The Amateur Players (Closed for TheWorldBuilder)

[TheWorldBuilder]

Paul wasn’t totally relaxed in Andrea’s flat. Every time he shifted slightly, the chair creaked ominously. He wondered for a moment how to resolve that problem and missed the next of Andi’s incessant questions. He didn’t mind chatting about the observatory, the sky tours, the theatre, the other Players, in fact the whole universe. It was just that her non-stop chatter meant that he was barely able to find out anything about her, her background, her friends, her hopes and dreams.

She was still as much of an enigma as the day he’d sent her flying from one side of the foyer to the other.

There certainly wasn’t space to bring her a comfy sofa, hardly even enough for a proper squashy chair. Paul wondered a little more about furniture, whilst the conscious part of his mind was telling her about the difference between sporadic meteors and those in showers.

He realised that it was nearly opening time. Andi produced a large sheet of fabric from somewhere and asked if she should put it in the Land Rover. He took it from her and she locked up as he arranged it across the dusty passenger seat to his left.

The short drive up Grassington Road to the Craven Heifer took about five minutes. They pulled up outside the large glass doors on the side of the converted barn, which formed the dining extension to the old pub.

The room was quiet, as they were almost the first to arrive. Paul went to the bar and ordered an Appletise and half of DoomBar. He knew Andi liked the brew, but after her last encounter with an entire keg of the stuff, he thought a full pint straight away might be chancy. He also paid for two carvery tickets, waving brusquely at her as she attempted some feeble protest. Looking around, he spotted a hidden alcove at the opposite side of the room from the area marked ‘Families only’ and moved towards it, carrying the two glasses.

He pulled the chair out for Andi so that she could face him, once he had slid onto the bench that folded round the other three sides of the small table. As he stood behind it, he looked at her face and said, "So now you know all about Paul, tell me some stories of Andi."

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh, there's not a lot to tell, really. Andi's quite boring."

Sitting in the only available chair, she continued, telling Paul a little about her family, her sister, the parental quad-thingy, her liking for horses and riding, her enjoyment of singing, her enjoyment of being on stage at school, how she came by her little bedsit, how it led her to the Players, how much she enjoyed the company of the mixed but loveable Company, how excited she was to get a chance to be on stage in the next Production.

She had rarely been invited to talk about herself, mostly because she was a good listener she thought, but once she started she found it difficult to stop as one idea or recollection lead to another.

Pausing for breath and a good slug of the infamous brew, she raised her glass to Paul like a toast.

"To us!" she declared; happy, relaxed, comfortable, owner of a bookcase, and about to become the well fed owner of a bookcase.

"Thank you for the new furniture, Paul. I'm still impressed that you managed to shove such a big one all the way up there. But it was worth it, don't you think?"

And she remembered how pleased he was to be able to give her an older bookcase, so much better than those of a younger age. It was a bit like him, she supposed, though he would hardly have been using such a metaphor, nor wanting to compare himself to an old stick of furniture, she supposed.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

She was finally starting to open up to him. Tales of parents in the forces and a half-sister were followed by a passionate description of the horses that had led her to Craven College and the little flat overlooking the Theatre. He watched her animated face, one part of him regretting that she hadn’t refused the chair and slid in next to him on the bench, but another part enjoying watching her expressive monologue. He’d always known that she could hold an audience and, perhaps for the first time, she had one. He was glad that it was to him she had narrated her untold story.

She held the small glass up. ”To us! Thank you for the new furniture, Paul. I'm still impressed that you managed to shove such a big one all the way up there. But it was worth it, don't you think?"

Naïve or not, she had to be doing that deliberately. This time he chose not to respond, but slid himself back round the bench and stood up. “Come on then, before the screaming hordes pick the carcasses clean.”

Leading her over to the long counter by the kitchen, with the four large pieces of meat on, he took a plate from the stack and, handing it across, spoke to the young server behind the heated cabinets.

“Ham and chicken, please.”

The man moved past the beef and pork joints and sliced a number of thick chunks of each of the meats Paul had requested. Taking the warm plate back, he proceeded along the deep trays of roast, chipped and mashed potatoes, the peas and carrots, cauliflower and broccoli, the sauces and the gravy. He glanced back to make sure that Andi was also getting a good plateful.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Andrea caught him up, her own plate loaded with beef and vegetables, but she was disappointed in herself.

She'd tried a bit of mildly flirty sexy chat and it had fallen as flat could be. As flat as a puddle. A muddy puddle. The kind no one likes. Not even with wellies on.

She felt embarassed and reminded herself that she just couldn't do 'sexy', so not to try.

Sighing, and deciding that she would probably die an old maid without ever having aroused a man, she followed Paul back to their table. She was still happy, still had all the same positives as before, but she felt a little sad, too. Like a possible future as yet undreamed was being denied.

