It was the first preview of The Miss Firecracker Contest in New York. I directed the show. The stage manager called half hour. Nothing more I could do. I left the theater and went to the bar on 2nd Avenue. The place was pretty empty. One other man at the bar. I ordered my drink of choice at the time...which was technically drinks of choice. A beer with a shot of Irish whiskey. The bartender served me. The man down the bar raised his glass in a silent toast. I nodded to him and raised mine. I must have seemed a little shaky in my response. The man said, Rough night? He had an English accent! That made this whole evening seem more respectable. Opening night, I said. Bloody hell, he said. The worst. You an actor? No sir. Director. Worse still, Bartender well need another round. Are you in the theater? Does it look like Im in the theater. Im hiding here with you! What play are you doing? Its a new play. The Miss Firecracker Contest. Do you have a star in it? Holly Hunter is our lead. Shes great. The Englishman raised his glass, Well here is to Miss Hunter. I hope she has a good night for you. Are you going to watch? I guess I have to. The man leaned in and grinned, No, you dont. You can stay right here. I have learned this is the best place to spend opening nights. I checked my watch. Almost 8. I took a quick swig of my second Irish and walked over to the Englishman. Well, thanks for the drink. You know, if you stay here you will almost guarantee your show will have the best performance ever. Probably, I have to go and watch it. Its my baby. The Englishman laughed, Well have a good show. Ill be right here. Its my opening night too. Are you a director? No - writer. The worst of all. Just torture watching. Good show. Sorry, I didnt catch your name. Stephen. Stephen Tobolowsky. Have a lovely evening. Im Harold. Harold Pinter.
Posted on: Wed, 07 Jan 2015 02:23:23 +0000
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