At the corner of the street, the rain began sprinkling down and Nigel picked up his pace, cutting across the lawn of the corner house and waving cheerily to the angry wrapping on the living room window. Waiting in a circle of dry cement beneath an overhanging tree, he popped the umbrella and dashed across the road behind a passing car, angling his steps to the intersection at Main Street. A sudden flash of light, followed by a thunderous clap, sent him darting into a doorway as the rain began pounding down in finger-sized drops. Pedestrians scurried for the closest shelter, dodging and skipping the quickly forming puddles of splattering rain. He pulled back against the shop window, holding the umbrella like a shield, suddenly aware of a tapping on the glass behind him. It was Darlene, beckoning him inside out of the storm.

"Ya'll got yourself trapped in one of our summer showers, I see." Her smile was friendly and warm as she opened the door for him.

"Yes, I thought I could get to the theatre before it started coming down." He shook the umbrella out the door and leaned it against the front counter. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Just returning your courtesy from the other night." She said.

"Well I'm grateful." He wiped a damp hand through his hair. "So, is this where you work? What was it- the Fawn Do?"

"That's it," she was still smiling brightly. "Could I interest you in some of our services? A hair styling? A manicure?"

Nigel laughed, looking around at some of the clients, plugged into huge, hive shaped domes, buffing nails and reading magazines. "Have I fallen into some kind of snare by accepting your courtesy?"

She put a fist under her chin and paced back and forth in front of him. "A slight trim wouldn't be out of line."

His eyes sought the closest mirror and he twisted his head about, surprised at how much his hair had grown since leaving England. "Is it that bad?"

"Give me ten minutes and I think I can save it," she took his arm and urged him toward one of the chairs.

"Uh, I don't really have the time–"

"Ten minutes Nigel, I promise." Darlene helped him take a seat and whipped a sheet around him, fastening it snuggly about his neck.

Within two minutes, Nigel's eyes were closed and he was luxuriating in the sensual massage of her strong fingers.

"I must say," his voice sounded guttural, "you don't get this where I come from."

"It's a styling conditioner." Her fingers did small circles on his temples and he moaned softly.

Within the promised ten minutes, Darlene had swept the cloth away, whisked his shoulders and was holding a mirror up to the back of his head.

"Well?"

"I'm impressed. Very impressed, it doesn't even look freshly cut."

She giggled, resting a soft hand on his shoulder. "That's the whole idea with men, Nigel. You don't want to walk around with whitewalls do you?"

"Whitewalls?"

"You know," she mimed a clipping action around the top of his ear.

"Oh! Yes- no, that's exactly what we get back home."

"So, are you pleased?"

"Exceptionally. Now what do I owe you." He got out of the chair and reached into his pocket.

"How about a coffee sometime... together."

"Oh no, I can't- I mean, a coffee sure, but I must pay–"

"A coffee will cover it nicely, Nigel. Honestly." She spoke softly and tenderly, pushing his hand with the money back and down.

"Well I can be stubborn too, Darlene. I insist on dinner with the coffee."

Her dark eyes softened, and a crescent of pink bloomed on her caramel-coloured cheeks. "How can a girl refuse such a powerful inducement?"

*****

"So what's he like?"

"Oh, he seems very nice... polite." Susan kept her eyes on the clipboard on her lap.

"And did he give you any hints about what he was going to write?" Tiffany, disdaining the leather couch with the ugly looking stain on the carpet in front of it for something more manageable, sat comfortably in an upholstered lawn chair, hastily provided by their host.

"No, but I'm sure he understood what we were interested in at our luncheon meeting. Too bad neither of you could make it."

Allen shot her a worried look, searching for suspicious signs.

"Ah, yes. Well, time is just eaten up so fast..." Tiffany grinned at Allen's pained expression pretending to study some papers.

Nigel entered Hardware Heaven and following the directions of one of the clerks, made his way past the aisles of fishing gear to the office at the rear of the store. Squaring his shoulders, he rapped on the door and stepped inside.

"Hail the princely scribe!" Tiffany declared, rising and strutting on her high-heeled sandals to greet him. "Tiffany Osborne, Mr. Stainway, I chair the playhouse committee, and this is Allen Gregorio, owner of this heavenly hardware store. Susan, of course you know." The two men clasped hands beneath Tiffany's bosom, which remained prominently between them, as she studied Nigel carefully.