Never mind, she told herself, friendship is better, of more value, longer lasting, less likely to hurt.

Smiling again at Paul, she tucked in to the sumptuous meal, enjoying the flavours and textures, the way they blended and complemented.

Yes, better to enjoy these pleasures, easily found and appreciated, than to pursue that which would not be caught.

Be satisfied with what you have, she told herself. She was losing against the mysterious other woman.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

For a tiny waif, she had certainly loaded her plate. Paul glanced across every now and again, watching her enjoying her lunch. He caught her eye and she smiled back at him between forkfuls. The suppressed chain of thought, which had never really broken since they left the flat, suddenly put an image into his head. He tried to recall where it was: probably in the back bedroom, the junk room.

Finishing his meal, Paul leaned back on the bench and thought about the rehearsals which would start in ten days. Andi seemed completely relaxed about the part he had asked her to take. He was sure that she had never done a performance of that kind at school and he recalled the controversy when it had been staged by an Australian university, to accustom the students to the challenges they would face. Tense for a moment, he relaxed again. Polly would be on hand if there were any nerves once the costume run throughs began.

He leaned forward, “Another half or shall we move on?”

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Sighing with satisfaction, she put down her knife and fork, replete and content.

"That was awesome! Yeah, another half would be nice, then you can shove over, I want to sit on the bench too. This chair's just a bit too upright."

Once Paul came back with their drinks and settled himself, Andi stood and sidled round the table to squeeze in next to Paul, giving a happy little "Hmph."

"This is nice, don't you think?"

All was as well with the world as it was likely to get. Dreams were just dreams and evaporated with wakefulness. She should just be satisfied with what she had. A good meal, a warm cuddly friend, a new bookcase.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

He moved slightly to the left as Andrea edged alongside him. His elbow was in that awkward place, so he lifted it onto the rail behind her head. The old bench was so tall, his hand was almost above her head. His dangling thumb gently brushed against the hair above her right ear.

"This is nice, don't you think?" she asked.

Paul looked at the cold October rain which had started to beat against the picture windows since they had finished their lunch. He had been thinking of suggesting a stroll round Grassington, but let it go. There was an imperceptible sensation of warmth from her slender left thigh resting against his as she shifted slightly.

“Yes,” he rumbled, “lovely.”

Andi reached forward for her fresh glass, took a sip and relaxed back. He was in no doubt now, she had twisted slightly and was gently leaning on the side of his ribcage. If he relaxed his arm now, his hand would swing down onto her beautiful breasts. Paul dismissed the vision of an eager, but awkward, 17 year old with his first date and left his arm along the bench back.

“Are you comfortable, sweet?” he asked, unconsciously using one of his endearments.

Another little hum of pleasure was accompanied by a small wiggle as she settled into the space between body and arm.

“Don’t nod off just yet,” he teased. Slowly, he too relaxed and his breathing fell into its slow, steady resting rhythm. Cautiously, he slid his broad hand down the outside of her arm.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Without really thinking about what she was doing, Andi leaned to her left just a little and snuggled in against Paul, tilting her head to rest it on the shoulder of his chest.

She sighed another happy non verbal grunt, one that said nothing yet communicated so much.

Yes, she was content. This was probably as much as she had to look forward to, so she may as well enjoy it.

"Thanks for a lovely lunch, Paul," she murmured, totally ready to doze off despite his gentle warning. The room was warm, she had a full tummy, a glass of beer, she was comfy, and had a nicely padded shoulder to lean on. And every time Paul said anything there was a deep rumble that she was getting to like. A lot. Yes, this was nice.

"I wish we could come here every Sunday," she muttered, not to Paul but more to herself, just an expression of how she was feeling right now. She wanted to put her arms round him, though they might not fit, and hug him, and feel safe, and loved, and wanted.

Oh no, she feel herself wanting to cry again. She wouldn't do it, wouldn't spoil the moment. She'd only make Paul feel guilty again. And if the frst time it was flowers and a cold remedy, and the second was flowers and chocolates, what would the third be? Flowers, maybe chocolates again and perhaps a cute puppy, like the one they used on the adverts?

That made her smile, and wiping away the tear that threatened to spill from her right eye, she muttered, "I don't want this to end."

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Her cheek rested on the thin cotton of his shirt. The alcove was already warm, but the closeness of the two bodies was starting to make Paul overheat. Even in the Pennine winter, he would often take groups stargazing in the Dales dressed in comparatively thin clothing. One ex had called him her ‘hot water bottle’. He was reluctant to disturb Andrea, she looked so comfortable and he was enjoying the tantalising feel of her body through the epidermal nerves in his right side. She sighed again.

