Thoughts While Having Sex

by Stephanie Lehmann

I hate the theater. Why did I ever think I liked it? Because of Rising Stars and some fun high school and college productions, sure, but what ever possessed me to think I could make some kind of career out of it? Had to be out of my mind.

  "If she doesn't get here soon," he continued, "I'd say we have two options."

  I sank into a chair. He took a bite of sandwich. A piece of avocado hung for a moment out of his mouth. He realized and wiped it off with the back of his hand. "We can either cancel the performance. Which would be a real bummer because we have reservations for a good size house."

  Which was a miracle in itself.

  Typical.

  Spend two years writing the play. Find someone to produce it, direct it, rehearse it, build a set, lug an iron radiator from the flea market, bring in an audience that includes, against all odds, a potential investor with Broadway credits and opening night comes and you don't have your leading lady because she gets one line on Law and Order. Theater in a nutshell.

  "Or?" I asked. To me, there was no alternative to canceling. We had no understudy. What else could be done?

  "You go on."

  "Very funny."

  "I'm serious."

  "Playwrights do not step in for actors."

  "They do if we need them to."

  "I don't know the lines."

  "Do it script in hand."

  "No."

  "Come on. I'll go out there before we start. Make an announcement. Explain the situation."

  "Forget it."

  "The audience will love it—they'll be on your side!"

  "I cannot go up in front of an audience. There's no way! And apart from the fact that the idea of it scares me to death, I can't act!"

  "You don't have to act. Just say the lines."

  "You're crazy."

  "Say the lines loudly and clearly. Just so the people can hear them. And let Kelly do the rest."

  "Peter! You're suffering some kind of delusion here, like we're in the middle of some hackneyed storyline where the understudy goes on for the lead and does some incredible tap dance routine and becomes a big star. I'm not going to do it!"

  "I'm not trying to turn you into a star. I am trying to turn a bad situation into an adequate one."

  "I have an idea. Ask Beth to do it. Problem solved."

  "Beth?"

  "She's doing box office. She's an actress from NYU."

  "She doesn't know the play. She doesn't know the character."

  "You said read the lines, don't act."

  "Yeah but she's an actress, she'll try to act and she'll do it all wrong."

  "Then let Carol do it. She knows the play backwards and forwards."

  "We need Carol to run the show. Face it, Jennifer." And then he laughed in this maniacal way. "You're perfect for the part."

  I looked at him, not laughing, not even smiling. "I cannot go out there on that stage."

  His smile quickly disappeared. "We've all worked our asses off to make this evening happen. Don't let a little stage fright make it all for nothing. Rise to the occasion."

  "Rise to the occasion? You certainly rose to the occasion last night with Kelly, didn't you!"

  That caught him off guard. I was a bit surprise to hear that slip out, myself. "Peter. Believe me. It won't work. We'll ask Beth. She'll be happy to do it. And I'll do box office. I love doing box office. To be quite honest, I'm starting to believe that the only way I ever want to be involved in the theater again is by doing box office."

  He gave me a harsh look. “Then you're a coward.”

  I felt some relief. I was more than willing to be a coward, as long as it meant I didn't have to go on stage. "I'm sorry if I'm letting you down." And sorry that he'd let me down. I left the office and passed through the lobby, where people were starting to accumulate. Escaping into the still-empty theater, I took my seat in the back row.

  So that's how it would work out. He would ask Beth. And she would be thrilled. And my play would be ruined. But that was okay, because there were still fifteen more performances, and who cared if Rocco Shorenstein was in the audience. Even if he did show up, which he wouldn't, he'd never do anything for me because they never do. The important thing was that I didn't have to go out there and make a fool out of myself.

  I congratulated my sister. She was probably watching all of this with amusement. Getting her revenge.

  Carol poked her head in. "We're going to open the house now," she said to me.

  "Okay."

  I got up and headed backstage. Kelly would be there, but I didn't know where else to go. I slipped through the break in the curtain. She sat at the makeup table putting on eyeliner.

