Dancing Barefoot (9 page)

Truth be told, I am proud of me too. All our hard work has paid off.

I gather the cast. I sit on the edge of the stage, and look into all their faces. During
our months of preparation, we have become a family, and I feel like a proud father.

“We killed, you guys. They loved us! Thank you all for doing this show. Now, it is time to
party.”

“Party! Woo!” Kevin screams, like a frat guy. We all laugh.

While they pack up the show, I seek out my parents.

My mom waits for me near the back of the theatre, next to my dad. I approach her, she
stands, arms outstretched.

“I am so proud of you! You killed!” She hugs me tightly.

“You guys are so funny!” My dad says. He then goes on to tell me something that he loved
from each sketch, laughing deeply and warmly with each recollection.

I have never felt such pride from my parents. It comes off of them in waves, it radiates
from their smiles and wraps around me in their hugs. I bask in the warmth.

“Do you guys want to join us for some gambling and stuff?” I ask them, hoping that they'll
come along and share in our celebration.

“No, we need to get to bed. It's late, and we are driving home in the morning,” my dad
says.

“Are you sure? Please?”

They look at each other. My mom says, “I don't think so, sweetie. You guys have a good
time. You've earned it.”

“Okay. I'll talk to you guys when we get home.”

We head over to The Rio, where gambling, eating, and drinking ensues.

Remember the first time you stayed up all night with your friends, and watched the sun
rise? Remember how cool it was that you were awake that late? Remember how you never wanted
the night to end? That's how we all feel, and it is nearly 3 a.m. before we give in to our
exhaustion.

Some cast members need to fly home early in the morning, and others are just too tired to
stay awake, so we sadly share a tearful farewell.

We all go our Separate Ways, seeking out our own Frontiers, watching the Wheel in the Sky,
knowing that we'll never Stop Believin'.

It is quite a Journey.

Anne and I return to our hotel, and fall asleep before our heads even hit the pillows.
Sadly, we are too tired for that post-show romp that rock stars always talk about.

Come to think of it, I've never had a post-show romp in my life. I think I need to get
into a different line of work.

Morning arrives, surprisingly devoid of hangover. Anne and I are going to stay the rest of
the weekend, so we can attend the party at Star Trek: The Experience on Sunday night, but
we're not staying at Bellagio any more. We're moving to Monte Carlo.

While Anne moves us, I go back to the convention, and spend the day sitting in the
autograph room, so people who missed me the first two days can get their picture or autograph.
After several hours, I decide to call it a day. Two of our best friends, Stephanie (who
introduced us, and was the Best Man in our wedding) and Mykal (who has known Anne forever, and
is one of the most loyal and reliable friends she's ever had) are meeting us to spend the
weekend, and I'm ready for a little break from Star Trek.

I meet them at the Monte Carlo, and we spend the rest of the day at the hotel pool, paying
too much for drinks with umbrellas, laughing at Speedo-clad Euros.

As the afternoon turns to evening, we split up, and plan to meet for dinner at this
restaurant in the Barbary Coast called Drais, which Anne has heard is a great place to eat;
very hip.

There are books everywhere, the floors are hardwood, and the walls are painted red and
yellow. The only light in the entire place comes from hundreds of candles which are in
sconces, on tables and floating in bowls on bookshelves. Drais looks pretty cool, in a Pottery
Barn sort of way.

The dichotomy between waiters and customers is striking. The former are all young, clearly
college students. The latter are all mid-life-crisis ponytails who are checking out my wife.
Normally this sort of thing doesn't bother me, but I don't have a whole lot of patience for
the annoying drunk businessman who is getting his courage up for the trip to the Moonlight
Bunny Ranch later that night.

I look at this guy who is trying to vibe Anne. While I ready an insult, he winks at
me.

Winks.

Right at me.

It is such a
Smokey and the Bandit
move, I can't be bugged by him. I
make a pistol with my thumb and forefinger and shoot him a wink of my own. Anne and I laugh as
a cocktail waitress comes over. We order two Ketel One martinis, straight up. Mine with five
olives, hers with a twist. We drink them slowly and talk about the kids, the convention and
what we're going to do when we get home. Life is good. We are young, in love, and having
drinks in Vegas.

Steph and Mykal arrive and we eat a wonderful (if grossly overpriced) meal, enjoying each
other's company. I truly love them both. Our waiter is inexperienced, and makes lots of
mistakes, but he's got a great sense of humor and we let it go, tipping him generously.