"Thanks for a lovely lunch, Paul," she said softly before pausing a moment, "I wish we could come here every Sunday,"

He looked slightly down at her. She seemed strangely sad, at odds with her contented words.

Again she murmured, "I don't want this to end."

His words held a light tone which removed any hint of criticism in them, “Well they’ll kick us out at 11. You can’t sleep your lunch off here and I don’t think you’ll be needing any tea. Besides, you stuffed so much meat inside you I thought your little tummy was going to burst.”

She gave another delicious wiggle, which only pressed her firm breasts against his shirt even more. He gave in to the feelings inside and relaxed into the bench.

Half an hour later, Paul noticed a lull in the rain slithering down the window.

“Come on, sweet,” he coaxed, “I have something else for you.”

They scurried out to the Land Rover and Paul helped her in. Leaving the car park, he turned right, away from the town. After barely 100 yards, he turned right again. The words ‘BRACKENLEi LANE’ could just be deciphered on the algae stained sign. After a few minutes, they approached a built up area. Pulling into the driveway of a neat medium-sized semi, Paul jumped down and came round to help her out.

Opening the front door, Paul showed her into a large room with a three seater settee and said, “Make yourself comfortable, I won’t be a moment.” She heard a couple of dull thuds upstairs before he reappeared holding a large bean bag. He tossed it under the window and came towards her.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Oh!" she exclaimed, not quite sure what to make of Paul lobbing a great big bean bag into the room.

Did he mean to sit in it while she sprawled on thje couch? Was he asking her to so that he could have the larger arrangement? But she was quite comfy on his big sofa curled up at the right hand end, legs tucked under, warm and snug and well-fed and content with her second best world.

Did he, quite possibly, intend to take it back to hers, to spare her poor chair any further battering?

It was true that her furniture was hardly suitable for a man like Paul. A glimmer of hope brightened within her at the thought of Paul actually bringing something of his own to sit on. What did it mean? Was he sort of moving in? Bringing a part of himself? Making her little place an extension of his own home? Was he saying he wanted to feel at home in her place? Some sort of answer to her gesture with the glass tankard?

Or had she got it hoplessly wrong?

"Let me guess," she quipped, "we're about to play a post dinner game of tennis with a huge bean bag, using your sofa as a net?

"Well I'm not budging. As you said yourself, I'm stuffed full of meat to burst my tummy. I'd rather have a snuggle and a snooze?"And she loked up at him, innocent invitation shining out.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

He lowered himself onto the other end of the settee. “That isn’t going to collapse and dump me on the floor in a sprawling heap. I know it’s a bit presumptious, but if you’re certain I ought to drop round then that’ll save me sitting on your floor.”

Picking up a remote, Paul started a playlist. He lowered the volume to a comfortable background level as the first notes sounded. The 12 bar introduction was followed by a soaring female voice.

”For you, there’ll be no more crying….”

“Maybe sometimes you’ll come here instead,” he suggested. “and I’ll get some tea in for you.”

He stood up again and went through a door at the other end of the room to the one he’d thrown the blue bean bag from.

There was a rattling and a clinking of glass for a moment. Then Paul walked back in with a pint of orange juice and another of something that looked like Cornish scrumpy. He drew out a nested table to Andi’s elbow and put the orange on it.

“That’ll wash your lunch down. I doubt there’s space for much else in your mouth with that meat in there.” Carrying his own glass in his left hand, he reclined back into the spot he had just vacated and rested the drink on his large left thigh. His right arm dropped languidly onto the cushion next to him.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Andi giggled quietly to herself, eyes sparking, amused and now certain that Paul was using innuendo.

It made her feel great. Like a grown up. She didn't care how dirty or smutty it was, but the fact of it was like a big seal of approval. Paul's approval.

The problem was, she couldn't do it as well as him. When she tried it just fell flat. So how did she encourage him to keep going, tell him she wanted more, without spoiling the fun with her own badly delivered lines.

And what was this sitting at the far end of the sofa?

It was one-step-forward, one-step-back. On the one hand, bean bag and an invitation to come round to his place, on the other, her plea for a snuggle declined.

It could only mean one thing.

Paul saw her as a nice person, a nice adult person, but didn't want to get close.

Ok. Well, she kind of suspected that. His other woman would probably be pissed even with that level of friendship.

Oh well, take what you can get, girl. Who knows what might happen?

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Paul's eyes were heavy. The large lunch had made him as drowsy as Andi appeared. He watched as her head nodded forward, it looked uncomfortable.

"Get yourself over here," he grunted, "no point cricking your neck." He put his own pear juice on the table.

She joyfully edged herself along the seat and lay her shoulder in his armpit and her head on his pectoral muscle once more. Her last thought was of a faint whiff of chocolate.

