Free Baby Steps by Elisabeth Rohm

circus people who loved to express themselves. Meeting them planted a seed in me. I wanted to join the circus, too. I was drawn tothem because of their openness, although I felt like they were very different from me because I intellectualized everything and tried to feel my feelings as little as possible.
    Being a college student, I was also a little bit boy crazy, and there were some cute theater guys who caught my eye. One of them was a boy named Eric Mabius (who later went on to star in many movies and TV shows), who was handsome and open-hearted, and I found myself imagining what it might be like to be in a play, too—a play with him. I had a crush on him, and I thought that we would end up together in the cast of some play or another. The idea unnerved me but interested me. On a whim, in a moment of sudden courage, I decided I would audition for the next play that came along. Maybe Eric, or some other cute guy, would audition, too. If nothing else, all those wonderful circus people might start to see me as one of them.
    I didn’t know anything about the play I auditioned for. It was called Bondage, by David Henry Hwang, and not only did that cute Eric not audition for it, but I got the lead role. As the dominatrix. With the leather and the mask and the whip.
    Wait a minute, I thought. I wasn’t ready for something this . . . committed. I was just trying to get some attention, maybe a date. I hadn’t really thought about being in a play, in front of a whole audience full of people, especially playing a character like this. A dominatrix? I was from Westchester, for God’s sake! What was I thinking? The whole idea seemed ridiculous.
    But there I was on the cast list:
    TERRI: Elisabeth Röhm
    I read the script. It made me even more nervous. Sadomasochism, racism, intimacy, sex . . . this was heavy stuff. Who did I think I was? I couldn’t exactly quit, but maybe I could get fired. When we started rehearsals, I decided I just wouldn’t get into it. I spoke my lines without feeling. I was inhibited in my movements. I was embarrassed. I wasphoning it in because why the hell would I want anybody to associate me with that character anyway? I feared I’d get a reputation. “Ooh, Elisabeth Röhm . . . the dominatrix.” I blushed just thinking about it.
    Apparently, my displeasure was pretty obvious, and the director of the play complained to the head of the theater department, an amazing woman named Shirley Kaplan. Shirley called me into the office shortly after rehearsals had begun and sat me down and told me the director wanted to replace me. I remember feeling both relieved and offended. It was what I’d hoped for, but still . . .
    â€œLis, here’s the deal,” she said. “Maybe you’re fine with being replaced. Maybe you don’t want to play this part at all. But before you decide, let me just ask you this. What’s standing in your way?”
    I thought about that for a minute. My pride wouldn’t let me say, “Well, I was hoping this one cute boy named Eric might be in the play,” or “I didn’t have any idea what the play was about.” But the real truth was that I feared I couldn’t do it. I didn’t know how to become a character. I had no idea what I was doing. Most of all, I didn’t want to become a character like that.
    â€œI guess . . . I just don’t like the character,” I said. It was true. I thought the character was slutty. I didn’t want people to think I was slutty. My inability to play the part well was my way of proving that I had nothing to do with that character.
    â€œDo what you need to do,” she said, “but let me tell you this. If you want to be an actor, you need to understand that acting is not about judging. You have to find the humanity in every character. You have to find their point of view, and it’s very seldom that anyone thinks that they themselves are a monster or a