Yitzhak.17

I have dreamed  of being Yitzhak for years. Ten, exactly. Since I was overlooked for the role because I was "too old"--that is what the director told me, anyway. And his word is law. At twenty fucking six I was too old. Whatever. My friend got it, and it was fine, we're fine. But I tucked Hedwig away. Not really knowing why, I associate it with too much vulnerability and pain.

A year ago a local company--a dinner theatre of all things---bravely chose the show. I was not leaving the audition without that part, age be damned. I had attended Lena Hall's performance in NYC before she won the Tony. I then watched her interviews, her recounting of her audition. I was obsessed, pretty much stalking her. But her audition story stuck with me. She showed up with her guitar player, but she carried in the amp, guitar and cords -in character as a roadie, as Yitzhak. There are a million "I was not leaving without that part so I did this____" stories that end in not getting the part. But hers ended with "I got the part and also a Tony", and we fly stories like hers like carrots in front of a plow horse, Barbra Striesand and the gum....Lena and the roadie bit. We use them to give us hope, but in reality those stories are the minority of successes. Ask any waiter/actor.You're right for the part, or you aren't. The End. 

Auditioning is like dating. You're right or you aren't, you try a different monologue or song, you attempt to fit the show or the role or what he or she is looking for. It's exhausting. Which is why I quit dating years ago. Auditioning is enough rejection for me, thank you. I couldn't find anyone with whom I fit for more than two dates, male or female. Yes, I tried both. I have no filter or preference or whatever. When I direct I cross gender cast. I did the same with dating. You're right for the part or you aren't. The End.

I did not pull a full Lena at the Hedwig audition, but I showed up as roadie looking and masculine as my 5'7" fairy curvy frame would allow. I shaded my jawline, wore a binder and Docs, followed direction and committed and won the role. Elated, I embarked on what I consider to be the role of a lifetime. Which speaks to who I am, really. My dream role is  a supporting part playing the opposite sex in a Denver dinner theatre. Go Me. Living the dream!

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He waited for me after the show. I thought it odd, as primarily gay boys and fan girls wait for Hedwig, played by my fabulously talented friend Brian. Only my friends wait for me, and none of them were here tonight. It was an awkward  exchange, as I thought he was gay and waiting to talk to Brian. But Brian's fan girls dissipated, and this guy stayed to talk to me. He asked me out for the following night, after the show. I  agreed, but pointed out that I needed thirty minutes to get out of makeup. I was, after all, a drag queen by the end of the show.  I showed up at the bar after the show the following night in my jeans and an oversized shirt. I don't really "dress" before a show, why bother? I need to be comfortable to then get into makeup.  I also don't date much, so it never crossed my mind to bring clothes to go out after the show. Friday and Saturday post show dates consist of  Brian and I hunkered over beer and sandwiches at Brothers Pub. I figured at least I could reapply some female looking street makeup so I wasn't on a date bare faced. He asked for a second date,and said it was fine it I chose not to wear any makeup. I didn't remember complaining about reapplying, but cool. Less effort for me.

Actors as a  breed are very compliant, accommodating people. We follow direction, we learn our lines and do as we are told, Of course we make choices, but those are within the story or character and are confirmed or denied by the director, who is God and, frequently, male. Sometimes, especially when you're in the middle of  a show, it is difficult in life to differentiate between men and directors. So being asked to show up to a date without makeup did not raise any flags or concerns with me.  And sometimes,I tend to get so into roles that they bleed into my real life. I played a lesbian once and found myself shoving my tongue down my friend's throat to prove some point that has since be lost. She was a bit surprised, being straight and married, but she went with it. She's an actor. It's what we do. I wasn't directed to kiss her, but I was in character so I made a choice and she went with it. Commit or go home. In life and on stage, it's what we do.

So I met him the following night sans eye makeup.  "You look so different."

"I hope so. I'm not a guy."

He laughed it off. I was just happy to have someone pay attention to me. Yitzhak is a rough gig, and I love Bri and we work together beautifully, but I take a lot of abuse on stage every night. I have no defenses after a show, the vulnerability still lingers.

It was a week before I heard from him again. I had let it go, I was busy with the show and my own life. He called and asked if we could go to The Grove on Monday, my only night off.

"The Grove? Is that even still open?"

"You know it?" He sounded excited? Hopeful?

"I went here in high school with a friend, yes."

