Curious, because we wondered who it might be.
Our driver checked the call sheet an announced, "It's The Leading Lady's Dad."
Oh. Well, why didn't you just say so in the first place?
A grey-headed gent came out of the lobby door, and approached the vehicle quizzically. Confirming his ride, he also climbed aboard.
A bevy of introductions began.
Kind, personable, with great laughing eyes, The Dad chatted comfortably with the present company, both asking and being asked questions of sundry sort.
Then, minus fanfare, we arrived at our destination.
The day waned forward, and I stood at my post, right next to the Chicken Actress and her anxiety-marked holding pen. The sun was shining, the shade generous, and L'il Man happy as a lark.
He requested of me a snack, so I took him inside our digs to fish out a fruit leather to tide him over until lunch. Happily, we exited the trailer, only to discover that a gaggle of folk had taken up residence in our seats about the hen house.
A tall mirror, with the words "Prop Department" written on masking tape leaned against the tree that sheltered all.
The Staff Assistant stood nearby; Wardrobe and Hair were also present.
A fourth figure sat in an out-of-doors lounge chair. Draped in a towel, hair dripping wet and slimed with color, the gregarious man laughed with his counterparts on the lawn. It was none other than The Dad ~ human as human can be, considering his lot in life of chatting with the ladies a nostalgic event of days gone by, when the women folk would gather to quilt, or shuck corn, or defeather chickens.
He was oblivious of his celebrity status, and he liked it that way.
So do I.