The play, The Fourth Commandment, playwright Richard Knipe, the theater a small venue just off Broadway, the cast; four characters. My part was the mother with a daughter and son-in-law moving in to my home.
Sunday Brunch was offered and the theater filled quickly. Many of my friends bought tickets to dine and watch me, their tennis buddy, perform yet again and this time in New York City. Stage right. I entered and there in a chair set for me sat one of my friends. On stage. Sharing the spotlight. What to do?
The show must go on, of course. I ignored her, someone I’d played tennis with for years looking up at me as if she belonged there. On stage. YIKES! We finished the scene , applause, applause. Where oh where was the hook to drag her off MY CHAIR! And the scenes went on until Act 1 ended when finally someone, the director maybe, found another seat for her. At last the coast cleared and Act 2 went on without a hitch.
I chose to ignore the comments about what my dopey pals thought was so funny and basked in the admiration from real theater goers.
Show business. There’s nothing like it.