Paul looked down at the slender form of the peacefully sleeping woman, her right arm barely long enough to cross his Buddha belly. He smiled and closed his own eyes.

The alarm clock hidden in his bladder roused him in its own unpleasant way. He felt the unaccustomed weight at his side a moment before he was awake enough to remember about his guest. Gently, he rolled her slightly to the right. Holding her with one large hand, he stood up and reached behind the settee. Placing the two cushions he had retrieved into the space he had just vacated, he slowly lowered her horizontal.

Half an hour later, as Paul came back downstairs after folding clean laundry into his drawers, a gentle purring sound came from his sofa. Andi's eyes opened slowly as she regained her bearings and remembered the lovely lunch.

"Come on, Rip, time to get you home."

Andrea recalled the tale of Rip Van Winkle and hoped she hadn't grown a long beard during her snooze.

He handed her the large glass and she used the gulp of liquid remaining in it to freshen her mouth. Picking up the blue beanbag, he led her past the Land Rover to the double garage. His hand went to his pocket and the door began to rise outward.

She was expecting his little white sportscar, but found that half of the space was taken up by an exquisitely detailed model of a station and the surrounding streets. The houses were tiny, with doors that wouldn't reach across her thumbnails. Alongside that was a large blue motorcycle with fitted luggage cases. She couldn't squeeze into the gap and knew the passenger door had no space to open, so she waited until he squashed the fabric into the boot and pulled the car forward before climbing in....

....or rather, down.

She noted idly that the seats were lower than the door sills before turning her thoughts to how she would get back out. Then she recalled that Mike had taken a lift and must have exited successfully.

Barely had Andi flowed through those thoughts than they were passing the castle.

=÷=÷=÷=÷=

Paul paused. Mike had missed the cue. Even on a first read, that was unusual.

"OK, back to the entrance." They would restart the scene at the beginning, to avoid confusion with the unfamiliar script. He knew he should be paying more attention, but his mind wandered to the previous two Sundays. He pictured her sleeping on his couch and then her laughing face in the sunshine, as she skipped along beside the beck at Malham after their second carvery together. He collected his thoughts, ready for his line. A moment before Lee spoke to him, he smiled at her across the crowded Green Room.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

The 'Read Through' wasn't a read-through at all. Why on earth did they call it that? Andi was getting a bit bored as the important people read through bits and pieces of their scripts, wandering around as if they were working out where others might be, which seemed odd because as Director, Paul was probably going to change it all anyway.

Stuck with the rest of the chorus out of the way, Andi watched and listened but wasn't really paying attention, and let her mind wander back.

Things seemed to have changed with the now regular Sunday Lunch at the carvery. It pleased Andi a lot, but also confised her. The food was wonderful, and Paul didn't seem to mind that she ate like a horse; if ever a horse had slices of roast beef with all the trimmings and lashings of rich gravy, which seemed unlikely and certainly wasn't on her equestrian course.

But why wasn't he having Sunday Lunch with his Lady Friend? He should be with her on a Sunday, yet he seemed happy enough to come round to the bedsit, or give Andi a lift to his. It was all very odd. On the other hand, maybe the Other Woman didn't appreciate his little Station model, with all its exquisite detail that she adored. It was truly amazing, and she could have spent hours just looking at it, discovering all the little things that made it so special.

But it was the motorcycle that really got her. She hadn't had the courage yet to ask Paul to take her out on it, but she yearned to ride on the back behind him. The Americans called it Riding Bitch, she remembered from some film she'd watched. Well she'd be Paul's Bitch anyday. Since first seeing it she had fantasised about clinging to him for a wild ride through the Dales until they arrived at a Biker Bar for lunch, climbing down from behind him in her skin tight leather all-in-one suit, hair spilling from her helmet, walking casually into the bar behind him, unzipping her front to reveal just a black bra beneath.

It made her feel sexy, and had become her favourite fantasy. And being a fantasy, all the bikers in the bar would ogle her and check out her bum as she went past, and show respect to Paul because she belonged to him...

Andi shook her head to clear the images. The Wardrobe Mistress was talking to her, and Andi had been completely lost to her dreams.

"Sorry, what was that? You want me for a costume fitting?"

Quickly going through her mental checklist that all the necessary refreshments were prepared, Andi abandoned the rest of the chorus and followed Wardrobe.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Paul

The scene with Lee flowed easily. Whatever the lad's faults, he could grasp a new script quicker than most. Paul relaxed, his next dialogue wasn't for nearly ten minutes when Mike and he would have a brief exchange. His thoughts drifted back to the previous Sunday.

