"So it's going to be a disco party, eh." Felicity wiped her hands on the rag and dropped her brush in the water, swishing it casually. "Sounds like you've got yourself mixed up with a bunch of latent high-schoolers."

"Braithwaite's wife apparently came up with the idea and that Susan broad went bonkers over it. Peter tells me they're even considering horses and carriages for this, red carpet thing."

"Are you riding in the parade?" The mention of Peter, stirring her curiosity.

"No bloody way. I'm stayin' out of as much of it as I can."

"But you'll have to attend the ceremony, right? You are a council member." Tapping the brush on the edge of the jar, she dried the bristles and stood it in her brush holder. "Am I expected to be there too?"

"Not sure, guess it depends on what this Nigel guy comes up with. He's supposed to be writing some kind of program."

"So, whatshername, Susan? She talked him into running this thing?"

"Yeah. Apparently they put on a play a few years ago that he wrote and directed. All the locals were in it, and from what they say, it got a pretty good reception. He's back visiting this aunt of his and I guess they decided to ring him in again."

Felicity made a few adjustments with her pallet knife, stepping back to check the result. "Well don't commit me to anything, lover, I want to finish this series and get it to the gallery. I'm on a tight deadline." Satisfied with what she saw, she cleaned the knife, capped the tubes of paint and draped a cover over her canvass. "So you're actually going to be the good little citizen and go to this affair."

"They came to me, Filly, what can I say." Gavin crossed his legs and smiled at his wife, hands bent outward. "They want to have a bit of a rehearsal- well not really a rehearsal, just a gathering of the principal members to assign duties, arrange seating, check the sound and lights, that sort of thing. Waste of time, I think." He stood up and tugged the straps of the gown up on his shoulders. "Can you help me get out of this now?"

She turned and headed up the stairs. "I can't. I've got stuff in the oven, remember? Oh, and we need milk."

"They'll be closed before I get dressed.

"Get the milk, Gavin." The 'voice' rang back from the upstairs hall.

*****

He steered the car into the lot in front of the convenience store and cut the engine. Inside he could see the proprietor and one customer, a thin looking guy with longish brown hair. He checked his watch, five to nine. Shit, he'll be closing any minute. Gavin pulled his fishing hat down and slipped on the dark glasses, taking a deep breath and climbing out of the car. It was the makeup. He only had time for a cursory scrub, and the lipstick was still showing faintly around his mouth.

Pinching his lips, he strode into the store, exaggerating his walk, and went to the cooler. The other customer was still at the counter talking to the proprietor when he returned.

"Hi, that all?"

"Uh, yeah," Gavin said, pitching his voice a little lower than normal, and tossing a bill on the counter.

"Must be brighter out than I thought." The man said, bagging the carton and handing Gavin his change.

"Huh? Oh. Sensitive eyes." He waved at the fluorescent lighting.

"You can have that corrected with special contacts you know." The other customer was looking at him with interest.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I'll look into that. Gotta go. Thanks." He scooted out the door to the safety of his car.

"Who was that?"

"Down boy," the owner laughed, "I think his name's Proctor. Lives up in that new subdivision, what is it... Gates of Wrath or some damn thing."

"Gates of Hearth. Proctor, you say. Hmmm, yummy."

"Outta here, Serge, it's closing time."

*****

Victoria had to sit down. Nigel's suggestion hit her like a fly ball out of the sun. When he'd returned from the theatre and asked if it would be all right to invite Susan for dinner one night, she became speechless, and had to sit down.

"You want to entertain Susan... here?"

"Let's not get all dramatic, Victoria. It's just a dinner. She wants to discuss something personal – something about Victor. Besides, you're the one that always telling me to- to... what was it you said last time I was here? Something about candy?"

"Not all candy has a soft centre. And you're casting yourself in the role of that candy for this discussion?"

"Look, if you'd rather not, I'll take her out to a restaurant or something." He slid off his jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

"No, I don't mind nephew, I don't mind at all. When do you want to do this?"

"Doesn't matter," he said casually, watching her from the corner of his eye. "Next week sometime, too much trouble?"

"Next week it is." She stood up and waddled to the kitchen, a huge grin splitting her face.

******

Amanda charged the net, driving the ball right at Ramon's feet, winning the game and the match. Complaining good naturedly, he met her at the net and they exchanged a brief kiss.

"No more lessons for you."

"I don't need them," she teased, "but your game could use some work." She squealed as he chased her from the court, swatting at her behind.

"You're gonna be late for old Milo again." He said, when they reached the bench, and gathered their gear, before following her to the clubhouse.

"Only forty minutes." Unconcerned.

"Forty minutes! Gee, you're asking a lot of me."

"Ha, ha. Not this morning, Ramon." Her look told him to give up the effort.

"What about tonight then?"

"I'll have to see. There may be a meeting of the committee." She pulled off her top and tennis skirt and grabbed a towel from the locker.

"Don't forget your shoes and undies," he said despondently, watching her traipse off to the shower.