"How come old Nigel isn't joining us?" Tiffany licked a smear of Bavarian cream from her fingers.

"He's busy writing a speech for the ceremony after the parade." Susan gave her a scolding look for deliberately choosing such a rich treat after her earlier complaint. "I'm having dinner at Victoria's tonight so I'll bring him up to speed then."

"I just bet you will." Tiffany smirked, dabbing her lips with a napkin.

"Let's just stick to why we're here, ladies," Melaine said, "I've got some other things I need to do."

Agreeing, Susan brought out her note pad and started going over her list. All but three of their invitations were answered; those declining felt that it was too far to travel. She went down her list, reading off names and checking boxes, while Melaine and Tiffany listened half-heartedly. Melaine reported on her visit to the bank with the budget estimate.

Tiffany said she was still trying to get Allen to be more active, a statement that drew long-suffering sighs from the others. Lunch dishes were piled on the edge of the table, awaiting removal and attracting some flies, and Tiffany was busy flapping her napkin with unerring aim.

True to her promise, Melaine wangled Milo a seat in the first carriage along with Everet Polasky, mayor of Ashton Hills at the time of the theatre's inauguration, Arthur Paisley, because of his philanthropic support of the town, and Victoria Moss, one of the first, resident stars, to appear at the playhouse.

The balance of the carriages would carry an assortment of past performers, original settlers of the area, a few of the leading business people and the two critics from the Toronto Press.

"Where the hell is Rick? This place is like a goddamn tsetse, farm."

"I wouldn't mind another drink," Melaine added.

Susan looked at them with exasperation, dropped her pen and got up, striding into the restaurant. A minute later, Rick hurried out with Susan on his heels.

"Sorry ladies. Busier than blazes in there." He scooped up the dishes, took their drink orders and scurried away.

"Can we do this now?" Susan complained, starting over. They put their heads together and began refining the list, juggling people around and suggesting alternates for the two school kids who begged off, having to go to cottages with their parents. The theatre critics would be paired with Harold Muncie and another, elderly woman, a Geena Sparks, who had appeared in one of the earlier productions at the playhouse.

"I've spoken to Antonio, and he agreed to let us assemble in his parking lot for the start, and Henry says we can use one of the viewing rooms for makeup and changing."

"What a revolting thought." Tiffany pulled a face and glanced away, watching the taxi pull up in front of the playhouse.

******

"That was a lovely lunch," Patty said, as they all left, waving to a harried, but tickled looking Felicity, "even if it did seem a little rushed. That Galleria is certainly and odd woman, don't you think?" she asked. "She seemed so nervous whenever we spoke to her."

"Felicity certainly made it clear that she wasn't interested in our committee. I suppose her painting does limit her time though." Ellen said. The trio chatted as they walked Patty down to her house.

"She's quite pretty though, I thought," Patty mused, "but she does have some strange mannerisms."

Not as strange as you might think, Denise thought, keeping her own council; then reconsidering, voiced her suspicions to her companions. Patty was speechless at the revelation. How could this woman say such a thing? She didn't even know Gavin, really. She recalled Denise's comments at Arthur Paisley's, and a niggle of uncertainty slipped past her shock.

"I don't believe that," she finally said, her statement sounding more like a question.

"Stranger things are happening all the time." Ellen looked away, abstractedly.

"Well," Patty blushed under Denise's calculating stare, "I'd better be getting in. This- this is going to take some... consideration." They pecked one another goodbye and watched Patty hurry into her home. Denise gave the house a critical stare as she and Ellen drove off with a toot of the horn.

*****

Donald accepted his messages from the worried looking receptionist with a puzzled smile, thanking her for staying late, and seeing her safely out to her car. Back in his office, he sorted through the slips, pausing to reread one from Dr. Winston, regarding a checkup and some tests.

"What the hell?" He knew it was from Grace, but he didn't understand what tests and a checkup had to do with him. Suddenly a frightening thought formed in his mind, and he dropped the message as though it were on fire.

"Oh shit! Oh, no!" He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and tried to remember the last time they were together. Friday? Last Wednesday? A month ago? He couldn't remember. The telephone sat ominously by his elbow, and he hesitated a few times before lifting the receiver and dialing Grace Winston's number.

"Dr. Winston."

"Grace?"

"Yes, oh, Donald. You're back." At last! She'd wasted the day sunning herself to jelly and reading nearly every magazine in the house.

"Yeah. Listen Grace, what's this about tests and- and..."

A soft chuckle. "Well, it's been a while, and I thought you needed a good going over."

"Huh?"

"Donald, are you all right?"

"Aah geez, I don't know... Grace are you- are you... these tests, you're not pregnant or anything, are you?"

The idea took her breath away, and she stared at the mouthpiece in bewildered surprise.

"Grace? Are you?" So Donald thought the message was about her being pregnant. She covered her mouth and laughed silently, suddenly seeing a huge opportunity in his distress.

"Let's not discuss this on the phone, Donald. I'll come over to your office." She waited a beat. "Be there in a few minutes."

"Grace, wait! I can't—" Dial tone.

Grace pulled her car up onto the lot and stepped out, locking the door. Banks of bright lights lit the rows of gleaming cars resting quietly beneath the strings of gaudy sale banners. The showroom was unlit; a phalanx of black glass covered in hand-painted, outrageous slogans, promoting the array of available automobiles. Donald was waving frantically from the open door, his eyes darting up and down the street.

"Hurry, c'mon!" He grabbed her arm as she neared the door and pulled her inside, hustling past the display models to his office.

"Why all the panic?" She asked calmly, setting her purse on the desk and leaning against it.

"Why! Jesus, Grace," he stared at her stomach, "you leave me these messages about tests and- and... then you won't talk on the phone." He stood, sputtering, arms out at his sides.

"Why are you so upset?" She forced a straight face.

"WHY? Grace, for Christ's sake tell me, are you pregnant?"

This was so much fun. "Relax, Donald, I'm not pregnant."

"Oh! Oh..." He slumped and turned a lazy circle, hands locked over his head. "Oh, thank god..." He stopped suddenly. "Then- then what is it?" Grace made a small moue and looked away. "Oh shit! Oh, God, no! It's not- I haven't got some- I didn't contract—"

She stifled a smile and went over to him. "Baby, baby. Relax, a quick simple test and we'll know for sure."

"Oh my God. Ooohhhh-h-h-h..." He walked around her and sagged onto his desk, head down, fingers hanging limply in his lap.

"I have everything we need," she said, going to her purse, "just take down your pants, and relax. It'll only take a sec."

Beaten, he morosely undid his belt and zipper, and dropped his pants to the floor.

"Shorts too." She said, standing in front of him, hands behind her back.

Glumly, Donald pushed down his shorts and sat back on the desk, eyes squinched shut against the devastating prospects. Smiling now, Grace reached down and took him in her hand, giggling as he shuddered, manipulating him and deftly rolling on a condom.

Gavin's eyes flew open and he looked down. "What the—"

"Check up's over baby, "she cooed, hoisting her skirt and settling herself between his legs, "time for the test."

"Grace! Jesus, what- ooh.... Oooooh. OooOOH!"

"You passed, Donald! You passed!"

The Ashton Hills Patrol Car slowed as it cruised by the car lot, the officer on the passenger side lifting his chin toward the glow of light coming from the office at the rear.

"No wonder that Gregg is so successful. Days are never long enough when you're makin' money, I guess."

"Yeah well, if you want it, you gotta put everything into it." His partner said, sagely. The car sped up and headed down the highway to Pete's Donut Heaven.