My Trophy Boy

Act 2 - Scene 1: Observations

Q

The little sport beside me amused me. Every now and again he'd mumble to himself as if talking directly to the characters on stage. He'd be exasperated one second and then in awe the next.

I'm glad I wasn't the only one that enjoyed modern periodic theatrics.

Once the play was done I caught Holland wipe a tear from his eyes.
Who knew this little genius was eminently emotional?

The plot was captivating nevertheless. It was set in the mid 20th century where a rich Spanish aristocrat had an affair with his black maid. The maid had a 'half cast' daughter named Sandra Anderloh, who was forcefully separated from her poor mother at the age of 10. The father bargained for more power by exploiting his mixed-bastard child's innocence. Sandra ended up a pregnant teen at 16 before she was abandoned by her father and his wealthy security net. Sandra and her baby moved to a small town where she's able to make her living via prostitution. She then begins selling cakes on the side and meets one mysterious customer. This customer was aware of her existence and family name and decided to capitalise off of her, not that she had any money, but she had wealth to her name. They fell in love and finally she lived comfortably, so she had thought until this man cons her father's businesses and leaves Sandra abandoned yet again with a second child this time.

This operatic play is a part of a generational trilogy. Yes it's fiction and Augustina Morrelle, the script writer, has started this story with the 2nd generation from Sandra's perspective. The 1st generation will be called The Black Servant, all about Sandra's mother. And the last piece may be about Sandra's child, but Augustina was hesitant upon clarifying my presumption on our talks on her work. This story features the reality of fraudulent exploitation, racial struggles, discriminatory oppression, and the nature of the different genders and social classes.

"Your friend really knew what she was doing huh?" Rhetorically tittered Holland. He was in a state of shock which felt complimentary.
He stretched his arms and his back before he stood from his seat.

I got up and led him out of the vip section of the theatre, eager to fulfil my stomach's void.

.

We were on our way to a seafood restaurant, one I favourited the most in this area.

"Do you like seafood cuisine? If so what's your favorite dish?" I asked to disrupt the silence.

"I'm allergic." He looked out the tinted windows.

Shit! I forgot to ask about allergies in my invite.

I pressed the buzzer and spoke in the mic to my chauffeur.
"Terminate destination. Take us to The Black Bore And Bull instead."

"Yes sire."

"Oh..." Holland gasped, facing my direction but not directly at me.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I was joking." He pulled an awkward face. "You're a very swift man Mr Michaels." He chuckled nervously.

Taking the piss is he?
Do I have a 'play with me' sign on my forehead?
I'd like to see him try and play with me-
'Calm!' I thought to myself. I needed to be composed, focussed on the target.

"Well I hope you like meat, because we're going to a BBQ steakhouse." And that was final.

And what if he don't eat meat?
Oh he eats meat alright.
.

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