The Stand In
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

I was what they call in the theatre business “The Prompt”. That is the person who knows the script back to front and sits in the wings following the performance. If an actor misses a line they can whisper: “Line”, or just look in my direction, and I give it to them. Maybe just mouth the first word. No actor likes to call up the prompt. It is embarrassing. That is why autocues are not used in the theatre business. To have them would mean that actors cannot do their job.

I have heard of prompts being called in as stand-ins from time to time. That means if an actor is sick, or does not turn up, or loses their voice, a prompt might be a good enough actor to fill in, or fill in for a member of the cast who can be the stand-in. I had no real ambitions to be an actor. I just loved being involved in the theatre business. I felt like it was in my blood.

Everything started when we had this play with a fairly minor part being played by a girl named Hildy. Despite not being a big part, it was wordy and the words were important to the whole plot. She was quite a good actor but she always stumbled over the words. I knew them by heart, mainly because every night I was mouthing or whispering them to Hildy. The director was getting very angry with her because he felt that the whole show was suffering. He told her so.

That was enough for Hildy. She turned and walked off, 30 mins before the performance. Nobody in the cast could step up. The role was vital. The director turned to me.

“Pat,” he said. “You’re small enough for this costume, and I know that you know all the lines. Why don’t you step us for us and take the part?”

Why? Because I am not an actor. “I can’t do it. I guess I am just self-conscious,” I explained.

“But this will not be you,” he said. “You’re a guy, and here the actor is female. You won’t look like you. Make sure that it doesn’t sound like you and you have nothing to be self-conscious about.”

Somehow, as stupid as it sounds, that changed everything. My name wasn’t on the playbill except a minor stage worker credit. I would be in costume. Even if I was awful nobody would think ill of me. The show must go on. Everybody in the theatre knows that. And those that do anything to ensure that it does are respected. Hildy had lost respect. I gained buckets of it when I agreed to go on.

“Hair and makeup,” shouted the director. “Get this man lady hair!” Sometimes some of the words that you hear come out a director’s mouth are priceless. But the problem was that this production had not wigs, just a hairpiece or two, and all wigs in the hairdresser’s locker were totally unsuitable.

“I can tie back his hair and use a fake ponytail,” called out the hairdresser.

“Do it,” said the director. “Do the shoes fit? Have you ever worn heels before … what was your name again?”

“Brett,” I said. “And no, I have never worn high heels before.” Why would I have?

“They’re a fit,” called out the wardrobe mistress. “The shoes are a fit. But I will need to rustle up a body stocking to go under the dress.”

“Do it,” shouted the director. “The curtain goes up in 23 minutes, and we need a run through of this scene with young Brett here. Lift that tone young man. Exercise your voice. Get up to those higher octaves. Come along.”

It was such a whirlwind of activity but a joyous whirlwind. This is exactly why I loved the theatre – chaos behind the scenes to create a perfect work of performance art for the audience. The excitement of it. It was almost as if I was watching it myself rather than being part of it. But it was the wax around my mouth that brought me back to reality. Rip. Off came my whiskers.

“There is no time for a shave,” said the hair and makeup lady. “And I don’t have any undertaker’s wax to hide a 5 o’clock shadow. This is not “Drag Race”. This is a serious production.” She was still working on me when the curtain went up, but I did not appear until Scene 2.

The adrenalin or the thrill, or whatever it was, was running high in me. It was as if I was on a wave, and I just had to stay on the board, but then I found that I could ride it. I was pushed from the wings and I delivered my lines perfectly. It didn’t even seem as if I was acting. I was talking, not even in my voice, and moving as the script required, and the other two cast members engaged with me were right on point too. I came off from that first scene exhilarated.

“Brilliant,” said the director. “Make your appearance in Scene 3 even better.”

And it was. When I came out on stage to join the cast for my first curtain call ever, I felt fantastic. I just took a bow with all the others, but I was beaming. It was great.

Members of the cast slapped me on the back. Nobody likes to thank the prompt, but as I said, anybody who steps in to make the show work in times of stress, gets the highest praise. In the theatre there is no better praise that what comes from your fellow performers. That is what I thought in that moment, anyway.

I took off my makeup and handed back my ponytail with my dress, body stocking and shoes. I have to say that there was a curious sadness when I did it. It was like surrendering a life that I could have led to go back to one so much less exciting. I could have been an actor, but now I was just going back to being a prompt.

But the following night we were again short a cast member. Hildy did not turn up, although we had understood that she would. The director called the cast together. Everybody was looking at me.

“Who is going to take the role tonight,” I said.

“You are, young man,” said the director. He pulled from his jacket pocket a newspaper. “Listen to this,” he said, and he started reading: “I enjoyed the show so much when it opened a few weeks ago that I went back last night, and I enjoyed it even more. The whole cast seemed lifted by the performance of an uncredited newcomer filling in for Hildy Wagner. The perfect comic timing of the opening exchange in Scene 2 showed how the lead players can draw strength from their supporting cast.” He slapped the newspaper against his thigh. “The uncredited newcomer is back tonight”.

“Hooray,” somebody shouted at the back. People started to clap. They were applauding me. Just me.

In the theatre applause is what we feed on. I am not just talking about the cast taking the bow, I am talking about everybody. Most backroom people will come up to the wings, at least for the opening performance, just to hear the applause. Everybody in the production draws sustenance from applause – the louder and longer the better. This was just for me. It was intoxicating.

“Get his ponytail back on,” shouted the director.

And I was back on stage giving it my all. I had to that night and every night, because Hildy Wagner was never going to return. I guess she must have read the review.