The autumn day had been sunny, although a little chilly. As they left the Craven Heifer, he had lowered the roof of the little convertible and set the big heater, originally designed for the larger Rover SD1, to blow hot air into the footwells. He decided to take the Winterburn road up to Malham, instead of the busier tourist route via the A65 and Gargrave. The fast, undulating Dales roads were the terrain the TR7 was built for and its grippy Goodyear rain tyres only enhanced the superb handling. The arrogant drivers of overweight foreign saloons with powerful engines, who thought the little white car would be no match for their expensive cock substitutes, were usually emasculated when they understeered onto the verge or dangerously crossed the white line whilst trying to keep up. Only the largest motorcycles, like his own Trophy 900, had the vicious acceleration necessary to fly past on the short straights between the bends.

Once the roof was secured again, they walked up the beck from the busy car park at the National Park centre, the ¾ mile to the Cove accomplished in a leisurely 20 minutes. The sun was dipping towards Cleatop as they turned back towards the village and setting as he pulled into the entrance to Kirkby-in-Malhamdale school. Through the windscreen, the thin crescent of the New Moon was visible just above the horizon. “This is a fairly decent place for casual observing,” he had told Andi as she watched the silver sliver follow the sun behind the hill.

Back in Embsay, with the car tucked back in the garage and Andi in the middle of the couch, he had emerged from the kitchen with a smaller glass of orange juice. He was only giving her half the quantity he had, as she struggled to cope with any more. This time, the table was already across the front of the sofa and he had placed the two drinks down on it before sinking into the corner to her left. Before he could lean forward for his pear juice, she had moved against him.

His recollection faltered as Mike stepped towards him and saluted, the action incongruous in a first read-through but that was Mike's way.

Dorothy

"You'd given me most of her measurements," Dorothy remarked, "so I had an intima and a stola ready for her. I knew we'd have to nip the waist in a little on the stola or it would look like a sack. I also got out some nice fibulæ that set it off a treat."

Polly nodded and the costume mistress continued.

"She stripped down to her underwear and tried to put the intima over her head. I had to tell her to step into it instead. Even with her hips it was a squeeze, no wonder Paul didn't want any of us for the part."

“Didn't you say anything about the underwear?” Polly asked.

“No, you know I keep it cooler in there to stop the insects breeding. I thought she was just a little chilly. For a first fitting, I wouldn't have been that surprised if she had kept her T-shirt on, too.”

“I wonder if she understands ancient clothing?” Polly mused.”That could be a shock for Paul if he has to explain.”

The two women laughed loudly at the thought of the abrupt Director telling the shy girl that she would be naked under the thin piece of linen.

“She almost looked, well, trapped, when I put two safety pins in the stola to nip the waist a bit,” Dorothy revealed. “and I've never seen anyone look so glad to get their jeans on and scurry back to the Green Room.”

Paul

As Andrea slipped back into the rehearsal, she caught Paul's glance and gave him a little smile. By this time next week, the alterations to her costume should have been made and the company would move onto the proper stage as the day of the first performance drew closer.

Paul watched as she rejoined the chorus and waited for those with speaking parts to finish the first full reading of the play. He was thankful that Dorothy had taken her away for half an hour, or she'd probably have got a bit bored. Now that they had established a kind of Sunday routine, even though it was only twice so far, his heart didn't have that odd, empty feeling when she wasn't around. He wondered about that, it was something he had only felt twice before in his nearly forty adult years.

He wondered whether there might be a nightcap at hers before the drive back to his empty house.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

The first reading eventually drew to a close, and as the meeting broke up Andi busied herself as usual by clearing away the refreshments she'd put out in the Green Room and with tidying her kitchen.

It had sort of become hers, and everyone seemed to understand and accept that. It made her happy, knowing she had a particular role in the Company. Especially since she had no real acting experience, couldn't do lights, was rubbish at theatre makeup and hair, couldn't sew, and wasn't physically strong enough to shift scenery. Neither did she have the skills to build it.

No, it was good to feel useful, despite Paul giving her a minor part in this Production, Andi understood that her moment centre stage was really going to be insignificant, and that probably no one would remember it. She had no lines, and only a simple costume. Nothing to set her apart.

Dorothy had been sweet at the fitting, helping her work out how to put the tunic on. For a garment that looked so simple, she’d managed to get that bit wrong! The dress that went over it was quite nice, gathered at the waist and held with brooches on the shoulders. Again, it seemed so simple, yet elegant, but would take a bit of getting used to.

It had been chilly in the Wardrobe room, and Andi was glad that the stage would be warm for the real play, what with all the lights they’d have shining on them. And the rehearsals on stage under the lights would be on them very soon now. Andi could feel the buzz of expectation and was affected by it like everyone else. In her head she kept reminding herself that she had to give this her all. The part Paul was planning on giving her in the Panto depended on her success with this play. She mustn’t let him down.