  "You'd better hurry up and get ready," she said.

  She already wore the black leather miniskirt and red halter (from her own wardrobe) for the first scene.

  "I told him to use Beth."

  She put down the eyeliner and turned around. "That little idiot at the box office? Are you insane?"

  "Why not?"

  "She'll ruin your play."

  "As if I would do any better."

  "I don't believe this. Where's your copy of the script?"

  "I don't have it."

  "Then use mine."

  "I am not going out there."

  "Jennifer. Rocco Shorenstein is going to be here."

  "Maybe."

  "Not maybe. Probably. And you are not going to ruin this for me."

  What a delightful idea. I looked at her innocently. "Why shouldn't I?"

  "Oh. I get it. You want to get back at me because of Peter. And you're willing to sacrifice your play to do it."

  "Why not? The last scene sucks anyway."

  She stepped towards me. For a second I thought she was going to slap me on the cheek like Rhett Butler slaps Scarlett in Gone With the Wind.

  "If you don't go out there and say your goddamned words that you wrote because you wanted, more than anything, for an audience to hear what you have to say, then you belong at home watching TV along with the rest of the country. You don't belong in the theater."

  We looked at each other. My right eye twitched. Neither of my eyes, to my knowledge, had ever twitched before.

  "But," I said feebly, "I can't."

  "Yes you can."

  "No. I can't. Even if I wanted to go out there."

  "What?"

  "It's impossible."

  "Why?"

  "Because I can't do it."

  "Because?"

  I considered telling Kelly I had my period. And it was my first day, so the flow was really heavy and the bloating and cramping was really bad. But for once I didn't have my period on an important day. Then my petrified eyes landed on the pair of blue jeans Annie wears in the first scene. "The costumes. I'll never fit into them. Annie wears a size four."

  "Forget the costumes. People can imagine the clothes. It doesn't matter."

  "Go out there just like this?"

  She looked me up and down, unimpressed. "It will do." She handed me her script. "Brush your hair and put on some lipstick. I'll tell Peter."

  "But—"

  She left. I started to shake. I'm not talking tremble. I'm talking shake, like naked in a blizzard. Even my jaw shook, violently, as if I'd lost motor control. Why was I so freaked out? Was I going to do this? I put down the script. Staring into the mirror, I ran the brush through my hair, barely able to grasp the handle. Then I tried to put on lipstick but couldn't hold my hand still enough to do it, couldn't find the strength to apply enough pressure to put it on.

  It seemed that I was going to do this.

  I went to the curtain, opened it an inch and looked through. A surprising number of people were starting to arrive. I had an urge to scream from behind the curtain: Don't you people have anything better to do than come here on this beautiful evening and sit in this hot stuffy theater and watch my depressing play?

  I went back to the dressing room and sat down. Opened Kelly's script as if I was seeing my play for the first time. The pages were
wrinkled and ragged, with all her lines highlighted in fat fluorescent yellow. I could barely see my own lines between them. No. This was a big mistake.

  Kelly returned. "Peter is going to make an announcement and explain the situation and then we'll go on."

  "What about the blocking?"

  "You've seen it a million times, Jennifer, it will come to you."

  "No. I mean, I don't think I can move."

  "What?"

  "My limbs are frozen."

  "Listen. All actors feel nervous just before they're about to go out. It'll go away as soon as you start speaking your lines."

  "No it won't."

  "It will. Come on. People aren't going to be judging your performance."

  "Yes they will. People always judge, no matter what. They can't help themselves."

  "But they're not expecting a performance from you. And you shouldn't expect that from yourself. Just forget about the audience. It's you and me out there. You and me talking. All you have to do is let them listen to you."

  "I don't want them to listen to me."

  "Don't be an idiot. That's what you want more than anything. That's why you wrote the god-damned play."

  Carol stuck her head in. "Peter is going to make his announcement and start the show, so you better be ready."

