Lives of the Circus Animals by Christopher Bram Page A

Japanese cartoon show. It was the weakest of the three stories, yet the show needed the fight in the kitchen, with dishes being thrown and trash getting flung. When the rest of the cast join to clean up the mess, Chris and Melissa begin to laugh, the fight is resolved, and the evening achieves a kind of home chord.
    All right, it ain’t Long Day’s Journey, Frank told himself. But it was a good exercise, a smart way for actors to work on their craft and stay sane. He would’ve preferred something with less realism. This was beyond kitchen sink—it was bathroom sink. But seeing the pieces together today—they ran about an hour—Frank liked their liveliness, their occasional moments. It was not entirely hopeless.
    When they finished, Toby cornered him. “My scene at the mirror, Frank? Should I be more upset? Or less? I was thinking thoughts about getting old, but I don’t want it to be maudlin.”
    â€œIt’s fine, Toby. Just look at yourself. Let the audience read you, however. We need to work on your monologues. They’re not there yet. They need more feeling. Panic, pain, something.”
    â€œI thought they were supposed to be funny?”
    â€œDon’t worry about the effect. Concentrate on the reality. You know what it’s like to be rejected. Use that.”
    Toby looked horrified: his skin went gray, his eyes wide.
    Did he think Frank was referring to Caleb Doyle? Frank didn’t mean to bring up real pain; he wasn’t that kind of director. He didn’t know exactly what had happened between Toby and Caleb.
    â€œYou’ve just come back from a cattle call,” he added quickly. “Or you got snubbed at a job interview for a job you don’t even want—”
    Toby’s look grew colder, deader, like he hated having to think about any kind of rejection. Maybe that was the problem: he was feeling so rejected that he couldn’t play it.
    Then his eyes lit up. “I got it!” he said. “I’ll use my panic attack from last week. When I thought I’d have to go back to Wisconsin.”
    â€œAll right,” said Frank uncertainly.
    â€œBecause I was feeling all desperate inside and thought that I’d have to explain to my folks…”
    Frank heard him out, encouraging him with nods, even as he wished Toby would think these thoughts in silence. All actors worked like this, groping for connections. But the smart ones kept their mouths shut, for fear that they’d sound nuts.
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    They ran through it two more times and took a break. Half the cast stepped out on the fire escape for cigarettes—Allegra allowed no smoking here. She followed Frank to the kitchen and hung in the doorway while he poured a glass of water.
    â€œGood good good,” she said. “Going well, don’t you think?”
    â€œIt’s getting there,” said Frank.
    A black-leotarded foot appeared on the jamb beside her face. Allegra often did stretches when least expected. She barely noticed them herself. “So. How’re things going with you and Jessie Doyle?”
    â€œThey’re going.” Frank was surprised that Allegra mentioned Jessie. He had decided to put Jessie out of his thoughts until the next time he saw her. A few words from Allegra, however, were all it took to open that door.
    Her foot spread its toes inside the black fabric. “Good. I like Jessica. I do. She’s so…eclectic. You two are a real good match.”
    Frank couldn’t stop himself from smiling. It began in his chest, and he tried to keep it out of his mouth, but his lips pulled against his teeth.
    â€œYou know,” said Allegra, “you might ask her to bring her brother when she comes to our show. Maybe we could get him to say something to put on our flyers.”
    Of course, thought Frank. This wasn’t about Jessie, it was about Topic A. Allegra had absurdly high hopes for their pack of skits. She actually imagined