By the time Jallen learned Zoey and he would be seated apart inside the theatre the time to object had come and gone.
Lady Anyys, Zoey and her grandmother swept up to the balcony soon after they got inside. Jallen would not see her again apparently until the ceremony concluded. That left him alone with the woman in hornrims and wild hair who'd coyly admired his bulge at the card table. She was amiable enough, and knowledgeable about the Ceremony of the Virgin. She ought to, she'd written the script.
"Mrs. Arista Spladt," she introduced herself, chest outthrust, hands on her hips. She'd worn a chiffon dress that evening, roomy and loose above the belt but tight as a pencil skirt around her hips and thighs before it fanned wider out above the knees. Sturdy ankles, strappy heels.
"Missus?" he asked. Spladt was 28 or 29 at most.
"Yes. My husband bailed out on me tonight. Conducting business in the Black Country. He says. You won't terribly mind filling in?"
Her request seemed an odd choice of words. "But of course, darling," he said.
Her luxurious hair smelt of vanilla when she bent forward to formally peck him on each cheek in greeting, tits pushed against his chest. He felt her nipples through his shirt and her blousy top. Her body splash doubled as an aromatic aphrodisiac. Zoey had met the woman too and been in her presence so she had to know about the overt scent, and the fact Lady Anyys (in league with granny?) had adroitly separated them. Why had they caused that? What would Zoey think? Was someone running a bait and switch con on him? In the event Mrs. Spadlt inquired about Mr. Darling's nonexistent curriculum vitae he would stick to Zoey's script no matter what. Jallen doubted Arista would try to pump him, not that way anyhow.
Squashing excess tit meat against his arm, Mr. Spladt's wife latched onto him to be properly escorted inside. Was that important to her, was that why this happened? Her body exuded heat. And that is a nice long neck you have, dear.
The theatre seats afforded ultimate privacy unlike any known to him. Wide as loveseats and set apart from other enclosures like them, their big clamshell backs enclosed each couple in a velvet cocoon, unseen from sides, back or overhead, open only in front to allow visibility of the stage. From the balcony Zoey would be unable to observe Mrs. Spladt or him, or anyone else under her. He didn't know how seating worked in the balcony, but downstairs no one saw anybody else except the performers. From the stage to the back wall the floor gradually elevated like in a regular cinema. Everyone downstairs commanded unobstructed lines of sight to centerstage and an inordinate amount of privacy. The novel approach so impressed Jallen he wondered why it hadn't been adopted in movie and playhouses worldwide.
At first Mrs. Spladt sat at the opposite end of the loveseat; she was a married woman, reserved, respectable. Had Zoey sat by him instead he imagined fingerfucking her then, or she honking his horn. His imagination created more distress in his trouser front. Or was the culprit Mr. Spladt's wife and her narcotic scent? Jallen's penile strain ever increased as the woman scooted closer and closer to him throughout the ritual. She missed no opportunity reminding him she had authored the silent playlet. Understandably she was prone to explaining its murky significance to newcomers and the symbolism of sundry props and gestures made by the actors. No doubt lingered once their actions became abundantly clear.
Shortly after the curtain rose Jallen ceased to regard the players as actors. Certain acts typically mimed in performance actually occurred on the Runesgate stage: actual action, reacting instead of acting, the only dialogue infrequent verbal articulations of the virgin, a gasp or moan of pleasure from the sole female performer. Large mirror panels lined the three sides of the stage. As the action began Mrs. Spladt drew attention to the mirrors subtly repositioning themselves, but not by means of magick. Stagehands stood behind each reflective section clutching its handles like a shield large enough to hide behind and not distract from the featured players.
"Moving mirrors is an art form in and off itself, takes years to master," Mrs. Spladt whispered. "All of them are magnified to enlarge subtleties for the benefit of those seated in back of the house."
Jallen didn't need to be told most of the performers were naked or soon would be. The soft parade of mirrors enabled close up reflections of the virgin's nakedness from all angles. Would the play end with her on a stage full of naked men? Would she prosper or perish? While he enjoyed the ingenuity of what he saw of the entire production it was down to Mrs. Arista Spladt's hands-on style to etch a memory he'd never forget.
The ceremony ritual opened with the virgin walking onto the stage, an astonishingly beautiful girl with blonde hair cut shorter in back than front; her breasts, pubic hair and divide of her buttocks visible through a white truncated shift. She laid facedown on a white platform. The mirrors on stage right reflected her face and blunt tipped breasts spilling from her shift, exposed. From stage left the audience viewed her pubes between her parted legs and crack of her bottom in the magnified mirrors. The only sound in the theatre as the audience held its breath came from a guitar, out of sight and softly strummed.
"Wait till you see this girl's tits," enthused Mrs. Spladt. "She won the role for two reasons. The left one and the right one."
Jallen said, "One would think every young starlet has them."
"Yeah, but not like our star. She's too old to really be a virgin anymore but those tits take off five or six years," the wistful author/directress said.
"But they're imperfect, Mrs. Spladt, they don't seem fully fleshed out yet, the nipples point in opposite directions."
She pushed her hornrims up with one finger. "Call me Arista please. You would not believe the titty casting call debacle. Nothing but beautiful girls with perfect breasts everywhere."
"You should have rung me."
"The casting director and I diligently sought character vulnerability and unusually shaped breasts, less than perfect, to project a reachable tangent warm and fuzzy."
Jallen thought it wise to not make the flippant comment he almost made.
Arista spoke in whispers so only he could hear, requiring her moving closer. His head whirled. She said, "The major symbols in the opening scene are the colours white and red. That couch on which our virgin lies is white, as is her shift. White is virginal: simple, uncomplicated, obvious." She sighed, "And in this case, unfortunately spurious."
"Seems fine to this untrained eye."
"The other prominent colour you see is red."