The Grove was notoriously sketchy gay bar that waxed and waned between trendy and dangerous. Back in the day, when 18 was the drinking age, I had gone there with a co worker--we both worked at Casa Bonita, God Bless Us Every One--sporting buttons that shouted "PLEASING YOU PLEASES ME". He was stretching his legs as a gay boy, and I was emerging as a hag. Later, in college, I preferred the term "Fruit Fly", and as an adult I referred to my kind as "Renfield". Dracula fans get me. Anyway, this guy wanted to go to a sketchy gay bar? I thought he was gay when we met, but he pays attention to me on dates and doesn't ask a lot of suspicious questions about Brian.

"Can you come as Yitzhak?"

I paused. "Is it a costume thing that night?

He was quiet a moment. "You're so hot on stage."

 I shook  my head and sighed. Well, shit. Fruit Fly or Renfield, I'd appreciate it if he'd just be up front.

"Look, I'm a woman. I have a vagina. I may not be what you want." Being an actor had made me accommodating, yes, but it also gave me no patience for bullshit. Also, I'm 36 and unattached. I have no time for games.

"What? I think it'd be funny."

"It's not. I'm Yitzhak five nights a week. I don't want to be Yitzhak on my off nights. My name is Leigh. I want to be Leigh. If you want to be with Leigh, cool. If not, cool."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Let me apologize with dinner."

"No, I'm sorry. I still carry the vulnerability after the show for a few hours. It's hard to shake." But I'm becoming concerned about who he's attracted to. If it's Yitzak, this is going to end badly. I remember falling for a fellow actor years ago, she was  Lenny to my Meg in Crimes of the Heart. I fell- I thought- head over heels for her. After a night out with her I realized I was in love with her talent, her depth and ability to commit so wholly to the role. It wasn't her OR her character: it was her talent. So maybe that's what's happening here? Is it fair to judge him so early on?

I agree to dinner, because I'm 36 and single and an actor in Denver and I like food.

Discovering Yitzak was one of the most delightful character journeys I have ever taken. First I had to understand men--Just Kidding. I had to connect to a drag queen, someone who was the best of the best and  who walked away from it all for love and the freedom of coming to the United States, only to be stifled and bullied by the one I loved. Just that character analysis alone took me 200 pages of journaling,  researching Croatia,  drag queens, sex change operations and of course, the show itself. While I was developing Yitzak I realized I had become more victim-y in life.  He handed everything--his heart, his power--over to Hedwig.  I became more accommodating than usual with the director, and even became needy. I was a needy actor.  I have never been a needy actor, I have two middle fingers and a mohawk, I got this. It was weird. If I didn't get notes I would ask for them. Please give me notes, please validate me. Brian and I did character work that was heartbreaking and beautiful and, we both agree, has changed us on a molecular level. We hope the change is for the better, we both do volunteer work with transgender teenagers now, and find ourselves more conscious of putting kindness out there. 

But there are moments, when the character crashes with my life. It happens on every show, but this time it's different. When Yitzhak crashes with me, it feels like melted butter in my veins instead of blood. Of course it happens with Brain, but I have moments at the grocery store when I suddenly purchase food I know Hedwig would eat, or I'm shopping vegetables to put in goulash, but Hedwig won't eat carbs, why do I even bother to make it. Other moments too, where I'm standing in a mall looking at a mannequin, admiring her hair and wishing I could get a wig that looks just like it, but then where would I hide it, I agreed when I married Hedwig that a wig would never touch my head again. And I sigh, and my shoulders droop and I go home and take a nap, because I'm depressed , I miss being a drag queen, I miss the female part of myself. And my head tells me that I'm just too close to Yitzhak, that he's depressed, not me. But my heart tells me no: It's me. I'm alone and I'm depressed and I am Yitzhak. There is no barrier, no more Leigh. Yitzhak has taken over.

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Dinner is nice. We go downtown to a nice and not trendy restaurant, which is a relief. I've estimated his age at 28 at the most, so I expect trendy. The bartender and waiter recognize me, largely because they are young actors in town, and I feel like a celebrity for five minutes. My date seems to enjoy it.

"How do  they know who you are?" he asks.

"This is a small, teeny tiny, itsy bitsy town," I smile back. "They probably saw the show."

"But, you look completely different. How do they recognize you?"

Twelve responses rush through my head, none of which will get me another date with this guy. I settle for "Small town, we all see each other's shows and cross paths at auditions and workshops. It's not like they're fans. They're colleagues."

He is clearly a theatre newbie. So I ask. 

"Have you seen a lot of shows in town?"

"No, actually, yours was the first one."

Awesome. Next he's going to ask me how I learn all those lines. 

"How do you learn all those lines?"

I catch myself: Kindness, Leigh. Be kind.

"They're put to music, it makes it much easier."

