That's how they used to do it when Angela Lansbury was a luminous presence on The Great White Way so it seemed fair and proper that she opted to share her sentimental comeback — return — actually, homecoming — with Broadway's perennial watering-hole.

Sardi's certainly took to the spotlight and, like said Star, rose triumphantly to the occasion, putting out an excellent spread and tending to the overflow crowd with speed and efficiency. Managing partner Max Klimavicius and dining-room manager Sean Ricketts (grandson of the late Vincent Sardi Jr.) rode herd over a full complement of waiters, bartenders and bus boys, and the customers brought their own buoyancy.

"We're having a great time doing this," Klimavicius yelled out during one of his mad dashes to the kitchen, relapsing into his original Sardi's role of restaurant "expediter."

The main dining area was opened up so that what tables remained were next to the walls and strictly reserved. But the crowd adapted to the inconvenience quite nicely. Some ate while standing up. The lucky ones snagged a banquette and ate in their laps. There was no place for pride. No one had any intention of leaving the area, for fear of missing the great Sardi's tradition of The Star Entrance when the audience, as if it hadn't already applauded quite enough at the first and final sight of The Star, got to say thank you all over again.

"Did you hear that applause when the curtain went up tonight?" Doris Roberts said, rushing excitedly up to The Hollywood Reporter's and Turner Classic Movies' Robert Osborne. "It said 'Welcome back.' That's what it was saying. 'Welcome back.'"

Lansbury has been away from Broadway for two dozen years, out on that other coast making a household name for herself in TV's "Murder, She Wrote," well-removed from the medium that made her such a lustrous star. She is still the only performer to win four Tony Awards for Best Actress in a Musical, and, from the look of Deuce, she appears to be going back for a fifth prize, working a cappella with McNally's words and no music.

She and the no-less-beloved Marian Seldes comprise the title role (it is also a sports term for a kind of tennis overtime). Leona "Lee" Mullen (Lansbury) and Margaret "Midge" Barker (Seldes) are a pair of pioneering women's tennis doubles champions, reunited for a tournament tribute after going their separate ways into a slowly sinking sunset. As they watch "kids today" play the sport they defined and refined, old regrets start to surface.

The play is an excuse for some intense acting tennis by a couple of seasoned pros, and both actresses respond with star turns. The crackingly funny Seldes is not Lansbury's second fiddle or even her first violin but a classy scrapper on equal footing. What with Frost/Nixon down the block, West 45th is becoming the street of over-the-title face-offs.

"I would think that's two starring performances," producer Scott Rudin said when asked if Seldes might be entered as Featured Actress rather than risk a split Tony vote. "I have no idea. I haven't even thought about it. We're all just getting through tonight right now."

The last thing he needs is another contender in the Best Actress category. He already has Vanessa Redgrave in The Year of Magical Thinking positioned at the Booth directly across the street from the Music Box, locked in a stare-out with the ladies from Deuce.

When complimented on her performance, Seldes deflected it back to her starring partner. "Yes, but look how generous she is," she countered, proving Lansbury hasn't entirely cornered the market on graciousness. "When I was told on the phone I'd play it with her, it was such a beautiful piece of music. Did you ever have the feeling you have to prepare yourself for it not being true when you hear something that good? That's what I felt.

"Then, there was Michael Blakemore [the director] — he got that performance out of me, he dug it out of me — and then the production. This whole thing has been like a dream."

On top of everything else, Seldes strutted through the play a glamorous presence, thanks in large measure to a wig by Paul Huntley. "I read the script and knew exactly what I wanted for Marian's character," Huntley admitted. "Of course, you don't touch Angela's hair." The Star looked like the Lansbury of old in her trademark-y close-cropped 'do.

Both actresses wore the unmistakable sign of relief. Despite an impeccable performance, they endured a night of nerves and seamlessly overcame one misstep along the way. The opening-night performance ran four pages shorter than the script actually would have it.

The inestimable Blakemore, who has the distinction of winning two directing Tonys in a single season (for Copenhagen, a drama, and Kiss Me, Kate, a musical), shot down the rumor, prevalent during previews, that the ladies were laden with a lot of rewrites.

"No, they weren't," he said simply. "I suggested to Terrence — because his method is to rewrite a lot — that we can't do that with actresses at this stage in their careers. 'They have these huge parts. They're going to have their time cut out for them memorizing the lines. We can't mess about.' So, he indeed didn't. There were some rewrites, some cuts — but their stuff is more or less the stuff we started rehearsing with. However, he did rewrite a lot around them. The other three roles were extensively rewritten, but not the stars.'"

Michael Mulheren, a Tony contender for brushing up his Shakespeare in Blakemore's Kiss Me, Kate, lost one whole character in the revision. "I played a vendor at one point in previews," he recalled. "The only reason I liked it was that it increased my stage time with Angela, but it really didn't move the story forward so they decided to cut it. Terrence was nice about it. He came to me and apologized, but I thought it was better for the play."

The role that remains for him is that of an adoring fan of the two elderly tennis stars. He also serves as an in-and-out narrator who provides introductory notes on the duo and their sport, and, at one point, even intrudes on the ladies to get them to sign an autograph book he inherited from his father (a device that allows McNally to drop the names of Great Women Tennis Stars of the Past — all the real McCoy, by the way). More importantly, Mulheren gets to deliver the eloquent curtain line that hits the audience right in the heart.

The other two roles — a TV sportscasting team — come and go as well, providing footnotes where needed. Brian Haley is given to pompous, narcissistic riffs, and Joanna P. Adler gets knowing chuckles with a hollow laugh. The two showed the wear-and-tear of rewrites.

"Y'know, Joanna actually mentioned it after we were done tonight, that 'Hey, that was our Broadway premiere,'" he said. She amplified: "We sorta forgot about it in the hustle and bustle of previews and nerves and changes." The good news, he delivered: "Angela is just a joy to work with — and Marian. You really couldn't ask for two better people."

McNally, smiling broadly like a man who had just made it over the finish line (which, indeed, he had), conceded that rewriting is bad for the nerves but shrugged helplessly. "It's what I do for a living," he said. "No one makes you write a play, after all."