Monica turned the key in the backstage door, letting us into the darkened theatre. I flipped on the lights, and the two of us moved onto the set. We didn't come here to fool around. Honestly. We were here to go over some blocking for a few of our scenes together.
The play is a hilarious comedy about infidelity and murder (trust me; it's funny), by a Canadian playwright, and I landed the lead (Peter) for our community theatre group's production. Monica is my leading lady (Kate), and she's perfectly suited to the role. She is a little too thin for my taste, but I still find her quite attractive. She's a hot little number, with super-wild fiery red hair, a cute little round butt, small but pert titties, and a pretty elfin face.
I won't go into all of the details, but basically, the play involves a cheating wife (Kate), and her nervous lover (Peter), who accidentally kills her husband when he comes home unexpectedly. Hilarity ensues (as hilarity is wont to do) as they try to figure out what to do, and how they will get away with it, without breaking a scandal, and without any of the many visitors figuring out what happened.
Things were going normally, at first. We made some progress with our scenes, and worked out many problems with the movement.
Then, we got to the bedroom scene.
We went over this scene several times, to get it right. Really! Just to get the movement and timing right. Not because it felt spectacular to be rolling around on a bed with a gorgeous half-naked redhead. In this scene, we were supposed to be just about to make love. Kate, dressed in a frilly nightie, climbs on top of Peter -- in walks her husband -- freeze -- curtain down -- next scene. That's what's supposed to happen.
We'd rehearsed this scene many times before, without anything stirring. Of course, that was with several other actors in the room, and the director interrupting us every third line to tell us how she wanted this line delivered, or that cross made. But now, we were alone, and on our third run-through, something happened.
A quick glance at our scripts, to remind ourselves of where we were in the play, and we got to work. Chasing me around the bed, Kate played a little game of cat and mouse, before grabbing me, throwing me down on the mattress, and pouncing for the kill. Straddling my hips, she delivered her line, "now you're mine!" and pressed her lips to mine for a passionate kiss. Remember, this is when her husband was supposed to walk in. But we were alone in the theatre, so there was nothing to interrupt us. The kiss lasted perhaps a half a second longer than it would have, if we'd had the actor playing Kate's husband. And she was straddling perhaps a half a foot lower on my body than she usually did during rehearsals. It's amazing how a small shift in timing and position can change a scene so dramatically.