He’d been really nice to her the last two Sundays, and she was looking forward to their next Sunday lunch at the carvery. She was still bemused as to why he wasn’t taking his Lady friend out to lunch on a Sunday instead of her, but Andi certainly wasn’t going to complain. The lunch, the drive, the walk, even the glimpse of the moon that Paul pointed out, they were all wonderful ingredients in a perfect Sunday routine.

Andi was happy.

“Paul, you coming over?” she asked, when almost everyone had left and the kitchen was finally straight.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

He knew where to find her. In a little over three months, Andi had requisitioned the kitchen and Lee joked that Paul should hang a sign saying 'Private: No entry without permission.' It still hurt part of him. She seemed to enjoy making a fuss, preparing food and drink for everyone, cleaning up afterwards, but Paul didn't think she should be a skivvy for the rest of the company.

The irony caught him a second later. He didn't want Andrea to be a slave but he had cast her as one.

Paul glanced around. He couldn't deny the difference she had made, not only to the undrinkable coffee. Looking around the room again, he noticed that, apart from his catering tin of chocolate powder, there was nothing on top of any of the wall units. Everything Andi needed was below his eye level.

“Paul, you coming over?” she asked.

The hormone rush was brief but intense. Writers through the centuries had tried a plethora of descriptions to convey those sensations. Paul recognised them, but would have had no better chance of encapsulating them than the past masters.

It had been a long day. Meetings with the National Park authority and the council, two school presentations, an update from the local CfDS representative and a magazine deadline had all fallen on a rehearsal Tuesday. He knew he ought to go straight home, his yawns were frequent enough to drop the hint.

“That'd be lovely,” he responded instead, “there's only half a dozen to throw out.”

A few minutes later, Paul dropped the big blue bag on the floor to the left of Andi's chair and sank into it. “What are you doing at college this week?” he asked.

As she started chattering happily, his head began to nod forward and, with a rumbling snore, he slowly toppled to his right until his shoulder rested on her hip.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Andrea launched into a happy recounting of what she'd done so far, and what was looming in her new and exciting College life, but before she was past the merest beginnings, Paul was fast asleep.

She hadn't even got up to get them drinks. And there was fruit cake.

The rumbling of his snores reverberated through her side and her legs as he leant against her, and she didn't have the heart to move either him or herself.

Nor the inclination.

There was something rather nice about the way Paul had fallen asleep against her. It pleased her. A lot.

And then there was the fact of his big blue bean bag. That pleased her too, not least because it was a statement. He was making himself comfy in her bedsit.

Andi smiled, looking down at Paul as he slumbered. He must be really tired, poor man.

Reaching over with her left hand, Andi smoothed his hair and stroked the back of his head. He was so warm. Her hand continued down his neck to his muscular shoulder; the shoulder she had enjoyed dozing against in her turn. Then Andi let her hand glide under the open shirt to his chest, so strong meaty and furry.

She couldn't help herself. She gently stroked his chest, awaking dormant stirrings in herself that she only half understood. She couldn't stop.

Except that she did, or at least, her hand stilled. She kept it there, on his chest, inside his shirt. So masculine. So warm. So comforting.

And she fell asleep, with the most pleasant dreams that would never be recalled.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

It could have been one of a number of discomforts which woke Paul. The pressure in his bladder, the ache in his right kidney, his sore neck, the chill on his skin, bright light in his eyes. He stirred and his clearing mind noticed the head on his shoulder and the slim hand over his heart.

He was still at Andi's.

They were propping each other up, the light still burning and a cake drying on the kitchen worktop. Very carefully, Paul slipped a hand behind the small of her back as low as he could. Tucking his feet underneath him, he twisted to reach the other arm under her knees and thrust up with his powerful thighs. He stepped towards the bed and dropped back onto one knee. Resting her legs on top of his horizontal one, he swept the outer cover to one edge of the bed. He softly lay her on her side on top of the remaining material and slowly eased her shoes off. She lay peacefully in her signature attire of short T-shirt and tight jeans.

He moved to the kitchen and found cling film in the third cupboard he tried. Next he visited the cramped toilet and switched both of the little flat's lights off as he emerged. Returning to the bed, he removed his own jacket, shoes and socks and lay next to Andrea. Lifting her upper hand, he placed it back on his chest and finally, he grasped the edge of the displaced cover and flicked it across their recumbent bodies.

Her fingertips twitched under the cloth and the side of her slim hand somehow popped the next button on his shirt out of its small fastening slit. She sighed and gave a small wiggle as her hand cupped the underside of his firm pectoral muscle furthest from her. In the dim light he could see that her eyes were still tightly shut.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

Something wasn't as it should be.

