Tap Step Right. Tap Step Left.

On Monday I went to an audition for Nice Work if You Can Get it. 

I owed it to my fans.

You see, it's been a while since I last appeared on the Town Theatre stage, playing the role of Mi Ho, the sexy prostitute who upstaged all the other Hos in Miss Saigon.  

Although the part I was auditioning for in Nice Work did not require dancing, I brought along my tap shoes.  I wanted the director to recognize my triple threat-ness.

After the vocal auditions, the director (let's call her "Shannon") called us up to the stage for some choreography.  I enthusiastically grabbed my tap shoes and joined the others on stage.

At this point, I'd like to provide you with a demographic profile of the other auditioners.  

(I'm a nerd.  Give me a break.)

Eighty-three percent were female and the median age was 21.5 years.  Every last one was stinkin' adorable and they all had perfect teeth.

And posture.

Shannon joined us on stage and began to teach the routine.

Now, I took 2 years of adult tap several years back.  And we learned routines like this: Shuffle step right.  Shuffle step left.  Shuffle step right.  Shuffle step left.  After a few weeks we advanced to shuffle hop step.

We actually performed in a recital at the Koger Center.  We were the only adults performing in a showcase with approximately 87 different dance numbers performed by thousands of children. 

All of whom were more advanced than we were.

For weeks after that recital I would be stopped at work by people asking, "Did I see you...?"  It was so embarrassing disruptive I had to wear a disguise.

I digress.

Back to the choreography.  Shannon said, "Everybody ready?"

"You bet!" I said enthusiastically.

"A-one-two-three double shuffle, leap - hop shuffle, flap, heel click, pullback pank right one-two double toe punch.  Got it?"

I looked around.  Hovering in the shadows upstage, not unlike flashers in a dark alley, were the non-tappers.  I casually took a few steps in their direction.

Shannon looked at us and said, "Here's the non-tap version for those of you not tapping.  A-one-two-three double shuffle, leap - hop shuffle, flap, jump, pullback pank right one-two double toe punch.  Got it?"

"Sure!" I said as I started my shuffle step right.  Shuffle step left.  Hop. 

Those damn tappers were tapping so loudly I couldn't concentrate!!!

Then I had an idea. 

If I could just make my tap shoes tap IN TIME... I might be able to fool Shannon.  Because I've got amazing rhythm (for a middle aged white woman).  It would be just like playing drums!

Then I realized that I wasn't wearing my tap shoes.  I had accidentally brought my character shoes that look exactly like tap shoes without the taps.  

OMG!  How could I play tap drums without my tap shoes?

Shannon must have read my mind.  She announced that if you're smiling really big, the audience will not even notice your feet.

She then split us into groups of 4 to perform.  And I put the on biggest, goofy-ass grin I could muster and started tapping like I knew what the hell I was doing.  

We ended the routine by throwing our arms up in the air.

(My ending was so good I need to see a Chiropractor.)

As I made my way off the stage I decided to really impress Shannon.  So I did a little pull back pank right and landed in the splits.  

I didn't really.  

There was no need to upstage all those twenty-somethings.
 

And Then I Heard This

In Motherhood Out Loud I played the part of a mom whose only child left for college.  

I’d start the vignette by shouting over my son’s music playing loudly in the background.  The music continued playing as I described myself as an overly-protective parent whose life revolved around my son. 

I described the process of moving him into his dorm room and crying all the way home.

The most powerful part of the vignette is the description of returning home alone.  "And then we got home.  And then we heard this: the quiet."  

The music abruptly stops and there is a long, uncomfortable silence on stage as I comprehend the absence of my son and his music.

We closed Motherhood Out Loud last night.

Finally.

For the past 6 weeks a typical day would be like this: leave for work at 6:30 AM.  Work until 5-ish.  Fight traffic to get home. Say hi to Dave.  Take Kevin for a walk.  Grab something to eat.  Say bye to Dave.  Go to rehearsal. Come home at 10:30. Go to bed.  Wake up at 6 AM and start over.

I could barely keep my eyes open at work some days.   I was really looking forward to May 24th, when I could finally get my life back. 

Today is May 24. I woke up this morning with nothing to do.  No lines to learn. No rehearsals. No costume to find.  No bio to write.  No shows.  

And guess what?  I feel a lot like the Mom I played just last night.  

And then I heard this: the quiet.

My life is quiet again.  

But, unlike the Mom I played last night, I am going to do something about it.

You got it:  

Time to audition for another show!

The Audition

I arrived for the audition a couple of minutes late. I’d never been to the theater before and had gotten turned around. 

“Sorry I’m late,” I said to the girl sitting behind the table. 

“No problem,” she said, as she handed me an audition form. “What part are you auditioning for?”  

She then handed me another sheet with the character names and descriptions. I looked them over and settled on Grace, who was described as a tired old lady. 

“Grace,” I said, decidedly. 

After all, I played 70 year-old Aunt Ruth in Marvin’s Room last year and won all kinds of accolades for the visible panty lines on my polyester pants. 

Yes. I could easily play a tired old lady. In fact, I could even wear the same polyester pants!  They were very comfortable. 

“Perfect,” she said as she handed me the monologue I would be performing for my audition. 

I located a spot on the floor, got comfortable and began to read the monoloue. 

After a few minutes I realized that Grace was Black. 

“O…KAY”, I thought. And kept reading. 

And noticed that Grace was an old Black woman with a deep Southern accent. Now, I can pogo stick and jump rope on stage. And roller skate. But pull off a Southern accent? Not exactly one of my talents. 

And Grace said things like, “My God say ain’t gone be no cuttin.” 

"O…KAY", I thought. And kept reading. 

Then I got to the part about how her doctor wanted her to have breast reduction surgery because her “titties” were so large. I looked down at my modest pair.

 
"O…KAY", I thought. And kept reading. 

I flipped the page over only to discover that poor Grace had injured her back because her “titties” were so monstrous. And giving birth to 5 children resulted in 180 pounds resting on her 5’2” frame. 

O…KAY. I may have lost count by then, but I think that was the 5th strike against me. Most people would have walked away at this point. 

But I’m not most people. 

So what if I didn’t have the perfect look for the role of an elderly obese Black women with a deep Southern accent and tremendously large “titties”. I was Lou Clyde, damn it. I could do this! 

I walked into the audition room overflowing with confidence. Until I noticed that they were filming the auditions. 

The humorless director instructed me to look into the camera, say my name and the part I was auditioning for. 

“My name is Lou Clyde, and I am auditioning for the part of Grace.” 

“Good”, she said. “You can start at any time.”  

So I took a deep breath, and had the best audition you could ever expect from a skinny flat small  medium-ish chested White woman from Buffalo. 

When I was finished I looked up from my paper and the director said with a straight face, “We’ll be in touch.” 

 I thought about saying, “Thank ya’ll. And have a blessed night.” 

But I realize that I would have been pushing my luck. So I just hauled my Black ass out the door and drove home as fast I could. 

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