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Me on the game?” Jean’s pride had been sorely dented “I’ll never be able to show my face again on Wallsend high street”
Ivan was about to open his mouth, but thought better of it, and instead switched on the Television set. Immediately they were all transfixed as images of “La Tartanita” filled the screen. Men were shown being led away in handcuffs, and although the commentary was in Spanish which none of them understood they all felt the tension of the event.
“Well at least this puts an end to your Cabaret nonsense Morris,” jean said finally as the news came to an end. “ you can go back to doing your crosswords from now on.”
Morris and Ivan glanced at each other. Agent Bob had already been on the phone, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm.
“This is a publicists dream come true fellas, your going to be legends all along the Coast…. You’ll have bookings from now until eternity.” And as an afterthought added “And lets change the name hey? How about “The gunslingers!”
“The Gunslingers!” Yes it had a certain something Morris thought. But he would keep it from Jean for now. They’d all had enough excitement for one day.
David McConville 2004
Morris stared into the mirror and straightened his bow tie.
“How do I look then?” he swung around to face Ivan who was busy pulling on a black wig.
“Like Frankenstein in drag.”
“well at least I’ve still got all my own hair, which is more than can be said of some people.”
The dressing room door swung open and a ferret like face appeared. “you’re on in ten minutes.” And as quickly disappeared again. Morris suddenly felt apprehensive. Taking up a cabaret career at the age of 67 was a daunting task.
“You’re doing WHAT!” That had been his wife’s reaction when he’d announced his new career a week ago. “Cabaret! But you can’t sing a bloody note Morris. Your tone deaf!”
Nagging and excuses. That’s all he ever got from Jean. She was so flaming negative, but someone had to make an effort. Their pension was being eaten away by inflation and a bad exchange rate. No there could be no more beating about the bush. He had to go out and earn some money.
“look Jean, it’s a piece of cake, everybody’s doing it along the coast, I’ve been talking to Ivan and we’re both of the same mind, We’re forming a duo.. and he knows this fella Bob who can set us up with some gigs.”
Jean however refused to be impressed.
“Bloody hell! Now I’ve heard everything. Why can’t you set up as an estate agent like everybody else around here?”
“That’s the trouble with Women. No imagination” had been Ivan’s take on the matter. Of course it was alright for him to say that, he was a widower and no longer had to run the daily gauntlet.
Anyway, now here they both were, minutes away from their debut. They’d dubbed themselves ‘The Luxury Twins’ and Morris’ chest had swollen with pride at seeing their poster outside the restaurant. Actually the place was a bit of a dive, but they had to start somewhere. Apparently the restaurant “La Tartanita” was owned by a Russian syndicate.
“But it’s perfectly respectable” their new agent Bob, had added hastily. A little too hastily Morris had thought at the time.
Morris was fidgety, he was anxious to get the show on the road so to speak. He turned to Ivan who was struggling with an eyebrow pencil. He shot his partner a quizzical look, he wondered about Ivan sometimes.
“Have you got the tape machine set up okay” They intended singing their set to a backing track Ivan had painstakingly recorded with the help of his grandson.
“Stop worrying Morris, you’re like an old Woman, everything will go like clockwork.”
“Just as long as the bloody thing doesn’t explode in our faces!”
Strains of music could be heard from beyond their dressing room door. Actually it was more like a glorified broom cupboard then a dressing room.
“Well that’s our cue” said Ivan rising to his full height of five foot five “destiny beckons.”
They both left the dressing room and entered the dimly lit restaurant. There was a compère of sorts dressed in a crumpled tux and who had clearly been drinking too much. He slurred into the microphone….
“I’d like you all to give a big Torre Blanco welcome to the LUXURY TWINS!!! Lets hear it for the LUXURY TWINS!!!!!!” He sounded more like a boxing promoter than a cabaret compère.
There was a smattering of lukewarm applause from around the half filled room. The ‘Luxury twins’ took a position in the middle of the floor and Morris spoke nervously into the microphone.
