THE PLAY

"We're trying to conduct a meeting here Mr. Polasky, if you could just leave the curtains alone, please. Thank you." Nigel returned his attention to the group gathered in front of him. "Okay, we've done this several times now, so you all know the characters. The only difference tonight, is we're in full makeup with real costumes. The goal now, is to synchronize the lighting, sound effects and music with the action on the stage. Don't worry if you flub a line or miss a mark, just keep going. It's what rehearsal is for, right?"

Everyone shuffled and mumbled their agreement in unison.

"Now, I want you to study the musical cues for the opening scene. These will be your guide for entrance and exit of the characters. Any questions?"

"Uh, yes." Milo piped up, "This hair style Serge has given me for Major Stiff-"

"Aaah Jesus, here he goes." Daryl slammed his script against his leg and turned away.

"I don't think it's necessary to behave-"

"Stuff Stiff's hairstyle, Braithewaite," Allen barked, fed up with Milo's egotistical whining.

"Now wait a min-"

"People! People," Nigel raised his hands in a peace-making gesture. "Let's save these emotions for the play, okay? Any adjustments can be made at our post performance meeting. There's plenty of time to address your concerns then."

"Nigel's right," Susan gushed, taking a defensive stance beside him. "Listen to him... he's the director."

Her obviously personal and biased plea was met with a contrasting collection of frowns and rolling eyes, and the group splintered into smaller units, wandering off to study their scripts.

"Uh, thank you, Susan." Nigel said cautiously, staggering back as she clutched his arm and rubbed her leg up and down against his.

"Isn't this so-o-o-o exciting!" The huge velvet curtain rose a few feet and thumped to the stage with a small poof of dust.

"Mister Pol-ANSKY!"

Hartley Meloncore flitted behind the long, cloth covered table decorated with platters of fancy snacks and desserts, badgering his assistants as they prepared individual, paper plate servings for the cast.

"No, no, Reggie. Two shrimp rolls with the cucumber sandwiches, and one with the minced ham, and a vegetable roll. Please, keep it balanced." He wiped nervous hands on his yellow apron, re-spacing the platters fussily.

"I thought we budgeted for food, for Christ's sake," Daryl complained, carrying his plate to a corner backstage, joining William, Shelia and Jeffrey Richardson.

"You know Hartley... ever the artiste." William chuckled as he pinched a tiny cucumber sandwich from the display on his plate.

Daryl snarled disgustedly.

"I'm so nervous," Shelia panted. "I don't think I can face all those people."

"Sheel," her husband said with drawn out patience. "There's more of us than there are out there."

"Yeah, we're playing to a full house of twelve housewives and low income bureaucrats," Daryl scoffed, shaking his head.

"It's only a rehearsal guys." Jeffrey smiled brightly at the group. "But I hear old man Paisley is here. That's a real first for the playhouse."

"Oh god!" Shelia moaned.

"Way to go Richardson," William snapped, leading his wife away for another private pep talk.

"You gotta stop takin' the bit in those pearly whites, Richardson," Daryl laughed cruelly.

"Bite me, Osborne."

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

Melaine awoke to the sounds of Milo marching back and forth in the kitchen, practicing his lines with stentorian gusto. She raised her head slightly, squinting to see the clock on her night table, the shards of blinding sun bouncing from the polished surface, stinging her eyes. Seven o'clock! She let out a long groan and reluctantly tossed the sheets back, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and scrabbling blindly with her feet for her slippers. Milo was expected at theatre by eight for their big dress rehearsal, and she promised to drop by and lend a hand wherever needed; that gesture galled her mightily now, as she stared puffy-eyed into the bathroom mirror.

"Ah, you are up." Milo chirped brightly, leaning into the bathroom as she dried her face. "I'm on my way, so wish me luck and I'll see you later, dear."

"Mmm, yeah Milo, break a leg." Melaine shuffled back to the bedroom and searched her drawer for clean underwear, tossing it on the rumpled bed while she slipped out of her nightgown. Downstairs, she was pleased to find that he had made enough coffee for two, and poured herself a steaming cup, carrying it, a bran muffin and the morning paper out onto the patio. A plump robin perched comfortably on the rim of the ornate bird bath beside the walk, taking jerky sips of the water until a pair of noisy finches swooped down and began splashing furiously. Melaine settled herself in a shaded corner of ornamental cedars, on a redwood lounge with a thickly padded mat. It was her favourite spot on the patio. Through the branches of the trees, she had a clear view of Cal Amarca's bedroom window and sliding patio door. She didn't sit there with the sole intention of spying, it really was her favourite corner.

She bit into the muffin, brushing the small shower of crumbs from her dressing gown, and took a large, luxurious sip of her coffee. Honeysuckle, from the bushes in Cal's garden, mixed with the pungent scent of the surrounding cedars, and she closed her eyes, relishing the sensory massage. "I'm heading down to the playhouse later if you'd like a lift."

Cal's sudden voice startled her, and she sat up quickly, spilling the hot coffee on her lap. "Oooh, oww!"

"Melaine! You all right?" He parted the cedar bushes and stuck his face through just as she stood up, lifting the sopping gown from her legs. "Oooops, sorry. Did I do that?"

"Oh, you just startled me and I spilled my damn coffee." Modestly, she let the gown fall, plucking it away from her skin and cursing her appearance.

"Should I come around and help?"

"No, I'll just go in and change. You could replace my coffee though, I only had one sip." Where did she get that bit of nerve, she wondered.

"The very least I can do. Be right back." She watched him sprint back to his house and hop through the sliding doors, before hurrying inside and down to her bedroom.

The pink t-shirt and the matador pants? No, too sunny. The grey slacks and matching sweater? Too formal. "Oh god!" She moaned aloud, pulling on another clean pair of panties and flinging clothes onto the bed in a panic. The wrap skirt and cotton blouse! Yes! She quickly peeled off the sodden nightgown, balling it up and hurling it across the room, and slipped on the blouse, tucking it into the skirt and fastening the side buttons. In the bathroom, her hands blurred as she dried her lap, brushed out her hair, primping and pushing until satisfied, then she dragged on a few strokes of eyelash mascara, applied a quick layer of lipstick, and fled back to the bedroom. Stepping dangerously into a pair of sling back sandals, she scurried down the hall, glimpsing Cal trotting across his lawn as she passed the living room window, and arrived on the patio in time to greet him with hastily assumed composure.

"Wow! You got a phone booth around here somewhere?"

"Pardon?"

"Even Superman can't change that fast." He stepped up onto the patio, setting a large thermos and two mugs on the table.

"Oh, hah hah, you mean this old thing." She twisted her hips, letting the skirt flow about her legs.

"Yeah- that old thing." He smiled graciously and opened the thermos, pouring them each a mug of steaming coffee.

"Shall we sit? She said, and they both did- at once- on the lounge.

"Oh sorry, I didn't- do you mind?"

"No, no of course not," she blushed. "It is the most comfortable seat out here."

"Mmmmh."

"Pardon?"

"I was going to ask how Milo was making out with the acting business."

A flippant wave of her hand made clear her opinion, "He's right into it. Thinks he's Olivier." She crossed her legs and leaned her elbows on one knee.

"I take it, you're not 'into it'?"

"Not acting..." She slid him a sideways glance, "I don't like to act."

Cal looked down at a sprig of clover in a crack of flagstone between his feet, contemplating the tone and emphasis of her words.

"If the offer of a lift still stands, I'll take it." She said quickly, dissolving the hint of tension before it took root.

"Of course. Whenever you're ready."

*****