The last of the paying audience filed into the remaining seats, and after a brief pause to let the chatter die down, Ross cued the stage light, and Nigel made his way to the lectern. Settling his notes and adjusting the microphone unnecessarily, he looked out at the audience, seeing only a few shadowy images in the front row; Carlos had the light a little high.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. My name is Nigel Stainway, and I have the honour of being your emcee this evening, to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Ashton Hills Playhouse Theatre." A polite round of applause accepted his introduction. "We are most fortunate this evening, to have with us a number of special people with whom the theatre has a very special history."

In the front row, Victoria sucked her teeth at Nigel's grammar, forgiving him only marginally for his nervousness. "Before introducing you to these ahh, special people," he heard his aunt moan aloud, "I uh, would like to tell you a bit about the Ashton Hills Playhouse..."

"Isn't he wonderful?" Susan eeeewed, watching from the wings.

"Everybody's dream, darling." Tiffany said, straining to see past her into the audience.

"What's happening?" Denise pushed at Tiffany from behind. She stepped back and huddled with the group.

"What are you gossiping about?" Susan said with a trace of annoyance. "You're missing Nigel's speech."

They looked at one another, shrugged, and then nodded agreement. "Uh, Susan..."

"Sssh. He's going to introduce Arthur Paisley."

"Susan, we have to tell you something."

Arthur was making his way to the stage as Susan turned and snapped at the women to be quiet. They huddled again, and then shoved Denise forward.

"Susan, it's about Galleria."

"For heaven's sake! What is it with you people and Galleria!" She turned quickly back, trying to hear what Arthur was saying.

Melaine touched her arm, whispering. "Milo is up next, and believe me, he has nothing to say that any of us are interested in. As soon as Arthur's finished, come with us for a few minutes, please?"

Exasperated, Susan gave a sharp nod, and stepped pointedly toward the edge of the curtains.

*****

Gavin sat rigid and mortified. On his left, Allen was leaning against him, one arm on the armrest, fingers dangling unacceptably close to the edge of his ridiculously short skirt. On the other side, even more shocking, Patty had slipped her arm through his and was muttering things he was too frightened to believe.

He imagined Felicity tied to a chair in their basement, while he shaved her head and painted her all over with her precious oils. Expanding on the image of the exquisite torture he would inflict was his only means of blocking out Allen's intrusive exploration, and the pressure against his false breast from Patty's arm. A few rows back, Carmela was patting Ivan's hand, promising under her breath that she would make up to him, her rather overzealous behaviour earlier in the shed.

Up in the projection booth, Carlos had his hands full, groping Arlene and at the same time, keeping her rapturous noises from overwhelming the speakers.

*****

The speeches went well, with each invited guest taking a turn at the microphone, making their particular contribution of praise and anecdotes. Only a few declined to speak, simply coming to the stage with a brief thanks and congratulations to Ashton Hills. Gavin was one of the latter, thankful to be free of his molesters, although Allen was already onstage saving him a place.

On his way to the stage, however, he drew the largest response from the crowd, mostly male, including a few wolf whistles as he mounted the steps with flashes of panty. The Toronto critics spoke last, à l'unisson, reminiscent of Sonny and Cher, and when they'd finished, Nigel beckoned Jean to wheel the lectern from the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our special guests." He waved his hand across the line of forty and backed away, initiating the applause, accompanied by a hidden piano rendition of Disney's, Looney Toons and Merry Melodies; a choice for which Ross would later be chastised.

Backstage, Susan sat slumped in a chair, head in hands, surrounded by her committee.

"What's up?" Nigel approached the group, still on a high from getting through the ceremony.

"The jig," Denise muttered.

"Oh Nigel, it's terrible." Susan leaped up and threw her arms about him.

"What? What's terrible? I thought I did a pretty good job." On stage, the forty were revelling in the applause, linking hands and bowing like a performance by the Rockettes.

"It's not you, darling," Tiffany said, breaking them apart, "come over here, and I'll tell you why she's upset."

Jean managed to lower the curtain without injuring any of the guests, and when the house lights came up, she hurried on stage calling for attention, thanking everyone for their support and announcing the fireworks display that would take place shortly, down by the pond.

"Where's Nigel? He should be up here sorting this mob out." She pushed her way through the backstage melee, smiling as hands grasped hers, backs slapped in camaraderie, and on one occasion, a pinch of her bottom by an unseen assailant. "Susan, you should be getting this mob organized." She stopped by the chair quickly realizing something was wrong. "Susan? What's the matter?"

She looked about furtively and pulled Jean down close. "Galleria's a man!" Awaiting her friend's shock, and receiving none, she went on, "It's Gavin! Gavin Proctor!"

Jean relaxed and straightened up. "I know. Isn't he something else?"

"You know!"

"Everyone does... well, almost everyone. Listen Susan, you've got to get this group sorted out, we can discuss Gavin later."

Nigel ran past, ignoring the two women, and grabbed the microphone, shouting for quiet. "Please, may I have your attention. Those who wish to attend the fireworks display may do so by returning to your coaches. Our drivers will take you to the park and from there you may proceed as you wish. May I thank you all again on behalf of the Ashton Hills Playhouse and community, for your support in this celebration. Mr. Ross Preston, our pianist," this spoken with a touch of rebuke, "will guide you all to our rear stage door. Thank you again, and enjoy a pleasant evening." He replaced the microphone and threaded his way through the crowd to where Gavin was fending off several male members of the party.

"Excuse me gentlemen. Ga- Galleria, may I see you, alone, for a moment?" Taking Gavin's arm, he guided him along behind the stage and down to the dressing rooms, pushing him inside and closing the door.

"Mr. Proctor, I presume." Gavin looked stricken. His skin paled as the blood drained from his face, and he stumbled back to lean on a wardrobe table. "Don't worry, I'm not here to make any trouble for you, I just want to know what the hell you thought you were doing."

"How- how did you guess?" He choked. Gavin looked ill.

Nigel studied him for a moment; he felt he could see actual fear, not the audacity he'd expected. "To your credit, and my amazement, I didn't. I was told."

"Felicity! That rotten bit—"

Nigel held up his hands. "Not your wife Gavin, the other women."

"Huh?"

"Apparently they've known ever since the meeting at your home." Suddenly he felt an odd sympathy for Gavin, who seemed to collapse internally, turning away and leaning on the table. The resultant view embarrassed Nigel, and he walked to the other side of the table, tapping his fingers on the top while he considered what to say. "If it's any consolation, none of the men knew at first. Actually, only Ross and I know now. You- your... disguise is- is really very..."

"Pathetic! It's goddamn pathetic!" Gavin stood and searched his purse for a tissue, the action so typically feminine that Nigel nearly stepped forward to comfort him. "I'm ruined." He followed the comment with a string of profane invective toward his wife that left him gasping for breath, sobbing out his story of Felicity's ultimatum, which she'd backed up with a series of Polaroids.

Nigel considered everything he had been told, and the germ of an idea began to grow; an idea that might just be the answer to Gavin's predicament. "Listen to me, Gavin. Finish out this evening as best you can, I'll help if possible, and then we'll get together with some of the others. I have an idea that might get you out of this, and benefit everyone else as well."

"Do you really mean that?"

"It's worth discussing."

"Oh God! Stainway, how can I ever thank you?" Gavin rushed him, and threw his arms about Nigel's neck. "I'll be forever in your debt, Nigel."

The cheek-to-cheek hug froze Susan in her tracks as she entered the dressing room.