“Thank you all for that wonderful welcome. We’d like to start off our set with an old Elvis number… ‘The wonder of you’…”
Ivan had just got through the first ‘Whooahao’ when the sound of gunshot rang out….
Later, they would both bemoan their lack of awareness. There had been a strange atmosphere in the place from the moment they entered. Too many gentleman in stiff black suits and sunglasses. Too many ladies who looked like. Well, who looked like professional ladies. And as Ivan had retorted at the time “too many bloody Russian accents for my liking.”
These small signals had passed them both by, engrossed as they were in their impending debut. Still we live and learn. When that first bullet ricochet off the wall - as they say in the movies - ‘all hell broke loose’ The ‘professional ladies’ lost their poise and ran screaming for the exits, and Morris found himself pinned to the floor by seventeen stone of Ivan.
“Get off me you fat bugger, I can’t breathe.”
“I think I’ve been wounded “ wheezed Ivan “I think I’ve been shot in the arse.” Around them it was like the fourth of July as the gunfire echoed around the restaurant.
Little known to to the ‘luxury twins’ they had walked right into the middle of a turf war between two rival Russian syndicates. A hangover from Moscow days and scores were now being settled in a warmer clime.
Finally Ivan rolled off his partner and Morris was able to breathe again. Almost immediately he was hauled to his feet by a large gentlemen wearing a black suit and sunglasses.
“Come viv me, I think it is not safe for you.” Apart from being a master of understatement the gentlemen had a grip like iron and the thought occurred to Morris that if he wasn’t shot to death he would surely be squeezed to death. But as he was in no position to resist he let himself be lifted and hustled out of the nearest fire exit and into a narrow passageway behind the Restaurant. Morris found him self joined a few minutes by the limping figure of Ivan.
“Bloody hell Morris this is a nightmare!”
“Well at least we’re both still alive, let’s get out of here.”
Linking arms they stumbled towards the main road to the accompyment of wailing police sirens. In all the confusion Morris had completely forgotten that his wife Jean and a group of their friends had hired a mini-bus in order to attend Morris and Ivan’s big night. And just as the ‘luxury twins’ were climbing into the back of a taxi, Jean and company were entering the front door of the Restaurant….
Morris and Ivan were sixty yards from their urbanisation when Morris’ mobile rang.
“Where the bloody hell are you Morris? I’m going to murder you!”
Morris gulped heavily before answering “I’m sorry love I.. er completely forgot there was some bother er and er…”
“Never mind all that… come and get me out. I’m at the flaming police station… Me and the girls have been arrested, the stupid buggers think we’re on the game.”
Three hours later after much explanation, contrition and humble pie eating They all gatherer in Morris’ front room to review the damage. Ivan’s injuries were entirely superficial – his left buttock had been grazed by a stray bullet – and apart from a few aches and pains Morris had escaped unmolested. At least from the Russians, Jean on the other hand had meted out several painful swipes of her handbag.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in my life. Me on the game?” Jean’s pride had been sorely dented “I’ll never be able to show my face again on Wallsend high street”
Ivan was about to open his mouth, but thought better of it, and instead switched on the Television set. Immediately they were all transfixed as images of “La Tartanita” filled the screen. Men were shown being led away in handcuffs, and although the commentary was in Spanish which none of them understood they all felt the tension of the event.
“Well at least this puts an end to your Cabaret nonsense Morris,” jean said finally as the news came to an end. “ you can go back to doing your crosswords from now on.”
Morris and Ivan glanced at each other. Agent Bob had already been on the phone, hardly able to contain his enthusiasm.
“This is a publicists dream come true fellas, your going to be legends all along the Coast…. You’ll have bookings from now until eternity.” And as an afterthought added “And lets change the name hey? How about “The gunslingers!”
“The Gunslingers!” Yes it had a certain something Morris thought. But he would keep it from Jean for now. They’d all had enough excitement for one day.
David McConville 2004
