I
know it's not my usual day, but I was reading this scene, and I got
such a laugh out of it, I had to share it. I didn't want to wait for
a regular day, because I won't be laughing as hard then. Miranda
works part time at a theatre downtown. Her boss, Brent, and his wife,
Shaine, own the building. She writes plays, he directs. The city is in
the midst of a nasty blizzard. Since their power went out, Brent and
Shaine went to the theatre to stay – they have apartments upstairs,
where some of their staff live. He gives Miranda a call, for one or
two reasons....
My
phone ringing interrupted us. It was Brent.
"Hallo,
luv!"
"Hallo,
guv!" I replied.
"Is
what's his cheeks there?"
"Yes,
Jeff is here."
"Excellent.
May I bend his ear a wee bit?"
"Have
you been drinking?" Brent isn't usually this cheerful.
"Not
for the last half hour," he drawled. "Prior to, quite a
bit. Had some good news."
"Oh?"
"Yes!
Two bits, actually. First of all It's a girl Huzzah!"
"Really?
Shaine had the baby? Isn't it a little early?"
"Brought
on by weather, so they tell us. Colt, with the able assistance of the
lads, and his lovely bride, delivered her at the theatre, as we were
snowed in."
"That's
so exciting! Congratulations! And what's bit number two?"
"Full
funding for the film, in the bank, luxuriating. Between me, and a few
filthy rich, though generous, friends we are completely funded, and
ready to rock this spring. One thing, though. She's decided
motherhood is more important than stardom and she's offering you the
part."
"What?
Me? Oh, my God! Really?"
"I
wouldn't be calling in my semi-sober, passably inebriated state,
otherwise. You and your lad, what's-his-diddle. We want you both. Can
that be arranged? Oh, can the bugger act?"
"I'll
ask what's-his-diddle, and you can see for yourself, when we get
together with you this week. He's anxious to meet with you."
"Excellent.
When I am my usual sober, sedate self, we shall speak—oh, list,
list!" I heard the phone clatter. "Oh, fuck," he
grumbled. Fumbling and rattling, another fall or two. I hoped Brent
was at home where he couldn't hurt himself. "Got it! I got it,"
he gasped. "Slippery fucker. Yes. When I am less—" He
burped and hiccuped. "In me cups, we shall chat. Sally will
call. She's sober and sedate as we speak."
"Is
she with you?"
"Yes.
She was kind enough to take me home so I can sober up before I join
my lovely wife, and pink swaddled bundle at hospital. I shall not
introduce my wee daughter to the ravages of alcohol at her tender
age." I heard the phone fall again. "Fuck balls," he
grumbled.
©
2018 Dellani Oakes
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