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From: HMS Victor Victorian <victorvictorian@hushunomail.com>
Newsgroups: alt.fan.prettyboy
Subject: The Difficulty with Nigel Act 1 Scene 2
Date: Mon, 04 Oct 2010 06:33:00 -0600
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Act 1, Scene 2
Father
Monday, March 29, 6:45 pm
The Macmillan parlour at the end of the work day. Mr. Roger Macmillan
is a thin man, tall and lanky, with a prominent nose set in a sober
face of almost severe features. He has just arrived home by train
from his position as a design engineer for a construction firm in a
city some distance from home. It has been raining, and even with his
mackintosh, galoshes and bumbershoot, he appears at the door drenched.
"My God, the weather!" he announced, stomping into the foyer.
Peeling the mac off, Roger tossed it over a chair and slipped off
his rubbers.
"Hello, kids!" He grinned.
"Hi, Dad." Claris and Nigel replied, hardly looking away from the
television.
"Is that a way to greet your dad?" Mum scolded and turned to give
Roger a kiss as her husband moved to hang up his umbrella on a wall
hook.
Dutifully, Claris dragged herself off the divan to give her dad a hug.
Nigel, who had been lying on the floor cuddled up in his favourite
blanket in the whole wide world, a fleecy Pooh throw with frayed
corners, and stroking Poohkums, the family's tan and brown long-haired
cat that he'd personally named to the exclusion of everyone's
preferences, shrugged off his blanket and stood up. Mr. Macmillan
abruptly froze in the act of hanging up his umbrella.
"Oh, dear," Angela lamented.
"Nigel," Father asked firmly. "Where the blazes are your clothes?"
"In the bedroom, I think, sir." Nigel replied softly, squeezed
Poohkums, and gave his dad a small smile
.
Roger sighed an apology. "I'm sorry for the bad language, Nigel, dear
"Well," Nigel offered, "That I'm starkers?"
"Bonkers is more like it," Claris interjected. "Barmy."
"Be quiet." Nigel retorted, wrinkling his nose in disdain.
"Oh, Roger," his wife reasoned, "It's just a passing phase. Lots of
little boys do it."
"Well, I dare say I've never done it." Roger shook his head. "I
thought you said he was past it already. How long has this been going
on?"
"Weeks? Weeks you say! Well, it's got to stop." Dad demanded,
him locked up in a cellar with a bone and a bowl of water, or
something rubbish like that. People think the worst. We'll have some
social worker from the child welfare knocking us up before long."
"I hope they take him off," Claris said. "And put him in a home."
"Will they take me away, Mummy?" Nigel asked quietly, for the first
time looking alarmed.
"No, no, dear. Heavens, no!" Mum said, and knelt beside her son. She
hugged him warmly, her large arms enveloping and pressing him into her
ample bosom. "I love you darling. No one's taking you off."
"Oh, yes they will. He's bonkers."
"That's enough, Claris," her father warned, and looked down at Nigel,
who seemed close to tears. "Now, darling. Nigel. Son. Please.
You've just got to keep your clothes on. Can you do that for your old
Dad?"
"But, why?" Nigel asked.
Mum rolled her eyes. Nigel saw the look.
"Well, no one tells me a GOOD why!" the boy protested
.
gently. "People will talk about us and say things. Think of how our
family will look. We'll be the laughing stock of the town, and we
bobbing up and down. You could get a cat scratch or get it caught in
a door."
"Poohkums won't scratch my willy!" Nigel protested. "She just likes
"You let the cat bat your willy about?" Claris exclaimed in disgust
.
"Goodness!"Mum interrupted, "That's quite enough, Nigel!"
"Now I need to talk to your mother," Father finished, "So back to
your programme, both of you."
Nigel sat back down on the floor with thump, released Poohkums and
threw his Pooh blanket back over him in a huff. Mr. Macmillan
motioned Mrs. Macmillan into the adjoining kitchen.
"I think it is time perhaps that you-know-who goes to see you-know-who
about you-know-what." He said. "Could you make an appointment
tomorrow morning?"
Angela gave a dejected sigh.
"Yes, yes. I suppose we should have someone see Nigel, but I had so
hoped we'd not have to."
"Not so loud, dear. The children will hear." Roger said, and gave his
wife a kiss. "It will be fine. We just don't want it to get any
worse."
In the parlour, Claris grinned malevolently and pressed up against
where her brother's head was hidden under the Pooh blanket.
"They've got special white coats just for your type," she snickered.
"With long sleeves and buckles."
"Oh, belt up." Nigel growled from within his fleecy sanctuary.
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