Getting Boozy With Joanne

"I think my cell phone's cracked."
"Why would you worry about that? It won't affect how the phone works."
"I probably shouldn't have taken it tonight. Not in such a small purse. Maybe I should have brought a change of clothes."
"Rose, why are you second-guessing yourself? It's not like you bid on anything in the auction."
"Actually...I won something."
"What?"
Pause.
"I got into Barbara's class."
Piercing Scream on the other end of the line.

Well, last night was the benefit for the theatre company I'm involved in. I don't know how exactly they found me, or why exactly they chose me to participate in such a huge undertaking: but it's only the day after it happened that I realize how huge said undertaking actually was.

One thing I knew, or, at least, was aware of, was the fact that one of our committee members, and the wife of one of the cofounders, is a Broadway actress: She currently plays Joanne in Company. Now, I've never met her. To me, she has only been an e-mail, a face, a correspondence, or a voicemail. I've sort of been a liaison on the committee, especially, which has totally asked me to step out of my natural element and be sort of outgoing. Which is tough, because my natural (social) element is, for lack of a better term, chickenshit.

And meeting Joanne in Company is something you never think will happen; I mean, you don't spend your entire life agonizing over it, or hoping what one in a million chance of it actually happening even could. To me, Joanne in Company is like a rock star, and would be like meeting Usher or Madonna, in terms of how other, normal kids would have felt upon seeing their idols up close. Never mind that "Joanne" is a fictional character. My dear friend Erica has informed me, more than once, that it is the role I was born to play. I never saw the correlation, and neither has anyone I've told up close who knows this certain bon mot has been stated. Although I probably should admit that every time I hold a glass in my hand, I am always so tempted to start singing "The Ladies Who Lunch" that the social function in question, more often than not, comes to a screeching halt.

But if you read this blog, or, at least, take a passing glance at the entries of the past week or so, then you know that I finally saw Company live, in previews, on Broadway, up close, fifth row center. Although, most of my mentions of Company tend to revolve around few aspects I probably shouldn't emphasize, but I can't stop because I am obsessed: The depressing, conceptual theater-style lack of color, which in itself is its own punchline; the sheer hilarity of the actors-toting-instruments conceit, which, fundamentally, should fall somewhere between "The Banana Splits," "The Monkees," the synthesizers in Teeny Todd, and Hal Prince's production of Show Boat where all the African-American ensemble members moved the sets and scenery, on the "thin line between genius and embarrassing" scale; and the utter hotness-slash-talent of the actor-slash-cellist who plays David and understudies Robert (if he ever goes on, I am so hitting up TDF for tickets and asking for the refund that Raul Esparza's name-above-the-title contract so eloquently stipulates: Anyone wanna come with?).

If it helps, I've been telling anyone who cares that he looks a lot like what will happen when Orlando Bloom finally goes through puberty. This is not to be confused with Orlando Blaum, who does my chemical peels.

But I digress: After I saw Company,"Mrs. C." wasn't just Mrs. C. anymore to me. She was also the bold, ballsy woman who screamed "Everybody's...ROIDS! ROIDS! ROIDS!" in front of an audience of hundreds at the Ethel Barrymore theatre. And that's just wonderful.

Even knowing that at least one of the swingin' marrieds from Company was going to be at the fundraiser was reason enough for me to get excited. Until I saw Company, my only conception of the woman was just "Mrs. C." Not some glamorous boozehound in a blazer who treats her husband like a plaything. And, besides, who knows who else might have put in a donation to support the committee? Beth Leavel? Celia Keenan-Bolger? Manoel Felciano? Fred Rose?

I have to admit, it's fun dreaming about the various semi-famous/semi-anonymous, totally glamorous Broadway stars who might show up. Especially at Christmastime, in New York, where you can't go home for the holidays because you just got a full-time job, it keeps you sane - or at least helps ward off seasonal affective disorder.

One person I was sort of wishing could come? Celia's Les Miz costar Aaron "The Jewish John Raitt" Lazar. I'm actually thinking about applying to the same graduate school program he went through. Also? Too cute.

Well, three of all ain't bad.

Some highlights:

Host Julie Halston on Beth Leavel: "You know she's made it because she has a Tony, and guys are dressing as her at the Pride Parade."

