Monday, 9 August 2010

I wake two minutes before the alarm is due.


I wake two minutes before the alarm is due. If I don’t set the alarm, I don’t wake. This, I have never understood. If I had chosen to be an academic, I might have been interested in such phenomena. I am not an academic, though. I am an artist (better).

When I awoke upon my second day as a professional player, the red digital display stood at 0730. As rehearsals were only forty minutes away and started at ten, I allowed my body to fall unconscious in warm sleep again. To dream of tennis-girl.

Upon the next occasion of waking, the display still read 0730. So blurred by fatigue was I, it didn’t occur that this might be strange. It was only on my third waking, with morning light streaming through the side gaps of the blind, that I found it peculiar that the clock should continue to read 0730.

Either time was fucked or my alarm was broken.

My wristwatch (expensive and trendy) told me the truth. Time wasn’t fucked, my alarm was broken. The correct time was 0947.

“Fuckers!” I screamed and jumped naked from the bed, genitalia bouncing.

There was no reaction as I entered the rehearsal space at a quarter to eleven, forty five minutes late. Of course, nobody else was behind time. And so there was only one seat free. It was next to the ugliest of the witches again.

I, fairly noisily I concede, pulled my script (now in two separate pieces) from my Manbag and tried quickly to identify which scene was being read.

As I listened to Banquo being killed, I thought my lateness excused. Perhaps the director wasn’t so bad? The more relaxed a working environment, the better the dynamic between actors and more arresting the final piece. This is a theatrical truth, Reader.

However, when the scene concluded, Macbeth stood and approached the director. He spoke a few hushed words into her overly-large ear, and the director watched me, nodding. She replied ‘300 per cent correct’ and Macbeth returned to his seat (next to Lady M, looking fine, my man).

As Macbeth sat, the director announced that she would like ‘a quiet word with Kay before starting the next scene’. A soldier asked if this pause would replace the scheduled half-eleven break. The director told the soldier that, yes, it would. This response wasn’t received gracefully, by soldier or cast.

The director requested I follow her out to the foyer. I expected a dressing down for my tardy arrival. I was ready to take it on the chin. A fair cop, Guv … etc … etc …

“Julian,” she began.

“What?” I interrupted.

“Macbeth,” she said.

“Ahh,” I responded.

“Julian has voiced his discomfort with your apparel.”

“My what?” I said.

Of course, I knew what she meant, but saw no need for such pretentious expression.

“Your T-shirt, Kay. It’s offensive. You need to cover it up. Do you have a jacket or a jumper?”

My t-shirt was not offensive. In fact, it was terribly expensive. ‘Girls are gay’ it exclaimed in lime green on a black (and tight) background. I’d bought it off e-Bay from a man in Japan.

“This cost me eighty pounds,” I responded.

The director told me to wait in the foyer. And I did for three whole minutes, blood bubbling. When she returned, she held a cream cardigan between thumb and forefinger.

“Wear this. Don’t moan. And turn up on time in future,” she moved as if to return to the rehearsal, and then hesitated, holding the door half-open. “Have you learnt your lines yet?” I shook my head. “Learn them,” she said and wobbled away.

In truth, I wouldn’t have usually worn the t-shirt. It possessed a history of creating stir. But it had been a rush to leave the flat and I had grabbed the first items of clothe that my desperate hands fell upon.

This also explained my wearing of such an extremely tight pair of jeans. Like a second skin, they were. It was when the ugly witch missed her third cue in a row that the director asked me to follow her outside once more.

“It’s Kay. He’s fiddling with himself,” the witch had said.

I fear the bearded lady may have mistaken my ‘readjustment’ for something less innocent.

The director stated that she didn’t care whether I was masturbating or not, but she knew for sure that I was being incredibly distracting and in anybody’s book my trousers were massively inappropriate. She’d not seem them earlier as she’d been distracted by the offensiveness of my T-shirt. She told me that she knew certain men in Soho that would have hesitated to wear such trousers.

I was dismissed. She would read the few lines that remained for my character. I was told to go home, ‘sort out my head’, and buy some clothes appropriate for rehearsal. I did go home, but I didn’t say goodbye to anybody (when I returned to the rehearsal room to collect my Manbag).

