On Making Off: Misadventures Off-Off Broadway Read Online Free Page B

down on his way back from Vegas. I had exactly one hour to learn the part…one miserable, torturous hour. Sure, it was only a few lines and hardly any stage business, but the very idea of forgetting something had me in a panic. Yes, it’s “Beware the ides of March,” one of the Bard’s most recognizable lines. But fuck that up, even a little bit, and everyone will think you’re an idiot. A misplaced breath could easily transform it into “Beware the hides of March.”
    Instead of relaxing and learning the role, I rattled through every possible mistake, convincing myself that my fate lay somewhere among the possible disasters. Luckily, the Soothsayer hitched a ride and arrived five minutes before curtain. Pushing this memory aside, I reminded myself this was All Male Peep Show , not Hamlet .
    “ Go sit down, and Beth will bring the script to you,” Karen said.
    Bobby and I descended into the small theater and found our seats. Beth appeared shortly, annoyed and out of breath.
    “ Thanks. You didn’t have to run it over,” I said, trying to comfort her. “It’s not like I can read it during the show.”
    “ I know,” she replied with a snap, turning to leave.
    “ Um, excuse me, Beth,” Bobby said. “Did we order this with a side of bitch?”
    And he released a wicked laugh as the lights went down on the very stage I would be gracing in 48 hours.
    Ninety minutes later, the lights came back up and we sat, dumbfounded, for a good minute. Finally, Bobby looked at me.
    “ Randy, I can’t believe you’re going to be in this show.” I couldn’t tell by his tone if he was excited or disgusted. “I mean, Randy, that show is… fleshy. I might need to go home and masturbate right now!”
    “ Yeah,” I replied with a sigh. “It’s pretty fleshy all right.”
    The next night, fighting the “ hides of March” fears, I reported to the theater to shadow the departing actor. I arrived two full hours before curtain and began my warm-ups. Since I wasn’t performing that night, the warm-up was unnecessary, but I wanted to set up a routine to help me maintain focus.
    The other actors started wandering in, and they all looked at me as if I were some exotic animal performing an elaborate mating ritual. It took a while before I realized their odd glances weren’t because I was a new addition to the backstage family but because I was warming up. Karen had taken to calling me the “real actor,” and, flattery aside, I wasn’t sure what she meant until this moment. Most of the performers—good-looking, hard-bodied model types—had little or no acting training. A few of them, I would find out later, actually made their living as male escorts. This was not the warm-up crowd. This was the fluffing crowd. I was completely out of my element. If I was going to share the stage with models, I had to bring something else to the table. Good acting, it seemed, would be my only option.
    A half-hour before the show, the star walked backstage, noticed me right away, and came over to introduce himself.
    “ You must be the new guy,” he said, extending his hand toward me. “I’m Jeff Stryker.”
    His hair was perfect. His bronzed face exhibited excellent proportions, and his handshake was confident and firm.
    “ Randy Anderson. Nice to meet you.”
    Jeff Stryker was a movie star. I had heard of him, but aside from last night’s show, I’d never seen any of his work, something I would not disclose to any of my cast mates. I needed to fit in.
    “ Welcome to the show. Have you met everyone yet?”
    I was taken aback by his charm and friendliness. And his eyes were so…sympathetic. I found this odd because he’s famous for his prison videos, and sympathetic eyes are not what you’d expect from someone sodomizing an inmate.
    “ No,” I replied. “You’re actually the first person I’ve met. I’ve been warming up.”
    “ You mean, like yoga?”
    “ Well, yes. Kind of. Just getting my instrument warmed up.”
    “ Oh, I