A stage for Lance

Lance joined the theatre group with Denise’s blessing. He’d always done student reviews at uni. Treading the boards again, might be just the antidote to the stress of his practice.

He auditioned for the lead role in a romantic romp, and got it, to the chagrin of some of the regulars. He’d play opposite Emmaline Tomlinson, a full-figured woman with a comely smile, perfect for the role.

The first time they rehearsed was a revelation. Emmaline’s kiss in the final scene was as round, full and luscious as she was. Denise, he’d come to accept, was a pecker. He hadn’t married her for her kiss.

Emmaline suggested they fit in an extra rehearsal. Her place would be perfect—her husband was away.

He hadn’t been in such a state, since his teenage years. The waft of perfume as she opened her door didn’t help.

But Emmaline played it straight from the script. No improvisation. Just a cup of tea before he left. And a kiss at the door for good luck.

Long after the season had finished Lance imagined Emmaline’s soft, breath-stealing lips whenever Denise kissed him. He imagined them late at night, too, while his wife snored beside him.