"What's that supposed to mean," I whispered to Mandy. "Shhh," she hissed back.
Andrew continued, " With this story I reject the notion of commercial art and the horrors of the money that drives it." That's right, I thought, there was no admission price. I think I like this play already. "True artists must live off the indulgence of their enlightened audiences."
"Yess, we artists must live off our patrons' indulgences," agreed Sinthia. "But our story tonight is not about the greed of performers but the greed of financiers and industrialists."
The Maestro proclaimed, "And it takes place in that most appropriately private place, from whence the dirtiest of debates rages between globalists, hidden from eyes and ears of the workers of the world. But tonight we shall change that!"
Andrew was a leftover from the socialist movement of the last century and still railed against corporate demons, real or imagined. I'd have to sit through another diatribe but the rewards of a cozy night with a passionate Mandy were worth it. Besides, how much talking could be done in a bathroom, anyway?
"Yess, tonight many things will change." Andrew briefly looked over at his conjurer, like that wasn't part of the script. She ignored him. "And now's the time for the performance! You may be wondering how we plan to make space for you all inside our small theatre beneath these stairs. Yess, I see the wonderment in your eyes. An enigma, resolved by a simple potion. Please, take a sip of the apple cider Lars our usher is handing out. It has a pleasant taste, I assure you, and once inside our space crowding will not be an isssue."
Of all the plays and films Mandy has dragged me to I've never had to drink a potion, and it made me a little nervous. I'd never been one to take recreational drugs, though I had no philosophical complaint against those who do, but they hadn't been for me. However, Mandy nearly gulped hers so I chugged mine as well; it tasted just like apple cider, maybe a bit bitter but tolerable. I looked around: everything seemed normal. The other audience members were slowly filing one-by-one into the curtain-shrouded bathroom door with little commotion other than an occasional shriek of surprise. Must be some special effect!
Finally it was our turn, and Mandy went first, not saying anything. She disappeared behind the black drapes and I followed her after about ten seconds. When the curtain closed behind me the walls, floor and ceiling of the little bathroom suddenly receded from me at a frightening pace! I was immediately dizzy and started falling; good thing I instinctively beat my wings and flew up to be with Mandy.
WHAT!!! Beat my wings?? My wings??? I, I, I was a housefly, Musca Domestica, a freaking insect! Yikes! What a hell of a potion! But you know, I didn't feel bad at all. In fact, I felt pretty good! I recognized Mandy, and she still looked like a fine piece of thorax to me, cute as a, well, cute as a bug. It was a bit weird, as I never before could distinguish one fly from another, but now as I surveyed the playgoers they were all very distinctive in appearance. There were the two old Jewish women who entered the bathroom before us, and here came the young couple on their obviously first date. And I didn't have to look around to canvas the place: my new eyes gave me 360o vision.
"Hi Hun," buzzed Mandy as I landed next to her.
"Did you have any idea that this was going to happen?" I asked, rubbing her hairy little legs. So sexy!
"Not a clue, but I think it's fun, don't you?"
"So far so good," I replied. Then I noticed two things, actually two gargantuan white blobby things. They moved glacially and rumbled to each other in very low-pitched tones that I picked up through my feet. They must be the actors I guessed. Hummph. I'd not have given them another thought except that they were emitting marvelous odors! Delicious, intoxicating, and I had to get closer. "Come on," I called to my flygirl.
We buzzed around the two, past their slowly gaping maws and ski-slope noses, swirling down around their enormous torsos covered with acres of gaudy cloth, skimming over the enormous lake in front of them. Luscious incense! We took a side trip to the waste bin, also a source of succulent scents. And how could we ignore the lure of the floor behind the megalithic toilet structure? Nobody ever cleans back there, and it was a buffet of heavenly delights. Yesterday I might have found it strange that these sensations were so addicting, but now I wasn't exactly myself you know.
Mandy landed there next to me, close; I could feel the gentle breeze from her beating wings tingling my antennae, and it too was very sexy. I wanted to hop on her right then, but I wasn't sure that's how flies "did it", and besides, there were others watching. Not just the theatre-goers: some ants were busy back there behind the commode. I wondered if they were here for the play also, but they weren't talking to us. In fact, they weren't even speaking our language, just making low mumbling conversation amongst themselves.
I crawled over to Andrew, who was munching on some unidentifiable piece of muck. He seemed to have adapted to insect life very well. He also was oblivious to his play's progress. I thought it would be polite to say something.
"Great show, Mr. Fraunke."
"Thanks, " replied the playwright, and he went back to eating his gunk.
Hummph. "Where's Sinthia?" I asked. "I haven't seen her since entering this 'theatre'."
"I don't know," he buzzed, looking around with facetted eyes. "Oh, she's over, over there...oh my God!"