thinking.
Well, I do know what I was thinking. I was thinking that my character is supposed to have just had sex with her boss, so she’d be wearing a bathrobe, and she’d be naked underneath. I mean, I had underwear on, but no leotard or slip or anything, so that I’d have the extra feeling of, what? Vulnerability or something? No one will know , I thought. It would just be my secret, a secret between me and myself that I hoped would give me some special edge over the competition.
But then it happened.
Who falls onstage wearing nothing but a bathrobe?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
The monologue was going so well, too, or at least I think it was. I’m not sure of anything now. The audience seemed to be laughing in all the right places. That’s actually what threw me, I think. Their laughter threw my whole rhythm off—having to wait until it died down before I could continue. But still, it was all okay until I tried to sit down. The stage was just so dark. And the lights were in my eyes. It was like that dream I always have where I’m frozen onstage, confused about what play I’m supposed to be doing, so nervous I lose the ability to speak.
But it shouldn’t have been complicated to find the one piece of furniture on an otherwise bare set. A chair—just sit in a chair, how hard can that be? I should never have planned to sit; that was my first mistake. My character wouldn’t sit anyway—she’s too agitated about having just slept with her boss. Why did I ever decide she should sit? If only— no, don’t think about it .
And then I just missed the chair. Just by the tiniest bit. I could tell when I started to sit down that the chair wasn’t where I thought it was, wasn’t totally beneath me, but I thought I had it, I really did.
It’s just that Jane’s silk bathrobe is so slippery—much more slippery than the terry-cloth one I used in rehearsals. I was excited when she loaned it to me because it’s exactly the sort of sexy thing you’d wear if you thought you might sleep with your boss, and I thought the bold blue and white flowers would help me stand out. I should never have borrowed that robe. If only I’d stuck with the terry-cloth rehearsal one, none of this would have happened.
To my horror, the robe flew open as I slipped. I mean positively billowed open, as if I’d passed over a subway grate.
There’s no way at least some of the audience didn’t see at least some …
Oh God, don’t think about it.
And then what happened? Did I say something? I think I said something, after I thudded to the floor and scrambled to cover myself with the loose ends of the robe. There was a moment of awkward silence, and I didn’t know what to do, and it felt like everyone in the audience was holding their breath, waiting for me to say something.
What was it I said?
Oh yeah.
“WHO PUT THAT THERE?”
Oh no, is that what I said?
Yes, that was it. I have no idea why. It doesn’t even make sense.
“Who put that there?”
How stupid! I just couldn’t think of anything else.
They laughed though. I think they laughed. Maybe they gasped in horror. No, they definitely laughed when I said that. They gasped when I fell, that’s what it was. Was it a gasp of disgust, or were they merely expressing concern for my safety? I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter anyway. Either way, I blew it.
Maybe it wasn’t that bad, I try to convince myself as I emerge from the dark theater into the hallway where the dressing rooms are. Maybe no one saw anything too revealing. Maybe I caught the left half of the robe in time.
“Hey, Franny, nice ass.”
Oh Great. Charlie saw the whole thing. Everyone already knows. Everyone knows I fell. They saw everything. I’m humiliated.
“What’s that?” I say, trying to buy myself some time to figure out how to respond with dignity.
“ ‘Nice class,’ I said.”
“Huh?”
“Right? Everyone seems to be doing well tonight.”
“Oh, right. Yes, they do. Did you, by any
Well, I do know what I was thinking. I was thinking that my character is supposed to have just had sex with her boss, so she’d be wearing a bathrobe, and she’d be naked underneath. I mean, I had underwear on, but no leotard or slip or anything, so that I’d have the extra feeling of, what? Vulnerability or something? No one will know , I thought. It would just be my secret, a secret between me and myself that I hoped would give me some special edge over the competition.
But then it happened.
Who falls onstage wearing nothing but a bathrobe?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
The monologue was going so well, too, or at least I think it was. I’m not sure of anything now. The audience seemed to be laughing in all the right places. That’s actually what threw me, I think. Their laughter threw my whole rhythm off—having to wait until it died down before I could continue. But still, it was all okay until I tried to sit down. The stage was just so dark. And the lights were in my eyes. It was like that dream I always have where I’m frozen onstage, confused about what play I’m supposed to be doing, so nervous I lose the ability to speak.
But it shouldn’t have been complicated to find the one piece of furniture on an otherwise bare set. A chair—just sit in a chair, how hard can that be? I should never have planned to sit; that was my first mistake. My character wouldn’t sit anyway—she’s too agitated about having just slept with her boss. Why did I ever decide she should sit? If only— no, don’t think about it .
And then I just missed the chair. Just by the tiniest bit. I could tell when I started to sit down that the chair wasn’t where I thought it was, wasn’t totally beneath me, but I thought I had it, I really did.
It’s just that Jane’s silk bathrobe is so slippery—much more slippery than the terry-cloth one I used in rehearsals. I was excited when she loaned it to me because it’s exactly the sort of sexy thing you’d wear if you thought you might sleep with your boss, and I thought the bold blue and white flowers would help me stand out. I should never have borrowed that robe. If only I’d stuck with the terry-cloth rehearsal one, none of this would have happened.
To my horror, the robe flew open as I slipped. I mean positively billowed open, as if I’d passed over a subway grate.
There’s no way at least some of the audience didn’t see at least some …
Oh God, don’t think about it.
And then what happened? Did I say something? I think I said something, after I thudded to the floor and scrambled to cover myself with the loose ends of the robe. There was a moment of awkward silence, and I didn’t know what to do, and it felt like everyone in the audience was holding their breath, waiting for me to say something.
What was it I said?
Oh yeah.
“WHO PUT THAT THERE?”
Oh no, is that what I said?
Yes, that was it. I have no idea why. It doesn’t even make sense.
“Who put that there?”
How stupid! I just couldn’t think of anything else.
They laughed though. I think they laughed. Maybe they gasped in horror. No, they definitely laughed when I said that. They gasped when I fell, that’s what it was. Was it a gasp of disgust, or were they merely expressing concern for my safety? I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter anyway. Either way, I blew it.
Maybe it wasn’t that bad, I try to convince myself as I emerge from the dark theater into the hallway where the dressing rooms are. Maybe no one saw anything too revealing. Maybe I caught the left half of the robe in time.
“Hey, Franny, nice ass.”
Oh Great. Charlie saw the whole thing. Everyone already knows. Everyone knows I fell. They saw everything. I’m humiliated.
“What’s that?” I say, trying to buy myself some time to figure out how to respond with dignity.
“ ‘Nice class,’ I said.”
“Huh?”
“Right? Everyone seems to be doing well tonight.”
“Oh, right. Yes, they do. Did you, by any
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