IDAHONAKER: 3. Don't Put Your Sticks There, Either.

The newspaperwoman shifts in her seat on the stair and aims her burgundy legging-clad knees more directly in my direction. She is displeased with the brevity of my answer to her previous question, I can tell by the wrinkling of the inch of skin between her eyes, and is now determined to really probe. "But come on, Audra. What's it been like? What's the most intriguing part of doing Harpo in the shower?"
I clear my throat. Lady, I am so not going to answer that.
Ever gallant, David jumps in to save me and provides our interviewer with an insightful and meaningful reply regarding the Marx Brothers and personal character development and yadda yadda yadda....my mind wanders. I wonder if they have those delicious little sunflower seed nuggets RL just brought to rehearsal in Richmond as well....probably at Ellwood Thompson's....
Rehearsals have been going well. My duties in this show include: tap dancing, rapping incredibly slowly, zipping up a banana while wearing a vacant expression, cradling a chicken, and performing a rectal examination on a bicycle. You can see, I'm sure, why I was cast.
I did experience a moment of severe displeasure two days ago. It was announced that there will be a gong in this show and.....a member of the cast will be called upon to bang it. I am elated. Salivating. I have risen involuntarily to the tips of my toes and drawn breath to volunteer myself as Gongess when I hear our wonderful director John say, "....and Taylor will be ringing the gong."
I mean. I wasn't even permitted to audition. I glower across the stage at Taylor. He shrugs sheepishly and mouths, "We can take turns!"
My scowl must've been evident, for rehearsal remains at a standstill while I am fed some rigamarole about my not being allowed to bang the gong due to the logistics of costume changes and assigned entrances and exits, etc. No one seems to understand that I would happily enter and perform an entire tap number sans pants entirely if it meant I got to whack a gong while pretending to be a genie offstage right.
You'll be pleased to hear that I overcame my disappointment and continued with the production.
Today I am practicing my chopstick scoot dance behind the set with David when we are summoned to the stage to work on a tango. Remembering how nicely things worked out when I stored my prop dagger in my topknot during a production I was in one day of "THE CMPLT WRKS OF WLM SKSPRE," I jam my chopsticks into my bun and, pleased with my resourcefulness, trot out and directly into a snug tango hold with Melodie. What I don't know- unfortunately for Cliff- is that the choreography for this number includes his standing directly behind me as we double-team-tango Melodie, but- fortunately for Cliff- I realize the potential for disaster just in time and whip the chopsticks out of my bun before they smoothly implant themselves deeply inside his nasal cavities.
So that's fine. I slip the sticks into the back pocket of my jeans instead.
Twenty seconds later: "So Audra, now you'll crawl downstage on all fours and wait for Melodie to be dipped over your back."
I'm crawling, smiling, enjoying myself. Cliff is tango-ing Melodie in my direction and preparing to drop her in a deep dip over my back. Suddenly he hisses, "Watch your chopsticks!"
Fine. Chopsticks are removed and placed somewhere which I secretly can't remember but certainly is not back where they were supposed to go on the props shelf, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Tomorrow. Tomorrow when I get to rehearsal early to find my chopsticks before we start the run and everyone finds out that Audra was irresponsible with her props. Bottom line is, both Cliff's frontal lobe and Melodie's lower spine remain firmly intact.
The same cannot be said for my lower spine but that's neither here nor there and suffice to say that the next time I pop out of a fireplace in a sprightly and surprising manner I will know to squat way lower.
Moreso than any of this, though- it must be noted that there exists in this beautiful town an event called.....

Ready?

I don't think you are.....

THE PAPOOSE CLUB HOLIDAY BAZAAR.
So. I'll be at that. And likely broke immediately following.