.Vaudevilliput: Story in 10 acts (& Intermission)

Act 7: A Wedding Dance.

The curtain rose to show an old-fashioned human bakery. Among the ovens and pans, a large, ornate wedding cake was being constructed. The baker was just lowering the wedding couple figures onto the top. She stepped back and admired her work. Then turned and left, turning off the lights and locking the door.

In the dimness, a soft spot slowly came up on the top of the cake.

The wedding couple gave a shake, then relaxed. They smiled shyly at each other.

The groom waved his hand and music swelled up from nowhere. He offered his hand to the bride.

Their dance started off simple, with halting steps as if they were strangers coming to know one another. They were getting more confident when she stepped on his foot. He yanked back and fell to the next lower tier. The music stopped.

When he stood, wiping off frosting, she couldn’t contain her laughter. He laughed back and beckoned her down. She jumped into his waiting arms. Music rose up again and they danced on the second tier. The dancing was much better, now, more in tune with one another. He spun her away from him at one point, to the very edge of the tier. She looked down, looked at him, smiled and jumped. He followed and the music went up in tempo.

On the third tier, they danced as ballroom dance contestants, one identity with four feet. Up and down, between the columns, kicking up a flurry of icing.

They finally leapt from the tier together, holding hands. On the table, figures that had been embedded in the icing stepped out, best men and maids of honor dancing in support of the couple. The dancing rivaled anything I’d seen on stage in quite a while.

Just as someone broke out toothpick sized canes for the men, they heard a rattle of keys in the door. Everyone rushed back to their opening positions, first hefting the bride and groom up onto the cake, then stepping into the icing.

Man and wife JUST got into place when the baker opened the door and turned on the lights. She crossed the kitchen to get her purse from a table, and looked the cake over.

“Tsk, tsk,” she said, smoothing the icing here and there with her thumb. Then she noticed a top hat on the table.

She picked it up, looked at the groom and bent to place it on his head.

“There you go,” she said, the first words spoken in the act.

“Thank you,” the little figure replied.

“Eek!” said the baker, falling back in a faint.

Between seven and eight was a contortionist. He was billed as an impressionist, though. There was a sign: “Bill, the Impressionist” showing clearly as he stepped out.

Beside him was a little snuff box, half opened and empty.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight, I should like to share some of my impressions with you.

“First, my impression of how President Conner would react to waking up inside a snuff box.”

He stepped into the case and folded himself down, pulling the lid shut on himself.

“Hey!” came the muffled voice. “I’m in a snuff box!”

There was a pause, then it opened and he unfolded to stand up, taking a bow.

“And now, my impression of how King Englegelle would react, waking up inside a snuff box.”

He folded himself back down, shut the box. A magnet hanging from a fishing pole came from the wings and dangled over the box.

Just as Bill said, “Hey! I’m in President Conner’s snuff box!” the magnet lifted the box and carried it off stage. The sign was knocked over on the way out.