“It was very good,” she called from her seat, resting her arm on the seat back beside her, sucking in a deep breath, the better to project across the distance that separated them.
Rick, his shirtsleeves rolled up, his tie pulled down, and his collar unbuttoned, looked up, surprised that anyone had remained in the auditorium, more surprised that the anyone was Lois Hammond.
“Oh, thank you,” he said.
“Really very good, Rick,” Lois answered. “You should be quite proud of yourself.”
Rick walked onto the apron and smiled. “Did you really like it?”
“Yes,” Lois said, smiling back. “Wherever did you get those angels? They’re magnificent!”
“Aren’t they though?” he said, very pleased. He closed his script and began rolling down his sleeves.
“Is it all right to smoke?” Lois asked.
“I suppose so,” he said.
“Or don’t you like breaking rules?” she asked. She lifted her eyebrow, cocking it inquisitively, and Rick remembered back to when he’d have considered such a gesture an innocent facial expression. He did not consider it that now. He recognized it for what it was, a not-too-subtle strengthening of the double entendre of her words.
“No,” he said, smiling, “I don’t particularly like breaking rules.”
“Rules were made to be broken,” Lois said softly.
“In that case,” Rick answered, “enjoy your cigarette.” He fastened the buttons on his sleeves, buttoned his collar and slipped up the knot on his tie. He found his jacket draped over a chair on-stage, slipped into it, and then started down the steps.
“Sit down,” Lois said. “Have a cigarette with me.”
“It’s really very late,” Rick said.
“It’s later than you think,” Lois answered, studying him with a penetrating gaze. “Why, Thanksgiving has come and gone already,” she said pointedly.
“Yes, it has,” Rick answered, knowing what she meant, but not playing the game this time.
“I’m trying to figure out my Christmas list now,” she said. “Trying to decide what presents I should give.”
“Oh?” Rick said, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the piano, the piano Martha Riley would pound in accompaniment during the Christmas Assembly.
“I’ve got a really big present to give,” she said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “A really big one. Do you know, Rick?”
“Did you really like the angels?” he asked, trying to change the subject, not wanting her present, and not wanting to talk about it.
“Very much,” Lois said quickly. “I’ve been wondering when and where I can deliver this present. I’ve got it all wrapped up and ready to go. I just need a time and a place.”
“Why not try Railway Express?” Rick said quietly. “They deliver anything.”
Lois giggled and then dropped her cigarette to the auditorium floor, reaching out for it with a sleek leg in a black pump, crushing it underfoot.
“Do you think I should set the time and place, Rick?” Lois asked, leaning forward, her hands clasped in her lap. “Would that be proper?”
Rick was silent for a moment. He shoved back the sleeve on his jacket then, looked at his watch, and said, “I’ve got to get home. My wife is waiting.”
“Ah, yes, the married man,” Lois said sweetly.
“Ah, yes, the married man,” Rick repeated, smiling.
“Does the married man need a wardrobe mistress?” Lois asked, and Rick wasn’t sure whether or not a double meaning was intended this time.
“You mean someone to make costumes?” he asked.
Lois shrugged. “Yes. What else?”
“He sure does,” Rick answered. “Are you volunteering?”
Lois smiled, but her eyes did not join in the fun. “Seems I’ve been volunteering all night,” she said.
Rick chose to ignore her meaning. “The job is yours,” he said, happily.
“Thanks.”
“I mean, if you want it.”
“I want it,” Lois answered. “Oh yes, I want it.”
“The only real costumes to worry about are the angels,” Rick said. “We can rent the Santa Claus costume, you know.”
“And there’s the root of all the trouble,” Lois said.
“Huh?”
“Angel,” Lois replied, smiling. She stood abruptly, smoothing her skirt over her hips. “Isn’t that it, Rick? Wouldn’t you say so?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lois,” Rick said slowly.
“Don’t you?” She stepped closer to him and patted his cheek. “Don’t you, Rick? Don’t you really?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” he said, feeling the warmth of her palm on his face, feeling her closeness.
“Well,” she said. “Well.”
“I’ve got to get home,” Rick answered. He picked up his briefcase from the piano top. “Are you coming?” he asked, and Lois burst out laughing.
He stared at her for a moment, not realizing what was so funny,
“Oh, Rick,” she said. “Rick, you are an absolute doll.”
“Well, thanks,” he said, shrugging.
“Oh, you’re a real doll, a real angel doll. Go home, Rick, for God’s sake, go home.” She laughed again and then said, “Go home to your wife, Rick.”
“That’s just where I was going,” he said, annoyed by her laughter.
“I’ll make your costumes for you, angel doll,” she said. “Six white costumes for your six little angels. I’ll do a very nice job for you, Rick. A very nice job.”
“Well, thanks a lot, Lois. I was...”
“But tell me, Rick, doesn’t this goddamned place sometimes bore you to tears? Don’t you get sick up to here of teaching these stinking little brats all day long, Rick? Don’t you sometimes want to throw that stuffy little briefcase of yours up into the air and not care where the hell it comes down? Don’t you, Rick?”
“I think you’ve got me wrong, Lois,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I’m not...”
“I know you’re not. Brother, do I know you’re not. Okay, Rick, let it go. Just let it go. But will you mind if I’m bored?”
“I can’t...”
“Will you mind if I consider the first day of school the only true piece of excitement we’ve had since I’ve been here? Will you mind that?”
“You mean...”
“Yes, I mean. I mean the time that stupid slob tried to rape me, Rick. That’s exactly what I mean. My God, sometimes I wish he’d succeeded.” She paused and said, “Oh, not really, but damnit, I’m bored. I’m bored silly. I’m so bored... oh, the hell with it.”
“I had no idea you felt that way,” Rick said. “Why’d you go into teaching, Lois?”
“That’s right, steer us back to the academic train of thought. Play the absent-minded professor, Rick. Pretend we’re discussing John Dewey. How the hell do I know why I went into teaching? What else does a girl go into? Biochemistry? Zoology? Geology? Typing and stenography? Why not teaching? Two months’ vacation every summer, and a sabbatical in Italy with the rest of the teachers, cruising down a canal and ogling Venice. Oh, how the hell do I know why I became a teacher?” She paused and turned, leaning over to take a cigarette from her purse, her skirt tightening across her buttocks. She fired the cigarette and said, “But I’m bored, Rick, I know that. I’m bored silly, so now you’ve got a costume mistress, if that’s what you want. That is what you wanted, isn’t it, Rick?”