Lola, Is That You

I’m doing a SHOW on stage downtown, at the Foundry Theatre or some Folger theatre thing. It’s a restoration comedy, “She Stoops To Conquer.” I played Marlowe, the vain swain.

The SHOW goes well and I am beat. I just want to get away as fast as I can and go out for a beer.

I don’t want to go to the usual theatre crowd hangouts, so I just go a little off the beaten path. I want to find a bar where I can simply watch the TV with the sound off and drink my beer.

So I find the perfect place – noisy but not too, really friendly people. And, all my beers seem to be being paid for. Well, this has happened before – people who enjoyed the SHOW often do this if they recognize you.

But there is something just twilight zoney about this place. I can’t figure it out. Then I go to hit the bathroom and I understand. There are no women in the place, not one. Once I figured that out, the twilight zone feeling disappears. I mean, I’m in the theatre business after all. I’m a firm believer in “to each their own.” No problema. But it’s not over yet…

I take care of my business, go to wash my hands and then figure out why all my beers are being paid for. (Scary music goes here) I look in the mirror and I have on more make-up than Tammy Fay Baker. I had forgotten to take off my stage makeup. Rouge, lipstick, eyeliner, blush, mascara – the whole nine yards. I mean, there were prostitutes walking along 14th Street with less makeup than me. As a matter of fact, there were circus clowns with less makeup than me.

Anyway, I left a tip, headed home, and washed off the makeup. But if I ever need to get my beers for free, at least I know how.