Nigel tried and failed to get their attention then grabbed Milo and told him to jump ahead in the script and make his entrance. "We'll just have to skip their lines, you get out there and tell them, time's up." He pushed the angry Milo toward the stage and stood back, crossing his fingers.

"Good move, nephew."

"We'll see. My god would you look at them out there."

"Private Courts." Milo adlibbed, strutting onstage. "Time is up."

The two lovers parted noisily, allowing the skirt to resettle.

"But Majuh, suh." Amanda jumped back into her part with a breathless adlib her own. "We haven't had time to talk!"

The audience gave a short, sardonic laugh.

Ramon stood frozen, back still to the auditorium; Milo was supposed to have crossed to his desk so that Ramon could keep his swollen face to stage rear.

"Private Courts! I am giving you an order, sir." Milo sneered, standing his ground, well aware that Ramon would have to face him to answer and thereby humiliate himself in front of everyone.

Holding her skirt down, Amanda swept around to stage front, improvising her lines directly to the crowd. "It's so unfair," she wailed dramatically. "That life's cruel events are tearing our love apart. Go Courty, leave me with the memory of that final embrace that ah may savor what we shared to mah dyin' day." With arms outstretched, she called a little louder, "Take mah man away, Sergeant Bender. Don't let me see that light fade in his lovin' eyes."

"Hurry," Nigel called, "she's giving us an out. Get Allen out there!"

Complaining and struggling, Allen was unceremoniously pushed back out, limping noticeably.

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

Ivan led Carmela into the private box joining his wife and Arthur, who were seated already. "Dashed sorry we're late, sweet." He whispered, slinking into his chair. "Most incredible thing. The lock on Carmela's front door came loose, and I had to get the old tools and uhm, do a bit of a fix up." He glanced over, judging her reception of his fabrication.

Gertrude turned to the blandly silent Carmela. "Some little thing always comes up doesn't it dear. Did Ivan do a good job with his... old tools?"

Carmela met her gaze with equanimity, "He performed admirably... I barely needed to crack the whip." She smiled complacently, their eyes confirming their mutual suspicions. "I'm sorry to have missed visiting Mr. Paisley's home, was it nice?"

"Very." Gertrude crinkled her eyes. "We reminisced about our old office routines. We worked together you know... very well." She added, concluding the semantic duel of innuendo.

*****

Cal and Melaine slipped into their seats in the middle of the second act, ducking their heads together in hushed giggles.

"I feel like a truant schoolgirl." She snickered, checking the surrounding seats for anyone she might know.

"It's a good thing they did away with the lash then." He whispered back. "'Cause that would make me a dirty old man."

"Cal." She giggled again, wrapping her fingers around the inside of his thigh.

"Shhh, we'd better pay attention to this, there may be a test later." Melaine's smile faded slowly as she stared unseeing at the stage. Yes, there will be a test later she thought sadly, a test of her principles and her resolve.

*****

"Arlene! For Pete's sake, will you- oooh- stop. I can't- I can't- aaaah- miss these lighting cues."

She paused and looked up, "Your hands are free - I'm not interfering with your precious lights."

"Yeah, right. I have to concentrate, how can I do that when you're- oooh- aaaah- Arlene, Arlene... please."

"You're such a jerk." She pouted, standing up and leaning against the wall, arms folded angrily.

"Aaaw c'mon, Arlene. Jeez, I've got a job to do here. What if somebody came up, your mom maybe?"

"My mom's in no position to make judgments about me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He flicked his eyes between her and the script and the stage.

"Maybe I'll tell you sometime." She grabbed her backpack and left the control room without another word.

*****

Jeffrey was in a quandary. The surprise attack in his office by Grace left him struggling with a huge feeling of guilt, tempered by the undeniable thrill of the experience. Her ferocious passion was way beyond anything he had ever shared with Ellen, even when Arlene was conceived - an event he considered one of his more notable endeavors - she displayed much less of a thrill for impending motherhood than he'd been led to expect. After Grace had left him drained and prostrate in the dentist's chair, making weak attempts to control his exploding emotions, Jeffrey had reflected on the status of his marriage, both communal and sexual. There had always been a measure of restraint. Nothing preventive, but nothing enthusiastic either. Focused, under this new, harsh light of his random promiscuity, he began to see previously overlooked clues to Ellen's behaviour; a subtle discomfort around other men, an aversion to displays of public affection. And now the full devotion of her time to this play business, and the constant presence of her new friend Denise. Jeffrey's head began to ache.

THE PLAY

After an astonishing double curtain call, during which the earlier hecklers whooped and cheered for Amanda, creating an almost tangible thundercloud over Milo's head, the cast stood in a stunned, scattered group backstage, gaping at one another in disbelief while breaking into nervous laughter.

"Nigel," Victoria spoke softly behind him. "Some people are here who wish to meet you."