Andi's dreams were getting chaotic. There were nice feelings but also confusion, and as is the way of dreams, the details which seemed so vivid were also elusive.

Her eyes started open and Andi froze, her body rigid with tension.

She knew where she was, and she knew that was Paul she was snuggled into.

But

They were in her BED.

A sudden panic siezed her and she had to forcibly calm herself down and start breathing again.

They were clothed. She could tell.

Andi gently took her hand back from around Paul and sat up, pulling the covers off herself and scrambling to the foot of her bed. Once her feet were on the floor she felt better, more in control.

She went to the bathroom and locked herself in.

Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

Again she calmed herself.

What had she done? She'd slept with Paul! Ok, she hadn't actually slept with Paul, but she had been asleep, in her bed, with Paul.

What if anyone found out? What if Polly found out? What if, oh no, Paul's Lady friend found out? Would she come round and scratch Andi's eyes out, with long red finger nails like talons, dripping gore as Andi stumbled, blind for the door, blood streaming down her face?

Andi shuddered.

Get a grip, she told herself. Nothing happened.

"Why the fuck not!?" she damanded of the voice in her head. Was she so unattractive? So non-sexual? Was she really surprised?

Nope, it was as much as she was ever going to get.

Stifling the sadness, she quickly undressed, looked at the ugly naked girl in the mirror, shrugged, and got under the shower.

Five minutes later she came out wrapped only in a bath towel that came down to about mid thigh, hair wet but combed, heading for the kitchenette to put the kettle on and make toast.

She ought to make him breakfast, she thought.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Paul woke to the sound of the shower running. He recalled the feel of her body pressed against him, an absent sensation now. The space next to him was still warm and held her faint aroma. He was sitting on the edge of the bed when she came out of the bathroom, not seeming to notice him as she crossed to the little kitchen space.

He involuntarily gasped. The towel she wore was only large enough to cover the essentials, even on her tiny frame. A generous expanse of the gentle slopes of her upper breasts was complimented by the most gorgeous, slender legs. Her soft thighs were a delight. He had been right not to undress her in the midnight hour, the temptation may have drawn him across a line he shouldn't transgress.

He wondered what to say to reassure her of his good intentions. At home, he'd have let Eric Burdon do the talking and hope that he wouldn't 'be misunderstood'. He ran silently through a multitude of possibilities before settling on the simple, but corny:

"Morning, beautiful."

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Hey, morning, sleepy-bear," she smiled warmly at him, while pottering in her kitchenette. It was nice of Paul to say something kind. It was one of the things she loved about him.

Andi was completely unselfconscious in just her tiny towel. She knew she wasn't attractive, or at least was coming to terms with it. Paul had been a complete gentleman, getting them both comfy in bed but not undressing her. He really should at least his have taken her t shirt and jeans off her; but he had preserved the bounds of decency.

And it wasn't as if he'd never seen a bare girl before.

No, she really wasn't fussed by her state of undress. She wasn't going to cause Paul any difficulty or embarassment. It was being unattractive that upset her. But she had two ways of dealing with upset.

One, cry. Yep, just let it all out in a flood of tears. Kathartic, she thought it was called. Cleansing. Not therapeutic, that was healing, and having a good cry made her feel better but never solved anything. The problem was every time she cried near Paul he assumed it was his fault and seemed to feel guilty; it would be unkind to put him through that yet again. She'd have to have her cry when she was alone and could really let rip.

Two, sing. She sang when she was happy, and she sang when she was sad. Sometimes the same songs in the same way. Like now. She didn't want Paul to know how sad she was, so she sang her happy song as she put the kettle on to make coffee, popped bread in the toaster and poured a generous serving of orange juice into Paul's special glass pot.

"Is juice, toast and marmalade ok?" she called, leaning over to get the butter from the fridge, not bothered that the front of the towel momentarily separated into its two sides giving the briefest glimpse right up to above her belly button. It was only the tiniest moment, and anyway, Andi reckoned she could drop the towel completely and Paul would hardly notice.

She put the toast, juice, butter and marmalade and her coffee on the tray with plates and knives and carried it to the little table.

It hadn't escaped her notice that none of the men flirted with her anymore at the Company. They had at first, and that Lee had been a lot of fun, but not any more. She could only conclude that it had been because she was new. That actually she didn't interest any of them. And certainly Lee had already been going out with Mandy before, so it wasn't her who stopped him. And the boys who chatted her up at college just wanted sex with any female who'd put out; they tried it on with every girl in the hope that one at least would oblige; they didn't discriminate.

Andi pulled the little table over to the bed where Paul was sitting, and moved her chair opposite him, sitting down to breakfast.

