Joy on Stage Part Ch. 02

In the dark, we bounced up and down, no real romance going on, of course, but leaving the audience with the impression. Harry was supposed to be heard, Joy was not, leading everyone to suspect it was just Harry masturbating the whole time. I was quite relieved to reach the end of our scene, which was completely at Walt's discretion to call an end to with the lights out, and then we were silent for the requisite minute so the stage crew knew we were moving on to the next act. I was grateful to get off of Walt. I didn't daydream about him or anything, but a man's hands on my naked skin does tend to have predictable biological responses.

In my head the night before, while trying to get to sleep, the second act was worst than the first, worse than the seduction scene, but in practice it was a lot easier. I had more confrontational scenes with Harry, those were of course a bit demanding, but after a few minutes I was giving my nudity a lot less attention. I liked what I did with that act the first time I did it naked, though some things took me out of character once in a while, like my tits jiggling, whenever I stepped too close to the end of the stage and gave the audience a close inspection, and particularly when I had to lift a leg and straddle the arm of the couch while Harry tried to write Tracy an apology letter after taking her by force. I supposed there really wasn't much left to hide by then, so allowing the stage left audience a glance right up between my legs wasn't that much worse.

The day before I had been bothered by the new blocking when I had to lay my hands on Harry while he was fucking Tracy, but now that all three of us were completely naked, it somehow seemed much less a big deal. Again, the audience probably got a much better look at me than anyone else by the close of that scene, where he was rising and falling on her bare body, me just hovering behind them, bucking my hips lasciviously.

As much as I loved the play, I was happy for it to end that first night. I came out right before Walt for my curtain call, still naked—I didn't know where the hell my costume underwear was and had forgotten to put a robe nearby. Again, everyone gathered around for notes, and I joined them when Kris brought me my panties and bra and I slipped back into them. Everyone was polite enough to not stare. The suggestions from Rosemary were pretty generous, nothing too damning, though she helped me tweak the seduction scene with a few ideas.

"How did it feel?" she asked. I laughed, which made everyone else laugh.

"I wanted to die about half the time," I admitted. Rosemary only asked what about the other half of the time. I half-grinned and said, "I guess I forgot about it. And I stayed in character."

"It'll get better every night," Rosemary promised.

I got home after Miller had gone to bed and had to deal with Chuck, who was sitting on the couch, taking it all up, and enjoying WKRP. Any other night I probably would have been happy to join him.

"When's your show?" he asked. I said it was Friday, then told him he didn't have to come if he didn't want to. "Well, not that I'm tired of you in your underwear and everything... but I've got a girl who wants to go see a movie Friday. Saturday I'll probably be, you know... working her like a handpuppet." I said it was no big deal if he missed it, but Chuck promised he would see it before the end of the run, just to check out the naked chick I had told him about. I was pretty confident his intentions were good, but that I would be safe, he wouldn't see it. Especially if we could keep selling out the rest of the shows.

I talked to Vaughn on the phone, but didn't have the nerve to tell him about the nude scenes. I wished I did, I would have loved to unload how it all felt to someone, especially Vaughn. He said he was having trouble getting a ticket, both opening weekend shows were sold out, and he was apologizing for not being able to make it, but he was still trying. He asked if I could get comp tickets, I felt a little bad for lying and telling him I couldn't.

The final rehearsal was easier than the previous, I really felt like I was learning all of the additions and, as much as I could get used to anything, I was getting comfortable in my second act "costume." The one thing throwing me off was that Rosemary's friend, Glenn, was there taking pictures of the whole thing. It wasn't a pervert deal, actually, he was taking some more promotional stills for the show with the new blocking and, yeah, to replace the second act and seduction scenes where I had previously been wearing clothes. I wasn't happy about being captured on film, but Rosemary said it was part of the same process, they were professional pictures, and they were necessary for promotion.