  Chapter 12

  Kelly and I stood in the wing, where we could see Peter facing the audience. Specks of dust, illuminated by the bright lights, floated in the air around him.

  "Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen and welcome to The Renegade Theater. I'm Peter Heller, and I have a treat for all of you tonight. As you may or may not know, this production is an Equity Showcase, and the code for this type of performance means that our actors are performing gratis. It also means that if one of them gets a paying acting job, she has the option of taking that job even if it conflicts with the performance schedule. Well, one of our two leading ladies got a one-day gig on Law and Order, and the shoot went overtime."

  The audience reacted with a groan.

  "I'm told she only has one line, and that line is, 'How much am I going to get paid?'"

  People laughed. Ha ha.

  "But we didn't want to cancel the show tonight. So our esteemed playwright has graciously agreed to read the part of Melanie for us tonight."

  Scattered applause and surprised mumblings swept through the audience. A wave of acid flooded my stomach.

  "She will have the script in hand. And she's understandably nervous. But I know you'll all be supportive. I hope you all enjoy tonight's performance of Til Death Do Us Part by Jennifer Ward."

  Everyone applauded with enthusiasm. Our offering was way better than they could’ve expected. Watch the writer humiliate herself on stage.

  The lights went down. I followed Kelly to our marks in the darkness like a child who tags after her mother in a crowded department store. Don't lose me! I would've clutched the hem of her skirt if I'd been short enough. A hush came over the audience, our visitors, these guests who'd invaded our safe little space and now expected to be entertained. Don't listen, I wanted to scream, nothing of any significance is going to be said here. The hot lights already had me sweating. The lights came up. The glare blinded my eyes. How would I see the script? Kelly, standing near me, spoke the first line.

  Julia: "So how do you like your new apartment?"

  My line. My line. I knew my line without needing to look into my script. The line was in my head. But all these people were looking. Waiting. Maybe even Rocco, who had to be that fat man sitting in the front row. All I had to do was say it. Say it out loud. Say it! I opened my mouth. My voice barely made it past my throat.

  Melanie: "It's small."

  Kelly regarded me with impatience, a lot like Diana would've done.

  Melanie: "No view. The ceiling is low. Never gets a drop of sun. Already stepped on two cockroaches. It's the epitome of Hell's Kitchen—"

  Julia: "Glamour!"

  Melanie: "I was going to say grunge. Never thought I'd feel lucky to live in a place with bars on the windows."

  God, that sounded so stiff.

  Julia: "The good kind, that you can slide open if there's a fire. An accessory every young lady should have."

  Melanie: "Great."

  Better. I was used to being sarcastic. But I had to project. I tried to straighten up. Though Melanie would slouch, but they had to hear me, stop thinking.

  Julia: "Not to mention, it keeps the wolves at bay. On the fifth floor there's always the danger of someone breaking in from the roof."

  I took a big breath. While breathing out, I tried to speak from my stomach. Wasn't that how actresses spoke? From the stomach, not the throat?

  Melanie: "You aren't mad at me, are you? Because I'm not staying with you?"

  This was worse. I still sounded stiff—just louder.

  Julia: "Of course not. You need your own place. It's Mom and Dad who wanted you to keep an eye on me."

  Melanie: "You're the one who's going to have to keep an eye on me. This city intimidates me, and I don't know a soul."

  Julia: "Don't worry. Manhattan is the easiest place in the world to meet people. And no matter how many enemies you make, there's always a fresh supply of unsuspecting people to take their place."

  The audience laughed. That helped relax me. Maybe I could get into this. It was fun to have Kelly speak my lines back to me. No wonder they called them plays. We were playing!

  Melanie: "I certainly feel like it's going to make me face all my fears."

  Julia: "No better place on earth to face your fears than New York City."

  By the time we came to the yelling out the window section, I was so into it, I had to stop myself from overacting.

  Julia: "You have to think positively if you want to get anywhere in this world. Now I want you to repeat after me."

  Kelly slid open the gate, raised the window and stuck her head out.

