a moment in the day: bustle

The opera super women's dressing room for Madama Butterfly is small and crowded. I'm pinned between the counter and the wardrobe rack with a concrete wall to my back and three other super women and our dresser crammed in front of me, and I love the bustle of it all. From the little speaker mounted by the ceiling come the sounds of the goings-on down on stage, including various commands from our stage director as we lead up to the Piano Dress Rehearsal.

"Chorus Men to your places."

I'm almost ready—makeup done, wig and hat on, stockings and shoes on. Petticoat. Skirt. The funny, little bustle that will help me look like a turn-of-the-last-century lady once this whole getup is in place. It's a pillow of white cotton fabric that poofs out over my backside, with extra padding over my hips to create the illusion that I'm wearing a corset. There's a strip of white ruffle at the edge that I guess is used to keep the transition from body to bustle smooth, and white laces sewn in at the sides, which I've tied across my middle to hold the thing in place, but as my dresser comes to help me on with my blouse, she examines my look and says the bustle is too high.

"Can you undo it and then retie it lower?" she asks.

I try to pull it open but it's stuck. "Shoot. I did it in a double bow." I pick at the loops and the knot in the center.

The dresser tries to help me get it loose.

"I was afraid it'd come undone in the middle of the performance," I say.

Laura, the other woman who plays an American wedding guest, with matching bustle, leans in to us. "If you want to drop something on stage, it might as well be your booty."