"Pleasure, Allen."

"Likewise. Grab a seat." He quickly returned to his desk as Nigel cast about the room, spying the huge leather couch as the only available space.

He looked to Susan, questioningly. "I uh, thought you chaired this committee."

"The search committee, I do. I brought you to the attention of the council, and they asked me to uhm... well, who chairs what isn't important anyway. We're excited to see you- what you've brought us, Nigel," Susan bumbled, watching him sink into the cushions, below her line of vision.

"Yes," Tiffany grunted, dragging her chair closer to the group, "Susan has painted quite an impressive picture of your talents."

Nigel groaned inwardly, directing his attention to Allen. "I'm uh, certain her remarks reflect her own expectations... I mean- I- she's being diplomatic..."

"So let's see this masterpiece."

"Uhh, masterpiece," Nigel snorted nervously, "I trust Susan explained that this would be just a skeleton outline... a direction we might possibly pursue." His eyes trailed over to Susan, who was leaning toward him, squirming on her chair. "I uhh, I made a copy for each of you." He fumbled the pages apart and handed each of them a set. "Perhaps we could give it a read and then uhmm, maybe brainstorm a little."

"I like brainstorming." Tiffany said, putting on a pair of pale green reading glasses.

During the silence of the reading, coffee was served by a pimply-faced youth with bowl-cut hair. Obviously not a client of Fawn Do. Nigel peered between his knees, awkwardly adding cream and sugar from the tray, held by the bored looking youth.

"I hope I don't contribute to this nasty stain," Nigel said, trying to sit up.

"Don't worry about it," Allen barked.

"That's a shame, looks like it might have been red wine or–"

"Forget the stain!" Testily he flapped his script, glaring at Tiffany. "How does this play about a play business work? I don't think I get it." Allen said, to the portion of Nigel visible over the arm of the couch. "I think it's a marvelous idea!" Susan bubbled, flashing her dark eyes at Nigel.

"Yeah, maybe. But I still need some clarification from- from him."

"Nigel."

"Right. Nigel."

"Well." He tried sitting up, and failing, let himself sink back to where his only view was of both women's legs, "Uuuh, I- uh, what I envision, is a play with three acts. First act, behind the scenes preparation; the assigning of roles, the uhm, designing of sets, etcetera. That sort of thing. Second act, the interplay between characters as the play develops through rehearsal. Uhhm, the humour and drama of conflicting egos. Actually, this is where I envision the bulk of the requested humour- through the dynamic interplay of the cast. The final act will be a taste of the actual play as it winds down, followed by the backstage interplay, once again." He looked up brightly, hoping he had sounded sufficiently professional and experienced.

"I think it sounds marvelous!" Susan, again.

"It's certainly different from anything we've had so far." Tiffany commented, removing her glasses. "What about the cast? How many actors will be involved?"

"I think maybe a dozen would give you a field with which to develop the necessary dynamics." Nigel suggested, remembering Victoria's instruction. "Actually, it occurred to me that non-professionals might carry this off with a more- ahh- curiosa felicitas."

"Eeeeew!" They all turned to Susan, who shrank back in embarrassment.

"Curious what?" Allen exclaimed, dragging his puzzled eyes from his cohort.

"It means felicity of expression. It's Latin." Nigel tried to ignore the outburst.

"Where do we get these non-professionals?" Tiffany asked.

This is it, Nigel thought. Subtlety. Charm. "What about your friends, colleagues, or yourself, for that matter? I'm certain your presence would grace any stage."

Tiffany's eyebrows rose perceptibly, and she re-crossed her legs, watching him with interest. "What a delicious thought."

Nigel swallowed hard at her action, and forced himself to climb out of the leather maw. "That's it then," he said, hopefully, "I'll await your decision with keen anticipation for the opportunity to work on this project with all of you."

"Eee-"

"For heaven's sake, Susan! Are you sick or something?" Tiffany and Allen rose together, both reaching for Nigel's hand.

"We'll run this by council," she said, releasing Nigel, but retaining a firm grip on Allen, "and see what they think. Personally, I like it very much."

"Well that's grand. I'm very pleased with your response." He nodded briefly to each of them and sidestepped his way to the door.

"May I give you a lift?" Susan cried breathlessly.

"Ahh, no, Susan. Thanks anyway, I've some errands to run." And he ran.