Victoria's hopes for a successful evening were exceeded only by the surprising discovery that Nigel possessed a trait of which she had been completely unaware. His inordinately willing acceptance, by such a closed fraternity, not only insured that success, it underlined the shallowness of its member's principles. A few well directed, flowery compliments, and egos surfaced with the speed of light. Nigel's opening strategy was to politely insist on a tour of the proudly heralded kitchen, confiding a child-like awe for North American, domestic technology. At that moment, Ellen would have gladly taken a bullet for her young guest, thrilled at last, to present the original reason for her party. After a whirlwind tour of an array of appliances, designed and constructed of space-age materials, custom sinks, and cupboards containing custom utensils, Ellen basked in the anticipated admiration; her mission accomplished.

Grace Winston greeted the Crofts with a smile, as they wandered onto the patio with their plates of food, "Quite an impressive renovation, wouldn't you say?"

"Excuse me?" Sheila leaned closer, turning her head and nodding toward the piano. "I'm afraid the level of noise makes it hard to hear."

Grace smiled graciously, "I was saying, Ellen's new kitchen is quite impressive."

"Oh, yes. I'm quite excited too. Bill has promised we might do something different with ours next year," her creamy skin changed to rose, "I've always wanted one of those islands to keep all the cooking things together."

"You'll have to excuse Sheila, Grace, she gets very excited with house and garden stuff." Bill gave them both a charming smile. "Uhm, you come alone tonight?"

"Yep," Grace smiled, nibbling at her food, "a doctor friend was going to come, but he decided it was too long a drive."

"Not very gallant, I would say."

Grace silently interrogated his expression, seeking any signs of interest, but the young man's face was honestly open and void of intrigue.

"Well, what can you expect from a pig but a grunt." She murmured, swiveling her head slowly around, taking in the others, milling about noisily.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, it was nothing." She brushed a strand of her short dark hair away from her face and sipped her drink with a growing sense of dissatisfaction. Excusing herself, she set her plate on the end of the patio wall and strolled slowly through the crowd, heading for the bar. The meaty touch of a hand on her arm caused her to stop.

"Grace, are you enjoying yourself?" Daryl Osborne moved around to stand in front of the tall woman, raking her boldly from head to foot with sleepy eyes.

She mustered a charming smile, avoiding the glare of Daryl's shirt and tilted her head quizzically. "Yes thank you. . . but if I weren't?" Here it comes, she thought, the sloppy good old boy as charmer.

"Well if you weren't, I'd be crushed." He slipped a cigarette into his mouth and lit it, watching her carefully through a cloudy exhale. "Even if this isn't my party, I like to think everyone is having a good time."

She rattled the ice in her empty glass and raised her eyebrows. The smile became innocently coy.

"You'd like a refill." He smirked, taking the glass and leading her by the arm to the bar. "Henry, another drink for the lady."

"Yes ma'am." A brilliant white smile split the bartender's smooth black features. "Vodka and lime, right?" Grace bowed her head politely. "I always remember what I serve to special people." Grace reset her attention, considering the confidence in his charming hit.

"I'm strictly a vodka man myself." Daryl said quickly, glaring at the bartender and drawing her attention back to him. "It mixes well with any number of things- and goes down quite smoothly." Grace winced inside as he actually licked his lips.

"I know, that's why I like it." She accepted her glass from the bartender, letting their fingers sense one another in the exchange, then dipped one into the clear liquid and stirred slowly. "So... Daryl, what's new in the retail business?" She smirked to herself as she sucked the moisture from her finger, wide innocent eyes enjoying the simultaneous reaction from both men.

Milo stepped into the centre of the room raising his arms above his head. "May I please have your attention... folks, please. . . thank you.' Ross let the chorus of Strangers in the Night trail softly to a close as Milo spoke. He lowered his arms and straightened his jacket, adopting a winning smile. "I know the reason for tonight's gathering was for Ellen and Jeffrey to treat us all to a preview of their new kitchen renovation, and a treat it was indeed," he paused, spreading his arms to indicate the appropriate response, accepting a brief applause for the hosts. "I'm certain, Ellen, that the envy you have induced among the other ladies here, will make life a little more difficult for us men." A swell of laughter mixed with some heckling, filled the room. "However, that is generally our lot in life... right fellows?" More, exaggerated grunts and groans.

