The Playing Fields

Chapter 16

Grace smiled and leaned closer to the table. "So do you think that green colour is intentional, or is it mould?"

"Donald laughed and nudged Denise, "What do you think Denise, should crab cakes be green?"

"Since they aren't crab cakes, I don't think the colour matters really." She said, noting Grace's hand around his arm, with a surprising lack of concern.

"Try one," Grace dared, "don't worry if anything happens... I'm a doctor."

Donald laughed again, less comfortably this time, feeling Grace pressing against him.

"I think I'll uh, pass on the green food." He pleaded, and placed his free hand around Denise's waist.

"Coward." She teased, taking one of the pastries and biting into it, "...oh, it's cheese and mushroom, here, try some!"

Before he could object, she pushed the rest of the pastry into his mouth, wiping her finger slowly across his lips. Donald chewed automatically, looking at both women with a silly smile and reaching for a napkin to wipe away the remnants around his mouth.

"I'm going to see if Ellen needs any help in the kitchen," Denise said pleasantly, "you two can stay and play, guess the contents." She gave Grace a friendly smile, trailing her hand across Donald's cheek as she left.

"I hope I didn't intrude on anything... important."

"No, no, not at all," Donald said hesitantly, glancing down at the outline of her hip beneath the silk slacks. She joined her other hand around his arm and smiled sweetly at his perusal, "Good, let's do as Denise suggested then... and guess the contents."

The conversation focused entirely on Nigel's proposal as they all crowded around Hartley's dessert buffet in the dining room. Ideas burst from the various guests like freshly popped corn, assigning tasks and designating duties- all from erupting egos, anxious to be a part of something that had yet to be defined. Even the perennially grumpy Antonio found himself drawn to the project, ostensibly due to the suggested need for his cosmetic skills. By evening's end, Nigel had not only amassed a wealth of ideas for plot and dialogue, his eager participants had energetically lobbied for roles not even imagined, let alone written. The poignant melody, 'Til We Meet again, echoed softly from the patio as the guests jockeyed out the front door and down the drive, its sentiment repeated in various forms of farewell. Daryl slipped into his, Good Neighbour Sam role, assisting Grace over the curb and carefully down the slippery brick road, offering a token hand behind him to his trailing wife.

Tripping daintily, with Victor in tow, Susan caught up with Nigel and Victoria, insisting they let Victor drive them home.

"How very kind," Victoria said, accepting without hesitation and steering Nigel across the street to Victor's Volvo station wagon.

"You ride up front with Victor," Susan suggested emphatically, "you'll be more comfortable and you'll have more leg room. I'll squeeze into the back with Nigel." Nigel moaned to himself, pulling his legs in despite the spacious rear passenger compartment. His eyes leaped to the rear view mirror, fixing Victor's in a grip of impending terror, as Susan slid across the wide seat and nudged against him.

"Smashing vehicle, Victor," he croaked weakly, "very roomy." He watched the hooded eyes find his own in the dark interior, praying that the mirror's range didn't include Susan's hot hand on his leg.

"Victor likes the solid feel and the excellent safety features, don't you dear?" She turned sideways to face Nigel. "Listen, I think everyone was really impressed with your suggestion," an emphatic squeeze of his leg accompanied each phrase, "we must get our heads together and discuss costumes and sets; it will take quite a while to prepare the necessary props- depending on your needs, of course." The threatening fingers crept a little higher.

"Uuuh- uuh, Victoria and I will be happy to attend any meetings." He pulled his knees together defensively, alarmed when the hand moved with them, "But uhmm- we have to aah- we have to create a working draft of the play first. I'm sure you uhmm, understand that." He tried a pleading smile, keeping his panicky focus on the rear view mirror.

The safe, solid ride of the Volvo was suddenly tested by an errant pothole, jarring the passengers, while simultaneously inflicting the ultimate trespass of Nigel's ineffectual defenses. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened as he felt the noticeable increase in pressure.

"So sorry," Victor said unconvincingly, "everyone okay?"

"Eeeeew, we're fine, dear," Susan breathed, with more than a dash of passion, her busy fingers driving Nigel's heart rate to a speed approaching sound. Mercifully, the Volvo finally turned into Victoria's driveway, bouncing to halt. Nigel extracted himself from a final, possessively ardent squeeze, and escaped into the driveway where he stood in hunched embarrassment, anxiously awaiting Victoria's casual exit.

"Thank you so much, Victor," she purred, smiling judiciously at Susan as she closed the door. Nigel stood frozen in the drive until the Volvo was well on its way then hobbled quickly to front door ahead of his aunt.

"You seem a little distressed, Nigel." She grinned slowly at his beleaguered expression.

"I'd rather not discuss it, Victoria." He pleaded.

She unlocked the door, stepping inside and flipping on the hall light. "A good writer makes the most of any experience, my boy. It's all grist for the creative mill." She leaned over, gave him a peck on the cheek, and said good night, politely ignoring the reason for his aberrant posture.