There's no question of whether Robert is in his dressing room; you can hear him performing his vocal exercises from halfway down the corridor. When you knock, he yanks the door open and stands frowning at you for a moment.
"Ah!" he exclaims, his expression brightening. "A fan! Come in!"
Whether you're a fan or not, you promptly find yourself almost dragged into the room.
"I'm currently engaged in preparations for our next production," Robert informs you, absently signing your wrist, "but feel free to look around."
You look around. There are assorted costumes hanging up, as you might expect of a dressing room. Robert's unreasonably long CV is lying nearby, headed by an unreasonably long description of Robert's personality and interests.
There's a birthday card on Robert's dressing table, signed by the other members of the drama society. If you'd like, you can ask Robert what he admires about the other members.
A notebook next to the card contains, perplexingly, a series of short stories detailing romantic or sexual encounters between Robert and every other member of the drama society. You ask Robert, a little hesitantly, whether they're fictional. He waves a hand in the air with a dismissive "Oh, probably."