THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

The newly installed air-conditioner hummed with noisy monotony in the council office. The members sat silently around the table checking their lists of submissions while waiting for Milo to call the special evening meeting to order. With time constraints becoming a factor, the council had agreed to invite several non-members to join the proceedings, to assist in finalizing the makeup of the team that would prepare and perform the playhouse, summer theatre program. Amanda distributed cups of take-out coffee provided by The Forbidden City restaurant, along with plates of almond cookies and cellophane wrapped, mint candies. Extra chairs were squeezed around the table to accommodate the guests, leaving little room to relax comfortably or take notes. When Amanda finished her service, she returned to her seat next to Milo and adjusted her notebook on her lap, ready to record the minutes.

"Very well, I call this special meeting of council to order," Milo intoned with a serious demeanor. "Amanda, would you please record that this special meeting is strictly for discussing the playhouse program. No other town business is to be raised at this time."

The group all watched as Amanda scribbled her furious shorthand and sat back with a satisfied smile, crossing her long legs comfortably.

"Right. Now, you have all seen copies of the play and have had a chance to study the plot and character outlines." Milo stood straight-backed, fingers in his jacket pockets, matching thumbs outside, aligned precisely. "Before we begin the more, dare I say, possibly contentious undertaking, of assigning the actors, I think we should settle the necessary, and very important matter, of support staff. Costumes, makeup, props, etcetera. Tiffany, as theatre chair, would you care to offer your suggestions, please?"

A hurried crackling of candy wrappers, and cookie plates sliding up and down the table, preceded her comments, and Tiffany took a moment to shuffle her notes and cross her legs, a maneuver that barked the shin of William Croft across the table from her.

"Sorry Bill," she smiled automatically. "We are fortunate to have the experience and expertise of council member Antonio for our makeup requirements." She reached across in front of Allen to pat the funeral director's arm, their toe-to-toe encounter at the party ostensibly on hold. "Assisting him, with hair design, is our own Serge Tressore, and his employee, Darlene King, and I believe we will also benefit from the additional help of Henry Matute, Antonio's assistant."

"Wasn't he the bartender at your place, Richardson?" Daryl asked loudly.

"I encourage Henry to diversify his career options," Antonio said, with a trace of annoyance.

"Saves on wages, I'll bet."

"Daryl!" Milo rapped the table with his gavel.

"To continue," Tiffany raised her voice to broadcast level, "Allen has recommended Ross from his store, to handle props, sound effects and music."

"The pianist?" Daryl again.

"Ross is a very capable guy, very... multi... capable." Allen looked to Tiffany for support.

"Sounds like-"

Bang, bang, bang. "Daryl!" Milo huffed importantly, "Excellent work Tiffany. Very professional. Is there uh, more?"

"The lighting is a permanent installation, almost anyone can operate the board with little training."

"Sounds like a job for Daryl," Jeffrey laughed, flicking a ball of cellophane at his neighbour.

"Yeah, well lighting is a job for bright people, Richardson."

Bang, bang, bang. "Fine, we'll choose someone for that later, I-"

"I've already made arrangements with Carlos, he's had some AV training at college." Tiffany gave Antonio another pat on the arm, this time leaning her thigh against Allen's as she reached across.

"Oh! Well, good work Tiffany... that's settled then."

"What about catering?" Cal Amarca asked, nibbling on an almond cookie, "is Hartley on board?"

"Excuse me," Shelia Croft broke in, "are we budgeted for catering on this project?"

"Well hell, you can't expect all these people to work all day without eating, Shelia."

Bang, bang. "Money has been allotted for some meals and sundries. And yes, Hartley has agreed to provide the necessities. Any other questions?" Milo looked about the circle of faces. "People, this is a very important decision we're taking here, we need input."

"Costumes?" Grace Winston raised a slender hand.

"Tiffany?" Milo's eyebrows elevated.

"Well I was hoping to work around to this, but I guess I can't now. As you all know, or most of you anyway, Ellen Richardson is a fantastic seamstress. We've seen her work many times, and I was going to try and enlist Ellen's help in that department."

"Oh no!"

All eyes went to the surprised Ellen, pushing her cheeks to a deeper shade of red with encouraging applause.

"Oh dear- really- no I- I couldn't..."

"Nonsense," Milo boomed, "a talent such as yours is perfect for the needs of the theatre. All in favour say aye!"

Ellen flushed furiously, as dozens of arms shot into the air, clutching her husband's hand. "Oh dear..."

"Done!" Milo banged his gavel again, "We have our costume designer."

"I'd be happy to help ." Denise Cowley offered over the noisy approval.

"You can sew?" Donald turned to his girlfriend in surprise.

"Among other things." She slid a concealed hand onto his knee.

"There you go hon," Jeffrey hugged his wife encouragingly, "Richardson and Cowley, costumers to the stars."

More laughter and cheers.

Bang, bang. "All right then, support staff settled. Now, on to the actors in our extravaganza."

THE PLAY

Nigel wiped the large saucepan dry and draped the tea towel over the oven handle, leaving Victoria to put the things away where she wanted them.

"Susan called."

"Not again." He pulled out a chair and sat with a sigh.

"She wanted to tell me that all the roles have been assigned and everyone is anxious to begin rehearsing."

Nigel looked up, alarmed. "But we haven't written any dialogue."

"Check your notes, we both said it wrote itself." She stacked her dinner plates on the rack in the cupboard and went to make some coffee. "She's coming around with a list of who will be playing whom."

He worried the fringe on the edge of the tablecloth with nervous fingers. "Do I have to be here?"

"Nigel dear, you've been around these people long enough now to see that they are all morally bankrupt."

"And what does that make us?"

"Opportunists Nigel, opportunists." She gaily spooned grounds into the filter basket and clipped it into the coffee maker. "At your age, I was grabbing every opportunity and running... it wouldn't hurt you to wade into some of life's experiences." She slipped him a sly look.

He snorted, straightening the fringe and leaning on the table. "If you're talking about Susan, she's engaged- a predator- but engaged."

"Like that's a deterrent," Victoria scoffed, switching on the machine and getting a pair of mugs from the cupboard. "Actually, I was referring to your dinner date."

"Victoria, I can't tell if you're really concerned about my social deficiencies, or if you're just trying to use me to push your agenda."

"One benefits the other, dear." She came and sat across from him, a curious finger tracing the knuckles of his clasped hands. "Most young men I know- or knew- would be trampling the sick and elderly to take advantage of your situation. Let's face it Nigel, this play we've concocted is not going to set your career path; it's a one-time exercise in poetic justice. Nothing more." She patted his hand tenderly,"Make the most of it for what it is, and look on the bright side; the experience alone will provide you with enough material to tackle some truly meaningful writing."