The Playing Fields

Chapter 40

He stood forlornly in front of the mirror, fingering his collar and lifting his arms from the dampness under his jacket. The three o'clock meeting had gone well, and Nigel wished everyone good luck before rushing home to change.

"Well, how do you feel, Mr. Writer Director of your first live stage production on opening night?" The hint of pride in Victoria's voice belied her intended tease.

"Quite silly, actually, wearing a tuxedo in eighty degree temperature." He gave his collar a final tug, pulled his jacket straight, and turned to face her.

His mouth dropped slightly in response to the effect of her appearance; Victoria looked stunning. Her hair, pulled up in a French roll, with two small, saucy curls framing the temples of her oval face, accentuated the professionally subtle makeup that took twenty-years off her features. She looked exactly like the photos of the Victoria who performed on stage - she was that Victoria, in appearance, in confidence, and in carriage.

"I- I- you look- you look fabulous, Victoria." His hands gestured uncertainly, wanting to touch the vision in front of him, yet afraid to disturb its perfection.

"And you, my boy, are one devilishly handsome stud-muffin."

The vision dissipated with the paradoxical vernacular of her remark, and Nigel felt his focus snap back to reality.

"Do this up for me, would you dear." She handed him a solitary strand of pearls and turned her back to allow him to place them about her neck. "I wore these at your parent's wedding; they were a gift from our grandmother just before she passed away. Marjory, your mom, has a sterling silver locket. I think she used to carry your baby picture in it."

Nigel fastened the clasp and stepped back, "She did- she does, but she doesn't wear it any more."

"No, I suppose not," Victoria pivoted in front of the mirror, setting the pearls and smoothing the cobalt blue gown over her girdled stomach. "But if she were here tonight to see you, she'd be wearing it for sure."

"I don't think my parents held out much faith for my success as a writer."

She reached out, placing a hand on each of his cheeks, the rainbow of glitter from her jeweled fingers imprinting his retinas with flashes of white. "Nigel, my parents scoffed when I announced my intention to be a stage actor, they never came to one performance, nor did they ever acknowledge my success. But just before I came to Canada, my mother gave me an album filled with articles and memorabilia of everything that had anything to do with my career."

"They collected it all without telling you!"

"Yep. It must have taken ages to chronicle all the details. I'll show it to you sometime."

"But to not say anything. What- why?"

"Too ashamed to admit their parental failings - at least, that's what she told me when she gave it to me," she patted his cheek lovingly, "Time to go, Mr. DeMille."

*****.

"Look, the place is packed!" Amanda peeked through the curtains into the noisy auditorium, stepping back so Susan could have a look.

"Eeeeew! This is just so thri—

"Stow it, Susan," Tiffany grunted, holding her arms out while Ellen did some last minute pinning, "I don't want to hear that noise once more."

"Everyone's just excited, Ti." Milo said, preening in his hand mirror. "This is our big night."

"Okay, places everyone." Nigel spoke, sotto voce, as he approached the waiting actors. "Curtain's in five minutes."

"My, my, look at you." Grace and Amanda placed appreciative hands on his jacket, smoothing the shoulders and patting his waist.

"You should dress like this all the time, Nigel." Amanda teased.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." He caught Darlene looking at him just before she turned away, busying herself with Shelia's hair. "Ross, wind down the music and be ready to cue the theme. Mr. Polansky, this is what you've been driving us nuts for, for the past month, on my cue-break a leg everyone-five- four- three-Ross-two- one- and..."

The lights in the auditorium dimmed and from the battery of speakers mounted around the theatre music rose with a rhythmic version of Ray Steven's, The Games People Play. Everet pulled his first lever with deliberate concentration, drawing the huge curtain up from the stage in perfect time with the music. In the control room, Carlos hit the switches marked on his cue cards, and the footlights flared to life revealing the set for Act One, Scene one- the meeting room where preparations for choosing a play would take place.

Nigel followed the performance from the wings, following his script and mouthing the dialogue along with the actors. He could hear stirrings of amusement in the audience as Milo made his first of many declarations as chair of the meeting, crossing his fingers and praying they wouldn't laugh in the wrong places. Victoria tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

"Howard Cornwall and Virginia Adair are out front."

"Who?"

"Theatre critics from the Toronto press."

"Oh god!"

"No, it's good, Nigel. It's good. Trust me." She squeezed his arm and slid away.

He clasped his forehead, thankful the huge circles of sweat under his arms would be hidden when he put his jacket back on. Shelia was bravely delivering her lines with a tremulous voice and over dramatizing her walk to the fake water cooler where she was supposed to stand defiantly waiting a response from the group. Nigel caught her eye, signaling a calming gesture, which only served to light up her face with bright red blotches. Relax, he begged silently, eyes closed.

Scene one was winding down as they prepared to close the meeting and Ross cued the music again, a reprise of the opening song, and as they filed off the stage and Everet dutifully lowered the curtain, Nigel constructed a smile, patting each of them enthusiastically and offering mini bravos of encouragement.

"I was awful, wasn't I," Shelia began to sniffle, spoiling her mascara and wringing her hands.

"Nothing of the kind." He said quickly. "You were fine, really, you were fine. Wasn't she fine..." He looked about for support, "Mr. Polasky?"

"Oscar performance Mrs. Croft," He winked and gave her a thumbs up.

"See." Nigel glowered at the old man. "Now go and get Antonio to fix your makeup. You're in the middle of the next scene."

Ross and Jean hurriedly rolled the meeting table into the wings and rushed back with the chairs and lamps for the scene in Marshall Benbow's living room.

"Where's the rug? Get the rug for the living room scene." Jean whispered hoarsely, as she dragged the writing desk to its position on the stage.

"Oh, that rug." Ross winked maliciously, laughing when she looked up, blushing.

"Kill that song now, Ross, please. And get ready for the next intro." Nigel flipped the pages of his script, running a finger down the page. "Where's Henry Sales? Daryl," he hissed, "get on stage. This is where you're waiting in Benbow's living room for him to return from the kitchen."

"I know, I know." Daryl clumped across the stage and assumed a position looking out the painted window on the backdrop.

"Okay Ross-now!" A soft instrumental rendition of Blues in the Night crept quietly over the audience, and Everet once again performed his specialty. Nigel mentally questioned once again, the committee's choice of music.

*****