The Playing Fields

Chapter 4

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

The Woogen Creek began as a tributary somewhere deep in the heavily treed forest surrounding Ashton Hills. Following a zigzag course through the low, rolling terrain, it relaxed as it passed through the center of town, spreading its banks to a four hundred and fifty foot width until it reached the city limits, then shrank back to a moderate size as it wound away to the south. The wide portion, just south and east of the town center, christened Ashton Pond, was surrounded by manicured grounds, replete with picnic benches and swing sets all set in a blaze of flowering shrubs and gardens called Paisley Taft Park. The erratic path of the creek prompted the need for a series of bridges, single lane, and all constructed of wooden planks. One such bridge led to the entrance of the town's most prestigious neighborhood, Paisley Gardens. On a winding cul-de-sac, named Paisley Pathway, ten monster homes, numbered consecutively and constructed in the Georgian style, stood on equally monstrous lots facing one another, imperiously, around a large circle of brick at the end of the road. The owners and occupants of the homes represented Ashton Hills most wealthy and influential residents; one banker, two lawyers, a dentist, a medical surgeon, whose practice was at a hospital seventy miles to the south, a new car dealer, the head of the local utilities commission, and three presidents of local businesses. As one would expect, this formidable collection was also the bulk of representation on the town's council.

On this warm, spring Tuesday in mid May, the council was in session to debate the coming tourist season. Chairing the meeting was Milo Braithwaite, one of town's lawyers, residing at number three Paisley Pathway.

"Could we please have some order while we deal with this budget matter" He rapped a tiny, brass tipped gavel on the long table indicating his annoyance, "I would like to move on to the real meat of this session." Setting down the gavel, he clasped his fingers together as if about to cheer.

"I don't see why Osborne should get five hundred dollars from our budget to decorate the front of his store." Jeffrey Richardson, the town's dentist, number seven Paisley Pathway, stuck out a pouting chin.

Shelia Croft, wife of William Croft, lawyer, tried once again in her soft, pleading voice. "Jeffrey, we've already explained. Daryl's store is a center piece on the main street; it's one of our main tourist attractions,".

"Exactly my point. He does more business than any of us during the season, why can't he pay for his own decorations instead of extracting it from the budget?"

"Extract this, Richardson." Daryl sneered rudely.

"Hey! I don't have to take–"

Bang! Bang! Bang! Milo's gavel crashed loudly on the tabletop. "Alright! Enough! We are going to vote on this now. All in favour," he held his hand high, glaring about the table, "Opposed? Passed. Now please, may we proceed to matters that are more important. Amanda?"

Amanda Wells, secretary to both Milo and the council, consulted her notes, and re-crossing her long legs with a silky swish, read aloud in her butter smooth voice. "We have a question posed to council regarding the program plans for the playhouse," she paused to curl a strand of chestnut hair behind her ear, "it comes from Mrs. Tiffany Osborne."

Tiffany Osborne was a flaming redhead; tall, shapely, and fighting off her middle forties. She went about that war with a diligent program of exercise and diet, but erred on the side of cosmetic excessiveness. Heavily made-up eyes, brightly rouged cheeks and flaming lips, shaped to a sensual pout, still projected an undeniable attractiveness, however noticeably artificial.

"And your question, Tiffany?" Milo sniffed, assuming attentiveness.

"Well, as chair of the Ashton Hills Playhouse, I want to know what our program will be for the summer."