Once upon a time... there was bidding for MacRua’s (smashing? filthy? stylish? sweaty?) black shirt. What if one of the numerous competitors cunningly invited the owner of the desired trophy to spend an evening out...
Enchanting Dream in one act
MacRua – managerial figure at his best: singularly graceless but charming bastard
Drasey – promising freelancer in her forties, making a career in All Things Celtish Publishers
Singer – susceptible but strong woman
An officer – dominatrix on duty
Two cops – loyal guards of stupid Law
Public, orchestra
A posh restaurant. In the corner, an orchestra is playing jazzy tunes, interspersed with classic standards sung by a singer, a young girl with heavy make-up, wearing a glitzy outfit reminding of decades long gone. MacRua is sitting at a table with his female companion – Drasey, persistent hunter for bids. Black shirt covers his manly chest... a fag protrudes from his mouth. Gauze of pleasant languor hazes her eyes, but her tenacious nature shows each time she turns her gaze to self-complacent MacRua. Or to his black shirt.
As a new song starts (and longing glances continue), MacRua leans to Drasey, whispers something to her ear, then gets up... slowly, ever so slowly... and starts to unbutton his shirt. Sensually moving in time with the music, he progresses further... slowly, ever so slowly... performing striptease and gracefully throwing one garment after another at Drasey. The black shirt... sleeveless t-shirt... trousers...
The light and music expire simultaneously. With the last note striking the air, MacRua flicks away the last item – the dying stub. It makes an ardent arc and lands in front of Drasey. The time is on the verge of stopping. Drasey faints under the pile of MacRua’s garments.
Two ghostly shades stepping out of shadows do not let the dramatic pause drag on. With a brisk stride, two cops walk over to MacRua... flank him... and announce an arrest for smoking in a public place.
An officer follows them, obviously their superior. A uniform, a truncheon and handcuffs attached to her belt make her look like a born dominatrix. She glances down on the arrested. His arms are twisted and pulled to the back. With an unyielding expression, the officer puts handcuffs on MacRua’s wrists.
The singer jumps down from the stage and approaches MacRua. One move of her chiseled shoulders and her glitzy cloak slides down. She catches it up and wraps MacRua in its streamy folds. She leans closer, as if for a kiss... but before her lips could touch him, the mistress on duty pushes her away and leads MacRua to the door. The whole restaurant is so entranced that nobody utters a word.
The singer rubs the place on her body where the ruthless policewoman pushed her, looking after MacRua with longing in her big eyes... The door bangs shut. The sound brings the singer back to reality. She snatches the first thing she comes across from the pile of garments, and snuggling the black shirt to her face runs away. Drasey wriggles on the floor, under the remaining clothing, still only half-conscious. The leader of the orchestra quickly gives a signal to start a new tune. The lights grow bright again.
Drasey comes round from the swoon. She pushes away the clothing covering her face... and her hand touches something solid. She gropes around, and finally slips her hand into the pocket of MacRua’s trousers. When her hand reemerges, she’s holding a small jar. A neat glass jar... with a red ribbon elegantly tied around... and a small cream-coloured, gilt-edged card hanging on it. She reads the words on the card: "For my host". She looks closely at the jar. It is full of mud. The finest mud from the depths of the Bog... She falls into a swoon again.
The camera lingers on the once-again unconscious body on the floor for a moment, the music played by the orchestra grows louder. Then the curtain goes down – a heavy old-fashioned dark-red curtain with gold trimming. It swings lazily for a while, the music slowly fades away and the screen eventually darkens. White letters pop-up on it: "Product placement is welcome. Especially brand handcuffs and saxophones. Contact us at the number below." And then darkness swallows everything.
photo © unknown