To my left is Wayne, a fellow actor with Camden Civic Theatre's Above Broadway Players. He's not much older than my own father, but shares some of the behavioral characteristics of the men he must have played in the many musicals with which he has been involved: jaunty, but gentlemanly, with a rich speaking voice and a look like he's about to soft-shoe a number. Like me, he's been committed by random assignment to partake in this audience-inspired destiny.
Tommy waits for his entrance off stage - I can see him peering through the curtains and listening for an opportune moment to break in. A comic in real life, he appears confident, engaged, and completely in the moment. He waits off stage because those are the rules of the game - we're playing STOP, an improv game that starts out as a two-person scene and evolves comically with the entrance of a third.
An audience member has already shouted out the scenario in which we are to be engaged. Wayne and I are driving in the commuter lane, stalled in traffic. I whisper to him, "We're eloping or something" and slide over real close to him. Jeff asks, "What kind of car are they driving?" Someone calls out, "A Hummer."
Both Wayne and I automatically begin to mime the motions of manipulating a steering wheel. "Hey, which one of us is driving?" He asks. I drop my hands abruptly, realizing suddenly that I'm on the passenger side of our imaginary car, assuming, of course, that we're in the U.S. "Aw darling, it's just that I want to be close to you, experience what you're experiencing." I rest my head playfully on his shoulder.
"Stop!" Jeff yells and turns into the darkness, "Who is Valerie?"