"Milo simply revels in these moments, doesn't he dear?" Gertrude whispered to Melaine seated next to her, placing a warm hand on her arm. Melaine let out a neutral murmur.

"With your indulgence," he gave a slight bow to Jeffrey and Ellen, "we have a unique opportunity tonight, since all the residents of The Pathway, and the council, are together in one place, to hear about an exciting proposal for the Ashton Hills Summer Theatre. Susan here, has managed to enlist the services of an English playwright." He gestured to Nigel, who smiled and looked sheepishly down at his drink, "Nigel here has made an extremely provocative suggestion for our program. And if we might devote a few moments of this splendid evening, I think you'll all be as excited as council was, to hear his ideas. Nigel? Would you be so kind?"

As rehearsed earlier with Victoria, for just such an opportunity, Nigel laid out the premise for his play, and the rousing notion of using local amateurs as performers. His deliberately shy approach, mixed with a winning, boyish charm that had Susan, and even a few of the other women, wiggling with excitement on their chairs, captured their imaginations to the point where a lively debate mushroomed among the guests, leaving Nigel nothing more than a simple observer. He risked a glance at Victoria, who sat primly to one side, a twinkle in her eye and a twitch of a smile on her lips.

"I think it's a fab idea," Tiffany gushed, looming over the small group near the patio doors.

"But what's the play about? I don't think I quite understand." Ivan Bader shot his cuffs from beneath the sleeves of his chamois jacket, and fiddled with the strap on his Rolex.

"It's about a bunch of people planning a play, weren't you listening?" Allen gave him a sorry look.

"Yes, but I–"

"I think the whole thing is a foolish waste of time," Antonio proclaimed from beneath a darkly furrowed brow.

"Oh c'mon Tony, this could be a lot of fun. Imagine, actually playing a role on stage in front of a paying audience... I think it would be a hoot."

"I believe I told you once, that I do not like that contraction. My name is Antonio, and I can assure you, I will not be allowing my wife to take part in such a juvenile enterprise, Mrs. Osborne."

She leaned forward on one leg, her face inches from his. "What you did say, simply confirmed my first impression; that you're an arrogant little man with balls for brains."

Antonio's eyes widened in shock and his perfect little moustache jerked violently above an equally excited lip.

"Your wife shouldn't need your permission to do anything–"

"You can't speak to–" He sputtered, turning livid.

"Oh yeah? Well I just did. And let me tell you something else – Antonio- I'm gonna make it my personal business to give that poor woman some pointers on how to stand up for herself. You're not on the old rancho now, my friend, you're in the big city, and women here don't put up with that kind of bullroar." She stayed in his face, staring defiantly. The others in the group looked about embarrassedly, appalled by Tiffany's outburst, and drifted away to safer shores.

Antonio stepped back, seething with rage. His whole body shook as he tried to regain his composure. "This- this- slut- dares to threaten me, Antonio Begarra? We shall see who gets pointers. This matter is far from finished- madam and I use the term intentionally, as taken from your American slang." He stormed past her, arms rigid at his side and fists clenched.

"Jesus Ti, what's got into you?" Allen took her by the arm and walked her out to the pool.

She stood, arms tightly crossed, staring into the brilliant blue water of the still swimming pool. "You don't have to tell me, Allen, I screwed up. It's just that- that little- twerp, pisses me right off. Did you hear him call me a slut?"

"Yes, and I also heard you tell him he had balls for brains. My god, Ti, we're all neighbours. We're all on the town council for god's sake."

"Is everything all right?" Jeffrey approached cautiously, the role of host demanding at least a token inquiry.

"Just one of those unfortunate, heat of the moment things," Allen smoothed.

"Ti?"

"He's right Jeffrey, and I'm sorry," she said, winding down, "I hope I didn't ruin everything." From his fly on the wall post, near the patio doors, Ross plunged into a dreamy rendition of, You Always Hurt the One You Love.

"Ellen's trying to calm Tony down in the kitchen. He keeps lapsing into Spanish and one of Hartley's staff gave him a dressing down for using such foul language in front of a woman. I think everything will be alright." Jeffrey smiled weakly and skipped back inside.