Cal peered cautiously over his glasses through the window of his office at Tilly, sitting primly at her desk, typing furiously. They hadn't spoken since the incident in the garage when she stood staring wide-eyed through the window at he and Melaine, sprawled across the seats. Unable to think of any excuse that might explain the indignity of the situation, he tried to ignore it, continuing in his usual friendly manner, foiled by Tilly's tight-lipped, stern-faced disapproval of each attempt. Melaine was mortified when Tilly scurried into the bank after gawking at them in shocked disbelief; her mind reeled with images of public scandal and disgrace. It took a monumental effort for Cal to convince her that, while his secretary would likely treat them both as carriers of a plague, she was definitely not a gossip; they would just have to be more discrete.

Melaine spent several minutes repairing hair and makeup, then climbed from the car and made her way as casually as possible, to the theatre, leaving Cal to reset his seats and wonder about future engagements.

*****

Victor stood in front of the stainless steel counter furiously whipping milk, eggs and flour in a large bowl, sending flecks of the mixture in a spray of speckles over his white apron; sparks of anger spit from his eyes as he grunted with each twist of the bowl.

"Victor, you're being unfair." Susan stood tensely at the end of the counter pleading with her fiancé. "I have to spend a lot of time at the playhouse, we're trying to get ready for the opening."

Victor snatched a piece of waxed paper from the top of a plate of pork chunks, angrily trying to shake the tacky sheet from his fingers, managing to flip it onto his pants leg. He scooped a handful of the pork and plunged it into the bowl, swishing it around in the viscous liquid.

"Victor please, you're behaving very badly."

He stopped mixing, staring down into the bowl, and squeezing fistfuls of the contents out between his knuckles. "You have dishonoured me!" He shouted suddenly, pounding his fists back into the bowl and tipping the gummy contents all over the counter.

"What!" She exclaimed, frightened, "I don't know what you mean, I haven't-"

"For all the world to see, you have paraded across a public stage in the role of concubine to some white, military puppet. My name is in disgrace, my ancestors will shun the name Wang for all future generations." His harangue rose in pitch and volume, leaving him tiptoed, red-faced and rigid.

Susan gaped at him, the flood of relief bringing an involuntary grin to her lips. His tirade had nothing at all to do with Nigel; it was about her role as Mary Woo, in the play.

"This you find funny!" He shrieked.

"No! No Victor, I don't... it's just that- that... it's only a play Victor. We're acting- in a play! People don't believe that we are the characters we portray..." She approached him carefully, hands out in supplication. "Good heavens, Victor, you don't believe Charleton Heston was really Moses, do you?"

Slowly, he lowered his heels to the tile floor, drips of gunk falling in soft splats about his shoes. A wheezing whistle issued from his flat nose as he fought for control.

"Victor. Darling." She grasped his sleeves gently, careful to avoid stepping in the mess on the floor, and smiled brightly. "You're anger is actually a compliment. I mean, if you really believed what we did on stage- why that just verifies how well we performed our roles. Don't you see?" He gathered his apron, wiping the mess from his hands, and turned to stare silently at the wall. "Victor?"

"I am considering your words."

She stepped back, maintaining her own silence.

Finally, he turned to face her, giving her a slight bow of his head. "I have considered what you have said, and I offer my apologies for misinterpreting the intent in your behaviour." Rather than use her advantage to scold him, she simply bowed her acknowledgement, pecked him lightly on the cheek, and left him standing humbly, in a puddle of batter.

THE PLAY

The asthmatic blast of Captain Rajflsak's boat whistle carried across the pond in a sickly wail. Ross and Jean sat thigh to thigh on a splintery wooden bench beneath a drooping maple tree, sipping their cups of hot coffee. Lunch with Allen had been an ordeal. His adamant refusal to discuss anything until she apologized for punching him, ended in stony silence, with uneaten salads and more than a few rash drinks.

"So what now?" Ross gazed at the kids pushing wooden boats along the edge of the pond.

"I don't know. I guess we'll be fighting it out at home again." She sighed and set her cup on the bench beside her. "I don't want to keep using Tiffany as a battering ram, particularly after..." She blushed and looked down, swinging her feet back and forth.

"Yeah, I guess that's pot and kettle stuff now, isn't it."

Jean picked at a sliver of wood, peeling it back and staring at the exposed white surface beneath it. "Ross, I- I don't know what to say... I- we- I liked what we did - a lot." Her cheeks flamed crimson, and she kept her head down, picking at bits of the splinter and flipping them away.

"I see a terribly large BUT on the horizon." He brought his eyes around to find hers.

She remained silent for a second and then spoke softly, "Actually, you don't... that is, unless you're not going to be satisfied with the way things are." She turned to face him.

Ross blinked, and looked back at the pond, thinking. "Well, I'd be a lyin' bastard if I didn't admit to enjoying what we did while wondering at the same time where it was going."

"How far do you want it to go?" She put her hand out to stop his reply, "That was unfair. I don't- I can't answer that question, so neither should you."

"Look, Jean, I'll be honest with you. I'm not a marriage wrecker, what we did was a spur of the moment act. You slipped and I helped. Boffing other guy's wives is not my regular vocation."

"Too bad you're not Allen," she said contritely.

"Yeah, well... I can't help you there." He leaned back with his arms over the back of the bench.

Jean sniffed and put her fingertips to her eyes wishing she didn't feel so foolish. In a tiny voice, she asked, "Can we still be friends... like this?"

"Hey, you bet!" He sat forward leaning on his knees so that their heads were together. "Like this... or recreationally, if you like. Just no... strings, okay?"

She sniffed and snorted, tossing away the rest of the splinter and sat back. "That's what I meant." Her wet eyes filled with a smile. "And okay... no strings."

Another blast from the whistle coughed and hiccupped, dying on the summer air with dramatic emphasis.

"Sounds almost the way I feel."

"Well you'd better cheer up, here comes your neighbour." Ross shifted away slightly and stood to greet Grace Winston as she strode across the grass toward them.

"I thought that was you." She smiled at Jean and gave Ross an appraising look.

"Grace, hi." Jean made a point of pretending to brush her hair from her eyes, wiping away the dampness.

"Doctor Winston." Ross nodded politely.

"Please, just Grace, at home. I hear enough of that all week." She stared at them both for a minute then looked around the park. "Gorgeous day isn't it."

"Yeah, we were just uh, having a coffee. Would you like me to get one for you?" Ross clapped his hands with exaggerated casualness.

"Such a gentleman, yes thank you, I'd like that very much."

"Great. Be right back."

The two women watched him hurry away, responding in kind to his parting, nervous wave.

"So what, did you just uhm, bump into one another here?" Grace made herself comfortable on the bench, straightening her dress and pulling it up to her knees, letting her legs feel the sun.

"Ahh no, we uh- we were just having a coffee- discussing the play, you know, the props and music and stuff." She sat back down and straightened the crease in her slacks, spending an undue amount of time getting them aligned.

"Props and music. Okaaa-y."

Jean gave her a questioning look.

"Hey! Don't worry about me, I'm not the nosy neighbour type." She laughed and tipped her head back, closing her eyes and making a mental note about... different possibilities. "But I can be a very good listener if you should ever feel the need to talk."

Jean bit her lip and studied the woman's calm profile, realizing how complicated things could become.

*****