The Playing Fields

Chapter 28

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.