30 comments:

cara said...

I'd put money on you being given the elbow off this production before it goes ahead.

Kay Richardson said...

Oh Cara of little faith.

Talli Roland said...

£80 for a T-shirt?! Think of all the alcohol you could have had...

Kay Richardson said...

Talli, your statement certainly makes sense. But know too that chicks dig expensive t-shirts.

Thanks for reading.

K
x

ReneeRearden said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReneeRearden said...

So, how serious about this gig are you? 'Cause you're gonna need the work if you're going to buy me an ice cream. Straight up. Airline tickets to the States are expensive. =D

Theresa Williams said...

Hello Kay: thanks for commenting on my haiku. I like your writing style...good stuff!

Kay Richardson said...

Renee, my talent will shine through. And I will FedEx the ice-cream anyhow. Thanks for reading.

Theresa - check out my haiku:

Thank you for your words.
They have prompted a smile here.
Thanks too for reading, madam.

Emma said...

I love your writing, so happy to have found your blog!

Emma
TheSidewalkIsMyRunway

Kay Richardson said...

Wow. Thanks, Emma. And judging by the pictures on your blog, it's no surprise you were Miss Hawaii Teen USA! I shall be sure to return.

Susan Fields said...

Thanks for an early morning laugh to go with my coffee! Now I'm ready to write something.

Kay Richardson said...

Thanks, Susan! Was it a nice coffee?

Christina Lee said...

Seriously--girls are gay?!?!?! I need a photo of this outfit! ;--)

Kay Richardson said...

It's got a nasty stain on it, but I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading, my lady Christina.

diane said...

I actually don't envy you, except maybe the shirt. Yes....I think that kind of profession would not be for me, if it meant that I'd have to compromise on my wardrobe.
Never really thought about waking up two minutes before the alarm, it's really weird how that works out.
You can get more people to read your blog the same way you got me here....leave a comment. Your profile pic is soooo handsome that I had to see who it was. Cheers. xo d

Kay Richardson said...

Wow. Thanks for stopping by, Diane. Your comments are lovely - especially the one to boost my readership! Ta!

Jayne said...

I was hooked from the line 'Either time was fucked or my alarm was broken.' Heehee - really enjoyed reading this, thank you for visiting my blog as now I have found yours!

Kay Richardson said...

Thanks, Jayne! Lovely words. Like your blog!

Summer Ross said...

wow, that's a story, I could picture it as a scene in a book, only with lots of comedy around it....

Kay Richardson said...

Thanks for reading, Ross. Maybe one day I shall turn these words into a book and become both famous for my writing and my sexiness.

A Paperback Writer said...

The best stuff always is what the audience never knows about: backstage, rehearsals, whatever.
And this little tale, whether or not it is true -- I just dropped in because you mysteriously appeared on my blog and I wanted to see what sort of person you were, is more entertaining than the version of MacBeth I saw last week at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival.
I am amused. I'll probably drop by again sometime to see what else is on this blog.

A Paperback Writer said...

Oh, and with regard to Talli's commenting on the high price for a tee shirt, yeah, you got ripped off. (I spent my younger years in the tee-shirt business.) Unless it was sewn with gold and diamonds, you paid way too much for it. Oh well. If you like it a lot, then it's worth it.

Kay Richardson said...

Paperback, I love both you and your words. Do pop back.

Kay Richardson said...

It wasn't sewn with gold, but the guy I bought it off said that David Bowie once touched it.

Terry Stonecrop said...

The dog is adorable and I loved the post!

What a fussy director!

You look like a movie star, all right. So acting is a good profession for you. I have a fear of fame so I never went beyond school plays...and I can't quite crack coconuts on my cheekbones:)

Kay Richardson said...

Thanks both for the kind words and your visit, Terry. I like your legs.

jules said...

"Gentalia bouncing." Howls with laughter! Love it. I always wake up right before my alarm too!

Kay Richardson said...

Thanks, Jules. Bouncing genitalia can be quite painful, however.

Naples Smart Girl said...

It's been a long time since I've read something from someone who seems so easily at peace with the world. Reading your blog is like a sweet vacation in a different time. :)

Magi Loucks said...

Delish.