Oh, hey there. Sorry for barging in. Where's your costume?

This is my costume.

You start the show in no clothes?

I start the show in socks.

And a watch and bracelets.

My character, Doug, is a world traveler, and he's very privileged. He talks about being an embedded photographer in an unnamed Middle Eastern country, but he's also kinda vain about where he's been and what he's seen, so I requested that he have some meaningless leather pieces on his wrist.

And the necklace?

The necklace is leather with a coin on it. He probably just bought it from a little cart on the side of the street. But he would tell you he worked in the rice paddies for a week and as thanks some old woman gave it to him.

And the socks?

We talked a lot about Doug wearing Old Navy and the Gap. I think these were the first socks the costume designer looked at—seemingly stylish but ugly. And she thought: That's perfect. That's so Doug.

When do you get to put on clothes?

There's a solid 40 pages of me being naked.

I don't see any makeup on the counter.

I don't really wear makeup unless it's a larger proscenium stage. Maybe some eyeliner?

Is that a bus transfer?

That is a bus transfer. I have a motorcycle, but it's in the shop right now and I haven't gotten my paycheck yet, so it'll be a couple weeks before I get it back.

Are you going to get mad if I start whistling?

What?

Don't actors get mad when you whistle backstage?

Oh, I don't care about that stuff. I said "Macbeth" once and someone tried to get me to go outside and run around the theater nine times and spit, and I was like give me a fucking break. Bad stuff happens to us because we thought it was a good idea to be actors, not because of something someone said backstage.

So you don't have any actor superstitions.

I think theaters are haunted. I think there's weird psychic energy in these spaces. Good old theaters are like churches. Like, I don't think all these new condos are haunted, they're too clean to be haunted. They haven't had any good human experiences in them. I think theaters that smell like mildew, blood, and sweat tend to have that spooky, awesome energy.

What's the Intiman dressing room like? I know it's the Cornish Playhouse now, but when you were Romeo it was Intiman.

The balcony! The men's dressing room has a balcony that overlooks the fountain. It's beautiful.

During Romeo and Juliet? There was a balcony onstage and a balcony in your dressing room?

You know, that never even really occurred to me. I just ate a lot of lunches out there. That was my first professional gig, so I thought it was pretty sweet. I could see the Space Needle from my balcony. And then for Angels in America they switched it, so even though there were more men, we got the windowless, hot dressing room, and the ladies got the nice dressing room.

And you were in The Hound of the Baskervilles at Seattle Rep. What are the Seattle Rep dressing rooms like?

Those are great. Those are underground, and everything's red. The Rep has some good smells.

I see Beam is your bourbon of choice.

Beam is in my blood. If it's a language play, I've got to spring for Irish whiskey, but we buried my grandmamsy in a pinewood box in Maine with a handle of Jim Beam.

Do you brush your teeth before you go onstage?

Usually. Only if I've been eating Fancy Mojo Mix. So usually.

Threesome runs through June 28 at ACT Theatre. It was written by Seattle playwright Yussef El Guindi, a 2015 Stranger Genius Award nominee who's profiled here.