23 December 2003

Lisa, Philip, Hugh, Scott and Dru

I met Lisa a few jobs ago when we both started on the same day and found out we had a lot in common. Well, ok, we both liked martinis, 80s movies and boys, so we bonded. Lisa and I went out at least one night a week and had a drink or two and talked smack about our co-workers. Our relationship was built on the healthy foundation of work snark-age.

She has this crazy friend Philip, a New Yorker who moved to Canada for work about ten years ago. Two or three times a year Philip returns to Manhattan to take in a few Broadway shows, hook up with old friends and to recharge his battery. Lisa always attends one show with Philip, and once she and I had bonded sufficiently she invited me to tag along. That was two years and three shows ago, and I have had some really great times at some really terrible shows with the two of them.

Philip picks the shows, and they�ve all been pretty awful as he picks them before they open and only based on who is in them and early buzz. The one we saw in October was indescribably bad. Hugh Jackman is a gorgeous man, he is incredibly talented, but the horror that he is currently starring in on Broadway, about Peter Allen? Train-wreck in every single way possible.

Let me back up.

Lisa, Philip and I started that chilly October evening at 5:00 pm for dinner and drinks. It was World Series time, so we ate and drank at a pub so that we could watch the game. Boy, did we drink. Two bottles of wine and three hours later we hit the theater pretty darned buzzed and loud. I�m not sure if it was the copious amount of wine running through my veins or if it was the simple fact that the show was horrible � but I fell asleep right in the middle of Act II. Not even a musical about Liza Minelli�s gay ex-husband starring Hugh Jackman could keep me awake. Sad, right?

The fact that the play sucked did not deter us from stalking Hugh at the stage door and screaming and yelling like crazy fan-girls when he appeared. I managed to get an autograph and a peek at him, and that one minute of joy almost made up for the more than two hours of hell sitting (and sleeping) through that show.

Riding the high from meeting Hugh, we sat down at a local pub for more another beverage, not the best idea, I know, and discussed which show we would see next. Fortified with another glass of wine each we headed off on foot to purchase our tickets at the theater where to the one, the only, Taboo is currently living. Yeah. That Boy George/Rosie O�Donnell thing that we now know is definitively horrible. Lisa, Philip and I will be there, however, and I will be sure to report on our exploits following that show as well.

We emerged from the theater and started heading back to Philip�s hotel. I put the tickets in my purse. Philip got on his cell phone to arrange the rest of his evening. Lisa let out a loud squeal. �Noel!�

A play starring Scott Foley, among other people, was playing at the theater we were standing near. Lisa was gawking at and pawing the poster in front of the theater. The following exchange went on loudly, and drunkenly right in front of the theater while the stage door was wide open.

�Who?� I asked.

�Noel. Scott Foley. Awww. He�s so cute. Look at him! I want to see this play!� Lisa drooled.

�Oh. He was married to Jennifer Garner. She was schtupping Michael Vartan. She still is. HAH! He is cute.�

�He was on Scrubs, too. He IS cute. How mean of his wife!� Lisa kissed her hand and slapped it on Scott�s mug on the poster.

�I know. It is mean. But I�d do Michael Vartan, too. Come to think of it, I�d do Jennifer. And Scott. But not all at once I don�t think.� I squinted and stared at the poster, mumbling the names of the other people in the show.

�Yeah,� Lisa agreed.

�Yeah.�

�People shouldn�t cheat.� When drunk, Lisa states the obvious.

�I know. Totally.�

�Girls! Let�s go!� Philip shouted.

Lisa turned to follow Philip down the street and I lingered a moment longer, staring at the poster. I glanced at the group of guys sitting on folding chairs outside the stage door. A doorman. Two stage crew guys. Scott Foley.

Shit.

He and I locked eyes, and I smiled a weak smile and almost tripped over myself running to catch Lisa.

�Lisa. Lisalisalisalisalisa,� I muttered as I ran after her, trying to be all cool and not obvious about getting her to turn around and see the complete hotness sitting right there.

�He�s right there. Scott Foley. Shaved head. White long sleeved t-shirt. Jeans. Talking on cell phone. Scott Foley. RIGHT THERE!�

We stood not 30 feet from him for a good ten minutes trying to formulate a game plan that would allow us to actually speak to him, and would allow me to apologize for bringing up the whole cheating thing. I was going to ignore the whole �I�d do him� thing. While we plotted and planned and attempted to act sober, Scott walked back into the theater and out of our gaze. We were crushed. We sighed, hailed a cab and headed back to New Jersey on the train. Lisa�s boyfriend picked us up and drove us back to his place to sleep it off.

Hugh�s autograph almost made up for the $100 ticket and hangover I had the next day. Locking eyes with Scott definitely did.