Take My Breath Away

by Katherine Eatinger

In honor of A Delicate Balance beginning previews tonight, I would like to share my story of the time that I did not meet Edward Albee.  I came very close – within five feet – but in the end, I remain Albee-less.  I will first note that I have a hard-core crush on Mr. Albee.  He may be in his eighties, but let me tell you, if he wasn’t gay and I wasn’t engaged – well: fireworks.

 

Currently, I am the Marketing Manager at Arena Stage. I enjoy my position, not only because it comes with perks like not meeting American literary giants, but also because I get to live the arts every day.  I also fancy myself an amateur playwright.  As such, I have nothing but absolute admiration for Mr. Albee.  His plays cut to the core of our humanity and expose our deeply concealed faults.  He delicately peels his characters’ layers away until there is nothing left but the inner-most animal core of the person.  And then he sledgehammers the remains into a million pieces.  It’s thrilling and exciting. 

Mr. Albee came to Arena for the first rehearsal of A Delicate Balance.  We were all delighted when we learned that Albee would be attending.  What an honor!  I counted down the days until, I was certain, our lives would collide and the earlier-mentioned fireworks would explode in full glory.  On first rehearsal day I was giddy to the point of annoying.

 

I came.  I saw.  I froze like a deer in the path of a semi.

 

I immediately recognized Mr. Albee for his fine physique, dapper cardigan and his dashing heavy-on-the-salt and pepper mustache.  There he was-only five feet away!  He was standing all by himself.  It was the prime moment.  And I couldn’t budge.  Or speak.  Or do anything other than stare in wide-eyed astonishment.

 

Only a little while earlier I had been chastising the Marketing Fellow, Kathlin, for being too shy to ask Next to Normal’s Alice Ripley to sign her CD.  “That’s silly,” I said, “she may be an amazing singer and actress, but deep down she’s just a person like you and me.  What’s the big deal?”  My inspiring words were for naught and Kathlin hid in the Sales Office while I asked Ms. Ripley for her autograph.

 

Now, my words were coming back to haunt me as Kathlin was nudging me, encouraging me and basking in my hypocrisy.  “What’s the big deal?” she delightfully said, “deep down, he’s just a person.”  “Uhh…yeah right,” I thought, “or a god of American theater.”

In the end, I just stood and stared, gape mouthed, at Mr. Albee until he was funneled into the theater for the presentation.  Then I stood and stared, gape mouthed, at a wall until I slowly awoke to the crushing realization that I had missed my chance.

 

I imagine that if we had actually met, we would have become BFFs, telling insidious inside jokes and mocking the other, lesser, mortals for their lack of quirky and intelligent one-liners.  And he would have written me a killer letter of recommendation to graduate school.