Neverland

Ch. 8

Fairies...Children...Poppycock

"All right, I want two lights flashing down from the middle of the ceiling where it connects with the balcony."

"Yes Mister Barrie."

"And I want that light to be lifted a quarter of an inch higher Higgins! Tinkerbell has to have a clear elegance on the stage!"

"Certainly, Mr. Barrie."

"Daddy I-"

"Not now Michael."

Just a typical day in the actor's studio. Where the usual line of actors, actresses, stage crew, light technicians, and Charles Frohman, the studio's manger, and Mr. James Barrie himself, all fell into the captivating hole of the oncoming slaught of holiday performances. Since Christmas was on its way, James had decided (Charles had imposed) that James production of "The Boy Who Never Grew Up," should be annually done, since it was just a huge fortune of fame and renown the previous year.

So, conveniently, not given enough warning or ample time, the entire crew was working at top speed in order to successfully execute at the set standards of six performances that week alone; two on Christmas night.

James very well couldn't leave the children by themselves, as their grandmother chose the opportune time to go shopping for the boys Christmas vestments, so he was obliged to bring them along. Not that he didn't enjoy their company. Heavens no! He just hated the fact that they were stuck watching him during the times when he was most agitated and unavailable for their own questions and problems and because he was being bombarded with his own. And not to mention the fact that he awoke with a terrible headache and chest congestion that he was nearly ready to snap the oncoming slaughterers into the pieces of wood they assembled for their stage props.

"James, could I have a word?" Charles asked him, and James wearily got up.

Great, just what I need. A critic.

"Yes Charles, what is it?"

"Do you really think your boys should be dressing up as pirates and dancing around your makeshift pirate ship and fake water?" he said, his eyes cringing and shadowing into obvious annoyance.

"Wha'?" he snipped back in impatience and turned around and saw his four boys, transformed into what he saw as the most fearsome renegades of piracy ever to be concocted. The newest recruits aboard Captain James Hook's dastardly cutthroat crew.

Yes. They would be perfect. Authentic. Maybe even-

"James." Charles said, knowing full well that James had been ignoring his protests for the last five minutes, as he waved his playbill in front of his vision.

"Oh, yes, right, right, right . . . "

"Boys!"

Immediately, as if surged through with the most perilous electric shock, the boys stopped their pretend charade and looked guiltily back at their father.

The thing that the boys feared most of all was not what most people would guess. Not their grandmother's fury, nor the conclusion that they would have to grow up one day. No. It was the fact that James could be angry at them. Could possibly yell at them? That's what scared them. For because when someone rarely does something, the reaction found on the receiving person or opposition is usually one of dramatic emotion. For instance, since Mrs. du Maurir always was cross with them and always took the appropriate time to discipline, the boys always had the frame of thought to take immediate action, such as hiding. But, since James rarely, if ever, took his anger out on the boys, it was embedded in their minds that he never would. And so, like so few times before, the boys stood at a complete stand still, scarcely breathing, hearts pounding furiously in their ears, and all the while, as their guardian walked stiffly toward them along the crimson velvet carpeted steps, furious thoughts exploded in their mind such as, "What did I do?" "Is he upset?" "What is he going to do?"

"Boys." He said in a grave manner that cause Peter to gulp loudly.

He smiled suddenly and leaned forward and said," How would ya like te be a play?"

Their faces lit into that childish glow of excitement and they rushed toward him and gave him a huge embrace.

"Really Dad?" George said with amazed doubt.

"Of course George. Why not?" James answered with a smile, and almost hugged them again, when a voice of pure agitation rang in his ears.

"James."

He looked up, and saw a not so pleased Charles staring back at him from his resting place on the floor,

"Come here."

He obediently responded and leaned in toward Charles beckoning finger, which indicated for him to move in closer, so he could whisper in his ear.

"James, do you really think this a good idea?"

"Why not? I thought of it didn't I?"

"Yes, of course you did James but-"

"But what?" James interrupted, but said this with a smile that almost looked apologetic. But if you saw the dark pools of chocolate that had erupted into fierce anger that looked if to dare Charles into toying with him, you would know his intentions were not in the least apologetic.

"Nothing James. Absolutely nothing." Charles said wearily as he turned, and James swore he heard him muttering something about, "Fairies . . . Children . . . Poppycock."

"You really mean it Daddy?" Michael asked, on the verge of tears.

"Oh Michael. Don't cry."

"I only mean, what if we mess up? What if I mess up? What if I knock into someone? What if I don't remember my lines? What-"

James, with much gratitude from his fellow listeners, cover ed Michael's small but continuous mouth with the palm of his hand.

"Michael, believe me, none of those things are going to happen."

"How can you be certain?" It was not Michael who asked this however, because his speech was still being blockaded still by James' hand, but Peter.

James stared long and hard at Peter. James marveled at the fact that he saw Peter nervous. Nervous? Glancing at each of their anxious faces he chuckled slightly, which further unnerved Peter.

"What's so funny?" And from the rest of their faces, it was apparent that each of them was thinking , or perhaps demanding, the exact same thing.

"What's so funny? Well it's just I thought I never see the day when my boys would be serious about anything. Well, with the exception of George of course."

" What do you mean?" they asked in unison

"Well, to be perfectly honest, you bunch are acting like . . . ", he hesitated and then added in an exaggerated astounded whisper, "Grown ups?"

And with that notion mentioned, they al pulled on grotesque disgusted faces and voiced their obvious disapproval.

He silenced them with the signal of his hand raised in the air.

"Well, if ye don't want to be referred to as, them, then why are actin' like this?"

"Were just nervous, that's all Dad." George piped in.

"Yeah you would be, ye grown up." James retorted with a straight face and the three remaining boys starred flabbergasted at their brother.

"Aren't children allowed to be nervous too?" George replied in a voice that definitely said that he didn't appreciate being jest at.

"I'm just teasin' ya George. Of course ye can be nervous boys. But ye don't have to be. If you just believe that it's all just a game, then you all act like it's a game. And that's all I want from you."

"You mean no lines, no directions, no orders." Jack asked skeptically.

"Well, I give you a few directions so as you don't wreck havoc on stage, but other than that, it's a free reign. You are free to play like you would with me. Savvy?"

"Savvy."

"Great, now lets get you fitted for costumes."

"Daddy."

"Yes Michael?"

"Can I ask you what I wanted to ask before?"

"Of course", James said happily, feeling less cranky then before, "Boys, you can go on ahead. I'll be a minute." Jack, George and Peter, ran excitedly to the costume designer, "And don't run over Mitch while your going there!" he called after them, as he watched them recklessly run off stage.

"Now, what is it Michael?" He said kneeling again and grasping Michael by the shoulders gently, encouraging him to speak.

"Well, you were coughing a lot this morning. Are you okay now?"

James stared curiously at Michael. Why would he ask such a random thing as that?

"Yes Michael I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because you sounded like Mommy used to."

Silence hung between them like an unwanted spectral spirit that wanted to posses them.

So random...

"Yes Michael."

And he added, without thinking.

"Just a bit of a chest cold."

A/N What do you think. Personally I think that was really crappy. But you decide. Don't worry its going to get a lot better and a real tear jerker, but I just almost overcame writers block. Just to let you know I am wriitng another Neverland fic soon. It is completely different from this one however. RR savvy.