The Foreign Service Journal, November 2008

Nurse Tracy, was having trouble memorizing her lines. I was about to pick up the phone to call Clayton, my best friend on the show, who had managed to hold down the small part of Orderly Tyrone for over 10 years, when the SMS signal on my cell phone beeped. The message from Gray read: “Come over and share the secrets of your girlish heart.” Half an hour later, I arrived at the fancy Penn Quarter condo building where he and David lived. Gray was sitting on the sofa with a steaming towel around his neck, drinking hot lemon tea. He waved but didn’t say anything. “The Washington Chorus is doing Beetho- ven’s ‘Ninth’ with the National Sym- phony tonight, so he’s saving his voice,” David said, rolling his eyes. David didn’t share Gray’s musical tastes. He and some Foreign Service friends had a not-very-good punk band called the Bilateral Irritants. The voice-saving did seem like overkill, since the chorus had 200 members and Gray didn’t have a solo. Gray pointed at me, made a sign- language P, and gave a thumbs-up. “He says he thinks it’s great about you two,” David said. I could have figured that out. Then Gray made a pained face. “He’s sorry if he acted like a jerk. It’s just that he’s worried that you’re going to get hurt. Not by P, but by all of the people in the Foreign Service who have nothing better to do than trash people they’re jealous of.” That seemed like a lot to read into one gri- mace. Presumably, he and David had discussed this earlier. “So, what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Don’t worry, we have a plan,” David said. “To get people to take me serious- ly?” I asked. “No. The trick is not to take your- self seriously. You have to embrace your inner Nurse Melanie. You have public speaking training coming up, right?” “That’s right. We’re supposed to explain how to do something. My speech is on ‘How to Mediate an International Conflict.’” “Not anymore it isn’t,” David said. “Here’s what you’re going to do.” A week later, I was standing in front of 20 classmates in my soap opera costume. Unlike real-life nurs- es these days, who look like they’re wearing children’s pajamas, Nurse Melanie wore a proper uniform with a white dress and a little starched cap. I, of all people, shouldn’t have been nervous in front of a camera, but I felt an unfamiliar fluttering in my N O V E M B E R 2 0 0 8 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 71