When dinner is over, we head over to Bellagio, where we do some gambling.

It's prime time in Vegas: midnight on a Saturday. Call girls rub elbows with businessmen
who smoke cigars and drink Bud in bottles. Newly-legal 21 year-olds attempt to count cards at
a blackjack table. There is smoke, laughter and energy hovering over everything. We have a
great time and when we finally fall into bed around 5 a.m., we feel happily exhausted.

The taxi races at warp 15 down Las Vegas Boulevard. My life flashes before my eyes.

It's 8:15 on Sunday night, and we were supposed to be at Star Trek: The Experience at the
Las Vegas Hilton by 7:30. Slanted Fedora has put together a party where the few people who
have bought $1500 tickets to the con can rub elbows with the Star Trek guests, go on the ride,
and take pictures on the Hilton's version of the
Enterprise
bridge.

When we get into this cab, I tell the driver,“ We need to be at the Hilton 45 minutes ago.
If you can get us there quickly, there's an extra five bucks in it for you.” I wink. I am so
money.

“An extra five bucks?! You bet, sir!” He slams his foot to the floor, and the cab explodes
into the street.

Red lights? A good way to get the cars around us to slow down so we can pass them. The
medians? Grass-covered passing lanes. Pedestrians? Luckily, we didn't get to find out what
they'd be, though I suspect that the word “bump” would be involved.

We arrive at our destination, I pry Anne's fingers out of my arm and leg, give the cabbie
his promised fiver and head straight to the bar for a shot of whiskey to stop my shaking
hands.

Star Trek: The Experience is split up into three main areas: a restaurant which features
Quark's Bar, a replica of the
DS9
Promenade which is filled with
memorabilia and souvenirs, and the actual Star Trek “Experience” itself, which features an
amazing trip right onto the bridge of the
Enterprise D
.

The whole thing is built beneath a huge model of the
Enterprise D
that hangs from the ceiling in mid-flight.

This is my first trip to Star Trek: The Experience, and I gasp involuntarily when I see my
spaceship hanging there.

Staring at this giant model now, which must be 20 feet across the saucer section, I recall
the first time I saw the
Enterprise D
in flight, when Paramount screened
“Encounter At Farpoint” for us back in 1987. I sat in a darkened theater, and when Patrick
Stewart intoned, “Space . . . the final frontier . . .” I got goosebumps. The seats began to
rumble, and there was my spaceship, cruising by. She was beautiful. When she went to warp
speed, my mouth hung open, and tears sprung into my eyes. I knew that I was part of something
wonderful.

I point at it and say to Anne, “Hey! Look! I can see my house from here!” I giggle, and
she has no idea what I'm talking about, which is one of the reasons I married her.

Anne and I are a little overwhelmed by how large and detailed everything is, but we don't
have any time to take it in, because as soon as we arrive the fans begin to approach. They're
all very cool and friendly. Most of them have seen my sketch show and want to compliment me on
it.

“It's one of the funniest things I've ever seen,” says one man.

“I haven't laughed that hard at anything, ever, in my entire life. You guys rocked!” says
another.

A woman recounts an entire sketch called “What dreams may come,” where I play a 12 year
old kid who is supposed to have his first wet dream. His “nice dream angel,” played by Travis
(at 280 pounds, wrapped in a sheet, Travis got laughs just walking on stage) has a battle with
his “naughty dream angel,” played by Maz, who wore leather pants and a vest. During the
sketch, all I do is lay in bed, and occasionally hump the mattress. The sketch always kills,
and this show was no exception.

“I'll never be able to see you as just Wesley Crusher again,” she says.

“That's the idea, ma'am,” I say.

“Are you ever embarrassed to perform that sketch in front of your wife?” She asks.

“It's nothing she doesn't see at home several times a week,” I say. Anne punches my arm,
and we all laugh.

Another man tells me that he had planned to see the other show that night, which was a
performance of
Love Letters
that Rene Auberjonois did with Nana
Visitor.

“I stayed in it for about 15 minutes, but I kept hearing laughter from your theatre, so I
left and bought a ticket to your show. I'm so glad that I did!” He tells me, and claps me on
the back.

Everyone wants to know when they can see the show again, and if they can buy audio or
video versions.