Page 107 of What I'm Looking For

At the tech rehearsals, she couldn’t stop talking about how the lighting caught the lines of my muscular frame, going on and on about symbolic something or other. All of which no one would ever notice because every night, the moment I take off my shirt, certain members of the audience go nuts.

It’s so out of control, the artistic director has to make a curtain speech saying that unruly spectators will be escorted from the premises.

Yeah, I’ve spent hundreds of hours lifting weights and years watching what I eat. Who knew an eight-pack was even possible?

And yeah, I’ve been fortunate to travel the world to locations exotic and historic to pose in front of all manner of monuments. I’ve been waxed and tanned and made up by the finest. I’ve also been paid mucho dollars to sell CK briefs and jeans.

Right now, though? I’m the idiot who signed up to play Romeo outdoors in a Boston park, where people of all ages and sexual persuasions and genders gather to watch this Shakespeare classic for free. Which is cool. And ogle my chest. Not so cool.

We do ask the audience for contributions at the end of the show. There are corporate and arts non-profit and government donations that keep the lights on, but the in-person donations are helpful. The other actors say it’s fun to talk to the audience.

I wouldn’t know. I’m not allowed to pass the hat anymore. The one night I tried, no one wanted to give me money, they just wanted to pose for pictures and have me sign autographs. On programs. Or their bodies. It was disruptive and actually lost us money, so now my post-performance job is to put the costumes in laundry bags.

Which is normally fine, but on this particular Sunday evening—at the end of a long weekend of performances—the costume intern is out sick, so my job has taken twice as long. Also, since she usually takes the bag with her, I have no idea what I should do with it. It’s been quiet backstage for some time now, meaning no one’s around to ask. The only idea I have is to drive it over to Deb’s house. There are two heavy bags, so I decide to move my car closer first. Just as I lift the tent flap, however, I hear a girlish squeal.

Ducking back inside the tent, I carefully slit the opening so I can peek out without being seen. A gaggle of teenage girls is whispering outside the men’s tent. They probably think they’ve got me trapped.

Maybe they’re right. I’m in thewomen’stent, but there’s still no way I can get past them. Even if I could make to my car, I’d never get the laundry loaded.

Stepping back from the opening, I’m trying to decide what to do when the flap sweeps open. I manage to stifle my own gasp of surprise, but I have to cover my costar’s mouth to keep her from screaming.

“Please don’t yell,” I hiss, quickly dodging a defensive kick to the groin. “I don’t want those girls out there to know I’m in here.” As soon as I’m sure she knows it’s me, I remove my hand from her mouth to whisper, “Sorry.”

“What are you doing in here?” she says, loud enough to wake the dead.

It takes everything I’ve got not to slap my palm over her mouth again. Instead I wave my hands in the air. “Jess, please! I’m serious.”

“All right, calm down,” she whispers, before looking around the tent. “Did you happen to find a set of car keys?”

“If I tell you, will you help me get out of here?”

“You’re going to hold my keys hostage because you’re afraid of a bunch of girls?”

“You bet I am.”

She levels a look of disbelief at me.

“They’re teenagers, Jess. They catch me, and I’ll end up with my face in the tabloids or my butt in jail.”

“Or your butt in the tabloids,” she concedes, shuddering. “Teenage girls can be pretty scary.”

“You’ll help me then?”

“Help you what exactly?”

“Get out of here. Two heads are better than one, right? I need a distraction.”

“You want me to set a fire or something?”

“That seems a bit dangerous. The stage is wooden and we’re in the woods.”

“Good point. Um… I could pretend to be your girlfriend and we could walk out making out.”

We consider this for a few minutes before shaking our heads in tandem.

“Eww,” she says.

“Yep. Nope,” I agree, nodding and then shaking my head.

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