The Playing Fields

Chapter 9

THE PLAY

"All you have to do is go and see the play; watch and listen with a writer's mind, take the tour with Susan and study the facilities, then say good night."

"Yes, but she's bound to ask about the writing." Nigel paced in front of the hall mirror, catching brief glimpses of his worried expression.

"Just tell her you want to go back home to absorb and distill your impressions. Tell her it's paramount for finding the right tone of the play. She'll believe you, Nigel, trust me. Susan doesn't know anything about this stuff."

Nigel stopped in front of his aunt, arms spread wide. "And neither do I."

Victoria pooh poohed his concerns and steered him toward the door. "Off you go now. Just remember what I said." She gave him a peck on the cheek and shooed him down the front steps. "You have got your ticket, right?" Nigel nodded glumly, patting his jacket pocket, and headed down the tree-lined street toward the theatre.

He entered the foyer of the Ashton Hills Playhouse amid a crowd of noisy patrons, all apparently acquainted and all chattering loudly. Self consciously, he stood off to one side, out of the ebb and flow of well-dressed couples. He was thankful that Victoria had taken him out and bought him some decent clothes; the dark blue blazer and beige trousers were more than suitable for this affair. It made him seem, he felt, sans souci. Remembering Victoria's advice, he made mental notes about the audience, their dress, the manner in which they spoke, and the dizzying variety of physical attributes. An instrumental version of Paul William's You and Me Against the World played softly behind the din. Politely returning the nods of several couples, passing close by to join friends, he gazed about the two-storey lobby with genuine interest and was mentally cataloguing the architecture when he felt a tap on his sleeve.

"Pardon me, d'ya'll know where the lady's room is?"

Nigel turned to find a petite young woman staring at him with large, dark, inquiring eyes.

"I'm sorry?"

"The lady's room, where do I go to find it?"

So much for sans souci, she thought he was an usher. "I'm sorry, I don't know. I'm a patron here as well." He watched a rosy blush creep into her brown skin.

"Oh please excuse me, I thought you were- well- I just thought..." She looked down, then guiltily around the milling crowd.

"Think nothing of it." Nigel extended his hand, "Nigel Stainway, it's my first time here."

"Darlene," her hand was small and soft in his, "Darlene King. My first time too. One of my customers gave me a ticket. I've never been to a play before."

"Neither have- well, I've never seen this one. It's supposed to be very good." He released her hand, admiring the silky voice and the soft accent. As with his outfit, her dress seemed brand new, purchased and worn for just this special occasion.

"I guess we're lucky then, it's the last performance."

"Oh really, I didn't know." Nigel had no previous experience with black people, and found himself intrigued by her pleasant features, remarkable hair, and trim figure.

"Uh, well I really need to find the lady's room. Nice to have met you Nigel," she dragged the vowels of his name like a tender caress, "maybe I'll see you at intermission."

"Yes, yes that would be quite splendid. Until intermission then." As he watched her melt into the crowd, three soft chimes rang out, indicating patrons take to their seats.

Intermission was bedlam. Long washroom lineups, crowds of people around the refreshment stand, and every available seat filled to overflowing with gowned women, their standing husbands and escorts sharing noisy critiques of the first act. Nigel wedged himself into a corner near the stairs where a huge pot of a cut-leaf philodendron was just high enough to rest one cheek. The play was very good, and he enjoyed the quick, witty dialogue that the author had written. Surprisingly, several ideas had come to him as he watched, and he felt more at ease and confident with Victoria's plan. Throngs of people moved up and down the stairs; bodies squeezing past one another like cells under a microscope. A pair of bare, black shoulders suddenly appeared in front of him, and he brightened, recognizing the young woman, Darlene.