by Essay by Marya Hornbacher December 22, 2008 A man, a director, sat alone in the audience, going over his notes. He used a yellow notepad, always, wrote on only one side of the page. He had a pack of cigarettes in his left breast pocket. He smoked, ashing on the floor. He called out, �Next.� A woman, an actor, walked across the stage. She was beautiful, or was so startling-looking that she made you think she…