and I had forgotten to text him before heading out that night. so, not wanting to let my friends miss enjoying my cozy relationship with him, I called out his name as he passed by. he didn't hear a fucking thing and could anyone blame him with the combined casts of Grand Hotel and In the Heights chattering away like a bunch of Marys and Nancys about...who gives a shit? so, all eyes rivet on me like I still had business to do. like "were you really in Company, 
or did you just call-in every night?" honestly, some days I wonder that myself. except the day I had to go on (my B'way debut, thank-you) for one of the roles I was covering in the middle of the f'in show. there I was - making all "Effie" in my dressing room - everyone had gotten a crack at the show but me - and I decided I deserved a big, fat pity party, replete with Alison Moyet and journal reading/writing up on the 5th floor, when I hear Gary, our SM, calling me down to the deck at intermission. fast forward 2 minutes later and I am fully costumed, made-up, tear stains wiped away and replaced with Mac N3. if you aren't a fag or musical hag such as myself, you wouldn't maybe know that the top of ACT II in this show is like walking onto the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. if I miss a cue, note or piece of 'ography, the whole number may not attach to it's emergency cord and I'll be the big asshole whose flute is dripping out of her hands thanks to the flop sweat.anyway, back to Bar Centrale (http://www.barcentralenyc.com/youfoundus.html) tonight. once I realized I was being challenged to network, despite my sincere wish to just bury myself in days of yore, my brain became consumed with trying to figure all that out. believe me, people, if no one else had seen my tree fall alone in the wood, I would have happily let poor Steve enjoy a hassle-free evening. but, as it stood, we were 1 and 0. I am positive he was not thinking the same thing.
so, it came time to pay the bill - which was a perfect reason to use the restroom while all the linear, numbers-driven actors figured out the bill. as I passed by his table I was thinking "they all look so cozy - sharing stories amongst themselves, why break that up?" not getting teased on the playground, friends, that's why. if sitting on a bench and crying until someone felt sorry for me wasn't going to work , then I was going to bully my way into him noticing me. as I exited the restroom, I approached his table. he was in mid story - to Frank Rich.
yay. having set out to finish what I started I proceeded to then hover at the table until he was done. can you spell awkward? the hostess even checked-in with me ("I"m a friend" I said) - well, I've been at his house, in his show and at his parties, doesn't that count? "ok, Steve, wrap it up", I'm thinking and he does and then I'm like, what the fuck do I say now? "Hi, (Luvy Howl), Company" I extend my hand, he shakes it, his guests smile and I do the walk of shame from his table to mine. that's it, pretties. and no one even noticed at the GH table, so I called it a loss and decided to pay the bill and head a half block home. the former head of our costume dept. on GH who had made "are you pregnant?" hand gestures to me earlier that evening thanks to the f'in empire waist dress I had on alerted me that Steve was on his way out - in whispering distance, really - and awkwardly alone for a moment. but I had tired of that exercise by then and decided to play hard-to-get with some other friends at the bar, instead. that'll learn you, ya chatty Kathy.anyhoo - I'm now back home about to embark upon my bedtime routine. not feelin' the sleep even though I have two auditions tomorrow - one entirely too early and the other with Angelina Jolie, who probably is pregnant again.
ok, not with her tomorrow, but my character with hers in a scene. OK - not a scene. a line. one fucking line. but it's an important one, I am assured.I wonder if Steve has ever had to take off as much make-up as I have on tonight. god, I hope not. Yawn.
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