An Occasional Segue: An Actor Prepares

The theatre company I am affiliated with here in NYC, Mind The Gap Theatre, my British lifeline, was potentially handed the fattest, juiciest, most mouth-watering bone today. I say potentially, as nothing is definite yet. But there is a chance that we may have found a home. For those who don't have any frame of reference, that's nothing short of huge! We're still processing the info and the possibility. More as things (hopefully) become concrete.

I wrote this in January 2007 on the R train to Brooklyn after responding to an ad on Craigslist about a sitcom pilot. I got the part - one scene, a few lines, a modest beginning. Big names were attached the the project. I was thrilled. But after months and months of meetings and re-writes and pre-production, my role was cut. I never even stepped foot on set.

Anyway, this seemed relevant, given today's possibilities, and reminds me of where my journey has taken me since I've been an actress in New york.

An Actor Prepares

I am at my most alluring now
Standing in the kitchen in socks and lace.
Hair dripping
Skin prickling
I am bent in concentration,
Surrounded by an army of utensils
Filled to overflowing
Boiling furtively
Hissing frantically
Slopping water around the room.
This is a covert operation
A clock-ticking, skin-scalding, towel-missing operation
It requires diligence and ingenuity and timing.
I spit icy curses at timing and broken boilers
As I improvise on this pivotal day
When the success of this particular battle depends largely on good grooming
And Estee Lauder Idealist Skin Refinisher.
I do not cut myself with a brand new razor,
In spite of the fact that I have a curious audience purring at me in one hand
And my left foot in the sink.
I navigate the tricky part around the ankle
And the stubborn curve of the knee
With the grace of a prima ballerina.
The grande-dame,
An old pro,
Undefeated.
My foundation smooth and strong.
For a moment I consider hot chocolate and a movie
As an alternative to the endless war waging outside of my kitchen.
When I am done
Louis rubs his furry face against my silky skin
He seems pleased.
I feel validated.
He traces my path to the closet with interest,
Lapping at the soapy footprints that will not be attended to,
Dancing around invisible mice and dangling things
And snagging my favourite sweater.
I throw it onto the bonfire of knits and wovens building on the bed,
Languishing lazily,
Accepting of their fate.
They are not part of my armour today.
I fight with the hairdryer
And do not understand the attraction of natural bristle brushes.
I primp and preen and tweak and tease.
I apply smoky eye,
But not too smoky.
I intend to imply only the slightest hint of spice.
I am in stealth mode.
I study myself from every angle
And decide less cleavage is required for today's attack.
I layer.
It's a necessary modesty
Of a similar tone to my No. 7 Nude lip gloss
That suggests an easy grace befitting of a non-recurring sitcom character.
On the train I count stations
And enter the unfamiliar world of
An Other Borough.
I watch sleeping people
And crazy people.
I stay alert.
I idly wonder if there may be four or five other
Blond-haired, blue-eyed
Non-Union Receptionists
Stacked neatly in garbage bags in this guy's bathroom.
But I get off at 68^th Street,
Check for smudges,
Slip into my most charming smile
And ring the bell.