Missing Props

Whatever happened to the red boa and the nightdress?
It was safely brought to and received at room 217, Esplanade Hotel.
Alongside a couple of junkets of cheap New Orleans necklaces in a laundry bag.
The curtains lay closed, a large camera fixated over the double bed, as shadows emerged from the corner. The door slammed firm SHUT.
That was the last I saw of the props.
Throughout the day loud and soft noises seeped from the nineteenth century room.As the odd hotel guest paused to wonder, but knew and respected that the door was to remain shut.They walked on down the long corridor, from some a nervous laugh escaping from inside, others in disbelief but not totally traumatised!
The door opened slightly at one stage for a brief ten seconds! The 1st AD reached out his hand to take a sound device and at that point I saw him- the actor, shirtless, and I looked away embarrassed as if I had stumbled onto something that was not mine. And the door shut again.
After fifteen hours of shooting, near midnight,the runners tore through the building carrying lights, cameras and leads.I wandered into 217, but it lay bare, apart from the five flies circling the bedroom light who seemed not to care and two towels strewn over the bathroom sink.
All week, non stop filming as people came and went, the props never appeared. The last day of shooting came to a close and it all went quiet thereafter. I pleaded with reception that if they found a red boa and a nightdress that it was mine- and they assured me that they would let me know amid awkward glances.
In bed on Tuesday morning, asleep I get a call from the producer. Can I go to Chapelizod and collect the lights to bring to Ardmore Studios?, 'Oh and by the way, I got your kettle it's in the suitcase!'- Well thank god for that- I awoke- 'that's my mum's!'
I drive down towards the Phoenix, and arrive at Chapelizod Industrial park, so old it is. I pass an old man wearing a skirt, and another man nearly drove into me because it's my fault for driving down a one way street- as if I knew- where's the sign?,like I had lived here?- even more disturbing were the numerous black and blue bruises on his face- where has this man been???
As I approach the recording studio's I bang on the door. 'Hi I'm Marie, I'm a friend of Alan's, I'm here for the lights'. He removes his hat and I walk straight through, even though I wasn't asked. We find the lights and the flags, and I decide not to take the smoke machine, is this ours?
I leave, and only as I reach the Phoenix park, I remember....The damn suitcase, so all the way back I go, into the industrial park, past the man in the skirt, he's also wearing black knee tights and to Muzzle Music again. 'Hi, I'm Marie and I left a suitcase behind. It has a kettle in it.'Yep there's a suitcase here, with a kettle inside', as he looks at me. 'Thanks' and I walk off. I place the suitcase on the passenger seat and like a person possossed I try tenderly but feeling manic unzip slowly as a mass of red feathers appear in front of me- the missing props!!!
All week, the damn props lay sleeping in a suitcase with no name, and no owner.
Now they rest under my bed waiting for their next adventure.