Mother and son performe opposite each other in a play

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After dad died mum still supported the Thespians and they had continued to flourish.

In the current play I knew I was making a mess of the part, but it was the first time I’d had to play a love scene opposite mum.

** * * * * * *

Lionel stumped back to his seat in the auditorium, a look of despair on what he hoped was his aesthetic countenance, repeating, “Get on with it…just get on with it.”

Mum whispered, “Come on David, there’s really no need to be shy.”

We went into our Lines:

Lady P. “Oh Garth, do you know how I long for you?”

Me.”But your Ladyship I am only the gardener, and I would never presume…”

“Lady P.”There can be no class divide where love prevails, kiss me Garth.”

Here we were supposed to go into a clinch. I did my best. There was a groan from Lionel, but he didn’t stop us.

Lady P.”Strip me darling, look at my beautiful naked body.”

I fumbled with straps that went over her shoulders and the dress that was supposed to slither down mother’s body to the floor got hung up on her hips. There was another groan from Lionel.

After a bit of a tussle the dress did manage to descend hesitatingly to the floor and mother stood there in her panties and bras. I was supposed to start to undo her bras to reveal her breasts.

My hands were trembling; in fact the whole of me was trembling as I reached behind her back to unhook the bras.

“Oh no…no…no…” Lionel screamed, “how many times…how many more bloody times do I have to tell you, you know we arranged for the bras to unhook at the front, to make it easier, so why…?”

“Sorry Lionel…sorry…” I mumbled, “I feel so nervous I forgot.”

“Just try that bit again,” Lionel wailed, “and I plead with you…I beg of you get it bloody right this time.”

Mum tugged up the dress and went into her line about me stripping her again. This time the dress slithered and I reached up to the bra clip – in front this time – and undid it. The bras were about to fall off, “Blackout” Lionel yelled. The lights went out and mum clutched at the bra cups to hold them against her breasts.

“Well at least you got that bit right, more or less,” Lionel said in the darkness. Working light up,” he yelped.

Mum had re-clipped the bras, the cast gathered on stage, and we stood there waiting for Lionel’s further comments.

He seemed to have aged about out twenty years since the start of the rehearsal, and he had a look of desperation on his face.

“Well, my treasures,” he said, in a desolate tone of voice, “it seems we have a first class potential bloody disaster on our hands. The seduction scene is the whole point of the play and if you screw that up – and you are screwing it up – we might just as well not bother. Now the rest of you can go, but you, David, stay behind and I’ll try and teach how a seduction scene should be played.”

Mum cut in quickly, “It’s all right Lionel I’ll rehearse with David at home I think I know how to get the scene to work.”

I’m not sure if at that point mum did know how to make it work, but she knew Lionel’s sexual preference, and if he had his way, teaching me how to play a seduction scene would it probably turn into the real thing.

“Oh, but Kathy treasured one…” Lionel started to say, but mum wasn’t having it. “I’ll show David,” she said firmly, and it’s hard to argue with mum when she gets firm.

“All right…all right,” Lionel said, disappointment sounding in his voice, “It’s the weekend, so for God’s sake all of you, have those lines down for the Monday rehearsal – and Tina (stage manager) for God’s sake make sure of that blackout. The vicar is coming one night and we don’t want to provide him with sermon ammunition for the next six months about the decline in moral standards.”

With that we were dismissed.

Riding the Nightmares

As we drove home mum said, “We’ll work on that seduction scene tomorrow and see if we can’t get you over your bashfulness, after all darling, it’s only make-believe.”

She was right of course, and after all, smelly Mrs. Casey had wanted the role of Lady Primrose and I couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting into a clinch and kissing her.

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