Beth Leavel on her audition pieces: "I had an uptempo, a ballad, a legit aria, a comedy number, a jazz tune, and a Janis Joplin rock song...and they were all 'I Got Rhythm!'"

Julie Halston on a live auction Vespa that ultimately went unsold: "It's not like all of you don't have enough money to buy it."

Taboo star Liz McCartney on just having her second child and staying pretty: "Obviously, I look much different now. It's not like I'm Danny Burstein."

And, Halston on Bob Martin: "He's not gay."

Manoel Felciano on his first audition song: "This is Stephen Schwartz's favorite song. He hasn't cast me."

Manoel was actually the last to perform because he arrived at the very last minute dressed in a full suit and tie; probably because he had just come from another benefit down the street and in answer to Julie's question, "What are you doing now, Mano?" he said, "Unemployed!" He told the oft-recounted story of his miraculous rise to semi-fame, and, when he mentioned how he was discovered at Rodeo Bar, like, three or four people went, "Whoo!" (Me: "That's near my apartment!"). He even brought his guitar, and ad-libbed some funny jokes while they were trying to fix his microphone. Is he also a comedian? Because? Manoel Felciano? Should totally do improv. He's so much better at it than most of the dipwads I've dealt with in my advanced classes.

I still find it hilarious that a heartthrob like him is finally getting the preteen girls into Sondheim.

The other performances were interesting. Obviously, I didn't get to see them all. Danny Burstein was kept nicely sequestered from me. They knew.

Lisa Howard sang an awesome "Gorgeous" from The Apple Tree. She talked about how it took her years and years of waitressing, hostessing, and demonstrating toys at FAO Schwartz before she got cast on the national tour of Les Miz; which I personally find hard to believe. Supposedly, she was the one person in the history of her school to get the most agent invites ever. But I really, truly believed it last night coming from Lisa because she is adorable. And you totally can't make that shit up about having to demonstrate a game called "Butt-head."

I never really "got" Seth Rudetsky - aside from his Ken Jennings-like knowledge of all things Broadway and inimitable ability to work it all, rapid-fire, into literal seconds of any conversation. Seth strikes me as the most popular kid in school. And, if you don't know him as well as the other kids, you don't quite understand why he's so popular. But then you go outside of school (or you don't subscribe to Sirius satellite radio), and nobody anywhere else has ever heard of him. Anywhere. People within the Broadway community (or people who want to believe they are) like to think of him as much, much more famous than he really is. Although, there was probably a very good reason why his pre-taped interstitial segments didn't make the Tony telecast.

I know someone who is extremely close friends with "Seth." She even went to Brooklyn to see his community theatre production of Torch Song Trilogy. People at the event wouldn't stop talking about it, too, which - for some odd reason or another - totally reminded me of that "Smith Jarrod" episode of "Sex & the City."

Anyway, I suppose his whole gimmick is showing embarrassing videos of people and using a laser pen to highlight why, exactly, they're so embarrassing. If I could have gotten out every word he was saying, maybe it would have been less funny, but the whole inanity of his act had me rolling. Well done, man.

Angel-faced Tony winner Karen Ziemba sang the song Natalie Wood did in A Star Is Born. She was most excellent, even though the biggest "break" it got her was a bus-and-truck tour of A Chorus Line. Anyway, I was sitting behind Bob Martin for the show. That was kind of cool. But I've already been in such close proximity to him twice, it's kind of lost its shock value. And I own "Slings & Arrows" on DVD!

And a small note to Mmme. Gamgee: No, I was not aware that Elizabeth Wilson was in the building at any time. I did not even see her in the room.

So, I should probably get to the meat of this matter: How I really felt about the whole shebang and, more specifically, my world-rocking meeting with Barbara.

I was just sort of mingling by the silent auction items (among the more intriguing were a signed Joe Namath football and a "Get Boozy with Joanne!" Company party package she generously donated). She was hanging around, and before the party - during set-up, mind you, I was already acting like a total spazz. After that, she went to get dressed, and I just walked around the room wondering if I would be okay if I'd rather say nothing to her than say something totally spazzy and chickenshit.

I had promised myself I wouldn't even bid on anything at the silent auction. Not even the Broadway Joe football. No. The main reason I wanted to go to the shindig in the first place was, the moment after I saw Company, I really wanted to see Joanne up close and tell her how inspired I was by her performance in the show. Not saying, half-jokingly, "Man, you really rocked on the triangle! Totally reminded me of Patti in Sweeney!" That's not my style. At least, usually against my better judgment, it sometimes has to be under the social circumstance.

