Thursday, May. 08, 2003 | 10:42 PM

I wrote this last night:

I get to this point every show I open where right before the first night I start dropping lines, forgetting blocking. And I think that�s a good sign. It means the show isn�t static�that it�s growing again. I love those surprises. I think we should feel good about them and cherish them. I think it�s a blessing.

--Mr. Wonderful after tonight�s run (paraphrased of course�he said it far more elegantly than I ever could)

It all started tonight when I put on my makeup and rather than using a tiny hand held mirror, I was staring into a full length behemoth reflection of myself, applying old age lines and deep under eye circles. I began hating myself. Hating the way I look. Tears sprung to my eyes. Suddenly I was 13 years old again and terribly ugly.

Tonight�s rehearsal was like that dream you have (or I have, anyway) where you�re onstage in some strange foreign production. You�ve never done it before and you are (figuratively) caught with your pants down. I felt clueless tonight. I flubbed whole sentences and fucked up stage directions. I was an emotional wreck�an utter mess. At one point backstage I burst into tears�not the appropriate kind of tears I burst into when I�m preparing for a scene, but the lost I-have-no-god-damned-clue-what-the-hell-I�m-doing kind of tears. The entire evening I floated through a miserable gray fog, blanking out at key moments, losing my trail of thought. It was terrifying. Truly gruesome for me to be so utterly clueless. Because I am (as far as theatre is concerned anyway) a workaholic and a control freak.

It was like falling in love�walking into doorways and giggling for no reason, rising out of your own body and seeing everything anew. It had nothing to do with preparation or the lack thereof. I spend hours and hours a day on this show. I don�t know what exactly came over me. I never fuck up lines. I never forget anything. But tonight I was all over the map.

It was one of the scariest experiences I�ve ever gone through.

And� one of the most rewarding.

Never before in my entire life (and no I�m not exaggerating here) have I felt so supported. At every turn there was a massage or a kind word. This evening was the emotional equivalent to a trust fall, and I was cushioned by a continuous wave of caring and support. If you know me in real life you might be surprised to find out that in theatre, I am the consummate professional�I don�t get emotional backstage. I don�t pull tantrums. I don�t call attention to myself at all. But tonight I was sobbing my eyes out, wringing my hands and generally being a diva. And I felt like such a dink for doing so. I felt fucking awful about myself. And I felt awful for being a spectacle, for not being able to keep myself from crying. I mean, who needs that? Everyone has so much to worry about.

But the cast was amazing. So kind and concerned. There are a couple people who stand out in my mind. Kara, a member of the chorus (who�s a yoga teacher by day) rubbed me down and guided me through imagery. Her very presence is calming. She is truly a kind sweet wonderful soul.

And Mr. Wonderful. He was my lifeline tonight. At every turn a hug, an arm squeeze, a laugh, a word of appreciation.

And at the end of the night�

Usually, I am so tongue tied around him I can barely speak. But tonight I went up to him and I said,

I want to thank you so much for being so present and so there for me. I felt completely supported by you and it carried me through the show.

And he looked at me with his kind sweet beautiful green eyes and said,

Of course. I�ll always be there for you.

And me being so emotional, I blurted out (and I�m glad I did)

Being onstage with you is such an honor and a joy. I just think you are the greatest.

And he gave me another huge hug and said,

(something like)

I will always be there for you. And it�s OK if it�s different every night. It should be different every night. I�ll always be with you. We travel the road together. And you know, sometimes we might take a different route. We may on any given night go down a strange path. But as long as we�re there for each other, we�ll get to where we�re going.

I love Mr. Wonderful. I mean, I love him so deeply and truly for the connection I have with him. I hope you all see the play for his performance alone. He takes a generic character and makes him highly specific. He is a genius.

So. The night didn�t end there. Rehearsal got out at 11:30 and we all (we all being 85% of the cast) went over to the Good Life for drinks. (the production staff was having a meeting and told us they�d meet up with us later.)

We took over a couple of booths and gabbed about the evening�s goings-ons.

I was sitting next to my friend Kelly (a Kit Kat Girl) who oddly enough was a distant acquaintance when I attended my alma mater (she was the roommate of a dear friend of mine who now lives in New York�Central Park West, for $500.00 a month. Yeah, I know.)

And over chocolate martinis, Kelly asked about my past�she does after all, work at the Charles Playhouse where I used to perform when I had a band. I have grown less and less comfortable discussing that aspect of my life. It�s a deep gash wound covered in cobwebs. But being a little drunk and thrown off guard (Kelly is after all dating the Charles Playhouse Bartender) I answered her questions, feeling myself opening more and more with each moment, becoming less and less hesitant.

Suddenly, during one of my monologue length answers to her probing inquiries, Kelly grabbed my hand and said,

Don�t look out the window. Just look at me.

I tossed my head back. We�d just been discussing ex-boyfriends and why one can or cannot maintain friendships with them after a �relationship�s� demise. On instinct, I followed Kelly�s advice. I didn�t turn my head. Instead I looked straight into her eyes.

Why am I not supposed to look out the window?

said I.

She bit into a french fry from the plate we were sharing. She paused uncomfortably before answering.

Because he just walked by.

Yes yes, the very one. And being drunk, I burst into tears for (what?) the seven thousandth time that night? I don�t know why. I haven�t burst into tears over that in so long.

Kelly wrapped her arms around me. I sipped my chocolate martini and cried.

Why? Because I missed seeing his red head against the foggy glass of the front windows? Because I miss him? Because I�d (for once) allowed myself to discuss the past I had so vehemently and stringently cut myself off from?

For me, part of growing up has been realizing that some things cannot be fixed. It isn�t anyone�s fault. Simon LeGree doesn�t exist. I was never tied to the railroad tracks. Everyone has to do what they have to do. I am in fact grateful in hindsight. Suppose everything between the ex (as he calls me) and I had worked out? Suppose we were �happy� as two complacent clams off the coast of Maine? Suppose we�d side swiped every nasty ugly little piece of scenery? Suppose we�d plodded along like two near sighted mules with a carrot hanging over our heads?

Suppose nothing terrible happened? Suppose I clung and clung and clung to the hope that maybe someday the ex might fall for me again? Suppose I�d sat and batted my eye lashes for ten years just looking forward to him turning around and realizing what he missed?

I would have, too. I would have stayed and stayed. What happened, I needed to happen. I never would have tried out for Cabaret, never would have truly gotten on with my life, if it weren�t for what occurred. It worked out for the best, for everyone. There are two people who adore each other, who live together in happy romantic bliss. I have back my one true love�theatre.

And I can say safely that I wouldn�t have delved back in unles I�d been goaded and forced to�unless I�d really been made to stare into the abyss and come up with something to save me.

***

OK�the show is TOMORROW. It is AMAZING. You will LOVE IT. Come see it. Seriously.