The Playing Fields

Chapter 19

It was the second week in June when Nigel met with the council to present his working draft of the play. They arranged for a small buffet dinner and, at Susan's suggestion, eagerly convened on the stage of the Ashton Hills Playhouse.

"This is so exciting... so... authentic!" she exclaimed breathlessly, filling a small paper plate and finding a seat close to Nigel.

"I think we're all as anxious as Susan to hear what you've come up with, Nigel." Milo puffed importantly, maintaining an authoritative position by standing while the others sat.

Nigel set his plate on the stage beside his chair and opened the envelope containing his work. "Right." He began confidently, sorting the sheets as he spoke. Somehow in the short time he'd been in Canada and living with his aunt he'd had seen a huge change in his personality and attitudes. Victoria was right. Nigel had emerged. "The opening structure, as I've planned it, permits us to introduce right away, most of the main characters and their relationship with one another. The play begins with a meeting, not unlike this, where the characters are discussing the roles and trying to determine the most suitable person for each part. Here is where the dynamics of the group come into play, creating the necessary dramatic tension, but executed with amusing, witty dialogue."

"What is the play they're putting on?" Allen interrupted, a leaf of dressed lettuce dropping from his fork onto the front of his shirt. "Damn!"

"The play itself is just a fiction, a simple ploy to develop the real play around." His explanation delivered with expected understanding. "I have a copy for each of you, so if you like, we can discuss the characters and their motives, together." Susan leaped quickly to his side, taking the stapled copies and delivering them with the precision of a class monitor.

The group leafed through the pages in silence, pausing only to drink, or stuff an additional forkful of food into their mouths.

"You know, I quite think I could do justice to this Marshall Benbow character," Milo spoke up, auditing the group's reaction.

"Why, because he has the most lines on the first two pages?" Daryl cranked.

"Oh please, let's not begin by arguing," Shelia Croft pleaded softly, holding up two ineffectual hands.

"Actually, I think Benbow suits Milo," Tiffany chuckled, dusting bread crumbs from her pant suit, "they both have a rather pristine view of their importance."

Milo dabbed fussily at his moustache and shot her a withering look. "Matched, perhaps, by your own uncanny identity with the apparent slattern, Thelma O'Brien."

"Oh dear." Shelia.

"Hey! Watch your mouth Braithwaite." Daryl only threatened to rise from his chair, his bravura more suited to hit and run.

"C'mon, cool it, cool it!" Jeffrey stood, carrying his empty plate to the table center stage. "Nigel here has gone to a lot of work for this evening, the least we can do is read the whole thing and then discuss the individual roles."

"Hear, hear." Allen raised his fork, managing to lob a cucumber slice onto Antonio's shoe top.

"Aaacch! You have the manners of a pagan, Gregorio," Antonio fumed, carefully removing the offending item from his alligator moccasin and scrubbing the leather furiously.

"Hey, I'm sorry. Like I did it on purpose. Jeez."

"Jeffrey's right," Susan chirped up, embarrassed, "we should be showing a little more respect to Nigel and his effort on our behalf." She turned a gaze one might reserve for a religious icon on the quietly amused Nigel, sitting with legs crossed, musing about Victoria's pronouncement... they're writing your play for you!

"Quite," Milo agreed emphatically, "let's finish this food and knuckle down to job at hand like adults."

Antonio cringed defensively as Allen rose and carried his messy plate to the table. "I need to wash my hands, I'll be back in a minute."

"And I need the little girl's room," Tiffany added, depositing her own plate, and heading backstage after Allen.

"We'll all need to wash up if that idiot eats around us anymore," Antonio groused, neatly folding the used serviette and tucking it under his utensils on the plate.

"Enough." Milo warned.

"I'm so sorry, Nigel." Susan sat close to him, one hand on his arm.

Nigel jolted upright, knees together and hands in his lap. "No uh, need to apologize, Susan. Just artistic temperament at play."

"Eeeeew." She murmured softly, two knees wedged against his thigh.

"That Antonio's such an asshole," Allen whined, clutching Tiffany in a close embrace behind a rack of props and moveable scenery.

"Forget him," she breathed, "concentrate your energy here." Tiffany raised the tiny t-shirt she wore under her jacket, exposing the pink lace of her straining bra.

"Oh god, is- is it like- like the other day?"

"See for yourself." She puffed impatiently, crushing his head against her chest.

The sudden roar of thunder that sounded from the sheet of metal, as they backed into the prop rack, resonated through the theatre in a deafening wave.

"Jesus!" Jeffrey started, "what the hell was that?"

A smaller version followed, and Milo stepped quickly across the stage behind the curtains. Allen was on one knee trying to steady the vibrating prop, a pathetic grin forming in a plea for absolution.

"I tripped." He offered weakly. Tiffany stood silently out of sight around the corner, trying to knot the torn material of her bra across her burgeoning bosom.

"I don't know if there is a part for a clown in this play, Gregorio, but if there is, it's yours." Milo stomped back to the stage, sputtering his explanation disgustedly to the others.

Tiffany returned to her seat, avoiding eye contact with the rest, and keeping her arms tightly crossed in front.

"We'll draw lots. Shelia and I feel it's the only fair way to assign the parts." Daryl stood next to the shy woman, drawing everyone's attention.

"Lots! That's preposterous!" Milo blustered. "You can't form an acting team choosing lots!"

"For god's sake, Osborne, we're not choosing sides for street hockey here." Jeffrey walked in a circle, disgusted with his fellow council members.

"Let Mr. Stainway assign the roles." Antonio surprised them all with his suggestion, surprised that he was even interested, beyond his own role as makeup supervisor.

"Eeeeew! What a super idea! That would be the perfect solution. Do it Nigel, please." Susan was bouncing up and down in the chair next to him, plucking at his arm and buffeting him with her knees.

Taking the opportunity to escape her predatory behaviour, Nigel stood, strolling thoughtfully to the center of the stage. "I don't think it is within my purview to designate actual roles-"

"Sensibly acknowledged," Milo cut in.

"-but I could leave you with a list of suggestions as to how I envision the characters, and you can decide among yourselves who might best portray those qualities." Hastily, Nigel took a sheet from his file and handed it to Milo, a confirming acknowledgement of his rank as council chair. "This is a thumbnail bio of the cast that I created for reference while writing. If I may suggest," he turned his most charming smile upon the group, "each of you read your copy, introduce yourselves to the characters and compile a list of recommendations for each part. When you compare these lists, I'm certain you'll find surprisingly common agreement in your choices."