Also, I was almost cast in a show that same night that would have otherwise left me hanging on a thread. Two days after I sang for the composer, a former member of the theatre company came back and asked to be in the show, because he couldn't get any acting work: Man, them's the breaks.

But I decided to use the night to the best of my advantage. I had heard from "Mr. C." that she was planning on teaching a class that seemed like the sort of thing that would totally be up my alley and what I needed to know at the time. But, between the costs, as well as the unemployment issue, I pretty much ruled it out. I didn't think I would get in, and, worst of all, my "New Deal for Christmas" ruling was pretty much kaput: No way I was going to get a job and cast in a show this holiday season. Not with everything else in NYC filled up.

And yet, I was at this glamorous theatre industry party, drinking wine and staring at the walls in an uncomfortably cramped room full of middle-aged-to-elderly theatre patrons, deep-fried macaroni balls, and me being forced to help those old people up the steps to find their tables. Talking with the other people on the committee helped. One of the girls who was volunteering had her eye on one of the auction items, which was a guaranteed spot in Barbara's class. I was nice enough to ask about it, without being obtrusive. But I guess they knew I wanted it, with the very real chance of probably not even coming close. I wanted to ask Barbara herself, but the subject never came up in our very brief encounter.

Subsequently, I have gotten a full-time job and an e-mail from the artistic director of the other aforementioned theatre company saying I was currently in the running for another upcoming project. But those weren't feeding my jones. The one that actually got me thinking about grad school and a professional career in the first place.

So, after Mrs. C. stopped schmoozing with a young composer and waltzed over to display some of the auction items with us, I approached her:

"Excuse me, um, Barbara?"
"Yes?"

Well, what do you think I said?

"Omigod, I just w-want to say that, um, I saw Company, and you, your performance was just so inspiring, exciting, brilliant, amazing. I just, oh my god, it really inspired me. You were incredible."

And what did she say while she nodded warmly? "Thank you so much." She was totally professional, classy and courteous. However, even reading what I said aloud won't even do justice to how spazzy and nervous I was. I don't usually get nervous around people, but with that many people in that small a room? God darn it, I was shaking! When did I get so socially inept? I was even drinking wine, and I usually get more tense when I drink wine! At least, it probably accounted for me waving my wine glass to myself around the silent auction table, silently humming "I'll drink to that!"

I don't know if it was my sickness from living on the periphery for too long, or my sickness from the wine, but there were only two moments that night where I felt totally in my element. After telling some of the other "auction girls" to bid on things they really wanted, they convinced me to sign up for the spot in Barbara's upcoming class. I still haven't the faintest idea why I did it, but I had never felt so brave, out of my element, and alive. I don't know about you, but Broadway actors, even offstage, tend to seem larger than life. Their confidence sets them apart more than anything: And if I ever hear anyone sing "I Got Rhythm" with even half the enthusiasm as Beth Leavel did, I'll consider it quite a triumph for the human race.

I'm guessing I signed up for the class because it's been what I want. No, it is what I want, and if I don't even try to go for it the moment it gets within my reach, well, then I'd really be chickenshit.

Also, they really got kooky with the auction displays. The display for the class spot had old sheet music, including the beloved "Mr. Monotony," which I've been obsessed with ever since I returned that Jerome Robbins' Broadway CD to the library. I don't know why I trusted them. I had about sixty dollars to my name at the time, although I promised them I would keep my word. Here's hoping another Christmas miracle comes through for me, or else, the full-time work will perhaps speak for itself.

There was an "auction girl" who seemed to volunteer at pretty much every theatre-related function in the greater vicinity. She really wanted the class, and was eyeing me like a hawk, but she ultimately seemed sort of sympathetic to me and ceded over the class spot. I told her I would put in a good word for her with the committee if the class fit in with her work schedule. As it turns out, my blind assumptions on how the real world works failed me once again. Of course, she didn't have much of a work schedule: She was a student, and, I had to wonder, it is still too soon for me to become a full-time student again, isn't it? The girl seemed sort of sympathetic towards me. Not just having been directly involved with most of the planning and grunt work of the event, but she was studying musical theatre day and night on a completely unpredictable schedule. While I was lucky to have a certain educational and now professional track that's still completely wide open. Am I a total working woman yet? No. I just have something to do for eight hours a day that will keep me sane and put some more bagged salad on the table. But am I happy? Yes. Am I fulfilled? Sure. Do I want to learn more and add that knowledge, for better or worse, to my perspective on this world I am getting closer and closer to being a real part of? Yes.

