Budd pulls into a parking space as Nicole says, “Thank you so much for driving Budd, I really wasn’t feeling up-”

Her sentence is cut off as Budd hits the breaks just a bit too hard and bumps her forward in her seat.

“-to driving-”

“Oooops, not quite far enough,” says Budd eyeing the position of the car as he quickly taps the gas pedal and the break pedal in quick succession. The car hops forward about six inches, rocking on its springs as Nicole tries to finish her sentence.

“-to the coffee sh-”

“There we go!” Budd sings as he taps the gas pedal one last time bouncing the tires up against the curb.

“-op. — eiiipth!” Nicole squeaks as the car abruptly comes to a jarring halt.

Turning off the car and looking make sure there is enough space around his precious vehicle he turns towards Nicole. “Didn’t quite get that.” Budd says, Mr. Attention.

“Ah uth ‘it’ my thun.”  utters Nicole.

“I’m sorry?” he says.

Nicole waves her hand in an ‘I’ll be fine’ gesture as she says, “Ah uth ‘it’ my thun, ah be othay.”

“One more time?” Budd says, leaning in, all concentration.

Voice subtly rising, Nicole tries again, “My thun, ah ‘it’ my thun. Thun. ‘It’ my thun.” She points to her mouth.

Tilting his head at a rakish angle, knowingly he asks in a bad accent, “Hoouh hoouh, French?” rhyming with ‘conch’ as he points to his mouth.

Nicole inhales like a helicopter without rotors lands, says, “-offee.” and gets out of the car.

Budd does the same, pockets the car keys and (still Mr Sophistication) says, “You know, I don’t really speak fronch.”

Nicole stands by the car, closes the door, assesses her tongue, realizes it won’t fall off

and gathers herself with an exaggerated swing of her head and flip of her hair like a 3 am drunk trying to convince everyone it’s only 11 pm. They enter the coffee shop. Nicole breathes in the aroma of fresh coffee and takes in the sounds of the background music and people enjoying themselves and realizes she’s safe. As they get in line she feels the tender spot on her tongue and realizes that it’s Budd who’s safe. There’s witnesses.

Suddenly all business, Budd says, “Mission Creek Players really has all that money in the bank? Just waiting to be spent on plays and stuff? Thousands, you said?”

“Well, yes,” Nicole responds, “they do, we do. You’re a member, so I guess technically…. you… do…” she trails off, afraid she said that out loud.

“All somebody has to do is pitch their idea and… and…”

Jumping in she tries to save the moment, “Yes, Budd, anyone can pitch an idea to the board, Budd, and if the board approves it, Budd, Mission Creek Players will fund the production, Budd. But!” she waits to see if the word registers, it does, but not for long. “The more prepared you are with your proposal, the better chance of getting it approved. You need to have a committed producer and director, an idea of what set and props you might need, where and when you want to put the show on, all that kind of stuff. For your proposal to the board.”

“Yes, yes” Budd replies into his undulating knuckles, still picking a tastier idea from between the teeth of contemplation, “thousands… thousands… I suppose I could propose to the board – I don’t really know them that well but… hmmm, for thousands…”

Nicole moves forward to the counter and gives her order to the clerk who marks a cup with a pen.

“And what would you like, sir?” the clerk asks Budd.

“…thousands…” Budd says, still counting his gold.

“Pardon?” says the clerk.

“Coffee. He’ll have a large coffee. Large. Coffee. Be fine. Thank you,” says Nicole like a nurse giving out medicine to reluctant patients. She hands the clerk some money. Thankful at the speed of service, Nicole takes their order and herds Budd to an empty table. As they sit Budd continues,

“Mission Creek Players really has all that money in the bank just waiting for someone with a good idea?”

“Well, yes…” Nicole admits with growing trepidation.

“MCP is rich!”

“Well, it’s not that much mon—”

“Rich!  Too rich, if you ask me,” Budd says, his eyes focused on a private world as he slowly builds up steam. “They’re loaded, drunk on wealth. Banked up. Well healed. Cow oppressors. They’re a bunch of fat cats. They’re filthy rich, filthy…”

“There isn’t that much money in the…wait. Cow oppressors?” Nicole tries.

“Bunch of drunken filthy cat overfeeders! And just because they need an idea from any random person. Well, I’M a random person with an idea and I’LL spend all that money without even complaining about it!”

“Budd!” Nicole jumps in, tossing worried looks around the room. “What are you talking about?  You’re getting much too excited about this!”  Nicole sits herself back down grabbing the edge of the table with both hands. Just in case.

Budd, suddenly quiet, even contemplative, pulls Nicole back into a place of control. A slippery place. At a steep angle.

“Nicole?” he states, somehow with a question mark. “Nicole, what if I pitch an idea to the board?”

“Yes?” she answers, demonstrating her legendary ability to quickly shift gears. A skill she acquired through years of dealing with her, as she likes to call them, ‘theater friends.’

“And MCP approves the project I want to direct…”

“Hooookay”  Nicole carefully agrees, knowing that unicorns actually have to exist. Somewhere. Cuz of like math and stuff.