"Help yourself," she offered.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Andrea didn't appear to find the situation awkward. She wandered around making quiet musical noises. Every so often, a snatch of lyric escaped. He listened to the lilt of her voice, she really would be able to carry a song if she needed to in the future. Concentrating on her singing ability was helping Paul keep his mind off the motion of her legs and the glimpses of thigh as she bustled about. She got some bread to put in the toaster.

“As light as possible,” he requested.

The ornate glass jug was filled with orange before she continued.

"Is juice, toast and marmalade ok?" she asked. As she did so, she bent towards the fridge and the flimsy cloth briefly parted like curtains. He was sure he had seen a darker triangle contrast with her paler skin tone before the hems of the towel fell back into alignment, covering her pubis from his gaze.

His involuntary cough almost hid the simple reply, “Yes.”

He had seen the girls changing in the Green Room countless times, why was Andrea's flesh exciting him so much more than they did? Was it the spirit of absolute innocence that she exuded, as she tantalised him more than the strippers he had seen down Union Street when he was a young and naïve student in Plymouth?

She carried the loaded tray to the small table and then carefully pulled the ensemble towards his splayed knees. When it was located to her satisfaction, she placed her old chair directly in front of him and lowered herself into it. Again, the edges of the towel went their separate ways, sliding across her smooth skin until the join was barely more than an inch from the deeply shadowed gap where legs met torso.

She glanced up at his mesmerised eyes. "Help yourself," she offered.

Paul's hindbrain was trying to send instructions to his muscles to lean forward and scoop her from the chair onto the bed beside him. He got as far as bending his upper body when sanity returned and the only thing he lifted was the big glass.

“I'm sorry I was such a terrible house guest,” he said, in an attempt to defuse the growing tension. “You must think me very rude, falling asleep while you were speaking like that.”

He picked up a piece of toast, barely golden in the centre, lay it on a plate and dropped a dollop of the sweet preserve onto it. In his befuddled state, still affected by her closeness, he took the bread from the plate and sat with both hands full, wondering which item to imbibe first.

Slowly his brain cleared and, taking a large gulp from the jug, he placed that handful back on the table while he waited for her reply.

 

[AndreaSubbie]

"Of course I don't think you rude. Quite the opposite. You were so tired, and then you were such a sweetie putting us to bed like that. But next time, if there ever is a next time, you really should get me out of my jeans," and she carried on chatting away through breakfast.

It made a lovely start to her day.

But now it was Tuesday, and the exciting moment of wearing their costumes was upon them.

Andi noticed how matter of fact the experienced players were about getting changed, but she felt a little self-conscious, mostly because it was her first time. She didn't want to hide away in the Ladies to change, though that was her first instinct. She needed to be where everyone else was.

Thankfully Dorothy had already shown her how to get into her Tunica, and trying to be discreet like whern changing at the beach, Andi first undid her jeans. Next she stepped into the Tunica like the Wardrobe Mistress showed her. Reaching under she quickly tugged the jeans down and stepped out of them. That done, she pulled the Tunica up to her shoulders and slipped her t-shirt off before putting her arms through into the costume.

Since her briefs were more of a thong, in white so they shouldn't show through, the bottom half should look ok.

Her bra was a light but nicely covering flesh coloured one that supported and hid without being obvious. When she had to drop the top half of her Tunica everything would be suitably covered. Well, everyhting might be a bit of an exageration for her little B cups.

Andi felt good. She was in costume. She had a part on stage. She had a central role even if only for a brief moment. She had the tantalising offer of a more signinficant part in the Panto. And she really didn't want to let Paul down.

 

[TheWorldBuilder]

Polly was the first to notice. She looked lower. There was a slight interruption to the flow of the tunica over Andi's hips.

As she was looking, Dorothy caught Polly's gaze and the costumier's expression immediately became a combination of a suppressed giggle and an agonised doubt as she realised the youngster was still wearing her modern underwear. Quickly she looked for Paul. His head was visible across the rails of clothing as he changed at the other side of the flimsy demarcation. She moved towards the foyer door, away from the slim woman, and attracted his attention on some spurious matter.

Polly took the opportunity to approach Andrea and entice her into the kitchen. If anywhere in the theatre could be said to be Andi's hideaway, it was here. They were, thankfully, alone as Polly closed the door.

“Andrea, my dear,” she started hesitantly, “the Greeks and Romans didn't go to Victoria's Secret.”

Andi's blank expression told Polly that she was going to have to be brutally open with the youngster.

“The tunica intima is your underwear, Andi, you can't wear anything else under it.”

There was a deep silence for a moment and then, just as Andrea was about to speak, the kitchen door opened and Paul walked in with an expression like a thundercloud.