Also, that bass line has crept into my brain like the clap.

There were two things I realized about a show like Company. When I saw it, I had that all-important realization that wasn't so much, "Those people are so amazing, they make it look so easy, I wish I could do that." But it was more like, "They make it look easy because it is easy. I could do that." It would take me some more time, but I could easily see myself in a show like Company, or a show like Les Miz, if and when I am ever be so inclined to follow that road. It's no longer a "would." It's a "could," that is rather gradually developing into a "should."

The other was, in the shows I've come to experience so many times over in the world of musical theatre (Guys & Dolls, The Music Man, Good News!) is that there really is no challenge or direction with ensemble work. The reality of musical theatre is that ninety percent of the time, it is ensemble work, and you never exactly start out being John Raitt. The only directive you receive is, "act happy!" Except for Cabaret or Sweeney, where it's always "act angsty!" And you always play outwards. While, in straight drama, like Chekhov and Largo Desolato, most people embrace and welcome the challenge; whereas I've always felt like you're forced to examine yourself and your emotions as inwardly as possible. There is an entire litany of shows and roles, both legit and musical, that I have never played where the emotions, the styles, and the personalities run the gamut, almost going outside of or in between the two radical extremes.

Only in a show like Company can you see someone playing even the shy, socially awkward, cello-playing introvert as outwardly accessible as possible. And it's when he drops the cello and is totally truthful, where he just says, "I hate my wife," that you know why people are so drawn to dramatic theatre in the first place. It's a shocking moment, but the added subtext of it being musical theatre almost blurs the line between the two. It's almost too easy to tell whose training was in straight drama, and whose was in musical theatre-although, now that I think about it, training is only relative when you know how to promote your own talents and abilities. And what I've seen in Company is that possibility to play outwards to an audience and entertain, but with these emotions of a much darker shade that you would not normally find in a narrow definition of musical theatre.

I was coming from a town where Sondheim was verboten and most shows they do now in New York, North Jersey, and Connecticut were on the "banned list." When I said to Seth's "friend" that I didn't want to do musicals because they were uninteresting and unchallenging, she said, "Well, obviously, you don't know what kind of musical theatre is out there." What I have been looking for isn't dramatic acting or improv or commercial work. What I want is something exciting, thought-provoking, and, yes, with a song in its heart. It's not what I've trained in specifically, but it's what I've wanted the most. My theory was always that I would become famous for another reason, and then just transition into doing musicals.

It's turned out a lot differently. Actually, it seems like this class would be the next logical step. Excuse me, should.

Well, I'm not famous yet. But I have now officially shared a dressing room with Joanne in Company. After the party, which was just after I found out I was doing the class with her, I got to talk with her and some of the other women on the committee about the show while we were taking our make-up off. And I was polite and completely un-spazzy. Which was nice. For the first time that night, I spoke for myself. I didn't stutter once, because we weren't around people. And, most importantly, we weren't around drinks. Anyway, there was one girl who said, "Man, you really rocked on the triangle! Totally reminded me of Patti in Sweeney!" And she went on gushing and laughing about the one-note sax trio in the show, which one may only sneak a passing glance at this blog's last few entry to know why I held my peace on that one.

Anyway, it's all over, and I'm so glad I was involved in the first place. Just when I was beginning to get fearful of my falling in with the actual Ladies Who Lunch, I know that this is life, and we take what comes with it. I hate to get all philosophical about this, but no matter how fantastic (or surprising, or predictable, or mundane) it can be, we still take what's handed to us, and use what comes naturally. It's like what Julie Halston said last night: "This is one of those nights you know can only happen in New York." And, unsurprisingly, one of the hottest auction items on the block was lunch with Dominick Dunne.

Hmm...What else? Well, it was my stepping outside of my shy element that got me on that committee in the first place. So, what was my reward after all of this mishegoss? A Thank-You note...made entirely out of gourmet chocolate.

I'll drink to that.