"I came back. Did you see me? I've seen it three times now."

I had seen him. In fact, I targeted him for two specific moments in the show. Clearly he didn't notice, or is being polite. I thought we made eye contact during The Long Grift. "Cool, it has the effect on people. I've been obsessed for ten years."

"Really?" He's genuinely interested. Ok. Usually talking about a show with a non theatre person is tedious, they don't get half of what you're talking about and it takes so long to explain A  Thing that by the time you get there The Thing has lost all meaning and you wish you would have just stayed home.

"It was done years ago by a small company I was gigging with. I was overlooked for the role. But this was different, it wasn't the usual 'Oh well, next audition.' I really get Yitzhak. Of course playing a man is a great challenge, but the show...." I look in his eyes. I'm not losing him, he's with me. "It infects you."

"Yes!" He's almost yelling. I smile, a true, genuine, honest response to a beautiful moment. "Why does it do that? I'm not gay, I didn't go through a botched sex change, I'm not an immigrant (he indicates me) trapped by my  "Barbie doll" parts wife who is doing to me exactly what was done to her....but damn. I get it." He pulls off a piece of bread from the basket for emphasis and chews harder than the bread requires.

Well, OK then I think. But I don't want to bore him or wear out the beauty that is Hedwig and the Angry Inch, so I allow a pause as I check his eye color more closely. Bright blue. I wonder if he has to wear sunglasses during the day, blue eyes like that are so vulnerable.

"What do you do for a living?" I ask.

"I teach second grade."
"No freaking way! I was a teacher once for about ten minutes."

"Really?"

"High School. Theatre. Couldn't take the administration."
"It's probably worse in secondary. I only have to worry about state testing, not grad requirements."

He tells me about his students, his colleagues.I like hearing about his job. It's refreshing to talk to non actors. And he really is nice. A little delicate, a little picky about his steak and broccoli, but perfectly nice. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he's straight and just fine. I mean he just said he was not gay.

I had enough faith to invite him in after dinner. Coffee, chatting. Then he wrapped his arms around me, from behind, and began to whisper in my ear.

And suddenly the show crashed with my life. I felt that moment of falling, but it isn't scary, it just is. The moment you know you're going to use a line from the show you're in and it fits, it fits perfectly. I tried to turn around and face him, but he switched back, back to spine. 

I turned again, and faced him.

"Love the front of me."

And that feeling of melted butter in my veins warmed me up, but this time I wasn't depressed.

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Tonight a group of my friends made a Big Deal of coming to the show, and staying after, and taking me out drinking, and pouring me into an Uber. They made a pact to start attending regularly and to be my "body guards."

"It's weird that he still comes to the shows, Leigh. He's a stalker." Stephanie.

"He is one of us, you know that,right? He plays for my team, not yours." Eric.

"She knows, shit wit. She spotted your pink ass months before she even met you. She has a gift." Mary.

"If she knew she wouldn't have gone out with him, Ass Gnome." Eric.

"I'm right here. Thanks. It's fine. Pretty sure I knew, I just didn't want to know. A girl's gotta eat." Me.

"Well, it's still obsessive for him to keep coming. We got your back." Stephanie.

"I was too much man for him to get over, and more woman than he could handle." I laugh uproariously at my own wit.

So he is in the audience every Wednesday and Friday like clockwork, and he never stays after the show.And every Wednesday and Friday, when Hedwig says to Tommy "Love the front of me", I understand her pain. And I for a moment, I allow myself to be lonely. Then I sing The Long Grift and I sing it to him and something clicks. Something falls into place that is my life and the character's life and I am vulnerable but not afraid. And every Wednesday and Friday I go home, and let myself into my house.

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"What is taking so long?" I shout in the general direction of my bathroom. I am using Yitzhak's heavy Croation accent.

"You are so impatient," the voice shoots at me with a hint of a smile. Same accent.

I tuck my hair farther back and check my lowlights in the mirror. My jaw looks strong, masculine, but my eyes are lashed and lined. I came home straight after the show.

He emerges from the bathroom, his hair slicked back. Heavy boots and sparkled tights, cut offs. We both laugh. He holds up a lipstick, asking me non verbally if he should apply it to himself. I cross to him and take the tube, apply it to both of our mouths.

He kisses me. I choose not to think too much about any of what is going on, or how completely weird my friends would find it.  Who cares what anybody thinks?I am not lonely, I feel whole. What else matters?

"My friends think you're a stalker."

"You could  put a stop that, you know." He kisses me.

"But why? It keeps them occupied."

"Love the front of me."

We face each other and begin to undress one another.

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