This whole play and production had really left me warped. A photographer stood right at the foot of the stage, snapping away with his camera as I straddled the arm of the couch, and not only did I not object, I had to pretend he wasn't there. Some part of me inside wanted to just die and disappear, but it really wasn't that big a part. Too much of me was getting comfortable being like this. I had to wonder if I would ever find "normal" again.

We finished the last session of notes, which were mostly another love-fest, and Rosemary called me over.

"I'd like to take some publicity photos of you, honey," she said. My eyes widened and I know I must've smiled. "Can I have Glenn take some nude shots of you?"

"What? More?"

"Something more staged, less part of the play," she said. I shook my head and said no, but Rosemary kept working me. She now knew I had about zero sales resistance. "Chelsea, you can say no, I completely understand... but this is a very provocative play, and we can describe the content all we want on posters, but it doesn't spell it out half as well as pictures. Do you know what I'm saying?"

"So you want a big shot of me in the buff for The L.A. Times? Rosemary, this is asking a hell of a lot..."

"A few smaller publications," she promised. "More underground kind of promotional opportunities. It won't be like a billboard or a full-page ad in the newspaper. I promise you'll find it all very tasteful."

I don't know when I said yes, somewhere between "all very tasteful" and "you look so bold up there." Whether it was flattery or just being unable to say no to Rosemary, I don't know.

We did some quick photos on the set, me stooping in an almost fetal position, me sitting with my legs crossed to protect modesty, me in profile, just letting my breasts take the attention, and me with my hip jutted to the right, one hand covering my pussy casually, the other raised to mess with my punkish red hair. Sure, I could give them tits, if it was tits they wanted. Glenn was on the stage for the rest of the shots, including one where I was stretched across the couch, lying on my belly, and lying on my back on the top of the couch, hoping I wasn't showing too much below the waist from the angle he chose. I was asked to straddle the couch again and I did so, but let the camera have my backside rather than what the audience got. I didn't feel so bad about those, my ass deserved more attention.

Rosemary posed me for the last solo shot, and I was maybe a little overconfident by then. We went to the doorway of the apartment, opened the door, and she had me lean into the entrance, suspending myself with my fingers on the doorjamb. I hoped Glenn was too close to get a full body shot, but I was pretty sure he had everything down to my thighs. Maybe there wasn't too much vaginal cleft displayed with my legs as close as they were, I wouldn't know for sure until I saw the shot. But Rosemary said I looked beautiful and "irresistible."

I would have been happy to step back into my panties, but she had to call Walt over, had him take off his shirt, and we posted for a few photos like that. It made me feel somewhat better that Rosemary seemed to think those were the best to use for posters—college campus posters at least—and maybe ads. I was in profile again, sticking my tongue out to touch Walt's cheek, and with my leg up and my breasts pressed into his chest, I didn't believe the camera caught much of me except for my ass.

I knocked my own knuckles against my head as I rode home with Michelle that night. She asked me what was wrong, but I didn't feel like whining about my own stupid choices. I noticed no one had asked Michelle to appear naked in publicity photos, though.

* * *

"Are you alright, Chelsea?" called Pam. I gasped that I was alright, but sounded less than convincing.

Our dressing room was huge, far more space than I needed to put on my costume, but it gave us a place to relax backstage and not worry about running into the crowd out front, or some of them who had slipped behind the curtain to talk with the director, crew, or cast members. I was in my underwear, not my costume, but my plain black underwear that probably would have been indistinguishable to most people. I had started to strip out of them, saw myself in the mirror, and suddenly felt like throwing up. I couldn't believe I would really go out there at this point. I was on my knees, my head hanging over a toilet full of my own sick, and my only thought was that this was a much more comfortable place to be than out on stage.

Rosemary knocked on the door—she almost never came to the dressing room, so I was inclined to think Pam or Michelle had gotten her. They were all single-minded like fascists, worried about the production first and foremost, though I'm sure they thought they were worried about me as well. I didn't hold it against them. If Michelle had been in here instead of me, and she easily could be, I would have been running like a snitch to Rosemary and fretting that the show wouldn't go on.

"Chelsea, do you want to let me in? Are you sick?"