"Huh? People? Who—" another back slap and another spongy kiss before he could break away. "Who is it?"

"Howard Cornwall and Virginia Adaire, the theatre critics. They're waiting over there." She nodded toward the dressing room corridor.

He followed her nod to the couple standing by the iron stairs; the man, tall, forty something with slick grey hair at his temples and a face chiseled from a piece of hardwood, stood listening intently to his comrade, his close set, colourless eyes boring into hers. The woman, also tall, stood hipshot, one elegantly shod foot pointing at right angles from her body. Her hair was jet black and straight as a board, hanging shoulder length with square-cut bangs just above her eyebrows. Nigel watched her lips as she spoke; two scarlet worms formed the shape of every vowel and consonant.

"What do they want?" He didn't like the looks of them.

"To interview you dear, you are the director and playwright." She gave him a push in their direction, following closely behind.

"Mr. Stainway, Nigel Stainway?" The voice was unctuous, incongruous with the jagged features.

Nigel took the proffered hand, blanching at the warm, squishy grip. "Uh yes, that's me." He cracked a weak grin.

"Howard Cornwall and this is my associate, Virginia Adaire. We represent the Toronto Press theatre review."

"A pleasure." Nigel said dropping Cornwall's hand and taking Adaire's, dismayed to find that it felt quite similar. "Although somewhat surprised to find representatives of such a prestigious paper covering a small town playhouse."

"Normally we wouldn't." The elastic mouth blew the words into Nigel's face in tiny puffs." But we received an anonymous invitation to take in a new play by a new playwright." She withdrew a long holder from her purse, fitted a cigarette into the end and lit it, blowing a thin stream over her cohort's shoulder.

"Uh, I'm sorry uh Miss Adaire, smoking isn't permitted in the theatre." Nigel pointed to the sign on the corridor wall.

"I know, but that doesn't apply to me."

"Oh... oh well... uhm, an invitation you say?"

"Anonymous."

"Right, well I don't—"

"I'm interested in why you wrote such a play, and why you used amateurs to perform the work," unctuous again.

"Well, it wasn't just—"

"Why don't we find a more comfortable place to talk," Victoria interrupted, taking Nigel's arm in a strong, silencing grip. "My nephew will be happy to answer any questions you have about the play."

"Your nephew!" Unctuous.

"Ahaa!" Puff, the Huffy Dragon.

*****

Henry stood by the front door of the theatre, his purpose was to listen to the comments of the patrons as they filed out; a mini review for the cast backstage. Two encores were unheard of, they all felt, particularly when none of them had acted on stage before. He stood by the door, nodding and smiling, catching the sporadic phrases from the noisy crowd.

"That guy with the stains on his neck... I thought I'd kill myself laughing..."

"What was it called again..."

"When her dress popped up... and that Private whatshisname stood facing her..."

"I didn't understand any of it, but it sure as hell was funny..."

The lobby finally emptied except for a few dilly dalliers- the Baders, Melaine Braithwaite and Cal, Carmela, and a few tourists. Henry greeted the people he knew, pausing to ask their opinions on his way to make his report. Everyone crowded into the costume room, hugging and kissing and congratulating each other while they changed for the party at Forbidden City.

"Here's Henry! What did you hear? What did they think?" Tiffany waved for quiet, leading the young man to the middle of the room.

"Which do you prefer, my impressions, or the actual quotes?" He grinned widely, enjoying his moment as the center of attention.

The responding babble cried for a mix of both, and he held his arms up for silence. "Okay then." He said. "First, one of my impressions. He pulled his wrists in close to his side and hitched his shoulders with a jerk, "Yoou d-i-r-t-y rat, yooou," James Cagney!"

Tiffany slammed her purse into his stomach as the room broke into a grumble of moans and groans.

"Okay, okay." He huffed, holding his chest "Just a little humour. Overall, they seemed to think it was extremely funny." He stopped looking at their faces, a mix of glee, satisfaction, concern, and outright frowns.

"Funny! What did they find funny? It wasn't a funny play... really." Milo blurted, falling silent at the stares of the others.

"Sure it was." Donald spoke up. "Act one and two had lot's of funny stuff in it. You just had to realize that we were laughing at ourselves." Mutters of agreement and some doubt.

"Uh, most of the conversations I heard were about the third act..." He let his words trail off, realizing he'd spoken too soon.

"The third act!" Daryl piped up. "That's where I died, for Christ's sake! They found that funny?"

"To some of us, it would be." Someone muttered.

"Hey! Who said—"

"Whoah, hold on, hold on." Bill Croft held his hands up. "I think the real point here, is that overall, they liked it. Isn't that what we set out to do? Put on something the people would like?"

"Bill's right." Shelia said in her quiet voice, taking her husband's arm. "The house was sold out, nobody left during the show, and we received two encores!"

"Bloody true!"

"Here, here."

"Right on, Shelia."

"C'mon people, we've got some celebrating to do."