It’s an honour and a joy to be in show business
I feel that spot light hit me and I’m gone
At the last curtain call
I’m the envy of all, and I know the show must go on..
At the heart of everything, always, I remain a show person. It’s so much a part of who I am that I can’t shake it, I wouldn’t even if I could – but it’s practically a part of my DNA. Maybe once a season, if I’m lucky and I get selected, I get to play with it…and people look at me as if they’re seeing me for the first time. As if to say,
So this is what you really do
Yep. Always.
The murder mysteries that are staged on the World Cruise are far from Shakespeare. There’s a prompt script on a music stand at the front of the room, and we use hand-held mics. The whole thing is done in fun, and the guests adore it. But for me? It’s a chance – for one shiney shiney – to go back to who I was, well, who I am. It’s highly likely that due to a management change in the upcoming seasons we won’t be doing them anymore, and if that is the case, I’m sure I won’t be the only one who misses the experience. Though I suspect I’ll miss it for different reasons than some of the others.
Anyway, so it was that tonight found me sitting cross-legged in front of my cabin mirror, in a purple cocktail dress and matching shoes, applying equally purple eye make-up (Actually, I always wear purple eye make-up, though it’s seldom noticed), with my hair in violet adorned pigtails that were curled carefully into ringlets. The final touch? Wings. Believe it or not, I was actually playing a fairy tonight. A southern fairy. A few days ago the CD came up to me at doors for the evening show and asked briskly whether or not I had a southern accent.
Well I can have sugar, what’d y’all need one for?
It had been a while since I used my southern belle. She doesn’t come out often, and I haven’t had to use the voice since I did my season with Play With Your Food what seems like a very long time ago. I’d forgotten just how much it can scrape on your throat after a few hours! I was definitely making a point of drinking a lot of water over the course of the night, especially near the end, and I was very grateful for the hot tea.
Somehow this evening I must have been able to pull off the innocent thing fairly well, because I didn’t end up being voted the guilty party. A rarity for me as the last two times I’ve participated in a murder mystery I’ve been found guilty by a landslide! I was told later that I had what could have been a difficult table, but I managed to keep them decently engaged – and still managed to eat something! This is really a first because usually with dinner theatre I don’t have time to eat.
When the guilty party had been led away and we all took our bows, our CD gathered us in to congratulate us on a job well done, the HM seconded the accolades, and we all drifted in different directions for the night.
For me though, it’s not about the praise, or the script, or anything. That’s not what makes nights like this special to me. What’s special to me is the fact that I’m sitting here afterwards with my hair brushed out into what I can only think of as ‘post-show curls’, and that all too familiar and yet somehow so often distant adrenaline pulsing through my system and keeping me awake – holding the exhaustion at bay just for a few more minutes. And if you were to look at me you’d see the sparkle behind my eyes, that has nothing to do with the make-up.
I know I should get in the shower, should wash off the make-up and rinse out the curls. But I’ve been sleeping with my hair in show waves and waking up with mascara in the corner of my eyes since I was a toddler, I can’t bring myself to change that now. I would miss it.
I remember once when my best friend came to see me in a show. Nothing special, just an amdram production of Evita. This is a girl who knows me probably better than anyone save my parents, who had seen me at my best and my worst but had never seen me perform. After the show was over she came up to me in the lobby and said simply
So that’s what you really look like is it kid?
That is who I am. It’s who I always am. I’ve had people accuse me of letting things hold me back from it, I’ve had people accuse me of not wanting it enough because I don’t drop everything and move to New York or back to London. I have news for those people: ‘waitressing in New York’ does not make you any less of a show person, or any less of a performer, just because you aren’t one of the handful who is in the right place at the right time with the right amount of money for the right person, doesn’t mean you aren’t real. There are a thousand people just like me, temporarily forced to do something else because the world doesn’t have room for them right now – but it is never the less still who we are. I remain a creature of greasepaint, character shoes and spotlights.
There is, after all, a special kind of aura ‘round a ‘show person’
I really enjoyed reading this one. And I miss you.