The Playing Fields

Chapter 33

Cal peered cautiously over his glasses through the window of his office at Tilly, sitting primly at her desk, typing furiously. They hadn't spoken since the incident in the garage when she stood staring wide-eyed through the window at he and Melaine, sprawled across the seats. Unable to think of any excuse that might explain the indignity of the situation, he tried to ignore it, continuing in his usual friendly manner, foiled by Tilly's tight-lipped, stern-faced disapproval of each attempt. Melaine was mortified when Tilly scurried into the bank after gawking at them in shocked disbelief; her mind reeled with images of public scandal and disgrace. It took a monumental effort for Cal to convince her that, while his secretary would likely treat them both as carriers of a plague, she was definitely not a gossip; they would just have to be more discrete.

Melaine spent several minutes repairing hair and makeup, then climbed from the car and made her way as casually as possible, to the theatre, leaving Cal to reset his seats and wonder about future engagements.

*****

Victor stood in front of the stainless steel counter furiously whipping milk, eggs and flour in a large bowl, sending flecks of the mixture in a spray of speckles over his white apron; sparks of anger spit from his eyes as he grunted with each twist of the bowl.

"Victor, you're being unfair." Susan stood tensely at the end of the counter pleading with her fiancé. "I have to spend a lot of time at the playhouse, we're trying to get ready for the opening."

Victor snatched a piece of waxed paper from the top of a plate of pork chunks, angrily trying to shake the tacky sheet from his fingers, managing to flip it onto his pants leg. He scooped a handful of the pork and plunged it into the bowl, swishing it around in the viscous liquid.

"Victor please, you're behaving very badly."

He stopped mixing, staring down into the bowl, and squeezing fistfuls of the contents out between his knuckles. "You have dishonoured me!" He shouted suddenly, pounding his fists back into the bowl and tipping the gummy contents all over the counter.

"What!" She exclaimed, frightened, "I don't know what you mean, I haven't-"

"For all the world to see, you have paraded across a public stage in the role of concubine to some white, military puppet. My name is in disgrace, my ancestors will shun the name Wang for all future generations." His harangue rose in pitch and volume, leaving him tiptoed, red-faced and rigid.

Susan gaped at him, the flood of relief bringing an involuntary grin to her lips. His tirade had nothing at all to do with Nigel; it was about her role as Mary Woo, in the play.

"This you find funny!" He shrieked.

"No! No Victor, I don't... it's just that- that... it's only a play Victor. We're acting- in a play! People don't believe that we are the characters we portray..." She approached him carefully, hands out in supplication. "Good heavens, Victor, you don't believe Charleton Heston was really Moses, do you?"

Slowly, he lowered his heels to the tile floor, drips of gunk falling in soft splats about his shoes. A wheezing whistle issued from his flat nose as he fought for control.

"Victor. Darling." She grasped his sleeves gently, careful to avoid stepping in the mess on the floor, and smiled brightly. "You're anger is actually a compliment. I mean, if you really believed what we did on stage- why that just verifies how well we performed our roles. Don't you see?" He gathered his apron, wiping the mess from his hands, and turned to stare silently at the wall. "Victor?"

"I am considering your words."

She stepped back, maintaining her own silence.

Finally, he turned to face her, giving her a slight bow of his head. "I have considered what you have said, and I offer my apologies for misinterpreting the intent in your behaviour." Rather than use her advantage to scold him, she simply bowed her acknowledgement, pecked him lightly on the cheek, and left him standing humbly, in a puddle of batter.