Theater Talkback: A Seat at the Table On Monday night, my play "The Lyons" opened at the Cort Theater on Broadway. Now, I've been writing plays for almost 30 years and been getting them produced Off-Broadway for 19. So, I guess I can't be shocked that people keep asking me how it feels to have a play on Broadway "after all this time." Before I answer that question I have to admit I'm slightly aware that I have a reputation for often speaking like one of my characters. Although my characters are generally wittier than their creator, people seem to expect that I'm always ready with some acid-dripping bon mot. And I can usually oblige. I mention this only to prepare you. I don't, these few days later, feel particularly witty. I feel, I guess, overcome, moved, grateful and, mostly, pooped. That said, people keep asking, so with some trepidation I'll try to answer. (There's trepidation because I keep hoping I've grown up enough to cede the spotlight completely to my work. Well, things take time.) A little background: I came to New York in the mid-1970s. I was full of that superior attitude one can only have when one has yet to achieve anything. What I wanted, the only thing I wanted, was to find some way into what I saw as "the theatrical community," a seat at the table. I was in college at the time and I was certain success, some kind of success, was right around the corner. I assumed "the theater" had just been killing time since Thespis, waiting for me to arrive. Boy was I wrong! It took 16 years and dozens of plays before I had what, I guess, was my first breakthrough. "Pterodactyls" opened in 1993 and people noticed. Shortly after it opened I was going to dinner at Joe Allen's, a popular theater hang-out. I walked in and the room was filled with theatrical luminaries. Actors, writers, directors, producers - and they knew me! They nodded at me as I was led to my table....way, way, way in the back, in the kitchen really, by the men's room. For the next 19 years, after "Pterodactyls," I worked at the Vineyard Theater (wow, I owe them a lot!) and also at Playwrights Horizons. I didn't think about Broadway. I just did my work. Sometimes people liked it. Sometimes they didn't. It feels good when people like it, and not so good when they don't. But the truth is, creating something is better than not. The joy is in creating. Then "The Lyons" opened at the Vineyard and suddenly there was talk of Broadway. Now, I have to say, the company we assembled belongs on Broadway. I firmly believe with Mark Brokaw at the helm and these six actors (Linda Lavin, Dick Latessa, Michael Esper, Kate Jennings Grant, Brenda Pressley and Gregory Wooddell) the play would have to stink out loud not to soar every night. In any event, we were a hit. Our fearless producer, Kathleen K. Johnson, stepped up to the plate (God bless her!), so we packed our bags and headed north, to the Cort. The first surprise: the work is the work is the work. The Cort is a theater, like the Vineyard. Rehearsing there felt like home. I mean it's bigger and there are, certainly, more seats, but it felt somehow the same. I love rehearsal. I am happiest in rehearsal. So after a couple of hours, I settled in and had a fine time. The second surprise: A person can only feel so anxious. At the first preview of "The Lyons" downtown I was so terrified, so completely sick with anxiety, that I ran to Doug Aibel (the artistic director) and insisted that this entire enterprise was a mistake. This phenomenon is not unique to "The Lyons." The first preview of every play is completely horrifying. Cold sweats accompany waves of nausea. Well, the first preview on Broadway felt pretty much the same. I mean I can only feel so sick from nerves! At a certain point it just levels off. The third surprise: The opening-night party is fancier! We had our party at Sardi's. It felt very old-world glamorous. It was swank and swell. The men all wore suits and the women had manicures. This is not always the case downtown. But here's the dirty secret: Opening-night parties are a lot of work! There are a lot of people you have to meet and a lot of hands to shake and interviews to give. Of course it's exciting, but it's also tiring. By the time I relaxed, it was very late, and much of the food had been removed. I found myself hiding, eating chocolate mousse from a tureen with a fork. The party may be fancier, but me? Not so much. The fourth surprise: I am not a cynic. It may sound as if this event hasn't fazed me. It has. I thought there was no more moving moment in the theater than to have my loyal audience at the Vineyard laugh in unison or be still, as one. Well that's not quite true. The sound of 900 people laughing as Linda Lavin speaks my words is new to me. The hush as 900 people watch Michael Esper reach out, so tentatively, to someone, is new to me. And the feel of 900 people cheering as the play ends and standing, as one, to applaud the cast ... that too, is new to me. You see, the revelation that my play belongs here, on Broadway, where it can reach so many, speak to so many, is new to me. And I guess that's why, every night at curtain, I duck quickly into the alley, before emotion takes me over and I embarrass myself. Later this week, I'm going to go to Joe Allen's. And if I'm lucky, and if it's not too crowded, and if I call ahead, and if there's no one famous, there's a slim chance, a tiny chance, maybe, just maybe, this time I'll be seated a table or two away from the kitchen. Oh, why push my luck - I'll order something to go.