The Playing Fields

Chapter 31

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

"Cal, this is so- so wrong."

"You're so right," He answered, cranking down the seat backs in his Porche.

"What are we doing here, we should be at the theatre." Melaine shifted so he could reach the seat knob.

"Theatre's just down the street, we're almost there," he grunted and cursed when he couldn't get both seats horizontal. "Jesus, for this kind of money you'd think the goddamn seats would go down like they're supposed to." He pounded on the expensive leather in frustration.

"Cal, I really don't think-"

"Sit forward a sec, I think it's your seat belt that's in the way."

Ignoring her protest- a man on a mission. "Yeah, there we go!" The seat back fell down flat, toppling Melaine with it.

"Cal, the theatre."

"I thought you were the one that didn't like acting," he said, squirming to advantage over her.

She stared up into his hazel eyes; all those nights of secret spying, dreaming of just such a moment, flooded her head, and she reached up, taking him by the shoulders, and drew him down. "You're right... I don't."

"The whir of the door opener froze them mid passion, and Cal groaned helplessly as Tilly's voice echoed through the bank's garage signaling chilling consequences, "Mr. Amarca? You in here?"

*****

"Carmela, I've never seen you look so ravishing," Ivan said, diplomatically, indicating her achingly familiar gown.

"How generous you are, Ivan." She looked past his shoulder and placed a warm hand on his.

"Are we alone?" His eyebrows, two half circles surging up into his hairline.

"For one dangerous moment, at least." She closed her eyes and lifted her face to his.

"Arrrgh, bully!" Ivan squared his mouth with hers and they sat still as statues, held by the rapturous glue of their lips.

"I must take you home tonight," He panted, breaking off the kiss and squeezing her knee.

"Ivan, my dearest, I'm afraid we must restrict our passions to those stolen moments in the garden shed." Her tender smile highlighted the sadness she felt.

"Golden moments, my sweet. Golden moments." He smothered her mouth with another reckless kiss.

*****

"Set those down a moment and come with me, Gertrude." Arthur led her by the hand to a deserted corner beneath the lobby stairs. "I wasn't joking when I said I would like to reprise our past performance." He held her hands chest level, staring earnestly into her face, "Thoughts of you and I together have haunted many lonely nights in that tomb on the hill."

"Oh Arthur, if I'd known- if only-"

"Shhh," he cooed, releasing one hand and dropping it to her hip, "the number of times I've wanted to call, to meet with you..." she tensed slightly, feeling the dangerous thrill of a shared past.

"Arthur!"

"You don't know how miserable I've been without you..." His other hand dropped to her hip.

"Arthur, not- we shouldn't-"

His hands squeezed her waist, sensing the flimsy silk beneath.

"Aaah, Arthur! Arthur, please. I can't-"

"You must! I must! We must!" His breath came in laboured puffs as he pulled her awkwardly forward and pressed his lips to her cheek.

"No Arthur, we mustn't, we must-" The lips slid over hers and they rocked together, reliving moments from the past."

THE PLAY

"Well you two certainly took your time," Ivan scolded in a teasing whisper, as Arthur and Gertrude crept into the darkened box, "the last act's started already."

"Something came up." Arthur whispered back, handing him the drinks for he and Carmela.

"A couple of things." Gertrude added, trading guilty stares with her excitingly passionate companion.

*****

Mercifully, the play had finally ended, with only a few miscues, to the spattering of applause from the sample audience, including one patronizing, 'Encore', from Esmerelda Diggs, the local pharmacist. Nigel stood in the foyer, listening with patient attentiveness to the well-meant accolades and criticisms of the viewers, at the same time, struggling to keep his aunt between he and the effusive Susan. The cast and crew had departed noisily through the stage door, voices raised in a mix of laughter, anger, and sarcasm.

"I don't know if I fully understood the plot, Mr. Nigel-"

"Stainway." He gave the plump woman in the print dress a pained smile, squinting uncertainly at her hat rimmed with paper flowers.

"Oh, heh heh, Mr. Stainway, but I certainly enjoyed the performances. Who would have thought that local-"

"What happened to that Sergeant guy?" A short, rough looking man, in baggy jeans and a Red Sox windbreaker, interrupted. "His eye looked like one o' them fancy iced doughnuts?"

"Charlie," she chided, embarrassed, "Mr. Ni- Stainway doesn't-"

"And that Major guy, didn't he have short black hair in the second act? He looked like Prince Valliant at the end there."

"I'm uh, sure, Mister..."

"Pepper."

"Right. I'm sure you must be confused," Nigel tap danced delicately, "Major Stiff's hair was always longish- and blonde."

"No way! I pay close attention to-"

"Charlie, please!" Mrs. Pepper dragged him smartly away, smiling apologetically to Nigel, and glaring thunderously at her spunky husband.

Carmela, Arthur Paisely, and the Baders, paused briefly for introductions and to impart their impressions, before swooping out the door in a gabble of debate over driving arrangements, Mrs. Bader plucking furtively at the accordion creases in her gown. Nigel turned to his aunt with an exhausted slump of his shoulders, and implored her to take him home.

"Certainly my boy, I think you do need a rest. Want a lift, Susan?"