Chapter 5
After a week or so, Lynda was relieved to notice the newsroom has settled down and returned to normal. Well, as normal as a place could be when you had someone like Colin Matthews working for you, she thought, as Colin entered pushing a movable clothing rack hung with suit bags.
"Own funds, Colin?" she asked as he made his way through the newsroom towards his office/storeroom.
"Lynda!" Colin looked hurt, an expression he had worked particularly hard at and was very good at achieving. "These are costumes for the play. Frazz's uncle from the costume shop has loaned them to us."
"Already?" Lynda asked. "Colin, the play isn't for two months. Why do we need the costumes now?"
"Ask me no questions, Lynda . . ." Colin sailed grandly into his office and shut the door. Lynda distinctly heard the "snick" of the lock being engaged and was on her way over to investigate when Kenny called from the main door.
"Lynda, are you coming?" he asked. Sarah was standing with him.
"Where?" Lynda asked, distractedly, eyes still fixed on Colin's locked office door.
"First rehearsal! Come on, Lynda, I can't be your conscience and your diary as well," replied Kenny good-naturedly, as only Kenny could.
"Rehearsal. Right." Lynda dashed over to her desk and began rifling through it.
"Looking for this?" asked Kenny, waving her copy of the script.
"Shut up, Kenny," said Lynda, grabbing her script from him and pushing through the double doors. "Hurry up, we'll be late." She marched down the hall to the outer doors.
"Hurry up, Kenny. We'll be late," repeated Sarah wryly to Kenny and they walked out together. Lynda had blazed on ahead.
"So how often have you had to persuade Lynda not to chuck this play?" Kenny asked.
"At last count, 17. You?"
"23, including having to convince her she didn't have any sort of long-range illness or upcoming events that would require her full attention as editor. I've even had to follow her out of class in case she sneaks off to ambush Sullivan."
"Whatever possessed her to audition in the first place?" asked Sarah. At that point, a hand clapped on each of their shoulders and a tousled head poked between theirs.
"I got one word for you, Sarah. Spike Thomson," said an American voice.
"That's two words, Spike," Sarah replied, waiting for the witty retort. She wasn't disappointed.
"It is? Maybe that's why I'm failing English. Can't make the word count in essays. But me failing English is unfair anyway. I mean, English is my second language. How come I can't take American? It's discrimination, I tell ya!" He gestured to Lynda up ahead. "She looks keen. Bet she can't wait to have me under lights, if you know what I mean!"
"Word to the wise, Spike," grinned Kenny. "If it's your aim to be kissing Lynda in front of all Norbridge on opening night, don't wind her up too much or she'll dump the play like . . ."
"James Armstrong dumped her," interjected Spike. "Kenny, I hear what you're saying. Be cool. I can do that. I wrote the book on cool. I'll bring you a copy. 'Cool – by Spike Thomson'. I'll even autograph it for you. You too, Sarah." With that, he ran ahead to catch up with Lynda.