“…and I have an outline of crew, set pieces, props, even an experienced director to lend a hand.”

“Yes…” says Nicole, getting a little excited letting herself believe this is going to go somewhere. “And a producer.”

“Sure. Right. All of that. And then I read the audition schedule and the auditions are scheduled on my work days…”

Nicole suddenly remembers that everywhere is somewhere. “But Budd, if you’re the…”

“…and that bastard director won’t change the days…”

“But Budd, YOU schedule the days because YOU’RE the…” she salvos into the conversational battle of ideas. A miss.

“…so I get the time off from work and I bring a great monologue, but then what if I’m nervous and flub my lines and choke…”

“I think you’re missing something,” she says, mentally starting a long list of ‘somethings.’

“…and I sneeze milk out my nose – I drink milk when I get nervous – and he wont give me a part even though I skipped episodes of Sponge Bob to work on my lines – rice milk, I don’t drink cows milk anymore. Cow freedom you know. Ever try rice milk? … I’ve heard he’s a real you know what and won’t cast anybody in his plays… I’m sure I’d need therapy.”

“Ah, have you ever directed a…wait. What did you say?” Nicole says.

“Rice milk. S’really good. You ever try it before?” Budd says, preaching to a hopeful new convert.

“No, no, no, the thing at the end…?

“Therapy. I said I’d need therapy.” Budd confides.

“Could you excuse me for a minute, I need to make a call and there’s too much you-NOISE, noise in here.”  She steps away from the table while Budd frets over how to get in good with the director. He notices her gesturing wildly as she makes her call but can’t really hear anything she’s saying. In a couple minutes she steps back to the table.

“Say, could you take me to the PUD Auditorium for a quick stop off? Remember the address? It’s at 327 N. Wenatchee Ave., the same place the meeting will be at on April 18th at 7 pm. I just need a little… thing… do.”  She sells.

He buys. “Of course. Hey, I’ve got a great idea!  Nicole, you could put in a good word for me with the director. I know he’d listen to you, you’ve done everything!”

Nicole scratches the side of her neck in a covering gesture as she looks around the room for the sudden appearance of Rod Serling wondering if she is the only one who can hear the theme to The Twilight Zone. Not everything, she thinks, as the word ‘murder’ waves it’s hand for attention in the background, going ‘ooo! ooo!’

To be continued…

Nicole sips her tea. “So, Budd, I really want to thank you for volunteering to write up a marketing piece for Mission Creek Players. You know how important it is to let everyone know about the opportunities for acting and directing and helping to produce community theater that Mission Creek Players has to offer,” she settles back into her chair, “and how easy it is to become a member.”

“Right,” says Budd.

“All right so show me what you’ve got.” says Nicole.

“Okay,” chirps Budd, a gleam of excitement in is eye as for a moment he stares off into a private place. “I took the guidelines you gave me, that Mission Creek Players wants some real go-getters to pitch theater projects – anything from children’s shows, theater-in-the-park, dramas, comedies, cleaning up my basement – the sky’s the limit!”

“Wait. Did you say ‘cleaning up your-?’”

“Okay, picture this!”  Budd’s arm carves a panoramic sweep through the air as he reads from a tattered yellow pad. “Lightning crashes down from a dark and stormy sky casting eerie shadows on the ancient castle stonework.” He makes crashing lightning noises. “Off in the distance a dog howling at the moon suddenly yelps as a resounding thud is followed by a barely audible ‘Shut up, I can’t hear the telly.’ A light flickers from a window high on the wall. Strange apparatus on the top of the castle reaches menacingly towards the clouds. A commanding voice inside the castle calls out: ‘Igor, I need you now!’”

“Um…Budd-”

“Lurching footsteps betray an approach! Large ornate doors creak open at the side of the tastefully decorated foyer (maybe stuff from Ikea.) Only shadows hint at a misshapen presence standing just beyond. The Doctor turns to the now open doors, ‘Ah, goooood!  Follow me up to the laBORatory, we must hurry and prepare for the lightnings!’ A figure steps from the shadows into the gloom and begins to follow, dragging one foot with something of practiced precision. Halfway up the curving stone staircase, the Doctor takes a deep breath and begins muttering, ‘Laugh at me will they? Call ME insane? I’ll show them insane! Ha. HA!! HAHAHAHAHAaaaaa!”

“Uh, Budd…what…”

“I know and it gets even more exciting! Reaching the top, flinging open the doors the Doctor cries out, ‘Now, at last, I and I alone shall harness the power of nature!’ Calling over his shoulder with a gesture, the Doctor yells ‘Ready at the main switch Igor while I attach the electrodes!’ Putting on a pair of safety goggles and big rubber gloves the Doctor pulls two large heavily wired alligator clips from the side of a thrumming machine and clips them to something under an oiled tarpaulin lying on a workbench. Stepping clear he turns, raising a triumphant hand and decries, ‘Igor, throw the…’ ‘I’m not Igor any more. You can call me Dennis.’ Igor, now Dennis, says in a clipped tone. ‘Dennis?’ The Doctor says, ‘DENNIS? When the hell…say, didn’t you have a hump?’

