Daddy's plaything(26)

"Interesting," she said, "but I'm not sure I believe it. We've fucked lots of times during intermission and I don't think my shows have suffered, do you?"

Her father laughed. "Well, it's a theory anyway. Don't pay any attention to me. I'm just making conversation."

"You sure I look okay?" she asked.

"Ravishing," Victor said. "You will win them over and have, them screaming for more and more and more."

"I wonder how the crowd is?" she asked. It was Thursday and week-nights never drew the crowds weekends did. She was concerned about the head count. The maitre d' always took a count of lounge customers before and after each act. It was management's way of determining whether a particular act was drawing or not.

Sometimes, if the previous act was good, you inherited a good-sized audience. If the act was bad, you started with nothing. The idea was to keep or increase the large audiences and build the small audiences to room capacity. With the new raise Gil had obtained she was more anxious than ever for the head count to be favorable.

Acts that consistently lost people, eventually got the axe. Still, she knew that Gil could not possibly have gotten her a raise if the count had not been favorable – very favorable – many, many times.

"Don't worry," her father said. "I will personally count heads before you go on and afterwards. What do you think I do when I'm out front anyway? Masturbate?"

She laughed. "Frankly, I never noticed. Maybe you do. Maybe I'm so sexy you do. That would be a good one. The Alpine Hotel proudly presents Sherry Trent, The Sunbeams, and their masturbating business manager, Victor Redgrave!"

They both laughed and suddenly Sherry realized that she was slightly nervous. Probably because of Gil Turner getting the salary raise, she thought, puzzled. But then she became aware of a deep voice warming up in one of the dressing rooms. It had begun undetectably without her realizing it and then slowly crescendoed. Subconsciously she had heard it which had account for her nervousness. The voice rose in volume now, its timbre full and mellow as it went up and down scales. It was the same voice she and her father had heard in the woods earlier that day. It was Tony and she and Tony were obviously working the Alpine Lounge together on the same bill.

Without thinking, her hand went to her mouth in shock and she exchanged a meaningful glance with her father in the mirror. Just then a voice passed outside in the hall calling, "Tony Agnello! Mr. Tony Agnello!"

The singer stopped. "Yes," Tony said, opening his dressing room door.

"There's some girl wants to talk to you on the telephone."

"Tell her I'm busy," he said, and closed the door.

The singing started again.

"Now I'm worried about more than head counts in the lounge," Victor Redgrave said.

Sherry pretended she had not heard the singing or the voice in the hall. "What, Daddy? What did you say?"

"Don't play games with me," he said brusquely. "You're my daughter, remember? I've known you for quite some time now – intimately. I saw the way you acted this afternoon at the sight of that stud's cock. I wasn't totally surprised. I've been expecting something to happen for some time now. After all, you are getting older and you are normal."

"Please, Daddy. Don't talk to me this way."

"I will talk to you this way. Remember what I told you about ever letting me catch you with another man, especially this Tony Agnello! I'm going upstairs now and look around. You can stay and listen to his lovely voice as long as that's all you do. See you at the first show."

Victor Redgrave left then, closing the door quietly behind him.





CHAPTER SIX




Sherry primped for a few minutes longer, then went upstairs to pass the time before her act began. She did not see her father anywhere and so she ambled toward the lounge stage to watch the act which preceded here. There stood Tony Agnello, his arms outstretched, singing The Night Was Made For Love. He wore a bright orange peasant-type shirt, with the arms full and open down the front to expose his hairy, masculine chest. His tight-fitting, bell-bottom trousers a gray shiny material. He held the audience absolutely enthralled, particularly the women. Sherry wondered why she had never heard of him before. His voice was just as magnificent as it had been that afternoon in the woods. She felt a tingle of desire run through her entire body as she recalled the sexual scene she had witnessed ad listened to him now.

Finally, she went around the stage door and entered to watch and listen even closer.

"Good evening, Miss Trent," the stage manager greeted as she entered.

"Good evening, Sid," she said and stood in the wings watching. Tony's act featured Tony exclusively, but nobody seemed to mind. Accompanied by five musicians, he sang popular torch songs, usually of a semi-classical nature, and all the standard Italian songs. He was a better in the Mario Lanza tradition and the crowd gave him loud ovations after each song. Listening to his trained voice, Sherry suddenly felt that her own voice was nothing but a highly stylized bag of tricks. Where she relied on gimmicks of presentation and cute little chirpings, here was a singer of great power and depth. He was not without stage presence though. Great emotion contorted his features as he sang and he smiled broadly, showing his dimples and perfect white teeth, or looked forlorn, as the mood of the song dictated.