The Playbill was changed to substitute my name, but instead of “Patrick Dunne” it read “Patty Dunne”. The director apologized for not conferring with me, but she said that she was “trying to avoid confusion”. She (the producer) could have said Pat; or even “Paddy” might be gender neutral, but Patty was clearly a girl’s name. And I was building a reputation under that name. I was building a reputation as an actress, not an actor.

Everybody else in the cast thought that it was a huge joke. There was a general insistence that I attend the Sunday night curtain party as Patty. I suppose that I sort of thought that I would share the joke, so I went along with it. Not stage make up or the hair piece, but with the assistance of the wardrobe mistress, a little evening makeup and some curls in my own hair, and a dress of hers that looked really good on me.

My only experience dressed as a woman was on stage, but it turned out that was all I needed. I could talk the talk and walk the walk, and no script was needed. The answer was simply to stay in my feminine character and not to “corpse” as we call it – breaking character in the middle of a performance and letting the whole show down.

The problem was that the producer had brought some other producers along to the party. And I was there as Patty.

I suppose that I could have just said it the moment they got into conversation with me. I could have said: “I am not really a girl – just a guy pretending”. I should have. It was just that I had probably had a few drinks and some of the guys in the cast were putting on a little impromptu play among ourselves. It is what actors do. I was never a part of it before. Being a prompt is the very opposite of improvisation. But as I was included this time, I was playing Patty to the hilt.

When I was introduced to these two strangers as Patty, I just responded as Patty.

“How would you like a leading role in our next production.”

I don’t know how long I chatted for before I heard those words, but they sure made me sober up. I mean, people work for years to hear those words. Some people spend a lifetime devoted to the theater and never hear those words. Starry-eyed newcomers, journeymen actors, even old hacks, pray before bedtime to hear those words. Those are the words that I heard.

Something made me say: “Well, I have a commitment to this show first.”

I immediately though I had ruined it, but the response was: “We would expect nothing less from you Patty. We have time, but we want to sign you up as soon as possible. You are going places, young lady.”

It was those last two words that struck a note of panic in me.

I was able to conceal it. I was able to play the part of the aspiring actress, so grateful for her big break, because it was a dream I had rehearsed in my dreams so many times – except that I was an actor, not an actress. In my dreams I knew only one answer: “Yes … yes, please. Thank you. I will give it my best shot. You can count on me. I won’t let you down …” Those were the words that spilled out of my mouth, or something similar, all delivered in my female voice.

My current producer appreciated my loyalty to our current show, so she never said anything. But when her guests had left, she pointed out my problem.

“You have just accepted a lead role as a woman,” she said. “It is a serious role. They are not going to give you that role as a man. The effect would be to turn it into comedy. If you plan on going through with this, you will have to keep the fact you are male, 100% under wraps. Can you do that?”

“What do you think I should do?” I asked her.

“I think that you are a better actor than even they think you are,” she said. “You have convinced them that you are somebody you are not – somebody a long way from the person that you really are, but can you pull it off fulltime?”

“Would you help me?” I pleaded.

“I am sure that we can come to an arrangement,” she said. “If you are a success with them, I may tie you to a deal to be in some future show of mine, sometime in the future.”

The fact is that I needed a woman to coach me, and my producer was the perfect person. I ended up moving in with her for a couple of weeks as our production ended. But even before that I took to wearing women’s clothes off-stage. Just like all female actors I took off my costume and put on my clothes – now women’s clothes.

I joined the new production and told them that I would be needing accommodation before opening night. It was suggested that I could room with other members of the company, two men and a woman sharing a four-bedroom apartment on the west side.

One of those men was to become a very special person in my life. I will not give his name because he is now quite well known, with some TV roles and recently a solid role in a major movie.

I never thought of myself as gay, but maybe that is what I am. It is just when somebody looks at you the way that he looked at me, you can’t help but look back the same way. Or maybe I am like one of those method actors who get trapped in the role they are playing and cannot get out. It has been said of some actors that they were a blank canvas and have no personality outside the roles that they play. I might have been a bit like that. As a prompt I was just a non-entity, so much so that I can barely remember who I was or what I thought. All I knew was that I wanted to be in the theatre business, in any capacity. I was not even an actor. That was a role forced on me. And the role of a woman was forced on me. If I was a blank canvas I was now a work of art – a vibrant oil painting full of color and movement. The blank void was gone forever.

So I suppose that for method actors, at some point, it ceases to be an act.

There was just one obstruction, and it hung between my legs.

I am an honest person, but perhaps that honesty should have come sooner. That is what I told him. I told him that I should have said something before he got serious, and before I fell for him, But … (with a capital B) I had not.

He was shocked more than disgusted. He said: “How can we fix this? Do you need to have some surgery or something?”

Imagine that? There must be transwomen out there who could only dream that their boyfriend would respond that way. No revulsion, not condemnation, just concern, concern for me and concern for our forming relationship. As I have come to learn, it is the perfect reaction. But I was not a transwoman, or at least I did not think I was.

So, what do you say? Try this: “I could never be a mother to any children, but I could be a lover, and a wife, if that is what you want?” That is what I said, word for word.

I mean, I used the words mother, lover and wife! We had only gone out a few times. Who talks like that so early in a relationship? Clearly there had been nothing sexual other than good old “heavy petting”. Now I was talking about a life-long thing. But more importantly, I was offering up my body to the surgeon, to be cut and stitched into something other than me.

It was a total departure from the script, if there was one. It was impromptu, improvisation, verbal vomit. I was appalled with what I had done. I think that there were tears of exasperation.

He just took me in his arms. I had never felt anything like it before. I just wanted to stay there. I did not want him to ever let me go. He did, but then again, he has never let me go since. And that is the way I like it.

Lover and wife but never a mother to his children. Actually, I was wrong about that too. He had children by an earlier relationship and they now live with us. I am a successful stand-in there too.

It just goes to show, that things do not always go to script.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2020