  Julia: "I am ambitious!"

  Melanie: "No."

  Julia: "Say it! Go ahead."

  Melanie: "This is idiotic."

  Julia: (yelling) "I am ambitious!"

  I went to the window. Since I'd already done this in real life in her apartment, it didn't seem so alarming. I had to remind myself to hold back.

  Melanie: "I am ambitious."

  Julia: (yelling) "And I deserve to succeed!"

  Melanie: "Do I have to?"

  Julia: (yelling) "I deserve to succeed!"

  Melanie: "I deserve to succeed! I suppose."

  The audience laughed. I felt grateful. They were letting me (and Melanie) know they were with me (and her). We continued on to the end of the scene and the lights faded out. Kelly quickly changed her clothes, and in what seemed like no time, we were back out on stage. A year has passed. Melanie is engaged to be married. And she's wracked with guilt. I was doing fine until we got about midway through. And then I started to get uncomfortable.

  Melanie: "We never talked about this, all these years, but... do you remember the day you tried to kill yourself?"

  Julia: "Of course."

  Melanie: "I felt sure I had done something wrong. Like I was responsible somehow for what happened."

  Julia: "That's ridiculous."

  Melanie: "You want to know something weird?"

  I hesitated. Melanie had a monologue. I felt naked. It was drawn so much from my own life. Why couldn't I fictionalize more? Too late now. I made myself go on.

  Melanie: "The day you did it, was the first day I got my period. I was sort of freaked out, because I'd stained the crotch of my pants and I was horrified that maybe someone at school had seen something. And I went straight home and found Mom on the floor of the bathroom. Cleaning blood off the floor. Sobbing on the floor. And she told me about you. And it was horrible. And I couldn't tell her."

  Julia: "Why not?"

  Melanie: "It suddenly didn't seem very important."

  Julia: "Or maybe you didn't want her to know."

  Melanie: "That I'd gotten
my period?"

  Julia: "That you'd become a woman. Like me."

  Our eyes met. I felt worried about what was coming. Was the audience following everything I was trying to set up? Stop thinking, I told myself. Stay in the moment.

  Melanie: "I know this is difficult for you."

  Julia: "It's not. I'm glad we're talking about this. We should've done this a long time ago."

  Melanie: "No, I mean the fact that I'm getting married."

  Julia: "I'm glad you're getting married. I want you to be happy."

  Melanie: "But it will be hard for you to go out there in front of everyone and have to smile."

  Julia: (Raising her voice) "Oh, please. I would never want to marry George, or someone even vaguely like George!"

  Melanie: "But you hate it, don't you. You hate the fact that I'm the one who's getting married first!"

  I looked at Kelly and felt my moment of triumph. She took her hairbrush and threw it at my head. I jumped aside or it would've hit me. She came to sit down next to me on the bed, apologized, smoothed my hair, rubbed my back. It felt horrible. Just like I used to feel with my sister. That paralyzing mixture of guilt and anger. Hating her, hating myself. By the end of the scene, I was letting her convince me that I didn't want to marry George. The section Annie had trouble with in rehearsals. It did feel horrible, the way my character was sacrificing herself.

  Melanie: "I'm just not sure what I want anymore."

  Julia: "You can't get married for them. You have to put yourself first. You have to be selfish."

  Melanie: "But all the planning. The expense."

  Julia: "You can't think about that."

  Melanie: "It would hurt George incredibly."

  Julia: "Wouldn't it be worse marrying him when that's not what you really want? Wouldn't that be hurting him much more?"

  Melanie: "I don't know. I don't want to hurt anyone."

  I paused and looked at Julia.

  Melanie: "Why does it feel like whatever I do, someone is going to get hurt?"

  Julia: "If you want, I'll tell Mom and Dad. And Dad will tell George, and then Mom will call everyone, and it will be just like it was never going to happen."

  Melanie: "But it's crazy."

  Julia: "It's okay. If you need to be crazy then be crazy."

  I took a good long moment before answering.