"No," I said. That was all I felt like giving her. She claimed she would have taken my place on the stage if I had dropped out, maybe she still thought she would, but if she really thought about what she was asking me to do, she would be in here before she'd be out there. She asked me to open the door, but I refused, tried to throw up again, but couldn't do more than retch. I needed water if I was going to be on stage for the next two hours. She asked to come in again, I told her to bring me some water. I got up, opened the door, then yelled down to Pam, who was already dressed for her single scene, to please bring me my "costume."

I took the water from Rosemary and drank it very quickly. Not a good idea, I thought, I would be out on the stage and need to pee soon enough. I had absolutely no breaks like the other actors, Walt and I were on-stage the whole time.

Pam brought me my panties and bra and I glanced at Rosemary accusingly, then stripped out of what I wore and started to put them on. She had offered to help shave me again the night before, a trace of stubble was becoming visible down there, but I promised I would do it myself and I had. I didn't feel as weird doing it by myself, though it required a careful hand, and I took so long that Chuck ended up banging on the door to get in for a piss.

"Are you having second thoughts?"

"I had my second thoughts last night," I told her truthfully. "I'm on my forty-second thoughts now."

She leaned in close, an elbow on the wall behind me, it was almost like she was putting an arm around me, but not quite. I could anticipate the speech that was coming, all about loyalty, how she had given me my big break, how it was all for theater! that word that was supposed to work magic on us naïve actresses and actors. I had made a commitment, I was expected to stick to it. But that's not what she said at all.

"If you go back to the old blocking, Walt will follow you on it," she whispered. I looked at her with surprise, and more than a little thankfulness. "Don't get me wrong—the way we did it last night and the night before was better. It's better for the play and it's both shocking and thoughtful. But if you can't do it, I understand."

I murmured, almost thinking she wouldn't hear it, "I'd probably never work in this town again."

"Bullshit," she said, and it seemed as if I had offended her a little. "You've gone out of your way to make this a fantastic show, Chelsea. You've grown a lot as an actress, and I mean your performance, not just dealing with what I've put on your shoulders at the last minute. I will remember that, and other directors will see it for themselves. You've got a future, no matter what you do here tonight. I want you to do what you think is best, best for everyone. Do what will bring out the best performance for you."

She waited for my reply as I sipped more water. The bad taste in my mouth was going away.

"I need to get my makeup on," I told her. As she continued staring at me, I wondered if her "do what you want" speech was just really clever reverse psychology. It didn't matter, I guessed. I knew what I said I would do, and I agreed to it because I thought she was right. I always suspected I would have wimped out and quit the play if they had cast me as Tracy, just like Lynne did, but I was starting to realize I wouldn't have. I was an actress like the kind I admired, like Michelle, and I would do whatever I had to do as if it was no big deal. In the end, it really was. An actor with an excess of vanity is a celebrity, not an actor. I looked at Rosemary and nodded. "I guess I'll need powder on my body, too."

She looked considerably relieved, no matter how much leeway she had given me to refuse. "Do you want me to help with that?"

"I think I'll be alright doing it myself."

I did my own makeup, talked with Michelle about the tension in our nerves we both felt, and she actually said she thought I was extremely bold to do the performance as we rehearsed it. I asked her what was the difference between my role and hers, she said she didn't know, maybe it was nothing more than how long we were each out on stage. We made a joke that we had to get Pam naked, Pam said she would do it if Papa would, which made us giggle more than poor Papa deserved. He was kind of handsome, actually, but maybe not in the best shape.

The lights came up in silence. I had worried that some in the audience would applaud as if it were a sitcom, but the opening night crowd seemed by and large more experienced in theater shows. Some in the audience were investors, some were critics, and maybe a few family and friends—not mine—and a lot of them were the Bohemian folks and the artist power players who had to see every new show on opening night, if only to pick it apart or keep up on the competition. Harry and his father came through the door, already in the middle of an argument. According to Harry's father, he should have gotten a better job and gotten married two years ago. Walt once made a joke that it was easy to sympathize with Harry in that respect because his own father felt the same way about him, though he wasn't as vocal as Papa's character, more using the soft-sell approach. Jesus, I hadn't even thought about Dwight Naylor being in the audience! For some reason that made me nervous to consider as I sat behind the couch waiting to make my debut.