Nicole’s chin slips off her hand as she says “Dennis?  Budd, hold it. What does-”

“Waitwaitwait, beauty part’s coming up,” Budd says, a film of perspiration now setting off the glint in his eyes. “Dennis shrugs at the Doctor. ‘Well, yes I did if you insist. But I exchanged it for this script.’ He holds out a play as he continues. ‘Ever since I did a play with MISSION CREEK PLAYERS I’ve had the confidence to follow my dream of acting!  Now I order drinks at the bar, people laugh at my jokes…’”

“Budd, I don’t think you…”

“‘…I take a bath once a month…’”

“…quite understand what…”

‘‘Well, usually, n’less I’m busy. I have more confidence with the opposite sex…’”

“…we had in mind.”

“‘AND I catch more fish! All because MISSION CREEK PLAYERS lets me be ME!’”

Breathless, Budd looks up from his yellow pad.

One of Nicole’s eyebrows arches up like it has a private contract with gravity and just ran out of money. “You understand that MCP has a meeting on April 18th and the next yearly meeting is in May and they would love for anyone who wants to act or direct or produce or be involved to come to the meetings, right?”

“Riiiiiiight.” Budd says, not completely ready to give in to anything that doesn’t include some crashing lightning.

“So what does your story have to…”

“Too realistic?” He replies, gaining momentum again. “Yeah, I see it. I shouldn’t have drawn from my own experiences. S’ones much better!” He flips some pages over. “Okay, this one’s completely grounded in reality.” His hand carves a panoramic arc through the air because why do anything new if you’ve got something you can depend on? His reading becoming faster and a bit breathless. “Seven members of MCP set out for a three hour tour when a storm strands them on a tropical island. The Skipper takes off his cap so he can whang the first mate upside the head while The Professor and the Movie Star…”

“Budd, you really just need…” 

“No? Okaythenhow‘bout this? Darth Vader has Luke Skywalker trapped on scaffolding with no escape (I’m sure Home Depot would give us a discount on materials) and in a deep, semi mechanical voice says, Luke, I… am an actor!”

“An actor?”

“Ahhhhuuummmn, oh yeah!” Yellow pad pages fly under his fingers. “Federation Command sends Captain Kirk a DIRECTORive: ‘The Klingons have made PLAY in the neutral zone and are ACTING like they want to STAGE a…’”

“We just have to tell them about the next mee-!”

“Did you get the ‘DIRECTOR’ thing there?  It was like a play on…”

“YES, YES, very clever, very clever indeed.” She takes a deep breath visibly calming herself, and with a sigh of regret slowly pushes closed the desk drawer with the hidden baseball bat inside.

“… words.”  Budd’s brow knits as he thinks for a moment. “Ohhhh!!  I get it, you want something like that notice you wrote and sent out last week.”

“Right. Spot on. Exactly.” says Nicole, relief blooming like a, well, bloom.

“Where you tell everyone that the next MCP members meeting is April 18 at 7pm at the Chelan County PUD located at 327 N. Wenatchee Avenue and that the next meeting on May 16 at 7pm at the same place is for Board Member Elections and that everyone who wants to be a part of Mission Creek Players should come to the meeting?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want. Exactly.”

“Well I must say your email was a well constructed missive, succinct and to the point. Easy to understand, passionate, straight forward and effective,” Budd says, literary review specialist.

“Thank you. Now that you understand what I want you to…”

“Why don’t I just write that?”

Nicole visibly gathers herself, her hands gripping and clenching until they get the memo, says with a grin that could crack at a mild breeze. “Well, yes… say… why don’t we go for coffee? 

“Hey, that sounds great!” Budd gathers his yellow pad and pencils to his chest like a life preserver as he move to the door. “I can tell you about some more ideas I’ve got. They’re totally original! Like the one about this guy and the thing at that place…”

His voice trails off as Nicole closes the door and starts dreaming of anything with two shots and chocolate.

…to be continued…

In 2010, the Wenatchee World needed to repurpose the space that was the Pressroom Theater. We had many good years there and are grateful for that time. Since then, our actors, crew and volunteers have worked with other groups as the MCP board has continued to look for a new venue for future MCP productions.

Before we commit any further time to this endeavor, we want to hear from you. It takes a lot of volunteers to run a community theater. It is too much work for six board members alone. If there is not a lot of support for the continuance of MCP as a viable, thriving theater group, the board will need to consider the possibility of disbanding the organization.

But we love this group and want to continue its tradition of providing a place for theatre artists of all stripes to come and work and play. If you are willing to become part of the MCP family and volunteer for productions (at any level of support) please email us or come join us at one of our upcoming meetings. Everyone is always welcome. If there is significant volunteer support, we will work to bring MCP back to life.

Don’t hesitate to email us if you have questions or comments. We’d love to hear from you!

Nicole Villacres, Board Member