THE PLAY

"I'm really impressed, Victoria, these are great characters." Nigel sorted through several pages of outlines she had written, based on his original concept, experiencing a sudden feeling of inadequacy.

"Aren't they though," she smiled mischievously.

"I particularly like your idea of a play about a play. It adds a satirical scope I never would have imagined."

"Phew, Nigel! I'm gonna have to find you some change for those dollar phrases you keep using."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing. Listen, what I think what you should do now, is make a visit to our playhouse. Get some authentic background for your setting, you know, the layout of dressing rooms, wardrobe, props. That sort of stuff. Maybe you should even take in a performance of The Wedding Room. It's a very humorous play. It'll give you an idea about pace, and dialogue."

"That's a grand idea. Maybe I could even get backstage with some of the performers." Gratefully enthusiastic.

"Maybe you could. I've got a friend who works there, I'll see about getting you a ticket."

"Champion!" He grinned at her eagerly. Meanwhile I'm going to practice on the computer. It's amazing how much easier it is to write."

Victoria smiled warmly at his retreating back; "I'll call you when dinner's ready." The jangle of the telephone interrupted her reverie, and she rose stiffly, shuffling to the kitchen to answer.

"Victoria. Susan Ho, here."

"Why Susan, how delightful."

"Listen, Victoria, I'm chairing a small committee charged with finding a new play for our summer theatre, and I wondered if I- if you–"

"You've heard about my nephew, Nigel."

"Uhmm, well, yes I did. Listen, I know this might be an imposition, but we're really getting desperate, and since he's a- a playwright and all, I thought..."

"As a matter of fact, Susan, Nigel's working on an outline for play right now. I've been giving him some pointers, you know, based on my own experience." Victoria couldn't resist a personal plug.

"Well he certainly couldn't find a better teacher." Victoria took the receiver away from her ear, afraid the butter might run in. "So, what do you think? Is there any chance...?"

"I'm sure Nigel would be most flattered and thrilled to assist the Ashton Hills Playhouse, special committee." She grinned into the telephone.

"That's super! Why don't we get together tomorrow over lunch at Victor's, on me."

"Super right back at you, Susan. Tomorrow then. Bye." Victoria gave an imaginary high five.

THE COMINGS AND GOINGS

Serge Tressore tilted back on one leg, resting an elbow in one hand and tapping the side of his face with his comb. "Darling, I really think Serge would be much happier with his original suggestion." He placed the backs of his hands on his narrow hips and swung his head critically from side to side, addressing the woman in the chair with his customary third person speech. "You have such a statuesque presence, sweetie, Serge feels those marvelous tresses should be down and free, not tucked up and hidden from the world."

Tiffany Osborne studied herself in the salon mirror, looking across to her friend with questioning eyebrows.

"I think he's right, darling. Piling it up on top like that just makes you look so- so... Mardi Gras."

With a deep sigh, Tiffany acceded to the majority view with a limp wave of her long fingers. "It just seems so boring when you have this much hair, not to try different styles."

"You could always ask Serge to cut it off." Jean Gregorio teased from the adjacent chair.

"Heavens no!" Serge grasped the sides of his face, "Mrs. G, you should do a penance for that thought!" Hastily, he unpinned Tiffany's hair, catching it lovingly as it fell over her shoulders.

"Don't fret hon," Tiffany soothed, reaching back and patting his side, "that's just her own low maintenance jealousy speaking."

Jean examined her short, dark hair, smiling demurely in the mirror at her friend.

"Serge wants to hear all about the plans for the summer theatre; are we hiring anyone famous this year, what type of material, you know, divulge some juicy tidbits darling." He poked and combed expertly, aiming his question between them, then paused briefly to sample Ellen's hair with sensitive fingers. "Darlene," he called across the salon, "Mrs. G is ready. Serge would like you to come now." He patted Ellen's shoulder affectionately. "Serge will create your style as soon as Darlene gives you a treatment and a good brushing."

The two women traded amused smiles in the mirror, and Jean relaxed as Darlene arrived and began slowly brushing, with slow even strokes.

"How was the meeting today?" She asked, ignoring the original question from Serge, who seemed to have forgotten it himself.

"The usual. Daryl was trying to weasel some budget money for decorations over Jeffrey's objections, he was voted down- again."

"I take it you abstained."

"Only in the interest of domestic peace, darling. Daryl needs a loan like Serge needs a woman. Right Serge?"

The salon owner batted his eyes, smiling coyly, and the two women fell silent.

"Just out of curiosity," Jean murmured, eyes sinking shut from the exhilarating sensation of Darlene's ministrations, "how does this stuff work?" She didn't really care; she just enjoyed listening to Darlene's soft Southern accent.

"Well, it's a reducing agent, ya'll call it thioglycol. What happens is, when it's applied to the hair, it reduces the number of disulfide bonds. Then when we all uncover the hair and let the oxygen get at it, it just restores all them little bonds right back to where they were."

Jean's eyes crept open, finding Darlene's face in the mirror, searching for any hint of mischief. "I see-e-e-e."

"Isn't she precious? Serge was so fortunate to find his Darlene." He showed his assistant a benevolent face, masking the sarcastic reprimand.

"Have you spoken to Melaine lately?" Tiffany asked her friend, watching Serge fussily maneuvering an errant curl, a gaudy gold chain swinging free of his barely buttoned silk shirt.

Jean shrugged disinterestedly. "Only to ask if she was going to play tennis tomorrow."

"And?"

"She is."

"When do you play?" Tiffany inquired casually.

"From ten 'til noon, the courts are still in partial shade then."

"I don't know how you people can enjoy running around all sweaty on that burning asphalt, chasing a rubber ball."

"It's great exercise Ti, you should try it once, outdoor sports are better for you and a lot cheaper than all those trips to the spa."

"No thank you, darling, I prefer somebody else doing the work; that keeps me in shape for the indoor sports- if you know what I mean."

Serge tittered, and patted her shoulder, adding a conspiratorial wink.

"Speaking of indoor sports, how is old Daryl?" Jean smiled to herself and kept her eyes closed.

"Old." They both broke out in catty laughter.

*****

"It's something I want to do Jeffrey. We're practically the only people on The Pathway that haven't had one, and now that the new kitchen is in, I want to show it off."

"Ellen, you know I hate cocktail parties." Jeffrey Richardson sat on the edge of a counter in his dental operating room, watching as his patient succumbed to an anesthetic injection. "Why don't you just invite some of the women over for coffee or something?"

Ellen Richardson sat curled in a large basket chair on the patio next to the freeform swimming pool. "It's not a cocktail party, Jeffrey, it's an open house, and I want couples, not a coffee klatch."

"Aw jeez... when do you want to have it?" He slid dejectedly off the counter, leaning against it and crossing his legs.

"Next Wednesday. I've already checked with some of the girls and that's a good night for everyone, and I called Hartley about doing the catering."

"Hartley! Jesus Christ, Ellen, the guy's a bandit. It's going to cost me a fortune."

"Then you'd better get back to work, dear." She hit the power button on her pink phone and stretched victoriously.

Jeffrey cradled the dead phone and studied his snoring patient. "I'm afraid we're going to have to do a little more than we originally discussed, Mr. Simmons."

******