Desperate Acts

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“So, tell me about this Shakespeare Club,” MarcEdwards said to Brodie Langford as they left Sherbourne Street andturned west onto Front. “Why not simply take up with the amateurplayers who hang about Ogden Frank’s theatre?”

Brodie grinned before answering – to let Marcknow that he was aware of the deliberate naiveté of the remark.They had become fast friends over the preceding seven months, andenjoyed the kind of gentle teasing which that sort of bondencourages. “We are as fine wine to plain vinegar,” he said,squinting into the October sunset that bathed the broad lakesideavenue in shimmering waves of gold and vermilion. “Our sole purposeis to read, discuss and otherwise venerate the Bard, and only theBard.”

“I suspect the great man himself would feelmore comfortable among a troupe of actors, however sweaty andthick-tongued,” Marc said.

“Very true. But we do occasionally stoop toacting out a scene or two – by way of illustration, of course.”

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