The line came, Harry was alone on stage, and I popped my head up and scared him and the audience both, I think. It was worth a long laugh, even with the serious crowd we had in attendance. Once I stood up, revealing myself in my underwear, the air seemed more charged, the audience got into it, and as hard as it may be to believe, things became a lot funnier. They were quick to laugh once my character got on a role. This was, for me, the easiest part of the play, snapping off one-liners, insults, and insinuations about Harry's character to a deluge of laughs. No matter how much people claim comedy is harder than tragedy, and it might possibly be, I took very naturally to it; a snob I might be when it comes to acting, but I wouldn't have turned down a sitcom offer if it came my way.

I couldn't help but see some of the faces in the crowd as my eyes swept over them, though I wasn't allowed to look at them with most of the blocking we had done. I did notice a few surprised faces along with the smiles. I wondered how many of them were in awe of me like I had been in awe of Michelle, seeing me up here in a black bra and low-cut panties. Oh, they had no idea what they were in for.

I gathered my breath during the scenes where I got to lurk in the shadows. Dressed as I was, I knew I couldn't relax too much, no doubt some people were still watching me.

The time came for my big moment, and I picked up steam, amped up my energy, feeding of the amusement of the audience—I wouldn't win an award for my acting, I knew I leaned toward the ridiculous in this role, but nobody would be able to say I wasn't swinging with all my might.

"You want her to see you. You want to see her," I repeated. Already the new dialogue was mixing with the old effortlessly for me. "Everything she's got that she's held back. Don't you want to see her titties...?" I took my time with it, my face a ridiculous expression of curiosity, then I reached behind my back, unsnapped my bra—my nerves made me a little shakier than usual, so it took me an extra couple of seconds—then I reached up at the cups and pulled them down for the audience to see. They pretended comfort with the nudity, it was advertised on all the posters and blurbs for the show, and these were sophisticated people; someone in the back did titter a little, though. "Beautiful titties!"

That line made me self-conscious every time in rehearsal, maybe coupled with the fact I was nude for the first time on the stage, but it got a big laugh, really broke the tension in the room and made everyone practically double-over with relief. I think it was pretty smart of Terry, presenting them with this societal taboo, then giving me a line that was so silly they couldn't feel sorry for me or feel suspect for watching. If I was having fun, they believed, they were allowed to have fun.

I made my long walk around the couch, reading my lines as I went. "It isn't just to keep the human race going... if it was just for propagation, why would it be so pleasurable? Men would mate like elephants! Or whales... if it was all about reproduction. They wouldn't be able to cum several times a day... and women can orgasm more than that! Why do they orgasm at all if the puritans had it so right?"

As I read those final words, I reached the edge of the stage, and I allowed myself a good look at the audience, staring into their eyes and hoping to feed off their energy. This was my first audience, at least in a role this size, a role where I was billed with the title of the show. I puffed out my chest with a breath, grinning at them, but my smile fell right off my face when I saw Vaughn sitting in the second row. I stared at him, he knew I saw him, but he didn't quite look away, though I could tell he wished I would let him fade in with the rest. My mind panicked. Where was I? Oh... right...

I didn't hesitate any longer, the energy would snuff out like embers of a fire and be impossible to light again if I waited. I pulled the bands of my panties out, stretching the material and wiggling it up and down to entice, more by embedded blocking than any creative impulse, then I worked them down my legs. There must have been five or six gasps in the full house, and for every audible response, I knew there were ten more boiling brains and nervous eyes watching me. Let Vaughn just be another one of them, I told myself, though inside I felt like curling up in bed and never coming out again.

My fingers gently landed on my bare pussy and I read my line, "If a woman isn't meant to cum, why give her a clitoris at all?"