Under the Spotlight- Part 1/3

This was a commission from years ago that I just found buried in an old hard drive, and I think it needs to see the light of day again. This was written back during the start of the pandemic when I had nothing but a keyboard and too much free time. I have the next two posts queued up, and I hope you like them as much as I did when I reread them as if they were new!

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Before the Show: 

“Hey, just wanted to stop by and wish everyone a great show!” 

A sea of blank faces stared up at him, but he kept plodding on to get the reaction that he desired. Walking further into the crowded dressing room, he finally stopped right behind me. 

“I miss the camaraderie of being packed down here with everyone… it’s so lonely having that dressing room upstairs all to myself. I usually just spend time before shows lying on my couch until first call.”

Looking up, I saw his face forcing itself into what he thought was a genuine smile. For someone who was apparently a much better actor than our poor little show deserved, he really had such a hard time hiding his true emotions. 

Roger Stilton had quickly made a name for himself on Broadway- a Julliard grad just like his rich father, he headed straight to the Great White Way and began booking any role he wanted. With leading man good looks, his slicked back dark hair, and a jawline that could cut steel, Roger actually could have earned his roles without daddy’s donations. 

As I continued looking up at him, I realized two things. First, his blush was much too heavy for a theater as small as this one. 

“Roger, sit down- let me help you out a bit.” Quickly standing up in my boxers and undershirt, I let him plop into my chair before wiping a makeup wipe across that beautiful face. “Here’s a tip when you’re not sure how strong to make your blush- you have to see what it should be naturally and then add two swipes.” 

Quickly taking hold of the bottom of his t-shirt, I ripped it over his head to expose that chest to the whole room. His perky pecs and six pack abs were to die over, but for some reason, even with all of that narcissism, he didn’t like showing off his body. 

“See- that’s the color you want.” 

I saw his eyes connect with his reflection to see the blush covering his cheeks, and I added a bit of my powder onto his face to match. Grabbing his shirt, he just awkwardly held it in front of him before walking back out of the room with his parting words flung over his shoulder. 

“Well, let me let you get back to getting ready… I just love having a great ensemble behind me on stage.” 

I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. At least not for another week. He’d joined our show after workshops, and even if I wouldn’t admit it, he was the reason we’d gotten our residency at our off-Broadway theater. He was already booked for his next role in a few weeks in one of the theaters in the thick of it, but if I had anything to do with it, I wanted to put his name in the news for another reason. It was time to confirm the second thing that I realized once Roger walked in here. 

“Listen up.” Every head turned back towards me this time, but unlike Roger, I could tell that they wanted to hear what I had to say. I had a couple of decades on all of the younger actors around me, and they looked up to me since I’d give them actual advice. “We’re a go for tonight. Raise a hand if you’re in.” 

Smiling to myself as I saw every hand quickly raise into the air, I knew that this would be one show that Roger or the critics in the audience would never forget. I don’t know if Roger knew that we’d picked up on it, but there was a lot of info that he gave away. He was using us as a launch pad for some serious acting cred, and we were using him just as much. And for weeks of workshops and performances, we existed together, but the last month had been different. He’d started treating us as disposable ensemble members even if the small cast all had named roles. So, tonight, on the most important night of his run, we decided to get back at him. Looking up at the timer on the ceiling above us, I realized that it was almost time for our first phase of the plan. 

Act 1: 

“Look at him- if he wasn’t such a huge ass, he could really be the next big thing. Sorry- all I heard you say was huge ass, and I got distracted.” 

Playfully slapping Sam on the arm, I kept watching Roger act as we waited for our cue. Our show was a new take on the classic murder mystery, and each night, Roger dramatically died on stage. The twist, the reason that we’d made it out of workshops, was that a new killer was chosen each show. The audience could return night after night and still get a new experience since we improvised a lot and only kept core scenes consistent.

This was one scene that was always the same, so Roger felt confident enough to ham it up as he looked at the two women in Row 2: The New Yorker and the New York Times. They of course had names, but Roger only knew them as the critics that he needed to impress. And he truly was acting his ass off… and that was quite a challenge. Those dark gray slacks were barely stretched over that ample peach of a bottom, and I was reminded again that I was happy with the game plan. And as he placed his glass of water back on the table, it was time for round 1.

Natasha and Joslyn entered from stage left as Sam and I appeared from stage right, and in a flurry of motion, we began bombarding him with questions.

“Sir, would you like the dinner menu?” 

“Please.” 

“Sir, would you like a wine list?” 

“That’d be delightful.” 

“Sir, would you like your water glass to be topped off?” 

“Certainly.” 

Bending down, I poured the contents of my pitcher into his glass and across his chest.

“Oh monsieur, I am so sorry- let’s get you out of those wet clothes immediately.” 

Patting him down with the hand towel, Sam walked behind him and began unbuttoning Roger’s shirt. In utter shock, Roger just sat there staring at the pitcher that I’d laid down in front of him- the one that looked completely normal. In every other show, a special prop had been used that only held half a cup of water, but tonight, it looked like I’d grabbed the wrong pitcher from the props table accidentally.

“There we go- we’ll have this dried and steamed before you even get the dessert menu… not that it looks like you eat dessert often.”

He tried to cover his exposed chest as we left stage, but the tiny menu couldn’t cover much. If he pulled it down, he exposed his perky pecs with his dark brown nipples shining under the harsh lights, and if he pulled it up, you could see the happy trail disappearing into his pants. As we all stood offstage in one giggling group, we watched the switch flip over in his head. He had just made the choice- he could either be embarrassed about being half naked on stage, or he could continue acting so that the critics would write about how he powered through adverse conditions. And he chose the second option… at least for now.