Rising like a phoenix to his full five foot eight inches, the trim new member rose to his feet and clasped his hands in front, standing at ease. Clear blue eyes, set in a cherubic face of smooth, pink skin, surveyed the room calmly. "Fellow members, I'm pleased to see that some of you appreciate forward thinking in this regard." Milo delivered a dark look, and Allen shifted uncomfortably. "The fact is, Ashton Hills has grown considerably in the last few years and the newly arrived," he gave a slight bow, "are younger couples with young families.

"My wife Felicity and I have only been here a few weeks ourselves, so I believe it stands to reason that the suggestions I've made would appeal more widely to that new demographic. We're not suggesting you abandon tradition completely, just... expand on the theme to include a younger population." He nodded around the table and retook his seat, standing again, immediately. "I'd just like to add that, we all," he nodded toward Peter, "look forward to meeting you on a more social basis, and learning about the community we share."

Susan Ho was next, and began immediately without waiting for Milo's instruction. "As I understand it, Gavin and Peter are lobbying for a broader, street celebration, something that will draw the newer members of the town together—"

"What they want is a bloody rock concert with all that blaring electric guitar and drum noise."

"That's your one, Daryl!" Milo cautioned.

"I'd like to propose a compromise." Susan jumped back in, waving a hand. "Let's have a parade, only it will be sort of like an opening night type thing."

"A what?" Several members.

"Like a red carpet sort of- you know, like they do for the movies." Chairs creaked and the faces around the table morphed from incredulous to threatening. "What I mean is," she hurried on, "we could have the special guests and town representatives arrive in- in horse-drawn carriages or something. Maybe in some kind of costume... and- and after the ceremony at the theatre, we could maybe have a small fireworks display around the pond." Her voice grew smaller in proportion to the growing silence. "Something contemporary enough for the younger crowd but traditional enough to please the rest of you... us."

Milo's gavel quickly silenced the threat of an outbreak when she finished. He silently considered her proposal, imagining the positive aspects of riding in a procession with other dignitaries, waving to throngs of adoring townspeople. "How exactly, do you envision this... cortège?" He asked, rolling the definition around in his mouth.

"Well I haven't- I mean, I just see a series of carriages drawing up to the theatre with the special guests... you know, walking up a red carpet to the entrance." Susan gestured, looking about for support.

"And who are these special guests?" Shelia queried.

"She interrupted." Daryl pointed an accusing finger.

"I interrupted the chair, not Susan." Shelia said calmly.

"It's still an inter—"

BANG! "Ignore him. Susan?"

"Well, I thought we could invite some of the artists who have performed here in the past, I know I can get Harold Muncie, and maybe those people from the Toronto Press that reviewed our play. And of course, Arthur Paisley and- and..." She bit her lip for a moment before blurting, "And if you recall our professional playwright... Nigel Stainway?"

"Huh?" Milo.

"Nigel Stainway is back in town. He's staying with his aunt."

"Who's Nigel Stainway?" Peter.

"That's another interup—"

Bang! "Be quiet, Daryl!" And he was—excluded from of the burst of arguing, defining, and general disorder that followed. Over it all, Amanda sat forward, waving her hand for attention.

Bang! Bang! Bang! "What is it, Amanda?"

"Uhm, permission to address the council, your- your... chair?"

"You may not address the council, you may address the chair." He said stiffly.

"Oh, thank you. Sorry, your chair."

"It's not, your chair, it's simply—"

"For Christ's sake, Braithwaite let 'er speak!" Allen tossed his pencil on the table and groaned into his hands.

"I just wanted to say that Susan is right. Nigel Stainway is responsible for probably the most successful production the Ashton Hills Playhouse has ever done... at least that I know of. I think it only fitting he should be included—and—he should also be invited to say some words at the ceremony." She sat back, leaning forward again quickly to acknowledge Milo. "Thank you, chair."

Susan's resounding 'Eeeeeew!' caused a simultaneous blanching of the members.

The discussion continued for another hour, ending with a familiar solution. Susan would head a select committee to approach Nigel about his participation, and develop a suitable list of names for inclusion in the motorcade—or carriage-cade, whichever the case was to be. The motion passed with tentative unity.

*****

Tiffany dropped the phone back on the cradle and let out a long, delicious chuckle.

"What was that about?" Daryl asked, lowering his paper.

"It's déjà vu all over again, darling." She waltzed to the bar and splashed gin into a tall glass. "Susan wants me for that little committee you approved at the meeting."

"That business about the parade?"

"Yep." She drained her glass and poured another, walking to the couch and settling herself grandly.

Daryl let the paper fall to his lap and asked, "Is Allen on it again, too?"

"I wouldn't know, darling, I was the first one she called."

"Do you think he'll be interested?"

"Difficult to say. Then again, he wasn't that keen last time either, but we did convince him."

"I'm talking about Nigel." Daryl snapped testily.

Tiffany showed a wide-eyed, innocent face. "But so am I darling, so am I."

*****

Nigel toweled off briskly and strode to the vanity, confronting his naked image after wiping the steam from the mirror. The time spent in Toronto, dining on fast food, with little exercise, had contributed to the beginning of a small tire about his middle, and he pinched it between his fingers, assessing the composition. Not really a tire, he thought objectively, more like a hoola hoop in thickness.

His hair was slightly longer, cut in casual shag around the ears and neck; and he thought of Darlene, wondering if she had approved... or even noticed. Truth be known, Darlene was one of the main reasons he had come back. He realized now how foolish his expectations had been. He sighed and began lathering his face for a shave. Give it up, old son, it wasn't meant to be.

"Who's this stranger in my kitchen?" Victoria accepted a peck on the cheek, smiling coyly as she stirred the sauce for their spaghetti dinner. She wore an apron with a nude female torso emblazoned on the front.

"Just me cleaned up." Nigel's face crimped when she turned to speak, the graphic a startling contrast to the real life wearer.

"But not invigorated." She began draining the spaghetti in the colander and plopping it on their plates. "Are you at least hungry?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Good," she said, ladling a heap of sauce over the pasta and gesturing for him to take one. "You had a call while you were in the shower." They walked together to the atrium and sat at the glass table.

"I did? Who?"

"An old friend. She'd like to come and see you when it's convenient."

Nigel paused, fork halfway to his mouth, the strands of pasta slithering off and back onto the plate with a wet smack. "Please, don't say it was—"

"Susan! Right." She squeezed a mischievous smile around a mouthful of food.

A literal drop of the jaw as the fork tumbled into the mound on his plate. She chewed merrily, watching the kaleidoscope of emotions play across his face, with amused interest. "I think there might just be another adventure in the offing, nephew."

"No!" he croaked, coughing to regain his voice. "No way, Victoria. I've had enough of your adventures to last a lifetime... and as for Susan..."

"And as for Susan," she echoed, tearing a hunk from the baguette and offering him some. "Try some, it's from the new bakery in town."

"No thanks... well, okay." He took the bread and dipped into his sauce. "And nothing for Susan." Victoria just smiled, twirling the strands onto her fork and sending tiny spatters across the top of the table. "I mean it, Victoria." He added sternly.

"Of course you do." Temperate. Agreeable. Not for a moment thinking it possible. "But a gentleman wouldn't ignore a lady's call."

He clenched his teeth and glared. "You're a conniving—"

"Aunt? That's what you were going to say wasn't it, Nigel?" She grinned, chomping into her bread and chewing mightily.